III. In Which Things Change, Things Are Slated To Change, and Things Have Change Unwillingly Affected Upon Them
ooo
"It's not enough to have power. Where is your speed? You shouldn't be taking half as long!" Duncan bellowed. The twinkle in his eye belied any real anger. "Get up here! And for God's sake, cut your hair. That thing's getting dangerously close to a mullet."
"Yes, I'm coming." Sabin struggled up to where his master stood on the plateau. Something was weighing down on him, dragging him back, and it grew heavier at every step. "Yes," he wheezed again.
"Don't answer me, you fool! Just climb!"
He finally pulled himself up onto the flat stretch of grass, doubling over on his knees. "Master, I...there's something I have to tell you..."
The older man had turned his back to him and was now looking out as the sun set over Mount Koltz. "Hm? What is it?"
Sabin opened his arms, letting Vargas's battered corpse fall to the ground. He was overwhelmed by the acrid stench of blood, hot and bitter and stomach-churning.
"I killed your son."
Duncan disappeared and the mountains melted into darkness. Sabin reached out for something, anything, but the whole world fell away and he was left tumbling through a void that ended in a tangle of bedsheets.
Vargas...
Sighing, Sabin settled back onto the mattress. He glanced over at the little flute on the nightstand, and in that instant he could see Vargas polishing the edges with his shirttail.
You were my best friend. No, only friend. We were too busy training to do much of the regular kid stuff. As he looked at the flute he felt compelled to smash it to pieces. No, that wouldn't solve anything. Better to let it stand as what it was, a memory from another time, when the two of them "practiced" by rampaging through the castle.
I wasn't going to do it, not even when you turned on Master. I just wanted to stop you.
Sounds and images flashed through his head. A girl's yelling, two men shouting for help. And one of the men was...
You were going to kill my brother.
I didn't have a choice.
The clock pointed to five past two. What a way to wake up. Sabin rolled over. How to get back to sleep? He shut his eyes and thought of pancakes. Delicious pancakes with fresh-tapped maple syrup, yes, that was it. That would be great. Soon he drifted off into a contended rest. Pancakes, syrup, and his mother's song...
Mother? Yes, that was her song, the flowy madrigal about the beautiful lady who died and left her lover desolate. The servants said the queen sang it day in and day out, to friends, courtiers, even her unborn sons. After she died the old king would sing it, and it was through him that Sabin had learned the words himself.
It had such a beautiful beginning. The twins would sit at their father's feet, listening to him as he sang of ladies on a spring day. Then the lyrics became cold and the melody was jarring, and that was usually when his father's voice began to break. "Why do you have to keep singing?" Sabin would ask. "Can't you just stop there?"
"And leave it unfinished?" the king would always answer, furrowing his brows. "You can't omit parts just because you don't like them. Every story deserves to be told in full."
"Even that sad ones?"
"Especially the sad ones."
But I don't like sad things, he'd thought.
Again he felt the haze lifting and Sabin stirred. Judging by the light that streamed in through the window, it was now well past dawn, but he could still hear his mother singing "zefiro, zefiro, torna..." He was content to just enjoy the song until it belatedly occurred to him that his mother had been dead for twenty-nine years.
Was he still dreaming? There was no time for questions when he could hear her, sounding so light and airy and full of hope. He sprang out of bed, not bothering to put on a robe, and followed the song up to the grand balcony.
"That's it, dear," Matron was saying. She held a stack of yellowed parchments in her wrinkled hands. "It's pretty, isn't it? There are more than fifty here that haven't been touched in decades. If you find one you really like, you can have it."
Terra stood beside her, reading off a small songbook. She paused just before the last sestet. "Oh, no, I couldn't do that! These are heirlooms, aren't they?"
"Yes, but they're certainly not doing any good shut up in an old storage box. Please, take them." She turned over her shoulder to look at Sabin as though she expected him to be there. "Good morning, Your Highness."
"Matron..."
"Sabin?" Terra drew back, embarrassed. Had he been listening? "Oh, um, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." She wanted to go on, but his flat expression made her stop. "I should go," she said feebly. Sabin made no attempt to stop or even recognize her. Startled and a little hurt, she put down the songbook and disappeared down the stairs.
Matron tilted her head at him. "I didn't raise you to ignore company."
"Why did you teach her that song?" he demanded.
"Why shouldn't I?" Before he could interrupt, she went on. "Is that how you want to honor your mother's memory, keeping it under lock and key? There's no one left to carry her song; Lord knows you boys don't like to talk about your past."
"Yes, but---"
"I'm eighty-seven, dear. What will you do when I'm gone? Is that going to be the end of me, or are you going to tell all your grandchildren about how I could pinch harder than any vice? Your mother loved you so much. The least you could do is make sure she isn't forgotten."
Sabin realized she was right. "Yeah," he mumbled, jamming his hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry. I've just been..." He didn't want to talk about the strange and painful dreams that had moved him so deeply. "Thinking about a lot of things, I guess. More serious than the usual stuff."
"I'm not offended, Your Highness. I know you too well for that." It was no mystery between them how he could be a grown prince and a "dear" rough-and-tumble boy at the same time. "But what about your guest?"
"Terra, you mean?" He scratched his head. That was pretty rude, wasn't it? Then again, she never got mad about anything except for peanut butter on the walls. "I wasn't trying to blow her off or anything. I just couldn't stop thinking of Mother."
His single-mindedness made the old woman smile. Sabin was easily distracted, but when he was set on something it took an act of God to make him stop. "You should start thinking of something good to say, then."
"Yeah." He usually told the truth, no matter how absurd, but would he be able to say Sorry, I thought you were the mother I never knew? "Any ideas?"
"...what about that shipment of yours?"
ooo
It took some effort to find Terra, who had since wandered all the way to the laundry room. She didn't look angry to see him; if anything, she was noticeably glad. "Hey! Um, about this morning. I shouldn't have been singing so loud."
"Yes, you should have. You're not half-bad, and it's a good song." Maybe someday he'd be able to tell her just what it meant to him...someday, but not yet.
"Say, uh," Sabin started, spurred on by her interest, "I have something you might like." Ugh. What was he, a drug peddler? "Wait. I mean, like a special surprise. For you." That was even worse. "From me." Why am I still talking?!? "Wanna see it?"
Fortunately, she seemed so piqued by the idea as to not notice his babbling. "Of course!"
I guess he isn't angry, then, she thought, following his short ponytail as it bobbed up and down. Sometimes it was hard to know what Sabin was thinking; if he didn't immediately say what he felt, there was no way to know. He would often sit alone, arms folded and looking serious, then without warning declare that he'd finally found a word that rhymed with "orange".
As they walked, Terra felt a powerful urge to grab at the little tuft of straw-colored hair and give it a tug. Just as she was reaching out Sabin flung himself over one of the dungeon doors, arms outstretched.
"You can't look, okay?" he said carefully.
The idea of a surprise made her unduly giddy. What could it be? More importantly, why had he decided to get her a gift in the first place? She happily clapped both hands over her eyes.
Sabin grinned. It was easy to be generous with someone who was so childishly cute. "Here we go." He unlocked the door and threw it open. "All right, there it is. What do you think?"
Terra was so excited she forgot about her hands over her eyes and walked straight into the wall. Sabin gently steered her towards the room, wondering what it was about the two of them that resulted in so many head injuries.
The first thing Terra saw was lumber. Planks and boards were heaped to the ceiling. Huge bags of plasterboard had been set in the corners. Chisels, drills and hammers hung from hooks on the walls.
She looked over at the first stack of wood and counted the pieces. To her amazement, there were exactly seventy-five 2x12s. "But," she stammered, "these...how?"
"When that company sent back your order, I kept the receipt." He had intended to go visit the offices in Jidoor and straighten out some bigwigs, but it hadn't been necessary. "I thought the next time I was out there I would try to do what I could."
Terra could already see the shelves and cabinets, the new living room, Duane and Katarin's home, the guardhouse, and everything else she'd been wanting for so long. She could finally begin give the children some of the things they needed.
"Where did you get all this?" she asked, struggling to hold down the lump in her throat.
Sabin became very quiet. "I know a really rich guy," he deadpanned.
The lump gave way to mirth and she laughed out loud. "You...you're a..." She grabbed around his neck in a happy hug, holding him tightly. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank youuu..."
What a nut. Sabin ruffled her hair. "Don't mention it. That's what friends do, you know."
" 'Friends'?" she repeated, enraptured by her visions of a brand-new furniture parade. "No, friends love and help each other. You build houses, fix pipes, do laundry---"
"---wrestle seven-year-old boys---"
"That too. But 'friend' doesn't seem like enough for somebody who does so much." Terra poked around the far reaches of her vocabulary for a more suitable term, finding things like "companion" and "confidante" insufficient, but after a minute she stumbled across a possibility so bewildering she almost fell over.
Sabin must have come to the same conclusion, because he quickly spun around and cleared his throat. Terra sprang backwards, mortified.
"Why, here you are!" Edgar stood in the doorway, oblivious to the utter interpersonal upheaval that had just taken place. "Good afternoon, Terra. I imagine you slept well?"
The diversion came as such a relief that she wasted no time in running to him and throwing herself into his unsuspecting arms. "Oh, Edgar! Thank you so much for all this!"
He examined her closely for the source of such an unusual emotional outburst. "That's very sweet of you, but my contribution is circumstantial at best. I had the supplies on hand and Sabin reimbursed me in full. Surely you agree he deserves the most of your thanks, yes?"
"I..." she faltered. Sabin mumbled something about it not being necessary. "I think I left something upstairs!" she cried, and fled from the room.
Edgar watched this turn of events in perplexed silence. He opened his mouth and shut it again several times. It was well over a minute before he was able to speak.
"Context, please?"
"It's nothing," Sabin said dully.
"Thank you kindly," Edgar snapped, feeling the same pang of jealousy at having missed such a deliciously awkward instant in his brother's life. "I suppose you're not obligated to tell me anything, no matter how much good counsel I would undoubtedly be able to provide. I'll leave as you'd like and go back to brokering my married life."
"Don't be like that. I'm, uh..." Sabin sighed. If he told Edgar he'd just end up in the doghouse again. "Trust me. I've got it under control"
ooo
The rest of the day went by in an agitated blur. Terra tried to read a book and failed, picked up some embroidery but kept pricking her finger, and finally took a wrench to the broken clock when it dared to strike one o'clock for the ninth time. She declined dinner, not willing to risk another confrontation.
That evening she lay in bed with the sheets pulled up high. The whole room seemed tense, as though every portrait and piece of furniture was waiting for her to do something. She didn't know if she wanted to scream or cry.
'Friend' doesn't seem like enough for somebody who does so much.
Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why did she have to say that? Why couldn't she just say she was thankful and leave it be? Why had she had to jeopardize their whole friendship just because she wasn't good with words? It would be wrong to give Sabin the impression that she felt...that she was in love or anything like that. But he hadn't thought that, had he? And if it was just a misunderstanding, why did she feel so guilty?
Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. (I can't!) Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. (but what was I thinking?) Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. (is he mad at me? I'm the worst!)
At this rate there was no point. She kicked the sheets aside and sleepily got up out of bed. It was well past midnight, but she might as well try.
The corridors seemed tall and hollow. Terra clutched her shoulders, wishing she'd brought a robe. The desert was supposed to be hot! Worse yet, every breath and step echoed around her. She felt like a little girl, lonely and scared of the dark. The castle seemed like a completely different place without the constant hustle and bustle of serving staff.
She took a deep breath and tapped on the chamber door. When no one responded, she hesitantly put forth an "Edgar?"
"Terra? Is that you?"
Well, he was awake. There was no going back now. "Yes. Can I come in?"
"Of course."
She pushed open the door. To her surprise, it was even colder here than the chilly hallways. He sat at his desk, read over what looked like legal briefs by candlelight. Terra stood there in her paper-thin pink chemise and felt foolish.
"By all means, make yourself comfortable," he said, rising. "To what do I owe this very, very welcome pleasure?"
"I, ah...are you still working?"
"Of course. A king's work doesn't end at night." Edgar could tell she wasn't ready to talk just yet, so he decided to soften her up with some idle chatter. "I've spent two hours and three minutes weighing my chances on this marriage deal, half of them shirtless, and things are just as difficult as when I started. I'm meeting with my future prospects in a few days, and the lovely Lady Coppelia just informed me she needs to stay in Nikeah with her ailing father. That makes a hundred headaches for me and fifty more hoops to jump through. Delightful, isn't it?"
"Do you know who you plan to marry?" Terra asked, intrigued by this new subject.
"No, no, that hasn't been settled yet. It's all a matter of who provides the best advantages, of course."
"Yes, but..." That didn't seem to be the right way to talk about everlasting love and devotion. "Which of them would you like to marry?"
"My dear, 'like' isn't a relevant question. I have to admit I was quite interested in meeting Coppelia; she sends her letters with the most marvelously ingenious word puzzles, but that has no influence on the final decision. Then again, Parliament's affection for her is absolutely essential. They are legally obligated to draft an approval of any future queen."
"Edgar!" She temporarily forgot about trying to be more mature, too seized by the enormity of this injustice. "That...that's not fair!"
He looked up at her from his desk with sincere surprise. "Unfair? I live at the greatest expense with the finest accommodations in the world. I am wealthy and privileged beyond any sense of reason. Surely you'd expect there to be a price to pay?"
"But you didn't ask for any of that!" It wasn't right that someone who had given up his own life wouldn't even get to choose who he married. "All that was thrust on you, and it's not right that you've got to...to do what they say just because it's the law!"
"Your concern is worth more than any love," he said gallantly, and in the flickering candlelight she saw the face of an old man. Edgar was just thirty, but without the beige paste and crushed safflower petals Terra could see just how much his work had aged him. The first wrinkles around his lips and forehead were nothing compared to the fatigue in his eyes. She had never seem him so tired before. The world was wearing him down.
Suddenly she understood why Edgar was so charming and debonair. He must've known that he would never be able to marry at his own discretion. He would never have the freedom to love one woman, so instead he loved them all.
Terra cried, unable to hold back tears at the sheer wretchedness of his situation, a wrong no amount of fighting would ever be able to correct. It hurt to think that stopping Kefka hadn't solved all their problems, and it hurt more to be helpless. Edgar sat down next to her with a benign smile and she buried her head in his lap.
"You...you gave yourself up...you didn't want Sabin to live like this..."
"Of course. I wouldn't wish for anyone to live this way."
"But it was for his sake! How could you do that?" Even now, with fourteen children at her side, there was still so much about love she didn't understand. She couldn't identify with great romantics, lifelong friends, and especially not siblings. What was it like to love someone from the very beginning? "How can you...how can you care for him so much?"
He gently took her by the chin and wiped away few stray tears. "Come now, querida. I think you know the answer to that."
ooo
She had poured her heart out to him, explaining it all and only occasionally interjecting to berate herself for ruining everything. Edgar had listened attentively. She was in luck, he said; Sabin was probably just coming back from his late-night workout, and if she hurried she could bring him the towel the maids always brought to his room. That should be a suitable opportunity to "make things right again", as she had put it.
So again Terra found herself outside a royal bedroom, and again she was terribly apprehensive about the whole thing, and again she briefly considered running away. At last she summoned the courage to knock.
"Oh, hey, thanks!" The door opened and she prepared for the worst. The worst didn't come, just Sabin, half-naked and confused. "Terra?"
"Um..." If she didn't say it now, would she ever? "This is for you," she said, holding out the towel, "and I want to talk!"
He couldn't argue with that. "Yeah, sure. Come on in."
Maybe it was all the shadows, or even her imagination, but she gaped at how literally gigantic he was. His biceps were the size of her thighs. Has he always been this big? She was so distracted she nearly forgot what she had come to do. "What I said, I...I didn't mean it. That is, I meant it, but I didn't say it right, and it came out like---"
"No worries. I'm a monk, remember?"
His nonchalance was encouraging. "Right, and I'm a mother, so that wouldn't happen anyways."
"Right."
Though they couldn't possibly know it, in that moment they had the same stab of doubt:
Who am I trying to convince?
"You know," Sabin said, waiting for his brain to reassure him that everything was back to normal, "I've going down to South Figaro tomorrow to pick up some things Edgar ordered. Do you want to come along? It's only about an hour's walk."
"I remember." They'd made the trip more times than she could count. "I'd...I'd like that. That would be fun. When do you want to leave?"
"Eh, I'll come get you sometime before lunch. Does that sound all right?"
"Yes, yes it does," she said emphatically. "I'll see you then!" Terra was so relieved she could have hugged him again, but quashed the idea. They exchanged pleasant goodbyes and she went back to her suite with a sense of real satisfaction. Oh, Edgar was as wise as he was handsome, and Sabin was so nice about everything. She couldn't ask for better friends.
"Terra?"
Edgar stood outside her door. At first she thought he wanted a rundown of events, but his bearing made it clear he had a more serious purpose in mind.
"What is it?" she asked, feeling her heart pound. Why wasn't he saying anything?
His eyes glittered. "I have a proposition for you."