Of Air and Angels

By Dragonbait

Chapter Five

Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose

And nothing ain't worth nothing but it's free

Feeling good was easy Lord when Bobby sang the blues

And buddy that was good enough for me

Good enough for me an' my Bobby McGee

--Kris Kristofferson, Me and Bobby McGee

«----»•«---»

The day dawned with a tinge of blood on the horizon. For the first time since the Lunar Cry ten years ago, it seemed an auspicious day—a day to remember forever. Like a tired child, people would later remember this day as a hazy one, shimmering now and forever in their memories. It was a day of…well, Quistis wasn't sure. Standing slightly to one side of Laguna and a few steps behind him, she listened to his impassioned speech which promised to rebuild Esthar. Laguna spoke with conviction and with the courage of an everyman doing what he could to make it right, just as he had done twenty-eight years before. To his right, Anisa and Kiros stood arms by their sides, hands entwined.

"We will rebuild our city, make it stronger. We will show whoever is behind these attacks that Esthar will not fall as easily as they think." Laguna's eyes gleamed with hope, and Quistis found herself admiring him. "Esthar has seen it all, and we will live again. Like Phoenix, we will rise from the ashes—and everything will be fine." His eyes gleamed with hope, and Quistis noticed the shining aura of optimism glimmering in his posture.

To his right Luik stood, leaning on his walking stick as he listened to the words spoken. How he wished his sister could see the man who she had loved today—but she lay dead and buried, and his memories of her were fading. Luik could remember her dancing in a circle, linking hands with others, and spinning round and round into the next man's arms, always careful to smile at them. Raine had a look about her—the way she pursed her lips in frustration—and Luik missed his sister now more than ever. She would be proud of Laguna, he knew that. As his brother-in-law finished his speech, Luik watched as Quistis took the podium. She was a stately figure, in a suit of grey cashmere, her hair pulled severely back into a bun. To Luik, she looked oddly young. He could remember being young once, without the debilitating pain of arthritis. She was graceful and elegant, even with her youth, which he was sure would stay forever fresh in his mind.

"Thank you, President Loire," Quistis said softly, looking down at her notes for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "Like the president said, we will rebuild our lives and show the world that Esthar has come far from the days of radio silence. Like many of you, I remember the Lunar Cry, the destruction and chaos that was wrought on our city. We will hunt down those responsible for the destruction, and bring them back to make them atone for what they have done." She wished she was back at Edea's, sipping tea in the cool breeze that blew in on the sea—but she knew she had responsibilities here in Esthar; she couldn't abandon Síla's safety or the safety of her chosen home. "The terrorists will pay. I can assure you that Balamb Garden will take in those who no longer have homes, and that Trabia Garden, too, will take you in." She looked directly at those who stood in front of her, and smiled shakily. It was hard to believe that the security of Esthar had been so compromised. Reports on her desk, from Squall and the retired General Caraway were scattered around, open to various pages.

Laguna's idea to request SeeD to house the displaced families had been met with resistance. Galbadia Garden wanted nothing to do with its traditional enemy, which did not surprise Quistis in the slightest. The real surprise had come when Trabia was the first to call and volunteer their support. Quistis supposed Selphie and Irvine maintained a fond spot in their heart for Esthar and wanted to help. Looking out at the crowd once more, Quistis took a calming breath and spoke again. "We are working around the clock to identify bodies and match them using DNA-recognition testing. If your loved ones or family are missing, there has been an information portal set up near the O-Labs, you'll find all the information there. Don't worry, we will find them."

«----»•«---»

Seifer lay back in his hospital bed, shifting uncomfortably. He was bored and restless—a sure sign that he was recovering. His bones were on the mend, and his newly-acquired scar had disappeared into an angry mass of red skin around where the gauze and tape were placed on his left hip. The tape irritated him. The television blared with information the Estharian military had put together, but Seifer was certain that they'd never find the person who committed the attacks. It was too convenient, he thought, if it was a former scientist in Esthar who had vanished mysteriously several years ago. He could remember the days before the war, before his dreams had turned into waking nightmares and the days where all he worried about was beating Squall into a bloody pulp at every chance he got. He wondered why it was taking Quistis so long to return to his side, snorting derisively at the thought. It was an odd sense of a relationship they had, and Seifer didn't bother over-thinking it. He knew that if he over-thought it, it would become ruined, like so many other things in his life.

Rinoa had been a dream, same with Ultimecia. The shimmering haze of his memories muddied the two women's faces, flashing forever between the two. But through that haze, a blonde angel's face came shining through, frustration clearly showing in her posture as she told him off. The looks, more than the words, spoke volumes for what he had come to feel. Over the months and years, he had come to admire Quistis Trepe for her integrity and honour, and her steadfast belief that everyone could be taught. As he dozed in and out of consciousness he often wondered whether the disciplinary committee had been a bad idea—the thought of that much power being in his grasp was something so far from his mind now. It had been heady, and addictive, but he never wanted it again. He'd do anything to tell people that he couldn't be trusted with power—that it corrupted him in ways that he'd not thought possible.

For nearly a year, he had gone mad. Once the Sorceress had caught him in her web, it had been impossible to break free. For the bloodshed, for the anger she had caught him in, she could not have picked a more willing lamb for the slaughter. But, in doing so, Ultimecia had ultimately doomed herself. Her knight could not travel time and space in order to defend her there, in her time, where her need was great. He had to exist in a time far in the past, and potentially cause greater doom and disaster than she had known. Squall, and indeed SeeD, had done him a great service in freeing him from the living prison he felt trapped in. Seifer stifled a snort, and a chuckle at the thought that puberty-boy had, unwittingly, freed him. The concept of Squall saving him from his prison was one that he hadn't quite come to terms with, but he could at least appreciate the ideals of his one-time rival. They'd been brothers, at one point, he could recall those days back in the orphanage.

He dozed in and out of consciousness, groggily blinking at the bright fluorescent lights overhead whenever he woke. His dreams were weird, full of strange flowers, and scents that he vaguely recognised. "Come live with me, boy." He could hear the tantalising promise she had made him. "I will give you a world beyond your imagination". The promises turned to ash in daylight—the world that she had promised him was one where night reigned supreme, the globular moon hanging like something foretelling doom in the sky. "Come, my boy. Take my hand and I will give you dreams beyond anything you can imagine." Her voice took on a cajoling tone, and Seifer shivered, for her hand was as cold as a dead man's hand. It was as cold as Peter's hand, that final evening in Trabia, hauled up in the bucket. Seifer had successfully repressed those memories until then—until Ultimecia came and turned everything topsy-turvy. The aftershock of her brutality still hadn't quite sunk in.

He doubted it ever truly would.

«----»•«---»

A cold, sleek rifle in her hand, she stood, the gun butt on her shoulder as she looked through the sight. The view from where she stood, gun aimed and ready, meant that she had the clearest shot since Irvine Kinneas, twelve years prior, had attempted and failed at the assassination attempt on Edea Kramer's life. She smirked, coldly, thinking of her one-time paramour's failed assassination, and vowed that she would not fail. Not like that soft-hearted fool had. The sight that she got through the scope was a clear shot, and would, if lucky, penetrate Laguna's heart instantaneously. Closing her right eye, the girl looked once more through her scope, and pulled the trigger.

He never knew what hit him.

They would never know who it was who fired the fatal shot that killed Laguna Loire. Out of the midst of the cry of the population, a child's shrill voice rang out.

"DADDY! NO!" Síla, pushing her way past Ward and Kiros, came to rest near Laguna's feet, on her knees. Quistis tried to restrain her daughter as the shock of what just happened became clear. Watching as her daughter tried to get her father to stand up, she saw the blood bubbling from his mouth. Holding back a cry, she knelt down, drawing upon every last reserve of magic she still possessed. Calling on the healing properties of white wind, Quistis attempted several times to heal her friend. It was too late.. . In the moments he still drew breath, Laguna lifted his hand to the phantom of Raine's, and then, feeling it close over his, died.

Laguna Loire was dead. He had finally gone to Raine, to their life interrupted in Winhill. A happier, simpler time. He saw her waiting for him, smiling and throwing white petals from a basket, flashing forwards to her in his arms, and then to them spinning around in a circle together, crowned with wreaths. A slow smile seemed to cross his face in those last precious moments, but Quistis would never be sure if it was a true smile, or just an illusion.

«----»•«---»

The days that passed were forever lost to Quistis as she struggled to make sense of what had happened. It was with grim despair on Kiros and Ward's faces that they spoke of the suspicious and conspicuous absence of Tacito Nazario. They had held their tongues long enough; at least, Kiros had. He, at least, had Anisa to turn to. But behind closed doors, irreverent memories of Laguna's life were shared with much laughter, tears, and warmth. Kiros remembered the night in Galbadia, just a few days before the outbreak of the Second Sorceress War.

"There's Laguna," he began in a light-hearted tone, "I've dared him to go up to the piano and talk to Julia, and his leg cramps up! The sorry bastard had to limp back to us—but we were surprised when Julia came by our table that night." It was told irreverently, with love and sadness. They talked, at length, about the maps he forgot, the day he jumped off a cliff trying to escape Estharian soldiers, and then the irony of them ending up running Esthar.

The memorial service was hard to sit through. Dressed in a suit of black, Quistis held her daughter's hand as people talked, at length, about the man that many had known and admired. Squall, bolstered by Rinoa's hand in his, gave a perfunctory speech, brief and emotionless. His eyes, Quistis noticed, were rimmed with red, but he shed no tears. But it was obvious that the impact of losing his father had hit him hard, and even though their relationship had not existed that long, had come to mean something resembling love.

"When I first encountered Laguna," he began, speaking clearly, "I thought he was a bad dream. As I came to learn about my father, I learned that he was a man of principles, of passion, and he was a good man. Though our first meeting was to discuss a mission, after that was completed, we sat down one day, many months out, and we talked. As we talked, I learned that he was a soldier, first and foremost, like me. He had done many things, been a writer, a film-star," he gave a wry smile, and continued, "a revolutionary, and finally, in the position we have known him as: president." Squall's mouth felt dry. Though he'd given many speeches, this was one of the hardest he'd had to give.

Some days, it felt as though no time had passed at all since he had become the commander of Balamb Garden. Other days, it felt like the ten years had passed like an aeon. As Rinoa squeezed Squall's hand, he looked over at her, eyes shining with unshed tears. There would be time enough, later on, for tears and mourning. Right now, he had to be charming, and polite, a thing which was not easy for him.

The day they buried Laguna was sunny. The bright morning sunshine streamed down through the fluffy white clouds, hitting the green grass with a golden glow. The black soil, rich and fertile, created a contrast with the pale sky and the grass. In their Sunday best, the townsfolk of Winhill came down the path towards the old graveyard in droves. At last, their prodigal son had returned. Later, perhaps, than they would have liked, but he had returned. To Squall's undying consternation, the man who buried his father had performed the secret wedding ceremony. It seemed odd to him that the priest had outlived his congregation—the days when Father Sargon's congregation had been numerous had now passed; most were buried in the little parish cemetery where his father would now be interred. It was something Laguna would have wanted—to be buried alongside his wife.

"In life, we all walk the knife's edge between good and evil. Laguna Loire, in the years I knew him, walked that line successfully. There is great wisdom in the saying that the evil men do lives after them, but not so with Laguna, his goodness will always be remembered. Always, he treated everyone he met with equal kindness and compassion. When Raine found him, he was unconscious. She never regretted nursing him back to health." Sargon had liked Laguna. When all the other townsfolk had shunned him, Sargon had continued to believe in the newcomer. Many had turned up; many were unexpected and unlikely—even the Shumi tribe had come. Some, like the man who had enticed Laguna into joining the fight against Adel were there from many years of knowing him. Moombas, too, had shown up, and their tribute to Laguna was the most heart-wrenching. The statue of Laguna which had been sculpted by the Shumi would now be gifted to the townsfolk of Winhill—the president of Esthar had always remembered the kindness of those who had taken him in, and cared for him.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. May his soul find peace and his memory stay forever green..." The coffin was lowered down as Sargon made the final sign of Hyne above it. As the first of the gravediggers tossed the red soil on the coffin, Quistis turned away, hiding her face in Seifer's greatcoat. The hardest thing of all for Quistis was watching her daughter throw white daisies into the earth as the gravediggers covered it. The daisies bloomed all year round in Winhill, and Rinoa had discovered in the ten years he had been her father-in-law, that Laguna remembered when Raine and Ellone had danced around the square, daisies in their dark hair—they were a flower with significance, to Laguna.

Then came the wake. As those who had been close enough to Laguna filled the pub with parched throats, the band began to play. Whiskey was sloshed in glasses, there were songs of old days and other times, stories told, laughter and tears. Ellone watched as they smiled at silly things her Uncle Laguna had done, and shed a few tears herself. The older men started playing an old song, one that Raine had played a few times on a harp, as Ellone remembered. She sang the old song softly and well.