All Hope of Repair, chapter 6
Aug. 8th, 2019 09:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shinonFandom: Final Fantasy VI
Characters: Edgar/Locke. Shockingly, Terra is also here!
Word count: ~6000
Warnings: Strong language, and we are still on the angst vs. doofy bullshit carousel, do not disembark before the ride comes to a complete halt
Notes: The ride comes to a complete halt! This is the last chapter.
"I don't know what will happen, but I've put a few contingencies in place. Do you trust me?"
"The hell kind of question is that? After all this time?"
Edgar turned to him, grave. "And Terra? Will she follow your lead?"
"That's up to her. But I think so."
A long pause. Finally Edgar said, "I suppose that's the most anyone can ask."
Locke grabbed his arm. "Hey. I trust you with my life, and I trust you with hers. Otherwise I wouldn't be here."
But the assurance didn't seem to help. Edgar still looked just as tense, and just as tired. "Better get some rest, then," he said. "I have a few last things to hammer out with the ministers, but then I'll do the same."
It was a gorgeous night in the desert; the air was clean and bracingly cold, the cloudless sky scattered with stars, the dunes stained silver by moonlight, fading into purple in the distance. Rachel would love this, he thought, and felt the familiar constriction in his chest. And felt it again, and worse, when he thought about how long it'd been. He was getting better, and sometimes that was what hurt most.
In the dark hours of morning he smelled smoke.
The door of his room was still cool enough to touch. Okay, small blessing. He slipped out into the hallway. A thin stream of smoke scraped along the ceiling, but there was no time to see where it came from. Any fire was either Terra's doing, or Kefka coming back for her (or her doing because Kefka came back?) — however you sliced it, she was gonna need help.
A maid sprinted down the hallway past him. She'd slit huge rents up both sides of her long skirt for more freedom of movement. "Get everyone to safety!" she was shouting. "This is not a drill!"
"I'm working on it!" Locke called after her. Then he thought, If housekeeping is running that message, does that mean all the guards are tied up already? and took the stairs at double speed.
Terra was standing in the center of her room when he kicked the door in. Her eyes were huge — and yet, whatever that look was, it wasn't fear. "I did this," she said, in that toneless way she had. "Didn't I?" She had already belted on her sword. How long had she been awake?
"No, you didn't. You've done nothing wrong." He held out his hand. "C'mon. Let's get you out of here."
She put her hand in his. Time seemed to stop for an instant. Please, he told himself. Please don't fuck it up this time.
"Where can we go?" she said.
"I know some guys who can hide you." Although they wouldn't want to stop at hiding her. And he'd rather see her join up, too. But if she didn't want to, once she'd thought it over — No. Quit borrowing trouble. "We need to find Edgar."
The smoke thickened toward the center of the castle. With her free hand Terra pulled up a corner of her cape to cover her mouth, breathing through the gauzy material.
"You can start fires," he said, the words scratching in his throat. "Can you put them out?"
"I don't know."
"If we need to, can you try? I don't mean to scare you, but if the fire gets down there, there's a whole lotta stuff in the basement that will definitely explode."
"I'll try."
He opened the door out onto the ramparts.
Day was breaking over Figaro Castle, and the gatehouse was ablaze. The air shimmered. The heat beat against Locke's eyeballs, forcing him to squint. Every exit that wasn't gushing black smoke was barred by one of Kefka's stooges. And on the central stair, before the throne room —
There was Kefka. And there was the King of Figaro.
Edgar should've towered over that pint-sized creep, and yet — the image kept warping and shifting before Locke's eyes. Seen through the flames, Kefka's outline seemed to pulse, shrinking and expanding by turns, bulging one moment with extra appendages that collapsed the next, and Edgar was backing away.
Locke couldn't hear anything over the fire.
One of the soldiers had seen them; Terra freed her hand from his and drew her sword.
Edgar was up against the battlements on the western wall, his head bowed. Kefka strolled toward him.
C'mon, Locke thought, unable to look away, This would be a great time for one of those contingencies.
And then Edgar scrambled up onto a merlon, and stuck two fingers in his mouth and blew a piercing whistle — was that a skill kings were supposed to have? — and, seconds later, jumped off.
"Terra!" Locke called out, and ran to the edge of the causeway, peering out through the crenelations. Three chocobos were speeding their way, two of them riderless. Edgar, on the leading bird, stood up in the stirrups and shouted something he couldn't hear.
"I see them!" Terra said, and threw herself down. Does she even know how to ride, Locke wondered as he leapt off the wall, but he needn't have worried. She landed flawlessly and looked right at home. What else had the Empire trained her for? And how deep did that stamp go?
Edgar pulled up at the front steps for a quick word with a guard, and then took off again. Locke urged his mount after him. They wheeled north, and then east, to pass by the castle again at a greater distance. It was only when the earth started to shake that Locke understood why.
The great fans in the castle's turrets clunked and whirred into life, audible even at this distance. And the gigantic bass rumble of the engine itself — that, you felt in your teeth. For a few seconds the noise was all, and, fuck, the noise was plenty. Terrifying one's enemies out of their senses was a perfectly valid defensive stance. It sounded like something was coming after you, something big and unknowable —
He looked over at Terra (hard to tell if she was any more confused than usual) and then Edgar (supremely unworried) and thought, Oh, fine, I guess it's just me.
The eastern wing of the castle began to move. Locke had noticed the deep grooves in the sides of the causeway his first time here, but written them off as some weird architectural quirk. Extra fancy shit for no reason. And he still didn't think, knowing Edgar, that he could be blamed for that. It was just — with the sun at this angle, he could see for the first time that there were metal tracks laid into the depression. And the tower at the far end was sliding along them, toward the center of the castle complex. Do they have to keep that oiled? he wondered, as if that was what mattered. Is that somebody's job?
The tower moved implacably inward, and the ramparts disappeared into it. The flames along the length of the causeway sputtered and popped out as the tower consumed them.
He was trying not to cuss so much in front of Terra, but he allowed himself to mouth the all-important question: The fuck?
As they passed, south and around the front again, the opposite tower swallowed up the western wing, and came to rest snugly against the central corridor. Without discussion, Edgar swung north again for another pass. The sun hung low in a salmon-colored sky, and a whisper of breeze blew over the dunes, still heated only unevenly by its morning light. That breeze carried tattered shreds of smoke skyward, the flames diminished now, looking almost forlorn. And from down here you couldn't see the Imperials at all. It was as if they no longer mattered.
At the highest point of the castle, above the throne room, the tiny figure of the Chancellor stood shaking his fist. And then went down the stairs and inside, pulling something home over the aperture behind him.
Back east, completing a circuit of the castle. Locke stared down into the trenches cut through the desert by the retraction of the two wings, and he wondered — had Edgar seen this from outside before? Or did he always have to supervise from within?
The sound of the fans cut out. Stuttered. Started again. The engine roared. The sand around the castle jumped and danced and flew up in flurries. Figaro Castle had begun its descent. The desert piled up along the gray walls like a living thing trying to fight its way in. It heaped itself against the gatehouse. It scrabbled at the crenels. It flowed over and onto the central walkway and rolled over the fire, which gave up with a final sad little whoosh. Brick by brick the walls vanished. Inch by inch their shadow on the sand flattened and collapsed. Only five or six feet above them now, Kefka could be seen stomping his feet and berating the soldiers, trying doors and finding them bolted —
Locke said, "If he smashes one of those down, won't the castle fill up with —"
Edgar broke for the sinking wall, as if there was anything he could do. But he was too far away. Kefka was gesturing grandly and something sizzled in the air around him. Terra shrank against her chocobo's neck.
And the sand kept pouring in, and knocked Kefka off his feet. And when he stood again there was no door left to break. The desert had reclaimed the walkway, was engulfing the parapets.
Edgar swerved again to rejoin Locke and Terra. He was gasping. "Sorry. I had this vivid fantasy of grabbing him by the scruff. Maybe dragging him three or four miles. Anyway. We need to move."
But he paused to look back, and Locke watched with him.
The towers sank, stately, under the surface. The sand rose and fell in an immense wave around the castle, radiating outward, and it kept going, and a smaller wave followed it, and another, for all the world like a choppy yellow sea — even after the last stone had vanished, and the engine's vibration grew further and further away.
Kefka pointed at them and screamed something to his underlings.
"Yep," said Locke. "We definitely need to move."
So they rode off with all speed.
"Bravo, Figaro!" Edgar shouted to nobody, and then sat back, at ease, as if fleeing for his life was the most relaxing thing he'd done in a month.
A little later he said, quieter, "You can't imagine how long I've wanted to do that." His voice — and this was Edgar, who on an ordinary day would sooner cut out his own spleen than be vulnerable to anybody — trembled with conviction. Locke looked over at him and felt a wave of affection and pride, and a weird urge to shove the guy against a wall and try to break his composure a little more.
It'd been a while since he'd been conscious of wanting him this badly. But, well, they were in the middle of the desert. There were no walls available right now. Maybe later, when they weren't actively on the run from Imperial soldiers, and Terra wasn't watching them. So much had already changed so fast. What was the harm in changing one more thing?
In the meantime, Locke said, "I dunno, ten years sound about right?" and Edgar laughed under his breath.
"Fine," he said, "I guess you can."
Behind them, the clank-hiss clank-hiss of Magitek armor grew steadily louder, and there was the telltale crackle of a laser cannon starting up.
"Can they hit us at this range?" said Edgar.
"You're asking me?" said Locke.
"Very well," Edgar said, almost cheerfully. He turned his chocobo around, dropped the reins, and pulled from the saddlebag a familiar, but still pretty nasty, crossbow.
The battle came to an abrupt end twenty seconds later, when Terra set the Imperials on fire. And then Edgar had a lot of questions.
They emerged from the cave, but only into a different kind of darkness. Edgar pointed out a smudge of yellow city lights on the horizon as South Figaro harbor, then turned to Terra. "But perhaps the lady would prefer to rest here, and make our way into town tomorrow?"
Hard to tell how much was his usual stupidity around girls, and how much he was trying to make up for all that shit he'd said about her not being human. She never gave him much of a reaction either way, and Locke approved of letting the idiot sweat it out for once.
"I think I would like to stop here," she said. "Thank you."
Edgar bowed — which was fucking ridiculous out here in the wilderness, in the dark, with everyone covered in grit and mysterious cave drippings — and pulled out flint and a tinderbox and started building a fire. So very pointedly not imposing on her special abilities. Locke told him, "You're weird."
"Are there many... people? In town?" said Terra.
Locke said, "Are you worried you'll be recognized?"
"Not exactly. But..."
"Tell ya what. I can do all the talking, if you want."
"I don't know that I'd take him up on that, Terra," said Edgar, stacking up kindling. "He has an offensive demeanor."
"Well," said Locke, pitching his voice to carry, "His Majesty here can't afford to be seen in these parts until we have a better read on the situation. So he's gonna have to keep a low profile in town. Either you or I will have to call the shots, while he stays very quiet and out of the way."
"Oh." Terra sounded concerned. "Will he be all right?"
Edgar made protesting noises. Locke turned to him with a grin. "Man, she's got you figured out already. How's that feel?"
Edgar spoke past him to Terra. "The more pertinent question is whether Locke will be all right without my moderating influence."
Locke strolled over to Edgar and knelt down next to him, searching for more twigs for the fire. In a low voice he said, "Moderating influence, huh? So how much will you pay me not to tell her about the mustache?"
"You know what," said Edgar, "I think you two will do just fine."
Of course, if anybody at the base recognized Edgar, and figured out who they'd been dealing with, and decided to tell Terra about the fabled weirdo Mustache Guy, the butt of a half dozen increasingly convoluted in-jokes — Locke could hardly stop them. He'd had absolutely no hand in keeping that rumor alive. Honest. He'd be as shocked as anyone.
One of the chocobos' saddlebags had contained some light camping equipment, which Edgar had grabbed before turning the birds loose. Locke had wanted to ask where the hell they would go since their stable was underground now, but Edgar seemed totally unconcerned about this, so maybe that was a dumb question. They were well-trained birds, and Figaro drilled for everything. They must have some kind of plan. He told himself not to worry about it.
The more immediate problem was dinner. Locke had a few ancient strips of jerky in his bag, but that didn't make much of a meal. And Edgar and Terra were both equally useless for foraging.
"I could shoot a rabbit," Edgar said, optimistically.
"You couldn't find a rabbit. Anyway, that crossbow would tear it up so bad there'd be nothing left to cook."
"Well, that's it for my idea. But I made this fire and everything. What have you done lately?"
"You're such an indoor kid," Locke muttered, getting up. "Fine, I'll go look for some fruit or something. At least get the tent up while I'm away."
"Do you need light?" said Terra.
"Probably not as much as you need to rest." He didn't know much about magic, but throwing fire around all day seemed like it'd take it out of you. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."
When he got back, pockets loaded down with early wild apples, the tent had been pitched and Terra was not in evidence. "She took your advice to heart," said Edgar.
"Fair enough. We can roast these, I think. They're too sour to eat raw."
Edgar watched him curiously over the fire. "Is this part of the treasure hunter's trade, too?"
Locke shrugged. "I travel a lot. Sometimes you gotta make your own way."
"Hm. In more ways than one." He stirred up the embers with a stick. "I think we've got a good spot over here."
Locke sat down beside him and started coring the apples with his pocketknife. "Hell of a day, huh?"
"Quite."
This morning it had been the castle on fire. Then the Magitek soldiers. Now, miles to the south, they were just... camping. Locke said, quietly, "You holding up okay?"
Edgar was silent a while. Locke thought, If he's just thinking up some stupid-ass deflection I'm gonna punch him in the neck. But at length he said, "I think so. I think..." Another long pause. "I don't see how I could have done otherwise. If Gestahl weren't a backbiting cur, and if our treaty was worth the paper it was printed on, Kefka would still have no legal standing to demand custody of Terra. I asserted Figaro's sovereignty. He retaliated. The case is ironclad. Even my worst detractors — even the most corrupt Imperial sympathizer — couldn't object. Surely."
He was staring hard in the direction of the tent where Terra lay. But he looked like he was seeing something else.
Locke elbowed him. "That's not exactly what I asked."
His expression changed, though in the firelight it was hard to see what replaced it. "I'm... happy," he said. "Is that callous? I think I'm relieved." Locke didn't know what answer he wanted, if any, so he said nothing. Eventually Edgar went on: "The wheels are finally in motion. We were already at war in all but name — but now we can admit it. My hands aren't tied anymore." He shook his head in wonderment. "I left good people in charge of the castle, prudent people. So they'll be safe for now, and meanwhile, I'm out here." He gestured to their surroundings. The cave, the trees, the stream running by. "And I can do something!" Then he shot another glance toward the tent and reined himself in. "A — anyway. Yes. But thank you for your concern."
Locke wrapped each of the apples up in a green leaf and arranged them among the coals. "I guess it kind of is a win for you, huh? You've escaped your stuffy old kingdom —"
"I beg your pardon?" Edgar said coolly.
"Shut up, you know you wanted to." And he didn't deny it, although Locke gave him plenty of time to say something. "You got out with a clean conscience. You got to humiliate the Empire. We're gearing up to go kick said Empire in the teeth. You clearly brought a bunch of your weird gadgets with you, so you've got that, too. Is there anything left on your wishlist? Or just the water wheel?"
Edgar went very still. He looked at Locke sidelong. "The what, now?"
"Or however you put it," said Locke. "A machine shop by a river. Making tools for people."
Edgar made a choking sound in his throat. "But I never —"
Locke frowned. "What's wrong? Should I not have said that?"
"I never told anyone." Edgar's voice came out raspy and mortified. "Not even — especially not..."
"You told me."
"When?"
"In the engine room. Couple years ago now. You were —" Oh, shit. Right. "You were pretty smashed. I guess you don't remember?" Edgar groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Okay," said Locke, awkwardly patting his shoulder, "it's okay, I'll forget all about it."
"You haven't told anyone?"
"Fuck no. How big of a bastard do you think I am?"
Edgar straightened, sighing. "All this time I thought I was doing such a great job faking. And you knew everything."
"Well," said Locke, either too lightly or not lightly enough, "can't win 'em all." And before he could stop himself: "I mean, all this time I thought I'd earned your confidence or someshit —"
And Edgar turned to him, and took hold of his face. "You have."
"Have I?" said Locke, swallowing a sudden catch in his breath. Edgar's hand was warm against his cheek. "'Cause it kinda sounds like you only ever told me the truth by accident." He put his hand against Edgar's wrist, and pushed it away. He didn't want to push it away. He wanted to lean into it forever.
Edgar looked out over the hillside. "I'm making this up as I go," he said. "Being king — there's no easy way to gauge one's performance. By definition, the only person who could show you how to do it is gone. The consequences of a bad decision are enormous, but you can never see all the variables, and — the position, how to put this, encourages a belief that you can control more than you really can."
He paused and took a breath. When he resumed, the speech seemed to cost him a great effort. "When you brought Terra to me. Morally, as a man, I couldn't do anything but help her. But as a king, I have to wonder. We're starting formal hostilities, over her. The castle's secret defenses have been exposed, on her account. After all this — if she doesn't join the Returners, how many lives have I thrown away for nothing?"
"It's her decision," said Locke. "She's been through enough already. You can't make her —"
"I know." Edgar held up a hand. "I know. It's her decision. And mine's already been made, so fretting about it isn't constructive." He sighed again, and slumped, and stared into the coals. "But please accept this confession as a token of my good faith: it still worries me. And I wish my father were here to tell me what's right."
Locke stared at him a long while. Finally he said, not without fondness, "Man, fuck you. Even when you're spilling your guts it's calculated."
Edgar shrugged, as if to say, What can I do? "You're my best friend, too. If I haven't always been clear about that, then I'm truly sorry."
"I bet Banon convinces her," said Locke, after a pause.
"You think?"
"He convinced me. And I was a way bigger jerk than she is."
"You know," said Edgar, "I'm glad to hear you admit that. I wasn't sure you had any conception of how unpleasant you were back then."
Locke smiled wryly, rolling his eyes. "Oh, yeah, I sucked."
"Well, I wouldn't go that far."
"That's nice of you, but —"
"Not at all. It's my own dignity I'm thinking of. I always liked to believe I had taste."
Locke snorted. "Everyone knows you don't."
"Well, perhaps not, but as the primary beneficiary of said lack of taste, you could stand to be more gracious."
"Uh-huh. What do you want me to say, then?" He put on a stuffy accent. "'Oh, thank Your most wise and benevolent Majesty for wasting your time on me.'"
"'Your servant,'" Edgar said absently. "For maximal groveling, you shouldn't be using the personal pronoun. You want something like, 'wasting your time on this, your unworthy servant.'"
"Fuck that," said Locke.
"Oh, I agree. It's unctuous. But I thought you might like to know, for the future. Suppose they ask you to suck up to some other king sometime, and that one has standards."
Locke thought about it, and laughed. "I'm lucky it was you, huh?"
Edgar grinned. "Think how your overtures would be received by our esteemed counterpart in Doma," he said.
He used the royal "we" so rarely that it took Locke a second to even get what he was going for. "Shit," Locke said finally, "or what about those douchebags in Jidoor?"
But then he was thinking about Jidoor, and being in Jidoor with Edgar, and the conversation stopped.
Edgar said, carefully casual, "Have you ever given any more thought to... well..."
"Too much." He wanted to inch away, but there was no way to do that discreetly. He wanted to move closer, but he didn't dare. He stayed put.
"Me, too," said Edgar. He took a breath. "Do you think it would go better the second time around? Or are you — no, that sounds wrong. It's not that I'm dissatisfied with our present situation. And I certainly don't intend any disrespect to... You have perfectly valid reasons to hesitate, and I wouldn't have you think that I —"
Locke rapped a knuckle against the nearer of Edgar's pauldrons. "Lose the armor," he said. Edgar shot him a quizzical look, but did so. It was a more involved process than Locke had counted on, and at one point he actually had to stand up to do something with the straps securing his breastplate. Which kinda killed the momentum, because it gave Locke time to wonder what the fuck he was doing.
But finally Edgar sat back down, and put the armor aside, and Locke leaned against him.
"I think we'll figure it out," he said. "And not just our weird bullshit, either. All of it."
Edgar, after a moment, wrapped his arm around Locke. "Do tell."
"Tomorrow, we go into town. We stock up to head into the mountains. We get to the base, and Terra and Banon hit it off. Meanwhile, Narshe finally figures out that if Gestahl was willing to attack Figaro, their asses are next. So Arvis gets them on our side too. Then we've got magic, we've got all the coal coming out of the mines, we have you, and we have me. If that's not enough to start putting shit to rights, then fuck me, I dunno what is."
Edgar rested his cheek against the top of Locke's head. "It's a nice thought. We rout the Empire... somehow or other. The details will sort themselves out. I get to pick the brains of whoever designed those armor units." A beat. He hastily added, "As part of their trial for crimes against humanity. We, uh, we liberate the southern continent. I'll fund anyone who wants to research the return of magic and its peacetime applications. You —" And he broke off, like he'd realized something.
Locke waited him out.
He said, in an odd, dry voice, "You'll see her again."
Locke shut his eyes. "Don't."
It was all he could say. He couldn't say, She'll think you're kind of annoying at first but then I'll tell her what we've been through and she'll love you as much as I do. She'll thank you for keeping me sane. We'll all be happy. I'll have a place for both of you, always.
He wanted it to be true, so badly that he couldn't stand to say it out loud. If he just kept it alive in his head, he never had to risk hearing how foolish and fragile his hopes were. If he just held them close — too close to get a good look at — and kept going, then he'd be okay. Like magic, somehow it'd all work out. It had to.
"She'd better take good care of you."
"Is that how you think people work?" said Locke. "Honestly?" He opened his eyes again, but didn't look at Edgar. Pretty sure Edgar wasn't looking at him, either. "Do you think you just..." He gestured. "Fix people up so they don't need you anymore and send 'em on their way?" Edgar said nothing. Locke said, "You're not getting rid of me that easy." And then he had to stop, because he was getting onto dangerous ground. But it was true. He had to believe it was.
"I'm sorry," said Edgar, at last. "I overstepped."
There were two questions Locke could've asked: Why do you always think you know what's best for everyone? And: In this future, who the hell takes care of you?
Instead he just said, "It's okay."
For a while they sat in silence.
When it got unbearable, Locke said, "One of your shitty pickup lines will actually work. But only once. Choose carefully."
That startled a laugh out of Edgar, briefly, before he cut himself off. "Hush. We'll wake Terra. But let's see — brought before a court of law for your crimes, you'll tell the judge, 'it's called treasure hunting.' For some reason this will be found a valid defense, and you'll get to keep all those diamonds."
"After years of hard work you'll blow everyone's minds with your new brainchild: the castle flies now."
"What," said Edgar, affronted, "it's not enough for you as it is? Do you not grasp the sophistication of —"
The tent flap twitched. Terra looked out. "Is something the matter?"
"Terra," said Locke, straightening, hand over heart, "I apologize on Edgar's behalf. He has no respect for other people's peace, and he'll never learn. Between us, I think he might be a vampire."
"Ignorance and superstition," said Edgar. "Though it may seem incredible, I have no otherworldly qualities at all. I came by my charm naturally."
Terra squinted at them in confusion.
Locke ventured, "We'll have more food soon, if you want to stay up a little longer."
"Okay," she said, and sat down across the fire. Locke had a moment of panic wondering what this must look like, them sitting so close, but she didn't seem to care. "Smells nice."
Edgar said, "What do you think, Locke? Is that the first time anyone's ever said that to you?"
"Shut up. We all stink like chocobo anyway."
"He doesn't mean you," Edgar told Terra. "Even he would never be so rude —"
"Shut up."
Terra said, slowly, "I'm sorry I haven't done more. I don't — I think I must have camped before, if I was a soldier. But I don't remember."
"Don't sweat it," said Locke.
"Should I keep watch?" she said. "I can do that, at least. I know how to fight."
"You certainly do," Edgar muttered, almost inaudible.
Locke drove an elbow into his ribs. "Terra, look. We're just here to get you safely out of the Empire's hands. You don't owe us anything."
"But you've been so kind to me," she said. Her eyes reflected the firelight. "Both of you."
Beside him Locke felt Edgar stiffen, as if with guilt. "Oh, nonsense."
"Look, we'll take turns, okay?" said Locke. "That's only fair. You wanna go first? You can come get me in two hours." If he took the middle watch, the others would get some unbroken sleep, and he was pretty sure they could both use it. "Edgar, give her your pocket watch or something."
Edgar gave Locke a covert squeeze around the shoulders before getting to his feet. He stepped around the fire to hand Terra his watch and said, "Of course, if you need anything before then, don't hesitate to ask."
"What do you think she's gonna need you for?" Locke asked. "She could kick either of our asses any day." He rolled one of the apples over with the stick. Under its wrapping the skin had gotten all crinkly. They'd be ready soon.
"Well, unlike you, I'm afraid I won't be able to teach her any new rude words. But I'm told I have my uses all the same." Terra cradled the watch in her hands like it was a precious thing, and didn't seem to be listening. He assured her, "I do mean it. Anything at all."
Then he looked downhill toward the harbor, and Terra turned to follow his gaze.
"It's pretty from here," she said. "Kind of sparkly."
"Sure is," said Locke. Now he was staring, too, at the yellow harbor lights and the dim winking of their reflections in the bay. They'd be there by noon tomorrow. And when they did, all of today's events would become real. When they got into town, the resistance would be underway, even if no one else knew. They'd be fighting back.
He swallowed. He lowered his eyes, and focused on hooking the roasted apples out of the embers with the curved end of a stick. "Food's done," he said. "Don't burn yourselves." Edgar immediately picked one up, and immediately burned himself, and dropped it with a cry of alarm and shook out his singed fingers.
"Here," said Terra, taking hold of his elbow. She passed her hand over his and murmured a few words. There was a brief bluish glow, and then she released him.
He opened and closed his hand a few times. "Like it never even happened. Thank you, Terra. You're incredible."
Locke said, "If you pick it up and burn yourself again I swear I'll stab you."
Edgar sighed hugely. "With friends like these..." He searched the ground for the apple he'd dropped. "It's too dirty to offer to a lady now, but I suppose we shouldn't let it go to waste."
"Builds character," Locke offered, watching Edgar dust the thing off and give it a dubious look.
"In that case, you need it more than I do. Here. I insist."
"Wow. You always this generous with the fruits of other people's labor?" But he accepted it, testing its heat in his hand a moment before he took a bite. "Hey. That's not awful."
"You made it yourself and that's all you can say?" said Edgar. "I'm not sure I want one anymore."
Terra brushed past him. "I do. I'm sure they're great."
Locke unwrapped an apple and passed it to her. "More convenient with a spoon, but we don't have any. Just go for it. No one's judging if you make a mess." But she retreated some distance away from the fire and ate it standing up, staring down at the city again. Okay. If she wanted space, she could have it. He grabbed another apple, and stood up, and offered it to Edgar. "Here, you snotty bastard. See if this meets your standards."
He accepted it with a nod of thanks. In a low voice he said, "Think she'll be all right keeping watch by herself?"
"You've seen what she can do."
"I've seen other things, too." Like the way she went away inside her head sometimes. The way she didn't seem to totally understand why her sword arm did what it did. Locke had noticed it all, and hoped that getting her away to safety would help her sort her shit out. Edgar, though — would he be satisfied with that? He wanted something else. He wanted guarantees.
But he'd helped hide Terra even without them. See, Locke thought, you're not as cold-blooded as you think.
He put a hand on Edgar's shoulder. "Hey. We're doing the right thing. We've been waiting for our chance forever, right? Well, our chance came. And we're taking it. This is all going as planned."
Edgar smiled wryly. "You're right. This is all for the best. And if it's not, well. We can second-guess when we're dead." He took a bite of the apple. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "I'm glad it was you." He seemed about to say something else, but then thought better of it, and looked down at the apple. "Your cooking is not the reason. Good night, Terra," he called over his shoulder, and walked to the tent.
"Oh," said Terra. "Good night." Edgar ducked under the tent flap and vanished.
"Couple more apples over here if you get hungry," Locke told Terra.
"Are you going with him?"
"In a minute." He stood a while, watching the city flickering gold below them. The future, and all it promised, was only a few hours away.
He went in, and lay down next to Edgar, not quite touching him. Maybe someday they'd have this all sorted out. Someday they'd make sense of the wreckage left behind them, and get the world back on track. There was hard work to come, but — beyond it, maybe, something better. Something that worked the way it should.
Night deepened over their camp. Stars rotated slowly past. The planet wobbled slightly on its axis, like it always did, like a machine in need of tuning.
Characters: Edgar/Locke. Shockingly, Terra is also here!
Word count: ~6000
Warnings: Strong language, and we are still on the angst vs. doofy bullshit carousel, do not disembark before the ride comes to a complete halt
Notes: The ride comes to a complete halt! This is the last chapter.
"I don't know what will happen, but I've put a few contingencies in place. Do you trust me?"
"The hell kind of question is that? After all this time?"
Edgar turned to him, grave. "And Terra? Will she follow your lead?"
"That's up to her. But I think so."
A long pause. Finally Edgar said, "I suppose that's the most anyone can ask."
Locke grabbed his arm. "Hey. I trust you with my life, and I trust you with hers. Otherwise I wouldn't be here."
But the assurance didn't seem to help. Edgar still looked just as tense, and just as tired. "Better get some rest, then," he said. "I have a few last things to hammer out with the ministers, but then I'll do the same."
It was a gorgeous night in the desert; the air was clean and bracingly cold, the cloudless sky scattered with stars, the dunes stained silver by moonlight, fading into purple in the distance. Rachel would love this, he thought, and felt the familiar constriction in his chest. And felt it again, and worse, when he thought about how long it'd been. He was getting better, and sometimes that was what hurt most.
In the dark hours of morning he smelled smoke.
The door of his room was still cool enough to touch. Okay, small blessing. He slipped out into the hallway. A thin stream of smoke scraped along the ceiling, but there was no time to see where it came from. Any fire was either Terra's doing, or Kefka coming back for her (or her doing because Kefka came back?) — however you sliced it, she was gonna need help.
A maid sprinted down the hallway past him. She'd slit huge rents up both sides of her long skirt for more freedom of movement. "Get everyone to safety!" she was shouting. "This is not a drill!"
"I'm working on it!" Locke called after her. Then he thought, If housekeeping is running that message, does that mean all the guards are tied up already? and took the stairs at double speed.
Terra was standing in the center of her room when he kicked the door in. Her eyes were huge — and yet, whatever that look was, it wasn't fear. "I did this," she said, in that toneless way she had. "Didn't I?" She had already belted on her sword. How long had she been awake?
"No, you didn't. You've done nothing wrong." He held out his hand. "C'mon. Let's get you out of here."
She put her hand in his. Time seemed to stop for an instant. Please, he told himself. Please don't fuck it up this time.
"Where can we go?" she said.
"I know some guys who can hide you." Although they wouldn't want to stop at hiding her. And he'd rather see her join up, too. But if she didn't want to, once she'd thought it over — No. Quit borrowing trouble. "We need to find Edgar."
The smoke thickened toward the center of the castle. With her free hand Terra pulled up a corner of her cape to cover her mouth, breathing through the gauzy material.
"You can start fires," he said, the words scratching in his throat. "Can you put them out?"
"I don't know."
"If we need to, can you try? I don't mean to scare you, but if the fire gets down there, there's a whole lotta stuff in the basement that will definitely explode."
"I'll try."
He opened the door out onto the ramparts.
Day was breaking over Figaro Castle, and the gatehouse was ablaze. The air shimmered. The heat beat against Locke's eyeballs, forcing him to squint. Every exit that wasn't gushing black smoke was barred by one of Kefka's stooges. And on the central stair, before the throne room —
There was Kefka. And there was the King of Figaro.
Edgar should've towered over that pint-sized creep, and yet — the image kept warping and shifting before Locke's eyes. Seen through the flames, Kefka's outline seemed to pulse, shrinking and expanding by turns, bulging one moment with extra appendages that collapsed the next, and Edgar was backing away.
Locke couldn't hear anything over the fire.
One of the soldiers had seen them; Terra freed her hand from his and drew her sword.
Edgar was up against the battlements on the western wall, his head bowed. Kefka strolled toward him.
C'mon, Locke thought, unable to look away, This would be a great time for one of those contingencies.
And then Edgar scrambled up onto a merlon, and stuck two fingers in his mouth and blew a piercing whistle — was that a skill kings were supposed to have? — and, seconds later, jumped off.
"Terra!" Locke called out, and ran to the edge of the causeway, peering out through the crenelations. Three chocobos were speeding their way, two of them riderless. Edgar, on the leading bird, stood up in the stirrups and shouted something he couldn't hear.
"I see them!" Terra said, and threw herself down. Does she even know how to ride, Locke wondered as he leapt off the wall, but he needn't have worried. She landed flawlessly and looked right at home. What else had the Empire trained her for? And how deep did that stamp go?
Edgar pulled up at the front steps for a quick word with a guard, and then took off again. Locke urged his mount after him. They wheeled north, and then east, to pass by the castle again at a greater distance. It was only when the earth started to shake that Locke understood why.
The great fans in the castle's turrets clunked and whirred into life, audible even at this distance. And the gigantic bass rumble of the engine itself — that, you felt in your teeth. For a few seconds the noise was all, and, fuck, the noise was plenty. Terrifying one's enemies out of their senses was a perfectly valid defensive stance. It sounded like something was coming after you, something big and unknowable —
He looked over at Terra (hard to tell if she was any more confused than usual) and then Edgar (supremely unworried) and thought, Oh, fine, I guess it's just me.
The eastern wing of the castle began to move. Locke had noticed the deep grooves in the sides of the causeway his first time here, but written them off as some weird architectural quirk. Extra fancy shit for no reason. And he still didn't think, knowing Edgar, that he could be blamed for that. It was just — with the sun at this angle, he could see for the first time that there were metal tracks laid into the depression. And the tower at the far end was sliding along them, toward the center of the castle complex. Do they have to keep that oiled? he wondered, as if that was what mattered. Is that somebody's job?
The tower moved implacably inward, and the ramparts disappeared into it. The flames along the length of the causeway sputtered and popped out as the tower consumed them.
He was trying not to cuss so much in front of Terra, but he allowed himself to mouth the all-important question: The fuck?
As they passed, south and around the front again, the opposite tower swallowed up the western wing, and came to rest snugly against the central corridor. Without discussion, Edgar swung north again for another pass. The sun hung low in a salmon-colored sky, and a whisper of breeze blew over the dunes, still heated only unevenly by its morning light. That breeze carried tattered shreds of smoke skyward, the flames diminished now, looking almost forlorn. And from down here you couldn't see the Imperials at all. It was as if they no longer mattered.
At the highest point of the castle, above the throne room, the tiny figure of the Chancellor stood shaking his fist. And then went down the stairs and inside, pulling something home over the aperture behind him.
Back east, completing a circuit of the castle. Locke stared down into the trenches cut through the desert by the retraction of the two wings, and he wondered — had Edgar seen this from outside before? Or did he always have to supervise from within?
The sound of the fans cut out. Stuttered. Started again. The engine roared. The sand around the castle jumped and danced and flew up in flurries. Figaro Castle had begun its descent. The desert piled up along the gray walls like a living thing trying to fight its way in. It heaped itself against the gatehouse. It scrabbled at the crenels. It flowed over and onto the central walkway and rolled over the fire, which gave up with a final sad little whoosh. Brick by brick the walls vanished. Inch by inch their shadow on the sand flattened and collapsed. Only five or six feet above them now, Kefka could be seen stomping his feet and berating the soldiers, trying doors and finding them bolted —
Locke said, "If he smashes one of those down, won't the castle fill up with —"
Edgar broke for the sinking wall, as if there was anything he could do. But he was too far away. Kefka was gesturing grandly and something sizzled in the air around him. Terra shrank against her chocobo's neck.
And the sand kept pouring in, and knocked Kefka off his feet. And when he stood again there was no door left to break. The desert had reclaimed the walkway, was engulfing the parapets.
Edgar swerved again to rejoin Locke and Terra. He was gasping. "Sorry. I had this vivid fantasy of grabbing him by the scruff. Maybe dragging him three or four miles. Anyway. We need to move."
But he paused to look back, and Locke watched with him.
The towers sank, stately, under the surface. The sand rose and fell in an immense wave around the castle, radiating outward, and it kept going, and a smaller wave followed it, and another, for all the world like a choppy yellow sea — even after the last stone had vanished, and the engine's vibration grew further and further away.
Kefka pointed at them and screamed something to his underlings.
"Yep," said Locke. "We definitely need to move."
So they rode off with all speed.
"Bravo, Figaro!" Edgar shouted to nobody, and then sat back, at ease, as if fleeing for his life was the most relaxing thing he'd done in a month.
A little later he said, quieter, "You can't imagine how long I've wanted to do that." His voice — and this was Edgar, who on an ordinary day would sooner cut out his own spleen than be vulnerable to anybody — trembled with conviction. Locke looked over at him and felt a wave of affection and pride, and a weird urge to shove the guy against a wall and try to break his composure a little more.
It'd been a while since he'd been conscious of wanting him this badly. But, well, they were in the middle of the desert. There were no walls available right now. Maybe later, when they weren't actively on the run from Imperial soldiers, and Terra wasn't watching them. So much had already changed so fast. What was the harm in changing one more thing?
In the meantime, Locke said, "I dunno, ten years sound about right?" and Edgar laughed under his breath.
"Fine," he said, "I guess you can."
Behind them, the clank-hiss clank-hiss of Magitek armor grew steadily louder, and there was the telltale crackle of a laser cannon starting up.
"Can they hit us at this range?" said Edgar.
"You're asking me?" said Locke.
"Very well," Edgar said, almost cheerfully. He turned his chocobo around, dropped the reins, and pulled from the saddlebag a familiar, but still pretty nasty, crossbow.
The battle came to an abrupt end twenty seconds later, when Terra set the Imperials on fire. And then Edgar had a lot of questions.
They emerged from the cave, but only into a different kind of darkness. Edgar pointed out a smudge of yellow city lights on the horizon as South Figaro harbor, then turned to Terra. "But perhaps the lady would prefer to rest here, and make our way into town tomorrow?"
Hard to tell how much was his usual stupidity around girls, and how much he was trying to make up for all that shit he'd said about her not being human. She never gave him much of a reaction either way, and Locke approved of letting the idiot sweat it out for once.
"I think I would like to stop here," she said. "Thank you."
Edgar bowed — which was fucking ridiculous out here in the wilderness, in the dark, with everyone covered in grit and mysterious cave drippings — and pulled out flint and a tinderbox and started building a fire. So very pointedly not imposing on her special abilities. Locke told him, "You're weird."
"Are there many... people? In town?" said Terra.
Locke said, "Are you worried you'll be recognized?"
"Not exactly. But..."
"Tell ya what. I can do all the talking, if you want."
"I don't know that I'd take him up on that, Terra," said Edgar, stacking up kindling. "He has an offensive demeanor."
"Well," said Locke, pitching his voice to carry, "His Majesty here can't afford to be seen in these parts until we have a better read on the situation. So he's gonna have to keep a low profile in town. Either you or I will have to call the shots, while he stays very quiet and out of the way."
"Oh." Terra sounded concerned. "Will he be all right?"
Edgar made protesting noises. Locke turned to him with a grin. "Man, she's got you figured out already. How's that feel?"
Edgar spoke past him to Terra. "The more pertinent question is whether Locke will be all right without my moderating influence."
Locke strolled over to Edgar and knelt down next to him, searching for more twigs for the fire. In a low voice he said, "Moderating influence, huh? So how much will you pay me not to tell her about the mustache?"
"You know what," said Edgar, "I think you two will do just fine."
Of course, if anybody at the base recognized Edgar, and figured out who they'd been dealing with, and decided to tell Terra about the fabled weirdo Mustache Guy, the butt of a half dozen increasingly convoluted in-jokes — Locke could hardly stop them. He'd had absolutely no hand in keeping that rumor alive. Honest. He'd be as shocked as anyone.
One of the chocobos' saddlebags had contained some light camping equipment, which Edgar had grabbed before turning the birds loose. Locke had wanted to ask where the hell they would go since their stable was underground now, but Edgar seemed totally unconcerned about this, so maybe that was a dumb question. They were well-trained birds, and Figaro drilled for everything. They must have some kind of plan. He told himself not to worry about it.
The more immediate problem was dinner. Locke had a few ancient strips of jerky in his bag, but that didn't make much of a meal. And Edgar and Terra were both equally useless for foraging.
"I could shoot a rabbit," Edgar said, optimistically.
"You couldn't find a rabbit. Anyway, that crossbow would tear it up so bad there'd be nothing left to cook."
"Well, that's it for my idea. But I made this fire and everything. What have you done lately?"
"You're such an indoor kid," Locke muttered, getting up. "Fine, I'll go look for some fruit or something. At least get the tent up while I'm away."
"Do you need light?" said Terra.
"Probably not as much as you need to rest." He didn't know much about magic, but throwing fire around all day seemed like it'd take it out of you. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."
When he got back, pockets loaded down with early wild apples, the tent had been pitched and Terra was not in evidence. "She took your advice to heart," said Edgar.
"Fair enough. We can roast these, I think. They're too sour to eat raw."
Edgar watched him curiously over the fire. "Is this part of the treasure hunter's trade, too?"
Locke shrugged. "I travel a lot. Sometimes you gotta make your own way."
"Hm. In more ways than one." He stirred up the embers with a stick. "I think we've got a good spot over here."
Locke sat down beside him and started coring the apples with his pocketknife. "Hell of a day, huh?"
"Quite."
This morning it had been the castle on fire. Then the Magitek soldiers. Now, miles to the south, they were just... camping. Locke said, quietly, "You holding up okay?"
Edgar was silent a while. Locke thought, If he's just thinking up some stupid-ass deflection I'm gonna punch him in the neck. But at length he said, "I think so. I think..." Another long pause. "I don't see how I could have done otherwise. If Gestahl weren't a backbiting cur, and if our treaty was worth the paper it was printed on, Kefka would still have no legal standing to demand custody of Terra. I asserted Figaro's sovereignty. He retaliated. The case is ironclad. Even my worst detractors — even the most corrupt Imperial sympathizer — couldn't object. Surely."
He was staring hard in the direction of the tent where Terra lay. But he looked like he was seeing something else.
Locke elbowed him. "That's not exactly what I asked."
His expression changed, though in the firelight it was hard to see what replaced it. "I'm... happy," he said. "Is that callous? I think I'm relieved." Locke didn't know what answer he wanted, if any, so he said nothing. Eventually Edgar went on: "The wheels are finally in motion. We were already at war in all but name — but now we can admit it. My hands aren't tied anymore." He shook his head in wonderment. "I left good people in charge of the castle, prudent people. So they'll be safe for now, and meanwhile, I'm out here." He gestured to their surroundings. The cave, the trees, the stream running by. "And I can do something!" Then he shot another glance toward the tent and reined himself in. "A — anyway. Yes. But thank you for your concern."
Locke wrapped each of the apples up in a green leaf and arranged them among the coals. "I guess it kind of is a win for you, huh? You've escaped your stuffy old kingdom —"
"I beg your pardon?" Edgar said coolly.
"Shut up, you know you wanted to." And he didn't deny it, although Locke gave him plenty of time to say something. "You got out with a clean conscience. You got to humiliate the Empire. We're gearing up to go kick said Empire in the teeth. You clearly brought a bunch of your weird gadgets with you, so you've got that, too. Is there anything left on your wishlist? Or just the water wheel?"
Edgar went very still. He looked at Locke sidelong. "The what, now?"
"Or however you put it," said Locke. "A machine shop by a river. Making tools for people."
Edgar made a choking sound in his throat. "But I never —"
Locke frowned. "What's wrong? Should I not have said that?"
"I never told anyone." Edgar's voice came out raspy and mortified. "Not even — especially not..."
"You told me."
"When?"
"In the engine room. Couple years ago now. You were —" Oh, shit. Right. "You were pretty smashed. I guess you don't remember?" Edgar groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Okay," said Locke, awkwardly patting his shoulder, "it's okay, I'll forget all about it."
"You haven't told anyone?"
"Fuck no. How big of a bastard do you think I am?"
Edgar straightened, sighing. "All this time I thought I was doing such a great job faking. And you knew everything."
"Well," said Locke, either too lightly or not lightly enough, "can't win 'em all." And before he could stop himself: "I mean, all this time I thought I'd earned your confidence or someshit —"
And Edgar turned to him, and took hold of his face. "You have."
"Have I?" said Locke, swallowing a sudden catch in his breath. Edgar's hand was warm against his cheek. "'Cause it kinda sounds like you only ever told me the truth by accident." He put his hand against Edgar's wrist, and pushed it away. He didn't want to push it away. He wanted to lean into it forever.
Edgar looked out over the hillside. "I'm making this up as I go," he said. "Being king — there's no easy way to gauge one's performance. By definition, the only person who could show you how to do it is gone. The consequences of a bad decision are enormous, but you can never see all the variables, and — the position, how to put this, encourages a belief that you can control more than you really can."
He paused and took a breath. When he resumed, the speech seemed to cost him a great effort. "When you brought Terra to me. Morally, as a man, I couldn't do anything but help her. But as a king, I have to wonder. We're starting formal hostilities, over her. The castle's secret defenses have been exposed, on her account. After all this — if she doesn't join the Returners, how many lives have I thrown away for nothing?"
"It's her decision," said Locke. "She's been through enough already. You can't make her —"
"I know." Edgar held up a hand. "I know. It's her decision. And mine's already been made, so fretting about it isn't constructive." He sighed again, and slumped, and stared into the coals. "But please accept this confession as a token of my good faith: it still worries me. And I wish my father were here to tell me what's right."
Locke stared at him a long while. Finally he said, not without fondness, "Man, fuck you. Even when you're spilling your guts it's calculated."
Edgar shrugged, as if to say, What can I do? "You're my best friend, too. If I haven't always been clear about that, then I'm truly sorry."
"I bet Banon convinces her," said Locke, after a pause.
"You think?"
"He convinced me. And I was a way bigger jerk than she is."
"You know," said Edgar, "I'm glad to hear you admit that. I wasn't sure you had any conception of how unpleasant you were back then."
Locke smiled wryly, rolling his eyes. "Oh, yeah, I sucked."
"Well, I wouldn't go that far."
"That's nice of you, but —"
"Not at all. It's my own dignity I'm thinking of. I always liked to believe I had taste."
Locke snorted. "Everyone knows you don't."
"Well, perhaps not, but as the primary beneficiary of said lack of taste, you could stand to be more gracious."
"Uh-huh. What do you want me to say, then?" He put on a stuffy accent. "'Oh, thank Your most wise and benevolent Majesty for wasting your time on me.'"
"'Your servant,'" Edgar said absently. "For maximal groveling, you shouldn't be using the personal pronoun. You want something like, 'wasting your time on this, your unworthy servant.'"
"Fuck that," said Locke.
"Oh, I agree. It's unctuous. But I thought you might like to know, for the future. Suppose they ask you to suck up to some other king sometime, and that one has standards."
Locke thought about it, and laughed. "I'm lucky it was you, huh?"
Edgar grinned. "Think how your overtures would be received by our esteemed counterpart in Doma," he said.
He used the royal "we" so rarely that it took Locke a second to even get what he was going for. "Shit," Locke said finally, "or what about those douchebags in Jidoor?"
But then he was thinking about Jidoor, and being in Jidoor with Edgar, and the conversation stopped.
Edgar said, carefully casual, "Have you ever given any more thought to... well..."
"Too much." He wanted to inch away, but there was no way to do that discreetly. He wanted to move closer, but he didn't dare. He stayed put.
"Me, too," said Edgar. He took a breath. "Do you think it would go better the second time around? Or are you — no, that sounds wrong. It's not that I'm dissatisfied with our present situation. And I certainly don't intend any disrespect to... You have perfectly valid reasons to hesitate, and I wouldn't have you think that I —"
Locke rapped a knuckle against the nearer of Edgar's pauldrons. "Lose the armor," he said. Edgar shot him a quizzical look, but did so. It was a more involved process than Locke had counted on, and at one point he actually had to stand up to do something with the straps securing his breastplate. Which kinda killed the momentum, because it gave Locke time to wonder what the fuck he was doing.
But finally Edgar sat back down, and put the armor aside, and Locke leaned against him.
"I think we'll figure it out," he said. "And not just our weird bullshit, either. All of it."
Edgar, after a moment, wrapped his arm around Locke. "Do tell."
"Tomorrow, we go into town. We stock up to head into the mountains. We get to the base, and Terra and Banon hit it off. Meanwhile, Narshe finally figures out that if Gestahl was willing to attack Figaro, their asses are next. So Arvis gets them on our side too. Then we've got magic, we've got all the coal coming out of the mines, we have you, and we have me. If that's not enough to start putting shit to rights, then fuck me, I dunno what is."
Edgar rested his cheek against the top of Locke's head. "It's a nice thought. We rout the Empire... somehow or other. The details will sort themselves out. I get to pick the brains of whoever designed those armor units." A beat. He hastily added, "As part of their trial for crimes against humanity. We, uh, we liberate the southern continent. I'll fund anyone who wants to research the return of magic and its peacetime applications. You —" And he broke off, like he'd realized something.
Locke waited him out.
He said, in an odd, dry voice, "You'll see her again."
Locke shut his eyes. "Don't."
It was all he could say. He couldn't say, She'll think you're kind of annoying at first but then I'll tell her what we've been through and she'll love you as much as I do. She'll thank you for keeping me sane. We'll all be happy. I'll have a place for both of you, always.
He wanted it to be true, so badly that he couldn't stand to say it out loud. If he just kept it alive in his head, he never had to risk hearing how foolish and fragile his hopes were. If he just held them close — too close to get a good look at — and kept going, then he'd be okay. Like magic, somehow it'd all work out. It had to.
"She'd better take good care of you."
"Is that how you think people work?" said Locke. "Honestly?" He opened his eyes again, but didn't look at Edgar. Pretty sure Edgar wasn't looking at him, either. "Do you think you just..." He gestured. "Fix people up so they don't need you anymore and send 'em on their way?" Edgar said nothing. Locke said, "You're not getting rid of me that easy." And then he had to stop, because he was getting onto dangerous ground. But it was true. He had to believe it was.
"I'm sorry," said Edgar, at last. "I overstepped."
There were two questions Locke could've asked: Why do you always think you know what's best for everyone? And: In this future, who the hell takes care of you?
Instead he just said, "It's okay."
For a while they sat in silence.
When it got unbearable, Locke said, "One of your shitty pickup lines will actually work. But only once. Choose carefully."
That startled a laugh out of Edgar, briefly, before he cut himself off. "Hush. We'll wake Terra. But let's see — brought before a court of law for your crimes, you'll tell the judge, 'it's called treasure hunting.' For some reason this will be found a valid defense, and you'll get to keep all those diamonds."
"After years of hard work you'll blow everyone's minds with your new brainchild: the castle flies now."
"What," said Edgar, affronted, "it's not enough for you as it is? Do you not grasp the sophistication of —"
The tent flap twitched. Terra looked out. "Is something the matter?"
"Terra," said Locke, straightening, hand over heart, "I apologize on Edgar's behalf. He has no respect for other people's peace, and he'll never learn. Between us, I think he might be a vampire."
"Ignorance and superstition," said Edgar. "Though it may seem incredible, I have no otherworldly qualities at all. I came by my charm naturally."
Terra squinted at them in confusion.
Locke ventured, "We'll have more food soon, if you want to stay up a little longer."
"Okay," she said, and sat down across the fire. Locke had a moment of panic wondering what this must look like, them sitting so close, but she didn't seem to care. "Smells nice."
Edgar said, "What do you think, Locke? Is that the first time anyone's ever said that to you?"
"Shut up. We all stink like chocobo anyway."
"He doesn't mean you," Edgar told Terra. "Even he would never be so rude —"
"Shut up."
Terra said, slowly, "I'm sorry I haven't done more. I don't — I think I must have camped before, if I was a soldier. But I don't remember."
"Don't sweat it," said Locke.
"Should I keep watch?" she said. "I can do that, at least. I know how to fight."
"You certainly do," Edgar muttered, almost inaudible.
Locke drove an elbow into his ribs. "Terra, look. We're just here to get you safely out of the Empire's hands. You don't owe us anything."
"But you've been so kind to me," she said. Her eyes reflected the firelight. "Both of you."
Beside him Locke felt Edgar stiffen, as if with guilt. "Oh, nonsense."
"Look, we'll take turns, okay?" said Locke. "That's only fair. You wanna go first? You can come get me in two hours." If he took the middle watch, the others would get some unbroken sleep, and he was pretty sure they could both use it. "Edgar, give her your pocket watch or something."
Edgar gave Locke a covert squeeze around the shoulders before getting to his feet. He stepped around the fire to hand Terra his watch and said, "Of course, if you need anything before then, don't hesitate to ask."
"What do you think she's gonna need you for?" Locke asked. "She could kick either of our asses any day." He rolled one of the apples over with the stick. Under its wrapping the skin had gotten all crinkly. They'd be ready soon.
"Well, unlike you, I'm afraid I won't be able to teach her any new rude words. But I'm told I have my uses all the same." Terra cradled the watch in her hands like it was a precious thing, and didn't seem to be listening. He assured her, "I do mean it. Anything at all."
Then he looked downhill toward the harbor, and Terra turned to follow his gaze.
"It's pretty from here," she said. "Kind of sparkly."
"Sure is," said Locke. Now he was staring, too, at the yellow harbor lights and the dim winking of their reflections in the bay. They'd be there by noon tomorrow. And when they did, all of today's events would become real. When they got into town, the resistance would be underway, even if no one else knew. They'd be fighting back.
He swallowed. He lowered his eyes, and focused on hooking the roasted apples out of the embers with the curved end of a stick. "Food's done," he said. "Don't burn yourselves." Edgar immediately picked one up, and immediately burned himself, and dropped it with a cry of alarm and shook out his singed fingers.
"Here," said Terra, taking hold of his elbow. She passed her hand over his and murmured a few words. There was a brief bluish glow, and then she released him.
He opened and closed his hand a few times. "Like it never even happened. Thank you, Terra. You're incredible."
Locke said, "If you pick it up and burn yourself again I swear I'll stab you."
Edgar sighed hugely. "With friends like these..." He searched the ground for the apple he'd dropped. "It's too dirty to offer to a lady now, but I suppose we shouldn't let it go to waste."
"Builds character," Locke offered, watching Edgar dust the thing off and give it a dubious look.
"In that case, you need it more than I do. Here. I insist."
"Wow. You always this generous with the fruits of other people's labor?" But he accepted it, testing its heat in his hand a moment before he took a bite. "Hey. That's not awful."
"You made it yourself and that's all you can say?" said Edgar. "I'm not sure I want one anymore."
Terra brushed past him. "I do. I'm sure they're great."
Locke unwrapped an apple and passed it to her. "More convenient with a spoon, but we don't have any. Just go for it. No one's judging if you make a mess." But she retreated some distance away from the fire and ate it standing up, staring down at the city again. Okay. If she wanted space, she could have it. He grabbed another apple, and stood up, and offered it to Edgar. "Here, you snotty bastard. See if this meets your standards."
He accepted it with a nod of thanks. In a low voice he said, "Think she'll be all right keeping watch by herself?"
"You've seen what she can do."
"I've seen other things, too." Like the way she went away inside her head sometimes. The way she didn't seem to totally understand why her sword arm did what it did. Locke had noticed it all, and hoped that getting her away to safety would help her sort her shit out. Edgar, though — would he be satisfied with that? He wanted something else. He wanted guarantees.
But he'd helped hide Terra even without them. See, Locke thought, you're not as cold-blooded as you think.
He put a hand on Edgar's shoulder. "Hey. We're doing the right thing. We've been waiting for our chance forever, right? Well, our chance came. And we're taking it. This is all going as planned."
Edgar smiled wryly. "You're right. This is all for the best. And if it's not, well. We can second-guess when we're dead." He took a bite of the apple. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "I'm glad it was you." He seemed about to say something else, but then thought better of it, and looked down at the apple. "Your cooking is not the reason. Good night, Terra," he called over his shoulder, and walked to the tent.
"Oh," said Terra. "Good night." Edgar ducked under the tent flap and vanished.
"Couple more apples over here if you get hungry," Locke told Terra.
"Are you going with him?"
"In a minute." He stood a while, watching the city flickering gold below them. The future, and all it promised, was only a few hours away.
He went in, and lay down next to Edgar, not quite touching him. Maybe someday they'd have this all sorted out. Someday they'd make sense of the wreckage left behind them, and get the world back on track. There was hard work to come, but — beyond it, maybe, something better. Something that worked the way it should.
Night deepened over their camp. Stars rotated slowly past. The planet wobbled slightly on its axis, like it always did, like a machine in need of tuning.
