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FFVI: Long Live Figaro

Posted: 13th February 2009 10:51

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Chocobo Knight
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I'm writing the years between Edgar taking the throne and the start of the game. I just got done with the prologue; the fanfic will have twenty more chapters plus an epilogue. The format is Prologue, Year One for Edgar, Year One for Sabin, Year Two for Edgar, then Sabin...then the ending. I'm not writing it all quite in order - I may do two years for sabin, then four for Edgar, then five for Sabin, etc...I'm using as much information as I can find on their backstories and making the rest up. here's the prologue, and as the guidelines ask I'll be putting up the next chapter within the week.

Edit: Moved the Prologue down a post so I could turn this one into a chapter listing.

Prologue

Edgar:
Year One
Year Two
Year Three
Year Four
Year Five
Year Six
Year Seven
Year Eight
Year Nine
Year Ten

Sabin:
Year One
Year Two
Year Three
Year Four
Year Five
Year Six
Year Seven
Year Eight
Year Nine
Year Ten

Epilogue

This post has been edited by Lockpick on 20th February 2009 23:48

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The opera was only performed in English ONCE. T_T

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Post #175394
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Posted: 14th February 2009 14:35

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Lucky <3
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I don't read a lot of fanfiction here - it's not really my style, and it's not part of the work that I do. But for some reason this caught my eye, and I think it was absolutely great. It gave a great perspective on what may have happened behind the scenes with the throne at Figaro while remaining true to the information that the game actually gave. Well done!

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Hey, put the cellphone down for a while
In the night there is something wild
Can you hear it breathing?
And hey, put the laptop down for a while
In the night there is something wild
I feel it, it's leaving me
Post #175448
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Posted: 14th February 2009 22:20

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Chocobo Knight
Posts: 143

Joined: 13/5/2008

Awards:
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Edit: Actual post at the bottom. Moved the Prologue/first post here.

This is best read when listening to this: http://www.ocremix.org/remix/OCR01081/ :P

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[center]Long Live Figaro

Prologue[/center]

Edgar was watching his father when he drank from the poisoned glass.

The dishwasher had been acting up lately, leaving glasses oily or dirty when they came out. It was something Edgar hadn’t had time to fix what with helping to get everything else ready to have Emperor Gestahl over for the peace talks. Though princes, he and his brother had not escaped having to do mundane chores such as cleaning, moving things around...fixing broken dishwashers. Edgar was normally the responsible brother, and he liked mechanics well enough, but he wiggled out of the particular duty because fixing the dishwasher generally got one wet and disgusting, which Edgar didn’t think he could handle, being in the kitchen surrounded by pretty maids. He did his other tasks dutifully, only voicing his protests once or twice before giving up.

Sabin loved the work. He’d been sickly since he was a child, had started physical training to heal, and gladly took on any task that involved moving heavy things around. Edgar would warn him, time and again, that he’d wear himself out and be sick the day of the dinner. Sabin certainly couldn’t care about his brother’s warnings; he’d never listened them before and he wasn’t now, just happily pitching in with the work with more enthusiasm than any servant. He was glad, about the peace talks. Figaro and the Gestahlian Empire had been having so much trouble lately he’d been frightened there would be war or some other great disaster. But they’d agreed to stop some practice his father was against if it got them to peaceable negotiations, and his father had agreed, and it looked like that was going to be the end of that.

That was not to be. When the work was finally over and they were seated around the dinner table, his father rose up and lifted his glass, poison and all, and offered a toast. His clear wine was just a little more opaque than Edgar’s, and Edgar had only sighed as the poison went down King Stewart’s throat, ignoring the face Sabin made at the taste of wine.

The dishwasher, Edgar thought. He’s looking at that glass funny. He’ll lecture me for hours later for never getting around to the dishwasher...

Edgar never mentioned it to anyone, what he’d seen in the glass. There was no time.

The next morning Sabin woke up early like always and intended on going downstairs to sneak some breakfast up to his room like he usually did, but when he passed his father’s room he heard the sound of retching. He went into his father’s room, and into the joining bathroom to find him crouched over the toilet, holding his stomach. Sabin had asked his father if he needed anyone, or anything, and his father had replied that he was all right, had perhaps had a bit too much wine last night, and to kindly not wake the doctor just yet. Sabin helped him back into bed and went on down to eat.

By midday, the entire castle knew of Stewart’s illness. He threw up anything that went in him, even water, and sometimes he threw up when there was nothing in him at all. Doctors and nurses had been called from town, and they were trying everything they could on him to get him well, but it was to no avail. By the end of the night he was retching up blood, and doctors stayed by his side all through the night. At breakfast the next day there were whispers of successors and heirs and treason and the Empire...

Edgar and Sabin were shooed out of the way like children. Determined not to be bested so easily, they waited outside of the door, setting up a small table to play board games and cards on to pass by the time.

“What’s wrong with him, Edgar?” Sabin whispered, eyes following his sobbing grandmother as she exited the room. She didn’t give them a second glance. “Why is everyone acting like this?”

Edgar looked up at him slowly, as if debating whether or not to answer. He finally ground out, “Are you blind, Sabin?” The hurt look on his brother’s face made him soften his tone. “Don’t you see how thin and pale he’s gotten?” Edgar asked, sighing. “All in the time of a single day!”

“What...” Sabin swallowed. “What are they talking about his successor for? We’re just kids, so...”

“You don’t get it.” Eyes bright, Edgar stood, fast. He gazed at his brother for a moment, and then turned on his heel and ran away, to nowhere, just trying to get away from Sabin before his brother could see him cry.

The next few days were hectic and frightening for both Edgar and Sabin. Sabin, once he had understood was happening, wanted to spend every second with his father that he could. He sat by his bed and talked to him, read to him, made him as comfortable as he could, and held his head when he had to vomit, leaving only when his father fell into an exhausted sleep, his place taken by his father’s friends or family. He pled with the doctors whenever they were foolish enough to stop and listen to please find the antidote for his father’s sickness, and maintained hope that they would before it was too late. He couldn’t think of a world without his dad, and so believed there couldn’t be one.

Edgar held no such foolish notions in his heart, and he visited his father only twice a day, when he woke up and before bed. The rest of the time was spent with his grandmother, who had toughed up and was giving Edgar all the lessons she could on what he or Sabin would need to know in order to be a king.

“Why me?” Edgar had wanted to know. “No one knows who the eldest twin is. Shouldn’t Sabin be hearing this as well?”

“I can’t drag him away from your father’s bedside,” she said grimly, lips pressed together in a thin line. “And anyway, he’s a wreck. He’s in no shape to hear this.”

Edgar had accepted that answer without a thought, not knowing what she knew: that everyone expected the more stable, responsible brother to take the throne, unless his father declared otherwise.

That night when it was time to force Sabin to go to bed, Edgar went again to see his father.

“I want to talk to Edgar,” Stewart had rasped to Sabin, and the doctors at his bedside. “Leave us, for a moment.” They’d left, and Stewart said this: “I must tell you who’s following me.”

Edgar tried to will away the tightness in his chest, and took his father’s now-bony hand. “I’m listening.”

With his other hand, Stewart pulled out a coin from a pocket on his shirt. “I had this made in secret. If anyone doubts your word, give them this.” He pressed a small gold coin into Edgar’s hand, and Edgar took it without looking at it. “I want you and Sabin to rule equally.” He drew a shuddering breath. “I don’t one of you taking this on alone.”

“I don’t know if that will be accepted,” Edgar said, heart pounding, eyes on his father’s thinned face. “They’ll want to know who the older twin is.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” said his father, “but it’s you.”

Three days after the Empire’s visit, King Stewart Figaro died on a cold desert night surrounded by his family and friends, with Edgar holding one hand and Sabin holding the other. “Long live Figaro,” he muttered, and with a weak chuckle at the irony, he died, eyes closing and breath leaving him for the final time.

“Dad,” Sabin choked, squeezing his father’s hand. He stood. “Dad...!”

Edgar had already let go, eyes stinging. “Sabin,” he murmured, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Come on...” Everyone was staring at them. Edgar didn’t like it.

“Get off me!” Sabin jerked away and fled from the room.

“Sabin? Sabin!” Edgar was forced to go after him, barely keeping his brother in sight. He caught up with him at the top of one of the taller towers, and realized his brother was sobbing. Edgar took two cautious steps forward, and put a hand on Sabin’s shoulder. Sabin reacted immediately, throwing his arms around Edgar and crying into his shoulder. Edgar tried not to think, tried not to let himself cry, either, but he wound up doing just that. Even when he stopped Sabin kept going, and it was late before either of them spoke.

“Let’s go,” Sabin whispered, voice raw. He walked to the tower’s edge and peered out over the sand dunes, leaving Edgar at the wall. He didn’t know if Edgar would even take him seriously; he rarely did. “I’m just...so sick of this, Edgar—everyone’s saying Dad was murdered but all they can talk about is who’s next in line!”

“I’m sick of it too,” Edgar admitted.

“Yeah? So let’s go! Let’s be free, Edgar!”

“Oh, Sabin.” Edgar sighed, deeply. “We can’t do that. What’ll happen to Figaro if we both leave? They’re a mess enough already.”

“Then what do we do?” Sabin demanded. “Dad didn’t say what he wanted us to do. He didn’t tell anyone.”

Oh, but he had...Edgar reached into his pocket, fingers closing around the coin. He pulled it out and examined it for the first time, flipping it over idly in his finger. His face...and Sabin’s. One on each side. A coin with two heads. But it could never be that way. Sabin couldn’t be a king. He couldn’t even be half a king. He hadn’t had the lessons, didn’t have the emotional grip on himself that Edgar did...he’d be so miserable, here, with corrupt politics and so many rules and restrictions...

Edgar stood. “Sabin.” He walked over to stand next to his brother. “Let’s settle this with a coin toss, okay?”

“What?”

“Well...” Edgar paused, checking with himself, making sure he could do this... “The winner can leave, and the loser has to stay and be king. It’s equal chances, so it’s fair. Only fitting, isn’t it? Dad used to toss coins all the time.” In his head he silently apologized to his father, for not obeying his last wish...

“All the time,” Sabin remembered fondly, tears coming to his eyes again, missing his father already.

“Then I call tails,” Edgar said quickly, and before he could have second thoughts, he raised his hand high in the air and flipped the two-faced coin.

[center]* * *[/center]

Sabin packed his things and was gone within the hour. He didn’t tell anyone where he was going or why.

Edgar watched him go, riding a chocobo towards the dim light of south Figaro on the horizon, holding the coin so tightly that his knuckles were white. “Goodbye,” he whispered. “Write me soon. Because...”

Sabin, standing at the edge of the lit city, with nothing but a few clothes in his sack and a pocketful of money, turned back and looked over his shoulder at the desert behind him. “Goodbye,” he said, aloud. “Don’t wait for any letters. Because...”

Edgar started for the stairs, preparing himself to stand before a sea of faces and lie about his father’s final request, declare himself a king, and bind himself to the throne for the rest of his life.

Sabin shifted his weight from one foot to the other, ready to start a new life, on his own, with no catering from anyone like he’d had back home.

And each brother knew one absolute truth: though they had had each other all their lives as a single companion they could count on and trust, they now had no one but themselves to rely on. Breathing a sigh, they paused and together admitted the stark truth to themselves:

“Now I’m on my own.”

--

Actual post: Thanks so much for commenting :D It's really nice for an author to hear feedback on their work. I'm going to try to remain as true to the canon and background stuff as possible during the rest of the fic, but I'm obviously going to have to make a lot of stuff up. I hope the finished product turns out okay.

XD

This post has been edited by Lockpick on 20th February 2009 23:46

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The opera was only performed in English ONCE. T_T

Hey, FF artists! You might want to check this challenge out!

WEBSITE <3
Post #175464
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Posted: 15th February 2009 02:43

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Black Mage
Posts: 206

Joined: 14/2/2009

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That’s a good start. I’ll be looking forward for more of your writing.

My favorite line:

Quote
And each brother knew one absolute truth: though they had had each other all their lives as a single companion they could count on and trust, they now had no one but themselves to rely on.


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"Love, and do what you will" Saint Augustine
Post #175469
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Posted: 15th February 2009 04:06

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Chocobo Knight
Posts: 143

Joined: 13/5/2008

Awards:
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Aww, thank you for the comment :D That was nice of you.

I'm still working on the next chapter x_x Year One of Edgar's involves the mini-riot mentioned in the other thread. Fun times! I've never written a riot before.

--------------------
The opera was only performed in English ONCE. T_T

Hey, FF artists! You might want to check this challenge out!

WEBSITE <3
Post #175472
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Posted: 20th February 2009 23:40

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Chocobo Knight
Posts: 143

Joined: 13/5/2008

Awards:
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Finished Edgar's Year One. It's a long thing, topping 8,000 words. I probably shouldn't have decided a year = a chapter, because it feels all rushed, but oh well. The really hard part was making everyone seem ten years younger than they would be in-game. Edgar here is younger than I am now! So, I hope I did okay. Just barely got it in the week deadline... x_x

Oh, if you're confused, read this.

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Year One: Edgar

King Edgar Roni of Figaro was on his knees for the first and hopefully last time, before the throne he would take in a matter of seconds, and the people of his kingdom. Guests, all silent as anything, had come to witness the affair and were packed onto the open-wall hallways above and the rooms behind the throne room to hear it, if not see it. The royal family and the nobility were seated in chairs that had been set up before the throne, all somber. The coronation was never a joyful affair in Figaro; it usually meant a recent passing had occurred, but it was almost like closure, too, in a way: We’ll be fine without them. Life goes on.

The double-headed coin felt like it weighed a ton in Edgar’s pocket, he noted, not really focusing on what the chancellor was saying. (He’d witnessed a coronation before, when he was very young...his grandfather had passed on only a few years after he was born, leaving his father to take the throne.) He had already taken his vows, and was listening to the speech. Really he was just was zoning out, waiting to hear the right words...

“...and may his rule be long and just. Long live Figaro!”

The crowd of people cheered, and Edgar felt the weight of the royal crown on his head, literally. If the coin weighed a ton then he didn’t even want to know what this would be called... The chancellor told him to rise and take a seat and he did, just like they’d practiced a million times or more, trying to look confident with his head feeling heavy and too many people staring at him. The throne seat, which he’d sat in before, lazily, watching his father practice for speeches or do this or that, felt different today than it had when he was a boy; even bigger, if that was possible. He’d always felt small in the seat, and now he felt even smaller. For a moment, there was a brief spike of terror in him at what he was doing. He couldn’t be a king! His father hadn’t taught him anything and he was all by himself...!

It had happened so often these past few days that he was practiced at not letting it show on his face, and after four long seconds it was gone, and he smiled, a little, at his grandmother in the front row. She was raising a stern eyebrow at him, the one that told him he needed to correct something about his behavior. He figured it was the look on his face; after he smiled, her eyebrow went back in place, and he widened his smile, raising a hand to acknowledge his people (his people now...!) and thank them for coming. That part had been practiced too.

The cheers doubled in volume, and the guests started making their exit, crowding each other on the way out and having to be redirected by guards. Edgar let out a small breath of relief. No one had tried to kill him while he was standing there in the open, and the worst part was over. As soon as he left, he could take the damn crown off and then go mingle, which he was already practiced at. Then one more speech, this one given by himself, a most informal dinner with just the family and friends, and after that he could sleep...

The guests were mostly gone, now, and the nobles were getting up, starting with the back row and filing out. Only they would be allowed in the ballroom for the hour’s party; the commonfolk would have to wait outside for that hour if they wanted to hear Edgar speak later. He hoped most of them would get bored and go home, but the place had been so packed today he was sure he’d be facing another sea of faces soon. His grandmother Marlene had warned him about that, in their quick study attempts that had to count as king-lessons. “No matter where you go, or what you do, there will always be people looking,” she’d told him. “Forever.”

Only the front row was seated, now, and as they got up, his grandmother dropped out of line to come speak with him. He smiled weakly at her as she approached. “Well, King Edgar, how are you holding up?” she asked briskly. “Good turnout, wasn’t it?”

“Yes ma’am,” he answered tiredly, “too good.”

“Buck up,” Marlene advised. “You’ve got a ways yet to go before bedtime.”

Edgar reached up and took the crown off of his head. “I know,” he muttered. He stood, towering a foot above his grandmother and feeling only half as tall. Truly, he admired this woman; she had seen almost all of her family die before her (and that included not one but two children), and at nearly seventy years old, she was still doing better than Edgar was at his almost-twenty. He only recalled her crying once over his father’s death, and he’d only seen it for two seconds as she passed by, enough of a rarity even then for him to be shocked.

Besides the first few tears with Sabin, Edgar hadn’t wept until after the funeral, in his room...he’d curled up on his new bed in the king’s chambers, wishing it still smelled like his father and wanting Sabin and crying like a baby until he slept. At morning’s light he promised himself he was done, and he would be more like his grandmother. He’d pull it together and do what needed doing...

“Just thought you’d like to know Francis has been informed,” Marlene muttered, now. “Went down to the prisons myself.”

“Ah, dear Uncle Francis,” Edgar said in return, raising his eyebrows. Voice bitter, he added, “I’m surprised he didn’t ask to come dance at the funeral.”

“He did ask to come,” Marlene said smoothly. “To mourn, not to dance. I told him the funeral had been had and he had no right anyway and that was that. He—”

“—can rot,” Edgar chimed in, and he rubbed the back of his neck, noting with satisfaction that everyone had finally filed out. Just them, now... “I noticed von Ghanon wasn’t here,” Edgar said tentatively. “Did you get any word from him?”

“None,” his grandmother replied crisply. “He told me at the funeral not to expect to see him much, but my word, he was your father’s best friend, he should have shown up for this!”

Edgar only sighed in reply to that. It might have been difficult, for him...not everyone could live up to his grandmother’s strict expectations for behavior. “What about Sabin?” he asked, now. “No letters, or anything?”

“None,” Marlene said again, “and if you ask me, he should have been here too.”

“It’s all right,” Edgar said, defending the absentees. “The less people, the better, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Well, get your people face on,” Marlene ordered, and she started walking. Edgar followed after her, taking the crown with him. “We’ve already been wasting time here when we ought to be getting that thing to the vaults and you to that party...my word, we only get an hour before you have to give that blasted speech. You remember the opening, don’t you?”

“Um,” Edgar said, and Marlene turned on her heel to glare at him.

“It’s a little late to be ‘umming’ at me now, Edgar Figaro,” she warned.

“‘Welcome-people-of-Figaro,’” Edgar replied hastily, “I remember, I remember. Just—”

“See that it stays that way,” his grandmother replied.

They went over it on the way down to the basement, taking the rightmost hall once they got down the stairs; the left one led to the prisons and the middle one led to the machinery deeper in the basement. Edgar unlocked the vault with his own keyring, inherited from his father; there was a different key and lock to work with, one for each king they’d had, and he fumbled with the last one because it was the oldest and stuck sometimes.

“Edgar...” Marlene was unimpressed.

Edgar just reeled off the next line of his speech and cursed at the lock. It finally opened for him, and he dashed inside the vault—unaffected by the room and rooms inside stuffed with some of the world’s finest treasures—found the pedestal where the crown sat, and left hanging a little lopsided before going back out and relocking all the locks on the vault.

There was more speech-practicing on the way up to the ballroom, but Edgar stopped his grandmother, in the darkened hallway outside of the ballroom, just before she could usher him inside. “Gran,” he began, a little lost for words, “I...thank you—”

“You don’t have time to thank me,” Marlene said, folding her arms.

Edgar rebelled. “Well, I am anyway.” His grandmother was doing a queen’s duty, at this moment, by being his right hand man...woman. She had done it for her husband and done the same for her son after her husband had passed on. Since it was her third term as a queen she really did know damn near everything about how to support a king in his duties. “So thank you,” he continued then, “for everything. I’d still be looking for my hairties, without you...”

Marlene’s face softened for a moment, and only a moment. “I know,” she agreed. “Now get in there.” She glanced into the dining room and frowned. “My word, who let my sister near the wine? I’ll have to see to that,” was all Edgar got before his grandmother left him.

You can do this, Edgar told himself, really not believing it. This was where he would have to answer all the questions about Sabin’s whereabouts, questions he didn’t even know the answers to. He reached in his pocket for his double-headed coin, seeking solace in the now familiar bumps and ridges of the image of Sabin’s face. His first hours as a true king and he was going to spend it socializing...he’d been hoping to walk in with his grandmother, but...on my own now, he reminded himself sternly, trying his best to imitate her. Make Dad proud.

Edgar let go of the coin and stepped into the light.

* * *

The party and following speech passed smoothly, with no assassination attempts to speak of and only a few fumbles on Edgar’s part (he couldn’t dodge all the questions about Sabin, and he accidentally skipped one line of his speech). The real scene didn’t happen until near the end of dinner, when everyone was getting up to go to their rooms; Marlene’s sister had been hitting the wine heavy and when people started retiring to their rooms she was quite unable to stand up. Needless to say, Marlene hadn’t been very impressed. Edgar had stood to the side while the spectacle went on, not daring to get in the way of his grandmother’s impatience.

“My word, Agnes, you smell like a winery,” she’d barked at her sister, hauling the woman up as if she weighed little to nothing. “Help me with her,” she sighed, glancing at Edgar, and when he moved forward, she’d snapped, “No, never mind that, you’re a king now and can’t be seen helping me with this drunkard.” She called a guard, instead, and that pair had the unfortunate duty of getting Agnes to her feet.

Edgar stood back in silence, watching this as it happened, and Agnes was led from the room, barely conscious. “I’ll send Doctor Hart up!” he called after his grandmother, folding his arms after she was gone. Yeah...didn’t want her to get alcohol poisoning, or anything...not that he knew a lot about it, he’d never been a heavy drinker...geez, he hoped he never got like his Aunt Agnes did.

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. “She’ll be right as rain come morning, Sire.”

Edgar glanced up and to his left; perhaps the only man he knew who was taller than him was his Uncle Henry, the Captain of the Guard who had married his aunt several years back. Edgar had liked him before they had been married and liked him better now to call his uncle, despite his status and less refined way of doing things. Henry was a tall, dark man with a thick mustache, and very serious about the safety of those around him, but he had a good sense of humor. He never got unfriendly with a few drinks, and always had good advice and an ear to bend, which was why Edgar liked him. He reminded Edgar a lot of his father; he too had lost his wife during childbirth and was raising his child alone.

“It’s still only Edgar, you know,” Edgar told him, “despite all of this mess.” He paused. “I haven’t seen you at all. You must have been busy tonight.”

“Indeed.” Henry breathed a deep sigh through his nose and removed his hand to run it back through his hair. “Left Priscilla upstairs to sleep with the matron watching her, and came straight down here to oversee security...”

“Anything worth mentioning?” Edgar asked keenly.

“No, Sire. Your people tonight were good, and they loved you.”

“Edgar, I’m still Edgar,” the new king insisted, still uncomfortable with the idea of them being his people. He stepped back once stood before Henry, arms folded. He didn’t have the lighter skin, hair, and blue eyes of nobility (being brown-eyed and olive-skinned like most Figaroans), but he was in the royal family now, and Edgar would treat him as such whether he liked it or not. “You’re still Uncle Henry and I’m still just your nephew, all right? None of this Sire business.” Or, he hoped. His own dad had tried until his last days to get Henry to call him by his given name, and had had very little luck, even on his deathbed.

“All right,” Henry said, inclining his head once. Edgar sighed, inwardly. Not one to forget his place, Henry...problem was he had the wrong place. In his mind, he was a lowly guard captain, not the husband of a late princess. “I just came over to see how you were doing. I haven’t had a chance to speak to you...”

“Tired,” Edgar admitted. “I feel like I could sleep for a week.”

“I had your quarters examined, Sire,” Henry said, falling back into habit, “and they seem safe. Whenever you see fit to retire, you can rest easy.”

“Thank you,” Edgar sighed. “And it’s Edgar,” he added, adamant.

“Edgar,” Henry said with a quick smile, and grasped Edgar’s shoulder once more. “I have to go up and check on Priscilla. Have a good night.”

“And you,” Edgar said, and peered around the dining hall. No one else approaching him...good. He stole away, then, up to his chambers. The higher one’s status was the further up in the palace they lived. It was an inconvenience to walk so many flights of stairs to meals, but it left the rest of the residents of the castle closer to where they needed to be. Mainly it was the families of mechanics, guards, and other staff members who lived in the castle’s walls, and so depending on what one’s job was, they stays in different locations downstairs (guards near the door, doctors at the infirmary, mechanics close to the basement, and so on), leaving the royal family a better view of the sand and sky.

Just before he got to his room, when he was finally on the top floor, Edgar passed by a door that stayed open, with a piece of cloth hung around it to show that no one was to enter. The inside was dark, and Edgar was well aware that it went up all the floors of the castle, just a shaft. He and his dad had been working on a kind of platform to elevate oneself to higher levels without the need to walk the stairs, but the elevator shaft was still empty, more or mess forgotten, in the wake of the poisoning. They had added one in the basement, already, but it had been so small and dirty it wasn’t really for practical use, so they’d started over rather than extend that shaft upwards. This shaft was black and incomplete, empty and dark without his father there...

“You ought to finish that, one day, young man.” Edgar jumped and nearly fell into the shaft; Marlene’s strong arm caught his own and pulled him away from the edge. “My word, are you trying to leave us without an heir? Stay away from that edge or add doors, Edgar, that thing looks dangerous.”

Edgar pulled his hand back and glanced at it. “It is,” he agreed quietly.

“It would have been mighty useful trying to get Agnes up all those stairs,” Marlene pointed out. “Don’t give up on it just because Stewart’s gone. My word, he’d never forgive you if you didn’t finish that old thing.”

Edgar felt a tug in his chest. “Don’t you miss him? Aren’t you sad?”

“Of course,” Marlene sighed. “But I’m not like Agnes. I won’t turn to a bottle. Life goes on. It has to. Husband or no husband. Children or no children. I know exactly where she’s at. I’ve been there. But right now I’m still here. And I’ve got to carry on.”

“Me too,” Edgar whispered. “I’m still here...”

“And we both still need an elevator, since we are here,” Marlene said. “I don’t expect Agnes to get over her drinking problem anytime soon, do you? So I expect you to put that near the top of your list.”

“Yes ma’am,” Edgar sighed. “But I’m too tired to fiddle with it now. And...” He swallowed. “There’s still—you know—them, to discuss.”

“We’ll worry with it tomorrow,” Marlene declared. “For now, sleep. Go upstairs and rest. God knows you’ll need it.” She clapped his shoulder, once, and headed on past him, back down the hall to her own room.

Edgar watched her go, and then turned the other way to go to his new room. Rest easy, Henry had told him. He fit his key on the old lock and slipped inside, closing the heavy door behind him. His father’s old room...he didn’t think he’d ever be able to think of it as his. Without changing clothes or turning down the sheets, he fell on the bed and kicked his boots off. Sleep, he told himself, no longer trying to fight his exhaustion. Just sleep.

It was still strange to him, to sleep without hearing his brother’s snoring coming from through the wall.

* * *

The morning came, and with it came the knowledge that the time for easing into things was over.

Gathered around the new king in the conference room were the people he trusted most, and it was a considerably small group of only a dozen. There was the council, of course: Misters Fitzergerald, Brooks, and Jonathan, who suggested laws and guided the king where they could, headed up by the chancellor. All of them had been ancient since before Edgar was even born. There was the matron, head of all the maids, nurses, and tutors in the castle. His Uncle Henry, the Captain of the Guard and overseer of Figaro’s safety was there. Edgar’s head mechanic, who would only call himself by the nickname Lem, who oversaw the export of machines, sat near the right, near the physician who had worked on Edgar’s father, Doctor Hart, who was next to Edgar’s weapons master and general of his army, General Donovan. Ambassador Bennett, in charge or foreign affairs, sat quietly, eyes boring holes into Edgar. His grandmother Marlene and her sister Agnes were there, too, as the last surviving members of his blood family that still lived here in the castle (Agnes looked kind of hungover). It equaled thirteen in all, if Edgar counted himself.

“Gentlemen,” Edgar greeted them all. “And ladies,” he added, for the benefit of the females at the table. He breathed a deep sigh. “I know some of you are political people, and some you are not. But you’re really all I have left, here in these difficult times. I ask you to openly bring your opinions to the table on this matter; I want to hear it all.” He paused, meeting each person’s eyes. “The Empire is coming. Whether they come tomorrow or a year from now doesn’t matter. They will approach Figaro again, and they will ask me to submit to their will—by this I mean they will want to form an ‘alliance’, which we all know means I will be sending our soldiers to do their bidding and sharing our technology with them...to use however they see fit.” Edgar took a seat at the end of the table. “I ask you, gentlemen and ladies, what our answer should be.”

There was silence a moment, and then Lem the mechanic stood first. “I say no, Sire,” he said, folding his arms. “Pardon my language, ladies, but I don’t believe the bastard murderers should be allowed to stamp all over us after what they went and did to King Stewart. And that’s all I got to say on the matter, plain and simple, Sire, as plain and simple man. I loved your pa as my king as I love you as my king, and seein’ him go before his time and not havin’ Prince Sabin around no more, it’s all just plain wrong. I don’t want nothin’ to do with ’em.”

Edgar felt his chest tighten. “Thank you.”

Lem gave a quick nod, and took his seat.

“I’m inclined to agree, Sire.” Henry stood, now, towering above the people seated at his right and left. “I am as eager as my fellows to avoid bloodshed, but they pose no real threat. We have technology superior to the Empire’s, and we overpopulate them nearly two men to one. So long as we keep you protected—and I am confident that I can do that for you—we have no reason to fear them.”

Donovan rose, too, now, without waiting for Henry to be seated. “I must say, you’re correct, but the Empire has been cutting a swath through the southern continent as of late. The more places they acquire, the more men they will have. Though you are correct in saying the Empire’s technology isn’t as advanced as ours.”

“I believe they are no real threat,” Henry repeated firmly. “We don’t need to form an alliance with murderers.” He sat, then.

“If there’s no alliance, there may be war,” Donovan warned. “Even if relations are tense, I would advise forming them. Our pride would suffer greatly, but the lives of many people could be spared.” He inclined his head and took a seat.

My people, Edgar remembered. He pressed his lips together for a moment, and asked, “Ambassador?”

The ambassador didn’t stand. “Form relations, is my advice,” he said quietly. “There will sooner or later be open warfare if you do not. Figaro will either be bathed in blood or taken as the Empire’s new toy.”

“When I think of the lives that could be lost,” the matron said hesitantly, “I must say I agree with the ambassador. The lives of the people are more important than anything, aren’t they?” She had remained seated, too.

“Mothers losing children to violence...” Agnes shook her head. “Such a thing is unacceptable.”

Edgar let out a breath. This was slowly becoming a little less formal, which he appreciated; there was more honesty that way. “I agree, Aunt Agnes, but you must remember these are the people who extended the hand of friendship with a poisoned wineglass in that hand...” He wished his other ambassador was there, the man called von Ghanon. Edgar would have been grateful for the insight of his father’s best friend...

“Such a death was terrible to witness,” came the quiet voice of Doctor Hart. “They didn’t choose anything that would kill him swiftly, Sire. Their intent was malicious.” His face darkened. “I say we have nothing to do with them.”

“I agree,” Mister Brooks put in heartily. “The wretched fiends can try what they will; the Figaroan people may carry on.”

“You’re foolish if you think they will not come after us,” snapped Mister Jonathan. “There will be bloodshed and violence and death.”

“I agree,” Mister Fitzergerald put in. “However, I do wonder...General Donovan, those would be your men forced to do terrible things in the Empire’s name.”

“It seems we lose either way,” the chancellor sighed.

“I guess, in the end, we have to think about what my father would have wanted,” Edgar said weakly, forcing down the grief that rose so sharply in him at the thought. “And he would have wanted us to fight, no doubt. That’s what he did.”

“And look where it got him!” Every head in the room turned towards Marlene, who had spoken up at last. “My word, Edgar, you’re the king now. You can’t do everything your father did. You’ve got a mind on your own and times are changing. Stewart would want you to use that head of yours!” She stood, folding her own arms. “You really want to know what he’d want? He’d want you to make your choice based on what you think is the right thing to do. You’ve heard us, now get to thinking and let us know.”

“You never told me what you thought,” Edgar said, frowning.

“I think they can rot,” Marlene said, with a small shrug of her shoulders. “They killed my son. I don’t want to get anywhere near them.”

Edgar bit his lip, and stopped when Marlene raised her eyebrow at it. “I suppose this meeting is over,” he murmured finally. “I’ll think on it. It’s the best I can do for now. I have until they decide to show up.”

* * *

The Empire did come, one hot morning some months later. Gestahl gave no warning of his coming visit, just showed up one day outside the front gates requesting entry. None of his generals were with him, but he had an armed guard of at least twenty men traveling with him.

Edgar had been thinking about it, as much as he could bear: in the long nights when the paperwork piled too high and he had to ask his grandmother for help, in the lazy afternoons spent with Saw in the elevator shaft, adding to the creation so it was fit for human use, and in the early morning chocobo rides he sometimes took with his Uncle Henry and his small cousin Priscilla to clear his mind.

Being a king wasn’t so difficult, taken one day at a time, but it was the only way Edgar could manage, living day to day. He couldn’t think about his father, lying there in his old bed missing too many people too badly to think about. He couldn’t worry about his brother or why there had been no letters, when he’d been so sure Sabin would write him soon. During the darkest times, he’d reach in his pocket and hold tight to his coin, and he would remind himself why he was doing this. For his dad. For Sabin. For his family. And somehow, it made it just bearable enough.

All of that ended the day the Empire came.

In the end, the whole affair was short and over quickly, to say the least. Edgar and Gestahl took one walk around the palace’s exterior, and by the time they had gotten back around to the front gates Edgar had given him his answer. Gestahl had never come in; he hadn’t asked and Edgar hadn’t offered. He had enjoyed too much seeing his father’s killer sweat in the desert sun. They left as quickly as they came...Edgar wanted to brush away the chocobo tracks in the sand, he hated Gestahl that much.

He came back in to an anxious group of faces, the same faces that had sat with him at the conference room table. They were waiting for the verdict, waiting to know how many of their lives had just been changed or put into jeopardy. They needed to know the answer to the question: Surrender or die?

Edgar swallowed. “To the conference hall.” He went; they followed. When the door was shut and locked behind them he revealed the news: “I agreed to the alliance.”

This was greeted with silence, and a lot of disappointed faces. Edgar could understand that. He was disappointed in himself, too.

“I can only defend my choice this way,” Edgar began. “Every other morning I go out riding with my Uncle Henry. Sometimes he takes his daughter. You all know Priscilla,” he interjected, and nearly everyone smiled, now. “She’s a good little girl.” He paused. “There’s a thousand or more just like her in this castle alone, let alone town itself.” He drew a deep breath. “I would rather...look my father’s murderer in the face and pretend I’m his friend...than see any little girl like Priscilla die. I hope you all can understand that, because I won’t be hearing any discussion.”

Without waiting for an answer, Edgar left the conference room.

* * *

Time passed. However slowly the seconds moved, they did move, and Edgar eventually celebrated his eighteenth birthday. He had long ago done away with the tradition of giant balls on those days, preferring the day to be spent in quiet, but the new king’s first birthday was a good thing, a sign of youth and a long reign to the people. After one evening of hot debate with his grandmother, Edgar caved and agreed to make a big deal of it. Privately, he was hoping Sabin would show up at the party. It was his birthday, too, after all. For this reason he insisted on having it held in town rather than the castle.

Noon that day, a few hours before the ball was supposed to start, he found himself watching the clock in his bedroom. He had always been told that one of them had been born at four after noon, and the other one five after, but he hadn’t known which was which until his father lay on his deathbed. Edgar was supposed to be getting ready, but he sat there counting seconds until the clock hit four minutes after twelve.

“Now I’m eighteen,” he whispered. One year ago he had had a father and a brother...one year ago he had been a prince...what else would change, before his nineteenth birthday? How much more did life have in store for him?

And why hadn’t his brother sent him anything...? A card, even, might have been nice...

...fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine...

“And now you’re eighteen, too,” Edgar sighed. “No idea where you are or what you’re doing, but you’re eighteen.” He pulled his coin out of his pocket and flipped it, showing Sabin’s face, and then his own. Back and forth, back and forth...he hadn’t looked at it during the coin toss. He wondered whose face it had landed on.

Back to Sabin’s face, now, and he held it up to the light. “Happy Birthday to you too.”

* * *

The ball hadn’t gone well; Edgar wound up being a grouch for most of it because Sabin hadn’t showed up, and then on top of that, some thief had broken the party up to come in and steal food, embarrassing everyone. He’d heard plenty of unhappy mutters, too, and seen lots of looks directed at him...about the alliance, of course. His people were unhappy with him. They doubted him.

He retired to the hotel they had rented out for the night in a bad sort of temper, speaking little and speaking roughly when he did. Edgar had thought telling his family about his choice regarding the Empire was difficult, but he hadn’t anticipated on what Marlene insisted he do next.

“I agreed to a ball,” he protested, undoing his neck ruffle and tossing it on the bed. He started in with the hairties, leaving only the last one, closest to his neck, tied up. “The ball was for morale, remember?”

“Didn’t work,” Marlene said frankly, folding her arms. She had followed Edgar up to his room, much to his displeasure.

“I’m not doing it,” Edgar muttered now. “I’ll do it later, when there’s more time, we were supposed to move the castle this week...”

“My word, Edgar! You have responsibilities now,” Marlene snapped. “They don’t like the alliance, now you need to hear them.”

Edgar sighed deeply and sat on his bed, hand running back over his head, once. “I don’t think it’s really all that important.” He hated the idea; talking to people all day and doing nothing else, listening to their complaints. Really, it was all it was—people lined up and got so much time with the king to speak their minds, and then they left. Not everyone got heard, just those who were determined to stand in line or arrive early: in other words, those with the strongest opinions. Still, it usually took a week to get everyone that really wanted to speak in, and Edgar didn’t want to stay in town that long.

“It certainly is important. Your father made it a habit to do it once every six months, at the very least.”

“What happened to me being a different king than him?” Edgar grumbled, frustrated.

“You joined the Empire, that’s what happened!”

They stared one another down for a moment; Edgar gave in first.

“All right. I’ll hear them. I don’t know what good it’ll do, but I’ll try.”

“Good man.”

“Right.” Edgar sighed and got up to go find his comb. “Good man...”

He really hated it when women told him that...

* * *

The first day the new king heard his people, he started hating it and ending the day with loving it. Once worried by the prospect, he now enjoyed it. Almost everyone was truly unhappy with the alliance. They were unhappy that their exports were being bought for lower prices by murderers, unhappy that the king had been killed and there had been no bringing of justice, and unhappy that their prince had all but disappeared. And it actually made Edgar feel better to hear this, made him feel like they really were his people, people who were all on his side. Currently madder than hell at him, but they’d loved his father, was why. It heartened him to know that.

The second day, Edgar received even more unhappiness than before; at least on the first day, there had been a few well-wishers. That didn’t deter him; he was involved in this now and would address the concerns as well as he could. He’d been revolving note-takers all day to help him keep track of what everyone said, and made no promises he didn’t intend to keep.

The third day, someone told Edgar they’d seen Sabin out in the woods. Edgar, breathless with both relief and fear, sent soldiers out in that area to look. They came back empty-handed and spoke of ghosts in the forest, things moving without their consent and voices in the trees. Edgar nearly had them dismissed from their positions for such talk.

The fourth day, Edgar was a grouch. He stayed in short temper for nearly all of the day, and was glad the lines were dying down so he could retire earlier. Unfortunately all the people he heard were unhappy, and not just about the alliance. He heard complaints about the most bizarre things; everything from taxes to the shape of the waterways, none of which had even been real concerns when his father was king. Edgar went out to look at the waterways after dinner that night. Sure enough, they were getting a little old. Great. If the waterwheels stopped turning, the entire city would lose power...

On the fifth day, there was a surge of new people waiting to be heard. They all used up all of their time and some came back for more. Edgar felt more like he was being lectured than talking with them, which he despised, but he stood it as best as he could. Their concerns were pretty legitimate, actually...Edgar had been so worried about Figaro Castle he’d forgotten to concentrate on town.

On the sixth day, Edgar’s will broke halfway through lunch and asked Marlene if they could go home yet. She told him that they couldn’t. He pretended to get food poisoning so he could lie in bed all day. She treated him with an hour’s lecture that he ignored.

On the seventh day, there was a riot.

It was more like the sixth night, really, but it was so late it was past midnight when it happened. People had somehow been stirred into coming to visit the hotel the royal family was staying in. They had yet to learn why Edgar had allied himself with the Empire, and they weren’t at all happy. Holding lanterns, torches, and flashlights, they threw stones at his window to rouse him into coming out and speaking; he woke to hear them demanding an explanation.

Well, Edgar wasn’t foolish enough to go out on his balcony. He got up and got dressed, slipping his coin into his pocket, and went into the hall instead, to find some type of guard or hopefully his Uncle Henry. What he found were the pair of guards that had been by his door—stripped down to their boxers, gagged, and bound. “What—?”

He didn’t have time to finish his sentence. Pain exploded at the back of his head and his world went dark.

* * *

“...put you on dishwashing duty for a year.”

“But it wasn’t my idea, Banon! Locke made me do it, I swear!”

Both of you. You both ought to have known better. You shouldn’t have assaulted and his guards and you most definitely shouldn’t have assaulted him! We’re supposed to be coming to him in peace.”

“Well, sorry...”

“Not yet you aren’t, but you’re going to be.”

When Edgar came around, he bit back a groan and stayed perfectly still, eyes still closed, not wanting to blind himself in case there were lights on. Where was he...? And why? He risked blinking, once, and was relieved to see there was only dim torchlight in...wherever they were. Three figures had caught his attention, one of them definitely female—probably the girl who had been speaking to the man she’d called Banon. He was lying on a lumpy and kind of soft surface...a bed, he’d assume, by the feel of a pillow under his head. He wasn’t restrained.

Another male voice spoke now; Edgar assumed this one was the one called Locke. “Hey, boss, aren’t we the Returners? You know, anti-Empire and all? And this guy here is working with them...”

“I was going to try and fix that,” Banon growled. His voice sounded almost familiar, like it resembled something Edgar had heard before... “Then you had to go and hit him on the head! Idiot! Can’t follow orders...”

“Geez, calm down! It was Janice’s idea.”

“It was not,” the female insisted. “He told me to get the guards and then when King Edgar came out, bam, right on the back of the head! You should make him do dishes forever.”

“If you make me do dishes forever I’m just leaving.”

It was quiet, for awhile, and Edgar risked opening his eyes again. He nearly jumped out of his skin; all three of them were standing over the bed staring at him. “Ah,” he said weakly, sitting up at once. “Um,” he tried, eyes searching three faces he did not know; a bearded man and a male and female of about his own age. They guy had on a bandana and the girl had her hair pulled back. “I—” You’re a king, demand something. “Um,” he tried again, really confused, “you’ve kidnapped me? What are you after?”

“Locke, Janice, get lost,” Banon growled. The two glanced at him, and then retreated to the door. Without even turning around, Banon added, “All the way lost. You need to get started on those dishes.”

They groaned, but they did leave, shutting the door behind them.

“Where am I?” Edgar tried again.

“Cave in the middle of nowhere,” Banon grunted, going over to a small wooden desk and picking up a small set of Figaroan china. “You take your tea black?”

“I won’t ask how you knew that,” Edgar muttered, “but I will tell you that I prefer to fix my own drinks. I’m sure you understand.”

Banon’s back stayed turned to Edgar. “I do.”

“Who are you?” Edgar asked, irritated, sitting up. “Why am I in a cave in the middle of nowhere? I swear I know your voice.”

“You don’t recognize me?” Banon turned back, definite amusement on his features now. “I suppose not. Growing out a beard and my hair and wearing commoner’s clothing might change a man’s appearance. And this light is nothing like that of the desert sun’s...”

“...you,” Edgar said, weakly. “You—you can’t be. Bernard?” Bernard von Ghanon would never let himself be caught looking like this...

“It’s Banon now,” Banon said gently. “Bernard von Ghanon died the day of your father’s funeral. Today I’m Banon, and I’m here.”

“And you don’t shave anymore?” Edgar asked, bewildered. “What—”

“To keep my identity safe,” Banon growled, waving a hand. “I have distant relatives that may come to harm if the Empire finds my name...so I’m not that man anymore. It’s irritating, but it’s for the best.”

“What are you doing here?” Edgar asked weakly. “Living in a cave?”

“You haven’t heard of the Returners yet?” Banon frowned, set his tea down. “We’re the rebellion, Pr—King Edgar.”

“Edgar’s fine,” Edgar said, through gritted teeth. “So your rebellion decided I shouldn’t be in alliance either and had me knocked out and kidnapped?”

“They weren’t supposed to harm anyone, just stage the riot,” Banon growled. “They told me they didn’t kill your men, only knocked them out for the uniforms, so they’re safe. Let me assure you, they’ll be punished...”

“What do you want with me?” Edgar asked defensively. “Besides—staging a riot—in my kingdom—!” That part seemed to hit him and he got dizzily to his feet. “I have more than enough trouble trying to fill Dad’s shoes without your help. I’m off, where’s the door?”

“You’ll get lost on the way up,” Banon said, almost pleasantly. “Best wait until we can get hold of a guide for you.”

Edgar’s eyes narrowed, not believing this excuse for a minute. “Fine. I’m listening.”

Banon picked up his tea and took a sip. “I’m requesting that you aid the Returners in our fight against the Empire.”

“I’m allied with the Empire. Surrendered like a coward rather than die like a dog,” Edgar added bitterly.

“You do what you have to do,” Banon growled, waving that hand again; it shocked Edgar so that he blinked. It was the first word of encouragement he had heard about his choice. “You kept your people alive. That’s what matters.”

Edgar cleared his throat. “Ah—thank you...but...you must understand, I had to do that, so I can’t help you. It would be inviting open warfare.”

“Not if you don’t tell anyone,” Banon said, bushy eyebrows raised at Edgar. “If you’re up to it, you can have it both ways...keep your people alive and get back at the bastards who murdered Stewart.”

Edgar stared at him a moment. “You want me to be...two-faced,” he said softly, reaching into his pocket just to make sure the coin was still there. It was. He ran his thumb over it before pulling his hand away. “And—my dad—this is why you’re doing all of this?”

Banon turned away. “He meant a lot to me,” he said quietly. “It was wrong. I intend to do what I can to bring Gestahl to justice. You can help me.” He turned back to Edgar, now. “You don’t have to take this lying down. Surrender like cowards or die like dogs? You’re no coward and your father wasn’t a dog. What do you say?”

Edgar thought about it a moment, chin resting on one hand. “But...I can’t be seen openly helping you...”

“That’s right.”

“It’d be nice to have a partner in all of this,” Edgar admitted. So far he’d felt like nothing but garbage for giving in to the Empire and agreeing to the damned alliance. “I...” He glanced at Banon, then away. What a tempting offer...there had to be a catch. “What...would you need me to do?”

“Spy, in a sense,” Banon replied. He frowned. “Information, weapons, food, anything you can sneak to us helps. I wouldn’t ask you to stick your neck out too far. I know you’ve got your people to look after.”

Edgar thought, pacing. His hand was still to his chin, an unconscious habit he’d picked up from his father. “I...what do you think, I mean...” He stopped pacing. “Would my father have wanted this?”

“I believe,” Banon said delicately, “that he would be unhappy knowing his kingdom had fallen to Empire. That’s why I...”

“I see,” Edgar said quietly. “Then—then what the hell, I’ll help you. I don’t like it any, either.” He offered his hand to shake and was surprised by Banon’s strong grip. He must have done a lot of physical work, moving into the cave...he really was a very different person, now. Not the man Edgar had known, once...

There was a short pause, and Edgar asked, “Now what?”

“Well, if you’ll allow me to offer you some tea,” Banon began, bushy eyebrows raising some, “we can sit down and have a little chat. There won’t be real panic at your absence till morning’s light.”

* * *

Morning’s light came in the town of South Figaro, and with it came the panic when it was discovered that the king had been stolen away during the night, during a riot. The rioters had all either been calmed or arrested, Marlene having effectively suppressed a real uprising, and it was the first chance anyone had had to check on Edgar. The search began for him around town, first, and when Edgar and his guide (the chatty girl called Janice) had reached town it was crawling with soldiers.

“Just slip in as best you can,” Janice said helplessly, frowning. “Um...I guess I’d better get back. Good luck!”

Edgar watched her ride off, feeling distinctly unsatisfied. Some guide.

He turned his chocobo loose and tried to think like Sabin. Sabin used to sneak out of a castle patrolled by guards all the time. Of course, there had been certain timed routes, then, but it wasn’t impossible...

He went around to the back door of Figaro’s biggest pub. No one saw him go in, but when he popped out of the front door, a guard stopped him at once.

“King Edgar! Where have you been?”

“After that awful business last night?” Edgar frowned. “I got up early and went for a few drinks!”

“But Sire, the men outside your door were stripped, gagged, and bound.”

Edgar tried his best to look surprised. “My goodness. Take me to them at once, please.”

He offered no explanation on the way back, and when he got to the hotel, he was taken straight up to the room where the two guards sat, clothed again, being questioned heavily as to whether they had anything to do with Edgar’s absence or not.

“I’m all right, I’m all right,” he said, when both Henry and Marlene jumped up to go over to him. “Really, ‘m fine. I just went out for a drink.”

“Then how do you explain the state of these fellows?” Marlene asked.

“Well, I don’t know.” Edgar thought fast. “Perhaps they were knocked out after I left. It was close to morning, wasn’t it?” he asked his guards, tone of voice making it perfectly clear that they needed to agree.

They nodded, silent.

Marlene’s eyes narrowed. “Edgar—”

“Leave us. Just for a moment, please,” Edgar requested, when her eyes narrowed. He tried again, “Sixty seconds.”

“You have forty-five,” Marlene said, and she and Henry left.

“Listen and listen well,” Edgar said at once, turning around to the two guards. “What happened wasn’t your fault. I could have come to harm, but I didn’t. You were knocked out early in the morning close to dawn. You didn’t see me leave. So long as you never speak of it again, and never let it happen again, you may keep your positions and live comfortably. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Thank you, Sire.”

The door opened without warning, but the room was already silent. Edgar turned to his grandmother and smiled, weakly, because she looked madder than he’d ever seen her. “Come walk with me, Gran?”

“Sounds like a fine idea,” Marlene agreed.

So they took a walk, out by the edge of town, with the closest guards too far away to hear them. Edgar got her promise never to tell a soul, and then he told her everything. When he was finished, she stopped.

“You’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever known, Edgar Figaro,” she told him, frowning. “But I’m proud of you. And Stewart would be, too. We'll get to work as soon as we get home.”

And that was the end of that.

---

This post has been edited by Lockpick on 21st February 2009 20:04

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The opera was only performed in English ONCE. T_T

Hey, FF artists! You might want to check this challenge out!

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Post #175661
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Posted: 21st February 2009 01:21

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Black Mage
Posts: 206

Joined: 14/2/2009

Awards:
Member of more than ten years. Member of more than five years. 
I take my imaginary hat off to you miss. Loved drunk!Agnes. And Marlene is certainly interesting.

Quote
His grandmother was doing a queen’s duty, at this moment, by being his right hand man...woman


LOL

Quote
“Right.” Edgar sighed and got up to go find his comb. “Good man...”

He really hated it when women told him that...


I C wut you did thar.

But my favorite part was Edgar counting the seconds for Sabin’s birthday.

Knew Von Ghanon sounded suspiciously like Banon.

And I remember reading somewhere that Pricilla was eight in the game, but that doesn’t matter.

Locke started at the Returners very young uh? I can’t wait for the attack on Kohlingen.


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"Love, and do what you will" Saint Augustine
Post #175669
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Posted: 21st February 2009 02:42

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Chocobo Knight
Posts: 143

Joined: 13/5/2008

Awards:
Member of more than ten years. Member of more than five years. Second place in the 2008 Fanfiction contest. 
My theory is that Locke probably went out and did a few crazy things between the time when Rachel lost her memory and when Kohlingen was actually attacked. Playing around with joining a rebellion might have been one of the things he did after he left Kohlingen.

Also XD at you catching the Guinevere reference. I figured it would go unnoticed.

Of course von Ghanon is Banon. :D He took his first and last names and put them together, see?

I'm glad you liked it. :D Thanks for the comment~



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The opera was only performed in English ONCE. T_T

Hey, FF artists! You might want to check this challenge out!

WEBSITE <3
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Posted: 23rd February 2009 17:31

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Onion Knight
Posts: 48

Joined: 1/11/2008

Awards:
Member of more than five years. Winner of the 2008 Fanfiction contest. 
This is really, really good.

I didn't see some of the twists and turns coming (heck, any of the twists or turns) and you set them up perfectly.

Nicely done! thumbup.gif

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I figured I had paid my debt to society by paying my overdue fines at the McLennan County Library.

"Oh crap!"
- Bartz

"Huh? Why's everyone singing?"
- Sabin
Post #175751
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Posted: 23rd February 2009 18:07

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Chocobo Knight
Posts: 143

Joined: 13/5/2008

Awards:
Member of more than ten years. Member of more than five years. Second place in the 2008 Fanfiction contest. 
Aw, thanks. ; ; The next chapter will probably be Edgar's Year Two rather than me starting on Sabin's - been wanting to write that one. Plenty of turns there, so I hope I still manage to impress you!

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The opera was only performed in English ONCE. T_T

Hey, FF artists! You might want to check this challenge out!

WEBSITE <3
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