Fire-Cross Knight

The meeting with Laguna, Kiros, and Ward went well; Squall and Kiros managed to keep Laguna professional between them.

The mission itself was not the best of circumstances. The problem stemmed from Esthar’s own xenophobic nature; people from Timber were slowly making a market in stealing Estharian technology. People would cross the train tracks, a long and terrible journey at the best of times, find someone in the city proper who was willing to supply them with interesting technological pieces for a sum of money, and would take it with them to Timber where they would find someone to buy it. The fact that selling technology to foreigners stood strictly against Estharian law made no never mind to those willing to make money- specifically the only types of technology that were recovered in the hands of smugglers were always used for entertainment purposes, and could not be exploited by anyone outside of Esthar. However, the people who were outsourcing their equipment and tools to those from the outside would only see it as a small step to move up to computers, and from there it would be simple to steal weapons or other problematic machinery.

In particular, the largest group of these smugglers had actually established themselves in a small warehouse district on the great outskirts of Greater Esthar, what the locals called the main city itself. When the Estharian peacekeepers found this warehouse, they established a watch on the building, and waited for something to happen that would gather all the smugglers within the building’s walls. They noted every foreigner easily; it was difficult to master mimicking the indigenous people, and the people themselves were leery of strangers and quite willing to point them out.

Two days ago, the police saw their chance and took it. They blocked every exit in the building and basically lay siege to the place. The people inside refused to surrender- all smugglers were found to be between the ages of seventeen and twenty-nine, all male. No families, no children. Their strengths seemed to range but for the most part they were all cannon-fodder; they lacked the strength and discipline of a true army, though a few had served under Edea during the Sorceress Wars. It was all very simple, child’s play as far as Squall was considered.

The report he had received had indicated that their strength was much higher, that it was a group of many more than thirteen fit men. Any squad of fully trained cadets could handle this group of upstarts, and Squall looked over the paperwork he had brought. The contract noted everything from “heavily-armed” to “well-trained” insurgents, not something so simple, and for the bonus he would be receiving, he highly doubted that Kiros was discussing the same group that had been previously indicated. Still, he was a mercenary, and was not willing to argue that he was being overpaid; instead he simply drafted a new contract, specifying the group and the strength range and indicating the pay to remain the same. He took time to indicate in the paperwork that this was a matter of smugglers and not insurgents, and kept as specific as he could- he did not want to be wrangled into doing a job for free simply because he was tricked into killing the wrong group of trouble-makers. He remembered Kiros’ keen intellect from Laguna’s memories and was not likely to underestimate any of them over the negotiation table.

Once the paperwork was finished and signed, Squall excused himself to the work he needed to do, agreeing to return to rest for the evening in the Presidential Palace. Kiros assured him a room would be ready for him, reminded him of the name of the chief officer of the peacekeeping corps who would be responsible for the remainder of the contract. Squall was glad to leave the room; he knew Ward and Kiros well enough to know when to feel like a piece of meat being weighed and examined- he knew all three well enough to see that there was much more at work here than a simple contract. They had another reason to see this contract completed, and the promise of tremendous amounts of gil as a “personal bonus” for it being he and he alone tormented his thoughts.

The trip through the city was never short, no matter the means of transportation. Squall himself preferred to travel through the tubes the city had provided as means, and when those fell short of his destination, he walked. He had no reason to rent a vehicle for just a stretch of the legs- he had been walking extreme distances for some time now, so it was no bother. And he found that the glowing lights of Esthar, even at 2000 hours, soothed him in a strange way. The night air was crisper for the cooler temperatures it brought, though not cool enough to keep him from sweating as he jogged the length of Esthar City.

When Squall arrived, Janse, the senior in charge of the operation, was standing across the street from the main entrance to the building next to what looked to Squall like a desk covered in the equipment a man of his responsibilities needed to do his job. He welcomed Squall as one would welcome an old friend, taking Squall’s proffered hand in both of his, asking after his good health. Squall had been trained to recognize this in locals; they accepted Squall as a savior, rather than as a mercenary, and saw him as something of ‘one of them’. He was more than willing to encourage this, and talked politely with the man until they received the reports they were waiting on from stations around the building.

The men inside were no doubt hungry and afraid by now. They had been locked inside their building for more than forty-eight hours at this point, and though they had running water, heat, electricity- anything they could want for- they were trapped. Food had to have been running short, if not completely gone, and his job would be that much easier for it. Squall listened as Janse announced his presence, reminding the smugglers that if they were to cooperate with the peacekeepers, they could live, but otherwise the great Squall Leonhart of the Sorceress Wars would come in and remain until no one was left standing.

There was gunfire as a response and little more. People were shouting obscenities from the windows; others were trying to murder anyone who would come within range. Thirteen men, Squall thought, and no more. With his own notoriety in Esthar being so strong that many people could recognize him on sight, Squall had almost assumed they would surrender. Still, he was not disappointed to learn he had to work today- he took Lionheart from its place at his side and lifted it to his shoulder, prepared to fight.


When it was over, Squall cleaned his blade as best he could on the body of the final smuggler. He had been the only one of the fourteen (their intelligence missed a man who apparently never left the building) to actually hurt Squall; a gash on his left thigh. He slung the weapon over his shoulder and made his way to the entrance to tell the men outside he had taken care of the smugglers.

A large group of men dressed in plain but matching robes ran inside at a wave of his hand, no doubt to check for survivors and begin the cleanup. Janse looked at Squall with something like a cross between hero worship and fear, as one might look at a hungry lion through a very thin mesh cage. Squall worked his mouth for a moment, turned his head to the side and spat blood that was not his own; a gunblade was a difficult weapon in close combat and none of the compound had been easy to maneuver. One of the aides tried to hand Squall a handkerchief, but Squall waved it off, pulling one of his own from the inside of his jacket and cleaning his face. Another aide handed him a bottle of water, which he did accept, rinsing his mouth.

“They’re all dead,” someone yelled from the doorway to the house before disappearing again, and Squall spat the water from his mouth. He returned the bottle to its original owner and nodded to Janse, his appearance now thoroughly acceptable to himself. The men who had waited for him outside of the building watched him with shock- he looked in no way like a man who had just slaughtered fourteen men. The difference between a professional killer and one of their own, they knew, and they were impressed and a little fearful of it. As for Squall, he knew what they were thinking and had long since become used to that as well; he had been trained by traveling through time and space to fight a fearsome enemy, and these men only had each other and the monsters just outside of city.

“I’m going back to the palace,” he told Janse, placing his weapon at his side. Janse nodded and Squall didn’t bother to wait any longer- he left. Work done, he had gil to collect.

When Squall arrived at the Palace, one of the officious aides directed him to wait for a moment and took a moment to call Kiros, saying that he had requested an audience with Squall immediately upon his return. Squall nodded and waited, annoyed, as always, with the constant delegation of those in power. Kiros appeared mere moments later and dismissed the aide, bidding Squall to follow him to his rooms.

“Rooms?” Squall asked, surprised at the plural. He had once waited in Esthar and his memories of his time did not include anything more than a room for his men and himself, and a room for the women.

“If you are remembering your time here previously, I assure you that we could not afford to grant you any manner of personal attention outside of your station,” Kiros said as he walked down one of the many halls. Squall stopped walking, then.

“Personal attention?” He asked, and Kiros turned to face him, his board-straight back evidenced even under his age, even under the disgustingly amorphous robes worn here in Esthar.

“Yes,” he answered succinctly, turning to continue walking. Squall followed, having no other choice, raking his memories of Kiros for anything that would tell him why Kiros was acting this way. The only memories he could find were those of when Kiros had been trying to keep from telling him- Laguna- something. Monosyllabic speech was a sign of Kiros’ attempt to be difficult.

What could Kiros be hiding?

The walk to Squall’s rooms was not short- several times Squall found himself looking out over sprawling Esthar through glass walls, the sort that seemed prevalent mainly in the hallways of the most important people. Squall was not the sort to find himself nervous, but this situation was growing increasingly uncomfortable. When Kiros finally came to stop before a door, Squall felt slightly relieved.

“We’ve already delivered your things to your room,” he said. “Please, go in.” Squall walked before the door and it opened, much like the ones in Garden, but unlike the rooms in Garden, he found himself walking inside with a shock he didn’t show.

It was almost ridiculous- the door opened on a room decorated in dark blues and gold. The space he couldn’t imagine in something so high up- the ceilings were well higher than they had any need to be, the room itself large enough to hold every faculty member of Garden at once. As far as the furnishings, he could almost imagine seating every faculty member as well, though why he would want to he couldn’t imagine. Couches and low tables were placed in spaces convenient for conversing groups of people. Two of the three walls were devoted to giant vid screens, one of the others to a wall of nothing but glass, which allowed him an unobstructed view of Esthar, and the final to a large painting. Two doors led from the room, and Squall couldn’t imagine exactly what they held, though he knew likely a bathroom and bedroom. Why hadn’t they provided this when he and his team had waited the agonizing time it took for them to decide Odine wasn’t cooperating?

“Your things are in your room, which is there,” Kiros said, pointing to the door on the far wall. “The other door will lead to the balcony.” The concept of a balcony, here, would have been enough to force vertigo on a weaker man. Squall just looked at Kiros through narrowed eyes.

“I don’t see how I could benefit from such space,” he answered honestly. He was past beginning to suspect Kiros, Laguna, and Ward of ulterior motives, now he merely wanted to know why they expected they could woo Squall with things he had no need for. Money, opulence- Squall was a mercenary. Excess was just another word for imprudence.

“If you would prefer something else, we can arrange it, but you are willing to accept, you will have permanent quarters here,” Kiros said, and his voice held a familiar note, his eyes a familiar light. He was going to tell Squall something that he knew Squall wouldn’t like. “Please, go inside.” Squall did as he was told, walking into the room so Kiros could enter behind him and turning to face him again. As the door shut, Kiros began speaking.

“I know that you are a military man, Squall, so I will simply tell you the truth. I know that you noticed that the mission details were not as dire as the report led you to believe initially, and that the men you were contracted to fight were no match for you.” Squall nodded, indicating for Kiros to get to the point. “I know that you have had a very limited time in which to become familiar with the Estharian government. I believe you were sent a description on this very thing?” Squall nodded- he had barely skimmed through it before he had been sent to see if the Fire Cavern was available and occupied, and had not cared enough for the specifics to peruse it after that. “I doubt that you read it.”

“I didn’t have time,” Squall answered, though the hairs on the back of his neck were standing. Why would they want to speak to him alone about...?

“By now you know that you are Laguna’s-“ Squall gestured for him to go on- Squall knew, but to hear it out loud... Kiros turned to look at Esthar for a moment before going on, Squall growing more uncomfortable to watch Kiros choose his words. Kiros was always collected- he never needed a moment to consider before proceeding. “When Adel overthrew the government of Esthar, she overthrew a monarchy, placing herself upon the throne and enforcing her cruel laws with an iron fist. We did not know that when we came, looking for Ellone. As she has told us, she showed you some of that period, correct?” Squall nodded, his mind working, slowly putting everything together before he even spoke. “I know that you remember how Laguna came to be the spearhead of the resistance movement; a strong, friendly foreign man come to save Esthar from the oppressive hand of the foreign witch. As spearhead of the movement, he was placed in the highest seat of power once she was overthrown.” Squall felt a wash of cold water down his spine, raising a hand to his forehead, dreading the words. “We call him a ‘president’, but the truth is, like Dollet Dukedom-“ Kiros turned to look at him and recognized the look on Squall’s face; he fell silent. Squall waited but a moment before he spoke.

”And if I refuse?” Squall asked, his voice betraying no emotion. He was a mercenary, a soldier, and that was the place he was meant for. Kiros nodded, though he was silently amused to see that Squall’s reaction had been the one they expected.

“We find someone else, and likely throw Esthar into a civil war.” Kiros shrugged, the same come-what-may attitude Squall had appreciated in battle. “As you know, there is no such thing as a ‘president-for-life’. Laguna is either a dictator, or a king, and when he falls, people will scramble to take his place.” Squall felt his mind begin to whirl, felt his heart lurch. President? King? Ruler of a country, responsible for all those people, all those decisions? That was exactly the type of responsibility he didn’t want, had never wanted, not even when it was necessary. He turned away from Kiros now, looking out over Esthar, and some objective part of his mind thought that it had been well planned for Kiros to be the one to tell him. He still felt enormous respect for Kiros, knew that the man had always been nothing if not upstanding and honest. If it had been Laguna...

Cold fury enveloped him for the briefest moment but he refused it; there was no one here to yell at, no Cid that was forcing him into a position of power that he didn’t want. No one spouting about ‘fate’ or blaming these horrible decisions on an incorporeal person that he could not lash out at.

“You can still refuse,” Kiros said firmly in the silence, giving Squall the escape he wanted. Squall turned to watch Kiros as he spoke. “Don’t decide now, if you need more time. Laguna isn’t dying- you have the time you need.”

“Is that what the bonus was for?” Squall asked suddenly, almost viciously. “A bribe?” Kiros shook his head slowly.

“No. The spare money is exactly as it was described; a bonus for having Squall Leonhart and only Squall Leonhart here to do this work. Of course, our motive for wanting you here was that we could discuss just this thing; you are the heir to the would-be presidency of Esthar.”

“Aren’t you the Vice President?” Squall asked quietly. “Shouldn’t you then be next in line?” Kiros shook his head.

“Laguna, Ward and I are the ones that forced those words into Estharian roles with the hope that eventually we could establish a true democracy here. However, we didn’t accomplish anything more than changing the names of roles that already existed. We attempted to at least establish a Parliament, but... the people resisted.” Kiros shrugged again, a sinuous movement that belied his proficiency with katars. “They recognize me as Laguna’s adviser, nothing more. What they want now is an heir to take over when Laguna dies, or decides to step down.” Squall looked over the ridiculously spacious room again. “I know that you’ll need time to think, Squall, but I want you to consider that with all its money, all its technology, *you* are Esthar’s best kept secret.” Squall nodded, mind empty. “I’ll leave you to your rest. You’ll be free to leave in the morning- if you wish to speak with Laguna or I, there’s a phone next to your bed in the bedroom. Just pick up and someone will answer immediately. Sleep well,” he said, and with that Kiros left.

Squall entered his extremely lavish bedroom thoughtlessly and decided that it would be a good idea to sleep, after all. He noted his bag on a table a good three feet from his well-oversized bed, and simply stripped. A door on his right indicated an alternative way to the balcony, one to the left he assumed led to a bathroom. Needing the restroom, he entered, shocked more at the enormous sunken tub than anything else, and looked at himself in the wall-length mirrors in dismay.

Prince? Was that something he could accept?

He finished with the facilities and climbed into the bed, glad that it wasn’t over soft as he had encountered in some hotels. He felt as though three more Squalls could fit into the bed with him, and tried to ignore the ridiculous size. He studiously relaxed each muscle one by one, Kiros’ words repeating over and over in his head. Best kept secret... He fought not to think, knowing that these words would force him to reevaluate everything he had ever known. He fought not to wonder what he should do. He knew he would sleep now and consider all of these things in the morning; it would be wiser to sleep first.

Did Cid know? His brain asked these questions against his will. Did Quistis? Who knew, who didn't? What would the others say? Could he abandon them- did he want to? Was he capable- yes, he knew he was. What did he want?

What would Seifer say?

Squall rolled in the bed, pressing his face to his pillow. Seifer, the one who had wanted to be the knight, who had wanted the glory. Seifer- his mirror image. Was he still in the Place Between? Was he still walking the scene of his heart? Why did he go there intentionally? What would he do, in Squall's place?

The battle, the mission, the time spent this evening focused intently on his work had finally given Squall some relief from thinking about that fear that tugged even know at the back of his mind, and he knew now, by comparison, that Seifer must have returned to the physical world. The fear had lessened for that time, and Seifer had been just another one of Squall's junctions- now, he was there, again, and the fear that never went away. Squall wished, briefly, that he could give this problem to Seifer. After all, who would be better to serve a country whose fear of Sorceresses ran so strongly than someone who had been murdered by one? But the word "murder" would likely destroy his political career...

Unlike Squall, the world-leader, the hero. The people of Esthar would welcome someone with a history like that with open arms. Even when it was realized he was a ruthless mercenary, killing for money. Who was more willing to do anything for money than a politician?

Squall knew he couldn't agonize about this, not now. These problems always made more sense in the morning, after all, but his thoughts plagued him relentlessly.

After hours of trying not to think, Squall finally unjunctioned his stat-j and cast sleep on himself. In his dreams, he heard Cid’s voice echo in his ears...

“This is your fate. It is your destiny.”

***

Told you. *siiiiigh* And yes. I know Squall's screwing someone. It's not Seifer. I'm pretty sure I know who it is, but as I'm not sure, I'll keep you posted. Things are just now fleshing out in my mind and I don't want to scare away the plot fairy by making assumptions.

Here's hoping I didn't scare off a hell of a lot of you with the change in Seifer/Squall (now with improved NOT HAPPENING) and the ridiculous amount of plot. I know aff fans aren't the type that like story. Other than the three of you who reviewed at how you do...