Fire-Cross Knight

Sleep had never come to claim Squall, but he did lay awake battling with himself.

The entire situation had left him reeling in ways to which he could never admit. Seifer seemed almost normal, and certainly easier to understand with his emotions trickling through the back of Squall’s mind, which begged the question, was there no way to keep himself and Seifer as separate as they had once been? He thought vaguely about what it had been like when he had left Ifrit without a junction for a few days, sitting, detached, in the computer bank. No one had been able to use him, but at the same time, he was never summoned. Would it be something like that for Seifer? Or would Seifer go away?

Squall had turned on his side, thoughtful. If he *did* release Seifer that way, but continue to hold his bonds, would Seifer then do as he’d threatened before and find himself a place to be away from humankind? And would Seifer be safe, to leave among the student population, unleashed? Squall didn’t know if Seifer would continue to behave as he had during these past few days, but every time he considered it, he remembered Seifer’s lightning-fast reflexes, the way Hyperion arched in perfect swing straight towards Zell’s head, and how his loyalty to Squall had made him stop. He knew that it was only that Guardian-forced loyalty that had allowed him to come to a complete halt when Squall had told him to. He didn’t want to have to explain to Ma Dincht why her son had been murdered by one of the most prominent enemies of the Second Sorceress War. Yes, he had reason to trust Seifer among the students, but that would be much harder to explain to a woman whose son had just been killed.

Squall rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. His thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone, whirling in his mind. He had already resolved that he wouldn’t tell Rinoa about this, but some part of him felt like that was a betrayal as well. He felt that gossamer thread between them and knew that she was in Timber, now, though he did not know when she had gone there. He tried not to wonder if she was alright; he wasn’t actually concerned for her, only he felt some unavoidable loyalty, some sort of devotion he could never shake. As though he was obligated to stand beside her as guard, night and day. He hoped that someday that feeling would fade; she had made it clear that there was nothing left between them, but for whatever reason, that Knight’s bond did not seem to understand her words the way his mind did.

Of course, these thoughts brought him back to Seifer once more. What exactly was this loyalty Seifer had been exuding? Was it something like he felt for Rinoa? He shook his head just a little, rejecting that idea, not as impossible or preposterous, but as disgusting. He didn’t need Seifer to protect him, and as far as Squall was concerned, he didn’t need another Guardian Force. Shiva and Diablo had taken him to the end of the world and back; he never asked for more than the strength to do what had to be done.

In the end, though, Seifer’s loyalty didn’t matter. In a way, he would’ve preferred the old asshole to this normal, seemingly well-adjusted Seifer. He kept seeing that shining arc of metal hurtling towards Zell come to a grinding halt at the sound of his voice alone. A world where Zell and Seifer didn’t fight was almost as offensive as a world where Seifer was a nice guy. He didn’t like it.

As far back as his limited memories stretched, he could always remember Seifer there, pushing him and pushing him until he thought he would break. These past few months since Rinoa had left had felt empty and bleak, almost like the time he had been floating aimlessly on the ocean, unknowingly towards Fisherman’s Horizon. Part of that, he knew, was because he no longer knew himself.

Squall turned onto his side again. Who was he, exactly? What had happened? Once he had been Squall Leonhart, promising SeeD, orphan, gunblade master. He had been threatened to the point of being stalked by Seifer Almasy, also an orphan and gunblade master. He had been quiet, distant, cool.

Now he was some bastardized version of himself. No longer could he hold onto his distance- his friends all seemed to ambush him on a regular basis. It was only recently that they had all been forced to leave him for their duties simultaneously; if he hadn’t known better he would’ve thought they were coordinating their time to keep him company. However, even when they were there, he knew that he was no longer complete, that he no longer had a purpose.

Even before he had been sent on a doomed mission to Timber, he had always had a goal. To fight, to grow stronger, to become SeeD, to gain rank, to complete this mission, or that mission, to kill the sorceress, to return to Garden, to escape prison, to save Rinoa, to save the world. Now he had accomplished everything, and there was nothing left to do but to wait here at Garden for a time when they might need him. And they never did seem to need him.

Squall curled in on himself, clutching his knees. No one did.

What was the purpose- what was *his* purpose?

When no thoughts, no answers, nothing more came to him, he knew he had found the answer. The answer lay in that dark, unyielding emptiness in his mind. He had accomplished what he had been made to accomplish. He remembered rebelling against Cid’s words that this had been his fate, gesturing wildly as he yelled, but now he knew. He had met his fate, and now he was finished, complete.

What could possibly lie beyond that? What more could he possibly do, or need to do? How could you ever hope to accomplish something more, something greater, than saving the world?

He held himself tightly, grasping, reaching, scrabbling for any thought, any idea. Who could ever find something more?

He thought of the others who had crossed that line with him. Irvine and Selphie, and their mission to rebuild. Zell, and his mother- at least that would give him purpose for some years yet. Quistis taught, something he himself could never do; children were horrible monsters, and teenagers were worse yet. Rinoa with her mission to “free” Timber from tyranny. Well, if she could believe that, she was welcome to it- as far as Squall was concerned, any one rule would be the same as any other in her eyes.

Who did that leave? Seifer? Seifer was dead, actually, and so his option wasn’t available. Or was it?

Squall shook his head. Yes, he despaired, but to take his own life was abhorrent. He did not know why, but the idea was anathema to him. Still, that left the question unanswered. What more purpose could Squall Leonhart possibly serve?

With that despair, that sickening feeling that he had none, Squall fell asleep, cold no matter how tightly he held himself.