MC The Kinslayer 02

Morning filtered through the curtains to Irvine Kinneas' room. The window had been left open, unbeknownst to him, and a light breeze brushed and tugged at his bangs, dragging a few unruly strands down his cheek to tickle at his nose. Drifting through the hazy space between sleep and the waking world, the sensation finally dragged him into reality, forcing him to reach up and brush the strands aside, rubbing at his nose. Cornflower blue eyes opened lazily, blinking repeatedly to rid the sleepy film Matron once told him was the Sandman's gift, when he was a little boy. Having finally reached the age of eighteen, however, the boy considered himself a man now.

Someone stirred beside him and Irvine's groggy mind had to grasp the fact that he was not alone. Glancing down, the still sleeping form of Selphie came into view and caught his attention in full. Now the memories of the night previous came flooding back to him. The scent of her perfume, the sound of her breathing as she took him inside, the reflection of the half moon's glow against her skin. Merely recalling the events brought him to shiver. The fact that she had given herself to him surprised him, as much as she acted the prude. He'd been perfectly willing to wait for her, if she wanted it. The first woman the cowboy had ever been so smitten with, she would be the only woman he'd ever truly fallen in love with. That said something, for someone who used to swear off relationships of any vaguely serious nature.

She had knocked on his door later at night, after curfew for the Cadets. Irvine hadn't expected anyone to drop by at that time, but since the two were tentatively dating, he saw no reason not to let her in. She had actually dressed up a little, adding a little make-up to her already striking features. Nothing terribly noticeable, merely a little eyeliner around her emerald eyes, enhancing what the cowboy already considered stunning. A touch of blush and a light colored lip gloss finished off the extent of her attempts to impress her boyfriend. Irvine was her first time at a relationship, she'd never really tried dressing up before, beyond flipping her hair. Most of her wardrobe was meant to be quickly thrown on, ease glossing over the need to constantly primp. Though many of her female friends were always caking on make-up and dressing to the nines, she never felt the need for it. If someone didn't accept her for what she was, well, they didn't really want the real Selphie. And that was how she felt about that.

Irvine both excited and frightened her a little. He was a reputed ladies man, and part of her worried he would do the same to her as he had his other lovers. Love her and leave her. But in the four months that they'd been dating, he'd remained the perfect gentleman. He gave her all the time and space she needed and the furthest he'd tried going with her was only to kiss her. He'd been her first everything so far. First boyfriend, first kiss, first love. She hardly understood how any of it had happened. The cowboy was so handsome; he could have any girl he wanted, and yet he'd chosen her. She was careful not to say that in front of him. She'd asked him once if he thought she were pretty, and worded it wrong, sounding somewhat insecure about her own looks. It was the night he first kissed her, making her heart flutter and her body warm in a way she'd never experienced before.

Since then she'd allowed Irvine to experiment a little, but not too far. Any time she'd grown uncomfortable, he'd backed off immediately, before she ever had to say a word. His patience was infinite, even giving her the impression that he would wait for her, perfectly willing to continue at her pace and no faster. This convinced her of his sincerity far more then the times he told her he loved her, or the gifts he bestowed on her randomly. She loved being spoiled by him, but any guy could do that. Irvine made it that much more special by not asking for anything in return. It shocked her, when she really thought about it. He had such a reputation for being frivolous, lazy, a heartbreaker. A number of his ex-girlfriends had already tried taking her aside to warn her about him. It was almost as if he were now a completely different person, the old Irvine gone with the wind since they'd been reunited. That was fine with her, she rather liked this side of him.

When she went to Irvine's room, Selphie hadn't intended to end up in bed with him. Sometimes, things just happen, and this was such an occurance. Kissing had easily turned into something much more intimate and before she knew it, half their cloths were off. His touch was electrical, seeking out and finding nearly any part of her that relaxed her, brought her idle pleasure, and yet he never attempted to touch those stereotypical naughty areas. Having a boyfriend as experienced as Irvine obviously was proved to be advantageous. He was reluctant to move too fast with her, however, and refused to touch her anywhere that would make her uncomfortable. So, it surprised him to no end when she removed her own bra and took his hand, placing it against her breast. The wordless invitation was more then enough to signal her willingness.

No one ever told Selphie how wonderful this felt, for she'd always been taught to save herself for that special person, preferably till marriage. She felt fairly certain that Irvine was that special person, even if they weren't married. He'd been so gentle with her, even to the point of asking her before going so far. He had paused, in the midst of their passion, and asked her if this was what she really wanted. Just the expression in his eyes told her he would immediately back off if she had reservations. It was all she needed as a reassurance and she nodded her consent. And when the two of them joined, she never felt closer to him, fully understanding what drove him to seek this out so often before she came along. The grip of his arms around her, the the delicious friction as his body rubbed against hers, the warmth of his breath against her skin as his moans and gasps became more pronounced, all of it excited her further, till she felt she couldn't endure it any longer. An unfamiliar ache crested below, causing her to cry out his name, legs tightening around him as her back arched and her hands gripped the sheets so tightly she nearly ripped them off the mattress. Feeling her tighten and spasm beneath him, Irvine wasn't long behind her, thrusting a few last times before gasping, releasing into her till at last the two were equally spent.

The memory would be something Irvine always carried with him, too. Many of his encounters faded with time, some of them blurring together as he forgot faces, or names, or both. Selphie, however, had by far been the most passionate moment he'd ever known. He had experienced sex, many times, but to her, he had made love. In that regard, she was just as much his first as he was hers. Shifting slightly, hoping not to wake Selphie just yet, he casually drifted his fingers over the smoothness of her shoulder, content to enjoy the softness of her skin in quiet contemplation. The morning sunlight gave her a golden hue, highlighting her hair with a halo effect. His angel. All his. Petite, she seemed small and fragile curled up against him, which only lent to his feelings for her. Oh, he was well aware of her capabilities. Beneath that soft female exterior was a fierce warrior, but in this moment, she was little girl Selphie, the woman he was head over heels in love with.

Selphie awoke not long after Irvine did. Tilting her head back, she gazed up at the cowboy -- her cowboy -- and smiled as he bent his head down to give her a good morning kiss. Sunlight flared against his chestnut hair, giving it a deep reddish hue. She reached up to brush her fingers through those beautiful locks. How unfair it was that her boyfriend had nicer hair then she did. Longer too.

"Yeah," she replied as she stretched in a feline manner beside him, nuzzling her cheek against his chest. This she could definately get used to. Sex was fun, but cuddling was the panacea for all the world's ills. The cowboy seemed inclined to agree, more then willing to spend the morning lazing around in bed, holding onto his Sefie. Alas, moments like these never seemed to last, and was promptly ended by the sharp, high pitched squeak of a commlink. The one Irvine left in the pocket of his duster all the time.

"Don't answer that," Selphie whined, looking up at Irvine imploringly. After such a wonderful night and a lovely morning, she felt reluctant to let things end so quickly. The gunman sighed, glaring at the duster, specifically the offending pocket that carried the offending commlink. The beep rarely went off, which meant that most likely it was something important. Why couldn't life just wait a little bit longer before invading? Despite Selphie's protests and dark looks, he pried himself loose and retrieved the little unit from the pocket, donning the earpeice and turning the volume up a little bit. She glowered at him and crossed her arms in a huff, falling back on the pillow to continue glaring, until she realized he was walking around naked. Then she couldn't help watching him, or stop the little smile from crossing her lips. So much for staying angry with him.

"Irvine here, what's up?" the cowboy spoke into the little mic. He glanced over his shoulder, catching Selphie smiling at him somewhat lustfully. Not accustomed to such things from her, he nearly blushed as he realized what she was thinking already. It was so tempting to claim interference and put the commlink away. So very very tempting.

Perplexed, Irvine paused before asking, "Assignment? Selphie involved in this one?" He knew she was already scheduled to head for Trabia to help with reconstruction efforts there. Everyone assumed he was going with her, as the two were so rarely parted anymore. This surprised him.

Irvine pulled the earpeice off and set the unit back into the pocket of the duster. Selphie looked at him curiously as he strode back toward the bed, leaning over her with a slight frown to explain, "Squall's got a job for me, looks like we're gonna be apart for a little while." He didn't like this, not one bit, but he was SeeD, and so was she. Questioning their assignments wasn't allowed. She stuck her lower lip out at him in a pouting gesture, liking this about as much as he did.

Irvine gave her a considering look, lips quirking slightly to the left in a ghost of a smile. Squall wanted him dressed and upstairs pronto, but as far as the cowboy was concerned, the commander could wait. Selphie was far more important at the moment. "Nah, not right now," he replied finally, listening to her giggle as he leaned down to kiss her again.

Squall tapped a few keys on the commlink's main unit he kept atop his desk, reaching up to run a hand through his ash colored hair afterwards. Stormy eyes regarded the contract on his desk dubiously. Something about Baron Lothodien Badriana unnerved him to no end. His instincts screamed at him to turn down the deal, though why he felt this way evaded him. Emotions weren't his strong suit, and interpreting his own even less so. The Baron had paid in full, in advance, and even paid extra to specifically request Irvine be a member of the party the commander dispatched. Seeing the man's reaction toward the cowboy only made him that much more nervous.

When the Baron arrived, earlier in the week, he insisted on walking around Garden, murmuring something about his curiousity over the facility. He paid more attention to the students as they walked, dark eyes glancing over the Cadets and SeeDs alike as Squall gave him a brief tour, outlining Garden's policies and prices for services. The Baron apparently wanted only a single team, even just a single person, until it was pointed out that SeeD were always dispatched in teams of three. Squall never let anyone go out alone. This didn't seem to cause a problem, the Baron merely nodding in understanding. He paused near the entrance to the Quad, however, suddenly halting the conversation with Squall as his eyes fell on Irvine. Recognition was there, and something else that the commander couldn't place, though if the Baron were to look at him in that exact same manner, Squall was sure he would have shuddered. It was an expression not born of sanity.

"Irvine Kinneas? He's our resident sharpshooter," Squall replied with a shrug. "I have him scheduled already, for another assignment. Do you need a sharpshooter?" It wasn't a lie, he'd planned on sending the cowboy off with Selphie to Trabia, though it was low priority and could easily be cancelled. Something about the predatory way the Baron watched Irvine, however, made him uneasy, and unwilling.

Now, the contract signed and the deal completed, Squall wondered if he'd made the right decision. Quistis and Zell would be accompanying him, just in case, and the commander had full confidence that the three could handle anything coming to them. Still, the whole thing truly bothered him, and more then that, the fact that he couldn't figure out why it bugged him bothered him even more.

Irvine Kinneas was an hour late by the time he finally got up to Squall's office. Quistis and Zell were already there, waiting. Zell, as usual, bounced around by his chair, that endless supply of energy he possessed needing to be exorcised constantly. Quistis sat impatiently in her chair, arms folded over her abdomen as she made idle chat with the commander, occasionally wondering where in the hell Kinneas was, aloud. Squall knew why the gunman ran so late, having seen Selphie stop by Irvine's door the night before, and when he attempted to reach her at her room earlier in the morning, she'd apparently not returned to it. With Irvine's reputation in mind, the commander put two and two together, and figured four was the answer. He took the sniper's tardiness with a grain of salt.

The doors finally crashed open, Irvine striding in with the smuggest of expressions crossing his lips. Squall was reminded of the day he first met the arrogant cowboy, back at Galbadia Garden. The look on his face resembled that same irritating gaze he'd given them all as Headmaster Martine introduced him. Zell paused in his constant warm-up to smirk at the gunman and Quistis rose to her feet finally, glaring at him. Squall merely sat back, refitting the leather gloves over his hands idly, waiting for the inevitable banter between the three to begin.

She paused as she realized Irvine's clothing was a little dishelved. The vest hung open slightly, not fully buttoned, and his hair fell around his shoulders, unbound still. The temptation to chide him further dissipated then and she merely sat down again, refusing to look at the cowboy. Squall, having witnessed this with a frown, wondered if sending the former instructor along on this mission was a good idea. Too late now, however. Quistis would protest if he attempted to send someone in her place. Squall hated politics, and he hated the political nuances between his friends as well.

"Irvine, come in, sit down, button your damn vest," Squall said, halting any other attempts at chiding or poking fun at the cowboy. Time to get down to business. Grabbing the packet sitting in front of him, he tossed it toward the trio, specifically in Quistis' direction. "SeeD have been hired by Baron Lothodien Badriana, a minor noble of some sort in the mountainous regions of Trabia, a relatively cloistered country called Valsaar. Quistis, you're squad leader for this."

Quistis snatched up the packet before Irvine could, still refusing to even look at him, though a few times her gaze started in that direction. Grateful for the distraction, she opened the envelope to peer at the orders within, fingers spreading out the paperwork there to allow her a moment to glance over the maps and information about the region. Irvine watched her for a moment as he followed orders and buttoned the vest. Selphie got a little amorous as he attempted to leave and he didn't even notice she'd half undone the buttons before he finally got out the door.

"Baron Lothodien Badriana apparently is having problems with bandits in the mountainside paths, giving his people trouble and making travel nigh impossible lately," Quistis replied for Squall, turquoise eyes never leaving the pages as she continued glancing over them. "We're to aid him in finding these bandits and flushing them out."

Squall nodded, finding himself watching Irvine surreptitiously. Sending the gunman out on this still unnerved him. The orders were simple, flush out and neutralize the bandits and make the passage into Valsaar safe again, then return to Garden. Simple, and yet it seemed so very wrong. He shook his head, rising from his chair to salute the team and send them on their way before the temptation to warn Irvine about Badriana took hold. Perhaps he was merely becoming paranoid the more he remained in this position.

Selphie dropped the team off at the base of the Aramoor mountains far north on the Trabia Continent. Zell and Quistis waited for Irvine to finish his good-byes to his girlfriend. Quistis sighed and tapped her foot, irritated by the delay and eager to get going. Zell began shadow-boxing, just as impatient to get their mission started. It would be a good two days through the mountains before they reached Valsaar, and the scent of threatened snow hung heavily in the air. Irvine tried twice to escape, but Selphie called him back both times, once for a last kiss, and then for a giggly, final, "I love you." Though the cowboy understood her reluctance to let him go, he finally escaped from the ship to join the others before she could pull him back again.

"No, Quistis. We'd need more time for that," she said as she beamed at Irvine. Wriggling her fingers at him, she resisted the urge to melt as he blew her a kiss followed by a wink. However, her countenance changed rather drastically as she glanced over Zell and Quistis, especially as her gaze turned on the latter. "Take care of my cowboy, you two."

With that, she disappeared into the Ragnarok again, the hatch finally closing behind her with a hiss of escaping air. Irvine cleared his throat, flicking his eyes toward the abashed Quistis. Her cheeks had reddened considerably in chagrin and she turned away rather suddenly so neither he nor Zell could see the expression on her face. The cowboy and the martial artist both winced in tandem as they realized the exchange that had subtly passed between the two women. Selphie never forgot, nor forgave, the kiss she'd witnessed between her boyfriend and Quistis. Nevermind that it wasn't meant to be romantic, done to distract the authorities in Galbadia. Apparently the former instructor had a crush on Irvine that he never noticed, but Selphie did, and she had a jealous streak meaner then a rabid ruby dragon. Ever since that mission, the relationship between the two women was strained, the warmth they once displayed as friends cooling considerably. With Rinoa still gone, feelings of resentment festered between them into outright hostilities.

Zell and Irvine both attempted to intervene at one point. It got them no where. Irvine spent the next day convincing Selphie that she was the only woman for him and Zell was thwaped by both women for getting involved. Squall eventually stepped in and at least got the two to stop the overtly hostile behavior. Women are crafty creatures, however, and though it was very subtle, the rivalry continued unabated.

The Ragnarok lifted off the ground, scattering dust and sending a sudden gust of air past the three left in its wake. Irvine waved, knowing Selphie would be watching for that last farewell. Being without her would be difficult, but both would have to manage. Besides, Squall assured him this mission wouldn't be more then a week or two, and then he'd be back with her again. Quistis and Zell had already turned to the horses left for them at the drop-off point. The mountain passes would be too treacherous for vehicles, and too cold for chocobos, so stocky horses with their winter coats already grown out were to get them up to Valsaar. Provisions, packs and tents were also left for them on a fourth packhorse.

The mountain pass toward Valsaar reminded the trio of something out of the history books. The smattering of villages and scattered singular abodes they passed boasted the most primitive of technology. Homes bore thatched roofs and the natives stared as they rode past, blank expressions of awe and distrust written on their faces. Irvine garnered the strangest of reactions, many acting as if they knew him, and not in a friendly manner. Women and children fled into the safety of their homes and men fingered weapons or held tense stances, ready for a fight. The reaction perplexed the gunman a lot, and bothered him to no end. He'd never been to this region of the continent before, so why were they all staring at him like that?

Quistis rolled her eyes at the two, not bothering to leap into the teasing jabs as the martial artist and the cowboy bantered back and forth about his reputation. The entire scenario disturbed her, not just the way the locals watched Irvine as if he were the devil in a black cowboy hat. She read the papers, their orders, and saw little information about this region, as if Valsaar remained even more reclusive and xenophobic then Esthar had been before the Second Sorceress War. The abject poverty staggered her, most of the faces she looked at lean and hungry and... afraid. Afraid of Irvine. Now, Quistis had known him as a little child, and now as the ladies' man turned lapdog to Selphie, and never had she seen a reason to show that kind of fear of him. Something told her ahead of time that this Baron Badriana was a man not to be trifled with. Too many questions, why in the world hadn't Squall seen any of this ahead of time? She privately reminded herself to have a long talk with the

The first day passed without incident. All three of them remained ever wary, knowing the reason they'd been hired involved the possibility of being waylaid by these supposed bandits before they even reached Valsaar's main keep, the Baron's home. Snow began to fall in great flaky clumps just before twilight, and by the time darkness settled across the mountains, it was flurrying in blinding sheets of white. A convenient inlet was located, large enough to accommodate their tent, though the horses had to be tethered out in the flurries. They lit a fire out of the kindling left on the packhorse, conserving as much as possible. The snow would delay them, perhaps by a day if it accumulated any faster. Rations consumed and the horses tended to, everyone huddled in their sleeping bags to slumber till the morning light finally breached the mountain pass.

The skies burned lurid red, as if a great wound in the atmosphere had been opened, bleeding into the horizon. Somewhere in the distance, the faint throb of a drum beat relentlessly, the sound of a beating heart. Irvine stood in the wake of a large castle, the walls surrounding the courtyard crumbled, ruined. Without understanding why, he strode forward, each footfall echoing off the cobblestones beneath his boots. The keep loomed before him, the stone and mortar walls darkened, streaked where rain and melted snow dripped down between the cracks, forcing them to break and part. The crenalations crumbled so badly that thick chunks of stone tumbled to the ground ages ago, now lying listlessly at his feet.

The doors were warm to the touch. Irvine left his hand against the handle, hesitating before opening the huge double doors. Bronze and aged, tarnished and blackened, the crest there long ago faded, the details of it lost to the elements that ravaged this place in the absence of human care. The drum like heartbeat grew louder, faster, and it called him, surged in his own blood as if it were a part of him. Every cell in his body cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, fear and rapt fascination. Something bid him to enter, a voice, song like, beautiful as Siren's harp, called his name repeatedly, softly, so faint that turning his head to pinpoint the voice's location made him lose it.

He released the door handle. The voice died with a sharp, abject cry of dismay. Everything grew still and silent, the palpable weight of the air nearly choking him. Sulfur filled his nostrils suddenly and as the doors flung open, he lifted an arm to shield his face, feeling inferno temperatures rush past him as the crackling roar of flames filled his ears. He fell to his knees as the moment passed, realizing suddenly that he was not in pain. Lowering his arm, he stared down at his hands, the fingerless gloves gone, his palms bare. To his horror, blood welled there, pooling so quickly it dripped through his fingers, splattering against the ground, running down his arms in rivulets. And through some dreamborn knowledge, he realized it was not his.

He awoke in a sweat, clapping a hand over his mouth to keep himself from crying out and alarming Zell or Quistis. Darkness still bathed the mountain pass, morning a few hours away. The other two still slept soundly, unaware of the gunman's wakefulness, or reluctance to go back to sleep. He'd had nightmares before, but nothing like that. Removing the gloves, he stared at his palms, as if expecting to see blood there. Thankfully there was none, it was just a dream. Yes, just a dream. With a deep breath, he settled back into the warmth of the sleeping bag. Just a dream, he repeated inwardly. Just a dream. A dream.

No bandits attacked the team as they wound their way through the mountain pass toward Valsaar. The wind tugged at their clothing and jackets, making Irvine rather glad he had the lined duster this time. After that night, the snows had continued throughout the following day, light flakes drifting lazily down to join their brethren already steadily building up at the hooves of their horses. It slowed the trio considerably, forcing them to stop each evening at sunset. The nights were unmercifully cold as well, and tempers flared amongst the group. Luckily, arguing meant exposing one to the elements in some manner, so they glowered to themselves, or exchanged glares rather then words. By the morning of the third day, the keep of Valsaar loomed ahead of them, the spires reaching up higher and higher still the closer they rode to it. The city surrounding it became more evident, singular homes growing closer together until the horses finally broke free of the snow banks, hooves ringing on shoveled cobblestones.

Protected by the mountains, as if they stood like sentient guardians around the sleepy town, Valsaar rarely interacted with the world outside its gates. Though marked on most maps, few made the trek this far, and fewer still during the winter months. Merchants, mostly, and the occasional adventurer. Strangers were met with suspicion by the smaller villages and residences outside, but inside the city, the frightened looks in Irvine's direction ceased and gazes of reverence replaced them. The guards at the gate stared at the cowboy for a long moment as Quistis introduced herself and the rest as the SeeD team requested by the Baron. When they opened the gates, both bowed immediately and showed the utmost deference to the group.

"The Baron is not currently available at his Keep, not until tonight. But please, my lord, warm yourself and your companions at the inn," one of them offered, speaking directly to Irvine and not to Quistis. Though it vexed her slightly, she held her tongue and observed unobtrusively. These people all reacted to the cowboy as if they knew him. Her suspicions were steadily growing, wondering if this were truly a mission, or if this Baron merely wanted Irvine here. Squall mentioned specific outlines, and the copy of the contract stated an extra price for a sharpshooter request. It smelled like trouble to her.

Irvine gave the guards a dumbfounded look, not used to anyone referring to him with noble titles. Oh, Selphie teased him with 'Sir Irvine' on occasion when he fumed over her Sir Laguna page, but that was a joke. These guards were dead serious. He reached up and tipped the hat to them as a thank you, spurring the horse forward toward the suggested inn. A glance over his shoulder confirmed his paranoia, they were both watching him ride away. Luckily no one stood out in the snow encrusted streets. No one else stared at him with fear or awe or some strange mixture thereof. The more time he spent in this strange backwater town, the more he wanted this mission over with, to be back with Selphie again and away from this weirdness.

The inn stood two blocks from the gate, the windows illuminated with soft lighting. The trio dismounted as the door opened, a heavy set woman in a knit brown sweater welcoming them inside. Her cheerful demeanor froze on her face the moment Irvine turned and she actually laid eyes on him. Suddenly she lowered her gaze and bowed slightly to him in deference, her stance tense and fearful. Rolling his eyes, Zell smirked at the cowboy and muttered something about him being a long lost prince before drifting through the still open door to the inn. Unfortunately, Irvine didn't think it was funny. He glanced at Quistis in askance and she could only shrug her shoulders and follow the martial artist inside. Waiting until the horses were taken away by a stable hand, the gunman sighed and slipped into the inn to find his companions.

"So what's up with all this noble stuff, huh?" Zell asked, grinning from ear to ear at Irvine as the three flopped down at the warm hearth in the main room. The cowboy glowered at him sullenly, thrusting his hands out toward the fire as he attempted to ignore the jibe and warm his fingers. Quistis stretched out, propping herself up on her hands as she watched Irvine, studying his features.

"Did either of you see the contractee?" she asked idly. This was met with the two men both shaking their heads. She frowned slightly, wishing she had some way to contact Squall, ask him about this. The mountains interfered with communications, however, and for that reason she hadn't bothered to bring along her beloved laptop. If Irvine at all resembled the man who'd hired them, well that would explain quite a bit. At least it would explain why the residents here reacted so strongly to the cowboy's presence.

The heavy set woman who originally greeted them, Wenia as she had introduced herself, brought out bowls of warm stew and mugs of a bitter liquid with a faintly floral scent to it. It was an acquired taste, but with a little sugar added, they drank it down without complaint. Wenia wringed her hands and explained hastily to Irvine that her wine stores were depleted already and the wine merchant hadn't traveled up the passage since the snows began. The way she spoke lead Quistis to believe the woman expected to be reproached by the cowboy. Again, Irvine reassured the poor woman that things were fine and she need not worry. Surprised, the woman bowed several times, dipping up and down as she backed off slowly. "Thank you, my lord, you are very gracious."

Irvine watched her with a perplexed expression. Was everyone here insane? Zell started giggling, and then outright laughing as the cowboy elbowed him roughly to the side. "Aw come on, Irvine. Everyone's bowing and scraping to please you, my lord." The laughter that ensued made Irvine merely sigh, looking at Quistis for help.

"Sorry, my lord, I know about as much as you do," she said with a faint smile crossing her lips. It'd been awhile since she'd allowed herself to relax in Irvine's presence, ever fearful of Selphie's rabid jealousies misinterpreting anything she did toward the cowboy. Well, that wasn't exactly true. She still held a measure of attraction toward him, deny it all she wanted to. It was nice to be able to let her hair down and rib him the way she used to.

The afternoon passed in relative quiet. The three spent their time in the common room, sampling Wenia's cooking again before nightfall. She continued to behave nervously in Irvine's presence, but as time passed and he never snapped at her and coaxed her to speak a little more with that natural charm of his, she eventually opened up to the group, even sitting with them to talk. Valsaar rarely saw strangers other then merchants, she explained, and the Baron liked it that way. Questions about him confused her, and when prodded about him, she excused herself finally. As twilight settled in, a knock at the door drew the woman out again to answer the door, the bitterly cold winds outside howling into the common room, ruffling table cloths and snuffing out several candles. In the same manner as she had greeted Irvine, she bowed in a bobbing manner and backed away from the door.

The man who stepped inside shrouded himself in winter trappings, a heavy, fur lined cloak with the hood drawn over his features. He did not close the door, letting the chill from outside seep away the warmth of the common room. "Are you the SeeD group hired by my Lord?" Not Badriana, then. Quistis rose to her feet, assuming the leadership position again. The locals might consider Irvine to be a lord of some sort, but surely the Baron's men would know the truth.

"SeeD Quistis Trepe, Squad Leader, this is Zell Dincht and Irvine Kinneas," she introduced herself and the others. The man paused to look the group over, and as she expected, his gaze lingered on Irvine far longer then she felt it should have. Yes, something was definitely going on here.

Baron Lothodien Badriana's keep sat at the far northern part of the city, the huge structure protruding out of the mountainside as if it had merely been carved from the stone rather then built atop it. Gargoyles and statuettes dotted the castle walls, grotesque faces bearing numerous icicles from the precipitation that dripped slowly as snow melted. The huge double doors parted without a touch, twin servants pulling them inward to allow the party to enter the great keep. Irvine paused before entering, listening suddenly as he caught the echo of a voice carried on the howling wind. The dream suddenly resurfaced in his memory, and he listened intently again, hearing that entrancing voice again, so sweet, so seductive so--

The hallways were warmed, and yet, coldly aesthetic in decoration. Tapestries lined the walls, depicting stories none could quite comprehend. The ceilings rose to dizzying heights, flying buttresses crossing the lofty arches. The Baron's servant lead them quickly through the winding corridors, pausing only if the three fell too far behind. It was mazelike in this strange and alien place, and quickly all three felt utterly lost. The helplessness of that feeling did not lend to any confidences. Finally, he brought them into a small, cozy little antechamber not unlike an inn's common room. A fire blazed warmly from the hearth and a number of cushioned chairs lined the room with endtables and large candles.

"Whoa, we're locked in? What kinda guy is this Baron dude anyway?" Zell exclaimed, the first one to think to actually test the door. It wouldn't budge. He pounded on it a few times, even denting it without meaning too, but the door was simply too thick for the martial artist to pound down, even with those powerful fists of his.

"Let it go, Zell, I don't know what's going on either, but let's wait and see if the Baron comes and what he has to say about this," Quistis said, walking over to rest a hand on his shoulder and try to pull him back. Slumping his shoulders, Zell complied without argument, sinking into one of the chairs near the fire. Quistis couldn't sit just yet, quietly and slowly pacing up and down the length of the room. Irvine had already claimed a chair for himself, draping one leg over the arm of it lazily as he glowered at the flames. He seemed so lost in thought that the former instructor didn't want to disturb him. None of them spoke aloud, in fact, wondering what the Baron planned to do with them now, and what they could do to escape this unforeseen trap.

The minutes stretched into hours before they heard footfalls down the hallway. Zell and Irvine rose slowly to their feet as the lock clicked, the doors swinging open. The man who lead them here entered first, followed by the tall figure of the individual they all assumed was the Baron. He stood at about Irvine's height, and though his hair was dark, peppered with gray at the temple, and his eyes were a deep umber color, his frame, the shape of his face, mimicked Irvine's with a haunting precision. The man had to be related to the cowboy, it was too eerie to be otherwise. In the wake of his entrance, the trio merely stared at him, speechless as the realization hit them at nearly the same moment.

"Forgive my servant. I gave no such order for the doors to be locked. However, this keep has many secrets, and it is better for you not to wander. It was for your safety, and nothing else," the Baron began, his gaze slowly raking over each of them, lingering at last on Irvine. "And I'm afraid I've not been completely honest either. There are no bandits for you to dispose of. I merely wished to clear my suspicions."

"Suspicions of what?" Quistis asked breathlessly, turquoise eyes widening as she realized she'd been right the entire time. This was no ordinary job. This wasn't a job at all. She, along with Zell, glanced over at Irvine, the pregnant silence stretching out for what seemed like hours rather then mere seconds. Irvine stared at the Baron, feeling a lump form in his throat. Suddenly it all pieced together, it all made sense to him. The way the people stared at him, fear and awe and respect. He waited for the inevitable, hearing the words long before they were actually spoken aloud.

Everyone in the antechamber either stared at Lothodien or Irvine. The resemblance between them was uncanny, and undeniable. The cowboy himself felt as if time stopped, just for this moment. All his life he'd believed his parents to be dead. Gone to heaven, Matron told him when he was four. With no concept of death or afterlife at the time, he thought they'd just come back and get him when they were done being in heaven. Now he stared at the man who claimed to be his father. Questions danced through his mind, all unvoiced as they clamored at the same time for dominance. Where was his mother then? Why was he left at the orphanage? How did Lothodien find him and why now?

"Well," Quistis said, sounding as dumbfounded as everyone else, save the Baron, felt. Zell stood stock still, too shocked to feel the need to bounce around anymore. All the children at the orphanage had fantasized about finding his or her real parents, but now that most had entered into young adulthood, the dream had faded and eventually been snuffed out like a used candle. Lothodien gestured a dismissal for his servant. The man bowed low and departed the room without a word, not bothering to lock the doors behind him this time. The Baron slowly approached the group, then gesturing for them to sit. He waited till they had done so before claiming a chair for himself. His bearing possessed a regality as noble as any king, and as far as Quistis knew, he might as well be a king in this domain. There were few other nobles, and none held a title as high as his. The idea of Irvine being noble born amused her privately, though the seriousness of the situation steeled her expression and her humor was kept in check.

"You were an infant when you were taken from me, Irvine," Lothodien began, explaining without anyone prompting him to. The questions were written in their eyes, if not verbally expressed. "I'm not sure how it happened, but after your mother's death in childbirth, her servant spirited you away. I have searched for you these last eighteen years, but my resources are limited in Valsaar, and we have not the technology or contacts that perhaps your Garden does." Not to mention the boy was in the care of a Sorceress , and one who carefully kept the Orphanage cloaked by her own powers. He learned later that it was done to prevent Adel from sensing the place, but it kept Lothodien out just as well. The Biographies that littered the newsstands after the Second Sorceress War ended provided him with ample amounts of information he'd not been privy to before. The name the old hag gave the boy, or so he assumed she had, annoyed him. He searched for Nashoba, not for an Irvine. All to further hinder him in the end. "Your name... where did it come from? It was not the one you were given at birth."

So his mother really was dead. Irvine absorbed the explanation, piecing things together in his mind with a numb feeling spreading through him. Too much to understand too quickly. To accept on blind faith. So this man resembled him. Was he really his father? The question regarding his name brought him out of his doubts and he blinked. "Matron gave it to me. She told me my mother died in childbirth..." that much obviously was true "... and that my father died before I was even born, and I had no name."

"I gave it to you, actually," Quistis said with a bit of a blush coloring her cheeks. "She asked me, I had a stuffed rabbit named Ervy. She just changed it around a little so it was an actual name." Zell snickered despite himself. This was a story no one ever talked about, a private sort of thing Quistis and Matron giggled about while reminiscing over tea. Irvine didn't even know it till that moment and he frowned at the former instructor and then at Zell. Still, the admittance of it cut through the tension momentarily, giving all of them some respite.

"Nashoba Badriana, my son," Lothodien replied. Would the boy accept it? Or insist on keeping the name that Sorceress gave him. His dark gaze swept over his son's attire, disapproval kept in check. The length of his hair, the earrings, the commoner attire. Eighteen lost years, and now he'd have to break down these bad habits and lift the real Nashoba from the ashes. He had so little time, thanks to Ameleith and her hag servant. The ire burned so brightly then that he stood abruptly from his chair and turned away from the trio. Even the Sanguinary lamented this loss of time, but that seductive voice in his blood, his ears, his mind, soothed its servant and tempered him with patience. He turned, realizing they were staring at him again, a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty in their eyes collectively. The two who accompanied his son were noteworthy as well, though their stories were not his concern. The Sanguinary had no use for a Reincarnate or a Blue Mage. Only Irvine-- Nashoba mattered.

They were escorted to private bed chambers after the Baron said his farewells for the night. Separate rooms, grand in scale and at least twice as large as the antechamber had been. No one locked the doors on them this time, but the servant, Golna, warned them not to wander. "The castle has many secrets, it is best you sleep and wait till I come for you in the morn." This did not prevent the three from sneaking into Quistis' room to talk.

"Looks like you've found your parents, Irvine," Quistis said with a touch of wistfulness. It made her wonder who her real parents were. She sat on the edge of the huge bed, padded down with numerous pillows and a quilt so soft she wondered who could have possibly crafted it. Irvine and Zell sat on the floor, the throw rug there more then comfortable. Zell leaned forward, resting on the heels of his palms. Irvine crouched, elbows settled against his thighs, fingers clasped together in front of him.

"Yo, you gonna stay here with him?" Zell asked, reaching up to rub at his nose. They all noticed the strange odor of this place, something undeniably old, but so faint that it was difficult to place. The martial artist really didn't like the idea of leaving Irvine here. Yeah, this Baron was obviously the other teen's father, but something bugged him about all of it, and he knew it bugged Quistis too, he saw it in her eyes as she looked at Irvine in askance, wondering the exact same thing as Zell.

"Selphie will kill you otherwise," Zell teased. Even Quistis giggled at that one, fully imagining Selphie piloting the Ragnarok all the way out there just to get Irvine back and chase him around with a rolling pin. The cowboy groaned and rolled his eyes. He saw the truth in that as well as Quistis did. A week wasn't so bad, he planned on being gone at least that long before, anyway.

They parted then, Zell to his room and Irvine to his. All three settled into warm and comfortable beds and drifted off to sleep. All three believed themselves safe for the night while under Lothodien's roof. None of them heard the soft sound of footfalls down the hallway as someone snuck toward the door to Irvine's room, carefully and quietly making sure the lock turned.

The bedroom had changed. He awoke... or was he awake? He couldn't tell. The bed had a patchwork quilt on it before, didn't it? Why were there white linens on it now? The room itself seemed a bit smaller and much colder. The hearth had gone out. Wait, did the room have a hearth when he went to sleep? Groggily he struggled with these strangely changed details, rubbing at his eyes until they fell on the cradle. This was new. There had been no cradle in the room when he fell asleep.

A flash of light interrupted his mental ponderings and he turned to stare at the bed. A woman sat there, dressed in a white nightgown that buttoned all the way to her throat. Red hair spilled around her shoulders and her eyes were intensely blue. Irvine knew immediately that this was his mother looking at him. She stared at him wordlessly, and there burned a recognition for him in her eyes.

Irvine found he couldn't respond to her, nor was he given a chance to. The dream shifted suddenly, the windows of the room shattering inward, spraying the stone floor with tinkling shards of glass. Screams rose in a cacophony of terror around him, echoing from outside the room. The woman on the bed merely sat there, her eyes sad now, and in moment of disturbance, disappeared. The candles that lit the room suddenly flicked out, leaving Irvine in total darkness. Everything still, suddenly, that droning heartbeat, maddeningly methodical and dogmatically insistent, returned, pounding in his ears. A candle flickered back to life. Then two. Light slowly filtered back into the room to reveal the destruction there.

On the bed lay his mother, her gaze suddenly lifeless, staring at him, through him. The covers now dishelved, he realized the white linens were stained bright red with her blood, her belly and torso torn asunder, ripped as if someone took a knife and cut her open from chin to abdomen. Looking down at his hands instinctively, his palms again filled with blood, dripping down his arms, droplets pattering against the glass dusted floor. His mother's blood. He killed his mother. The dead face turned toward him, lips moving as if another controlled the shell left behind.