MC The Kinslayer 03

By morning the snowfall had finally ceased. The cobblestone streets of Valsaar city were cleared of the snow drifts, workers busily and steadily keeping them clean in shifts. Quistis exhaled in a puff of white mist as she sat atop her horse, glancing at the city a final time. Golna lead the way for her and Zell, at least seeing them to the gates of the city before leaving them to find their way back in the company of two of the Baron's guards. Irvine hadn't even said good-bye before they were hustled out the door. She got the distinctive impression that the Baron's welcome had worn thin for her and Zell. He wanted Irvine, obviously and now that he had his son back, the companions were to be whisked away as soon as possible. There lingered an unease at leaving the cowboy here alone, but it was his decision. After a week's time, if there was no word from him, then she'd insist on returning to check on him at least. Until then, she had no choice but to ride out alongside Zell and their Valsaarian guards.

Zell rode with an unusual silence. He fidgeted with the reigns or mock boxed at the shadows engulfing the mountain pass. The guards made him uneasy, as if they were doing more than escort duty, making sure the pair made it to the base of the mountain and lifted off back to Garden rather than double back to check on Irvine. He actually prodded Golna quietly before riding past the gates. It wasn't unusual for the cowboy to oversleep or be late for things, but to say good-bye to them before they left? Couldn't they have at least woken Irvine up and let him know they were going? Apparently not, the suggestion met with a thinning of Golna's lips and a trite, "No." No one woke up anyone of the Badriana bloodline without permission to do so first.

Quistis expected the guards to turn back after a time, perhaps halfway through the day, to return to the Baron. To her surprise, and chagrin, they remained with her and Zell through the day, and through the night and the next day as well. All the way down the mountain pass, back to the waypoint where she was to contact Garden when the mission was at an end. They had been gone maybe a week, not quite, and as she expected, Squall's voice sounded stunned as she called for escort home again, mission completed.

"It's a long story, Squall, I'll report in full when Zell and I are back," she said into the commlink before shutting it off. She didn't tell him Irvine wasn't with her. Selphie would be tough enough to deal with when the Ragnarok appeared. Glancing back up the mountain, she squinted, peering into the distance to search for the keep. Hyne be with you, Irvine. Somehow, I can't help but think you're getting in over your head.

Irvine awoke groggily, his head cloudy as if he'd been drugged. The dream had left him in such a state of distress that sleep didn't come easily afterwards. Finally, as the wee hours of morning saw a glimmer of light filtering into the huge arched windows, he drifted off again and no more nightmares haunted his dreams. Those same windows now allowed bright sunbeams to warm the throw runs strewn across the floor. What time was it? He threw the covers aside and staggered out of bed, remembering that Quistis and Zell were leaving soon. He'd overslept, surely, but they couldn't have left yet. Quistis, at least, would insist on saying good-bye before they headed back to Garden.

Finding his clothing, he squinted in the brightness of the afternoon sunlight. Somehow, the light lent a much safer atmosphere to the room that darkness stole away when night fell. Everything was as it had been the night before, throw rugs, the quilted bed covers, no hearth, no cradle. It was only a dream. Still, the blood nightmares frightened him. He had to remove the fingerless gloves again just to make sure his palms were clean. Striding toward the door, he frowned as the knob rattled, but refused to grant him escape. Someone locked it during the night. He knew for a fact it wasn't when he went to bed. Back toward the window he dashed, peering down at the rooftops of the city below. Bodies milled around shoveling snow or going about their daily lives. He saw nothing that resembled Quistis or Zell out there.

Time passed slowly, leaving the cowboy to pace back and forth along the rugged floor. Anxiety grew as the afternoon began to wane into evening. Where were Quistis and Zell? Where they prisoners too? He attempted to pick the lock a few times, and it actually zapped him, forcing him to jump back and drop the little metal pick he'd found in his duster pocket. Shaking his hand he frowned. What was this, a glorified prison cell? Eventually, Golna broke the monotony, unlocking the door long enough to bring a change of clothing and lay it out on the bed. The cowboy stared at the door, considering making a run for it.

"I wouldn't, my lord. It is not safe to roam this castle without escort," Golna said without looking at Irvine. He knew what the boy was thinking. Turning, he gestured to the outfit left behind, a dark tunic, gray pants and a plain brown belt, along with a pair of dark boots left on the floor. "I suggest changing before dinner with your father tonight. It is also recommended you remove the... earrings. And anything else offensive."

"Your friends were escorted from the city this morning. You are not a prisoner, you are my liege lord, but your father has requested you stay here until you learn the secrets of this place. Patience, young lord. Please," he replied simply enough. Turning, he left Irvine alone in the room again, the lock clicking as the door shut behind him. Patience? Irvine fumed, glancing over the outfit left behind with a contemptuous look. Lothodien Badriana was going to learn quickly that his son has a will all his own.

Hours more passed before the door opened again. The afternoon whittled away to twilight, and finally pure darkness outside the huge windows. No Golna this time, Lothodien himself entered the room, his stony face impassively gazing at the boy still dressed in his cowboy attire. "You've not changed yet." Disapproval painted his tone, though his gaze gave away no more then a stone would emotion-wise. The Baron himself dressed in an embroidered tunic with scroll work along the hem, collar and cuffs. A deep green cloak fell over his shoulders, clasped at the throat by a silver leaf pin. All of it meant to show off the wealth of his station, the power of his position.

"Not my style," Irvine replied, feeling all his frustrations and ire well to the surface. Locked in his room all day, not even allowed to bid farewell to his friends, left to his own designs till nightfall, he'd steadily decided this scenario needed to change. "I prefer the Galbadian herder look. And really, what kind of accommodations are these? I've heard of folks locking themselves out of their rooms, but locked in? Where's the management? I want to lodge a complaint."

The monologue left Lothodien stuptified. No one dared speak to him in such a flippant manner as this child of his own blood did now. Crossing the room in three steps, he backhanded Irvine across the cheek, rocking the cowboy's head to the side. It stung, for the Baron was not a weak fop. Touching the area struck, finding it tender and probably bruised eventually, he turned his gaze back toward his father, glaring at him openly. Selphie always said he needed to learn when to just quit and keep his mouth shut.

A hand gripped the cowboy's chin suddenly, forcing him to look at Lothodien's face. The burning ire behind his impassive gaze could melt glaciers or send dead people back to their graves. Reaching up with his free hand, the Baron plucked out one earring, releasing Irvine's chin then to snatch the other and rip it out too. Irvine winced both times, refusing to cry out at the pain of torn flesh. Touching one earlobe gingerly, his fingers came away with fresh blood.

Silent now, Irvine continued to glare at his father, but held his tongue for once. That unrelenting face never once yielded any emotion, only those hard eyes staring down the boy by the sheer weight of his gaze, his presence undeniably in control. Lothodien expected to be obeyed and another off-color comment could prove to be even more painful for the cowboy. Silence seemed the wiser choice. The Baron recognized the defiance in his son's eyes, but the halt of sarcastic comments signified a start, at the very least, in changing his behavior. He touched each earlobe briefly and the throbbing, tandem aches ceased immediately, tingling briefly as flesh reknitted itself thanks to a Cure spell.

Wordlessly, Lothodien stepped back, turned and left the room with a strong but easy gait. His posture, as always, remained dignified, above reproach. Irvine immediately felt along his ears, cursing as he realized the holes were healed too, meaning he'd have to repierce them. "My name is Irvine Kinneas you jackass!" he screamed at the relocked door. Grabbing one of the boots left for him, he threw it at the doors in his anger and frustration, watching it thud dully against the thick wood and fall to the ground unceremoniously. Forcing himself to calm down then, slumping on the edge of the bed, he began to plan some sort of escape. Nashoba Badriana did not cease to exist at that moment. As far as Irvine was concerned, he never existed in the first place.

Days passed for Irvine in a repetitive manner. During the daylight hours Lothodien demanded he be locked in his room, not allowed out until dinnertime, which always occurred well after dark. Golna rarely visited, usually to bring him clothing for that evening, or a lunch tray. The cowboy wondered if anyone else wandered the keep with any sort of regularity. The only servant he'd seen was Golna. No footsteps echoed down the hallway, no voices drifted through the door. Everything seemed dead in the daytime, slumbering. On the fourth day, Irvine was delightedly surprised to find that the door had at last been unlocked. Did Golna forget? Or did they want him wandering now, perhaps willing to let him start exploring the keep. Whichever, he didn't care, it was a chance, at last, to escape this hell.

Deadly silent, the hallway stretched out in both directions, sunlight replacing torchlight as it streamed through one of the tall windows to the left. He drifted in that direction at first, turning down another corridor with huge arched windows lining it, overlooking the mountains to the east. He paused there to stare at the beauty of stone sentinels, at least until he realized they held him prisoner as much as the castle did. Frowning, he continued down the hall, finding himself at another crosspoint and that merely lead to another. Soon enough he realized he was completely lost in the maze of the keep's corridors. He couldn't even get back to his bed chamber now, not that he wanted to. His intent was to escape the keep entirely, if he could only find the front doors. Strangely enough, he never spotted another living being as he skulked about. It emboldened him, halting all attempts to be silent, allowing his boots to echo off the stone floors. It wouldn't be long before Golna realized he was gone, he knew, and the need for speed outweighed the desire to be silent.

He paused to sigh in frustration as another corridor proved to be nothing more then another crosspoint. He hadn't spotted windows since he began the breakout attempt, which meant he either walked in circles, or the keep was much larger then he thought. A rush of wind struck him from the right, however, carrying on it the scent of something rotten. Irvine nearly gagged and placed a hand over his nose, the scent of fingerless gloves much more pleasant than that odor of... he couldn't place it, not at first. Thinking about it, though, he realized it was the sickly aroma of death. Intrigued, he slowly started in that direction, keeping his hand over his nose. The stench only worsened the further he walked. To his surprise, it was not another crossroad he ran into, but a set of stairs descending into the basement of the keep.

This couldn't be a way out. Of this Irvine was sure, and if that smell indicated what might be waiting below, he was not about to head down. Turning, he began to walk back to the crosspoint when the throbbing sound of a deep heartbeat halted him. Was he dreaming again? The floors and walls vibrated with it, a lurid warmth spreading through the corridor as if the castle sensed him, and awoke at his presence here. The odor of rotting death grew thicker, choking the air till Irvine had no choice but to crouch low to the floor, throwing up whatever he'd managed to eat for breakfast that morning. Trembling, he dare not move, wiping at his chin as his stomach wrenched violently and he heaved, though it was dry by now. The blood dreams returned to his memory, and now he began to understand what caused them and why he'd never had them before now. What was this place? His legacy? Hyne, he sure hoped not.

Then came the soothing sound of that voice, drifting up from the stairwell, surrounding him with a hypnotic, enthralling tone. His stomach finally settled, muscles still sore from retching, but even that seemed to fade. His legs moved of their own accord, slowly carrying him down the twisted stone staircase as the voice continued to call to him, the breezes that carried the odor of death now caressing him, winding through auburn hair and tugging urgently at his duster. Mesmerized, he did nothing to fight the voice, allowing himself to be brought into the darkness below.

Candles slowly lit in their sconces along the wall as Irvine continued down another long corridor in a trance, illuminating the huge double doors at the end of the journey. He touched the handle, surprised to find it warm. Though not shockingly hot, it was enough to bring him back to his senses. The enrapturing voice still called to him, confusing his mind and threatening to pull him back under its spell, at least until it woke up Leviathan. After the Second Sorceress War, most of them released their Guardian Forces, except for maybe a special one. In Irvine's case, he had come to enjoy Leviathan's company; the water snake was surprisingly easy to get along with, and didn't mind sticking with the cowboy either. Being woken up unceremoniously made the snake rather cranky, however. The mental presence gave Irvine something to concentrate on other than the hypnotic tones caressing him. Hyne, thank you for waking up, Leviathan.

The voice gave up rather suddenly, dying in an abject tone so close to the one in his dream that he immediately leaped back from the doors, afraid that any moment they might fling open and release hellfire on him. :: My, you're jumpy. Where are we?:: Irvine let the guardian force file through his more recent memories, hoping he didn't need to sit on anything important in there. He needed clarity of thought, especially if that voice returned. :: Hmmm. Interesting. I'll stay awake for now then. I wouldn't go through that door if I were you. ::

"I don't plan to," Irvine spoke aloud. He studied the doors at length, recognizing the bronze to some extent. They were not tarnished, or old, and the crests of the rampant lion and unicorn were still visible. He brushed his fingers over them out of curiosity, startled as the doors suddenly opened with a hollow, dull echo, the dust at his feet scattering. The old scent of death disappeared then, replaced by a musty odor of ages. Surely someone had walked this path before him, though the thick cobwebbing and heavy, undisturbed dust across the stone floor lead him to believe otherwise. :: You're going in there anyway, aren't you?:: Leviathan asked. It was more of a statement than a question.

Without replying, Irvine did just that, reaching up to brush aside the cobwebs, ducking his head to keep them from sticking to his hat. The mustiness in the air was thick, and he sneezed a few times despite himself. The pathway narrowed before he reached the exit, an opening rather than another door. It lead him into a huge circular room, the tile floors caked with dust, and yet underneath the cowboy noticed dark, lurid stains. Dried blood? He couldn't tell. Several stony protrusions broke through the floor, seats carved out of them, though cobwebs now occupied where humans must have once sat. In the center of the room sat a pedestal that rose to a height at least three feet taller than Irvine. Atop it rested a dark crystalline jewel of some sort, caked with the same dust, cobwebs occupying the spaces between protruding fragments. Even standing on the tips of his toes, he couldn't reach it if he wanted to. What was this place? And why did that seductive voice want him down here?

His question received an answer almost immediately. A flash of light nearly blinded the cowboy and he squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing them with his fingers to chase away the dancing spots faster. That sickening odor returned with a vengeance, but this time he had nothing to retch, and somehow avoided the need to gag. As his vision cleared, the entire room breathed with a new life, all its own. The dust, cobwebs, musty odor, all were gone. Torches blazed fiercely in their sconces and the stone seats were no longer completely unoccupied. A woman, naked as the day she was born, stared at him with terrified brown eyes, her hands and feet bound to the stone by iron nails. Slits had been cut into her wrists, across her breasts, even into her abdomen, stabbed deeply into her womb to allow her life blood to flow down the seat in rivulets, sucked into small gutters that whisked it down the circle of seats toward the pedestal in the center. A literal river of blood. She begged him silently to save her, as if her voice could not work, and then he realized her throat too had been slashed, froth bubbling in the gash. Surely she should already have passed on, and yet she continued to live, the stream of her life amazingly and agonizingly slow. Irvine stared in horror and fascination until Leviathan gave him a mental thump for it.

Rushing toward her, he hardly knew how to free her, at first. Nor was he certain he could keep her alive if he did manage to get her off the chair. Kneeling by the stone chair, he grasped one of the iron nails that bound a hand, but no matter how hard he tugged, it refused to pull free. She whimpered, the froth gurgling at her throat, eyes suddenly affixed above the cowboy's head. Irvine paused, feeling his blood run cold as a familiar drumbeat, the terrible rhythm of the heart of this keep, began to thunder in his ears, far louder here then ever he'd heard it before. Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump. He slowly looked over his shoulder, eyes wandering up the length of the pedestal until he stared at the crystalline jewel. No longer dark, it shone blood red with every dull thud of that maddening heartbeat. A strangled cry echoed from the woman in the chair and as Irvine whipped his gaze back to her, the skin of her skull peeled away, blood running down her face so quickly it flushed out the whites of her eyes. Irvine leaped back, nearly tripping on a crack in the stone floor, catching himself before falling. His breathing erratic, he clutched a hand against his chest to try to steady it, along with his own hammering heartbeat. Obviously dead now, those eyes remained open, spilling red tears occasionally from the corners of her stained orbs.

The voice, though obviously belonging to his hated father, never sounded sweeter, no matter what the tone. The entire room shifted again, as if this were nothing more than his dreamworld. The cobwebs again nested in the crooks of the stone seats, dust caked the floor, even the places Irvine remembered trekking across. The jewel atop the pedestal sat silent and dark, glinting occasionally in the light of Lothodien's torch. Angered, the Baron crossed the floor in three strides, grabbing the cowboy by the arm and thrusting him around, out of the circle of stone chairs. Golna stood near the stairwell, eyes lowered to the ground demurely. Glad to be away from the nightmarish jewel, whatever lifeforce it contained, Irvine complied without argument. Just this once.

"It hasn't been a week yet," Squall said to Selphie, sounding exasperated. Ever since Quistis and Zell returned without Irvine, the perky SeeD had sulked and pouted and made several noises about going after her cowboy in the Ragnarok. Each day that passed without word from Irvine made it that much harder to control her. It was tempting to just let her go. Quistis' reports about Lothodien, combined with the commander's own unease about the man, left him sitting on pins and needles. Just waiting for that week to be up left him more stressed than the idea of meeting with Laguna.

"It's been five days, long enough," Selphie pouted, sitting up in her chair as tall as she could. For a girl as petite and short as she was, she sure did have a way of making herself seem larger when determined. Squall wondered if Irvine knew what he was getting himself into by dating her. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, sighing.

"All right, go. You keep in contact though. And if Irvine's not ready to go yet..." he let himself trail off. She gave him a toothy smile then. If Irvine wasn't ready to go yet, he had a feeling she'd make him ready to go pretty damn quick. For a moment he thought of Rinoa, wondering where she was, but hastily pushed it aside. Bouncing to her feet, she waved at him with her fingers and woo-hoo'ed all the way out of his office and out to the elevator. Privately, the commander noted to somehow cut down on her sugar intake.

Selphie piloted the Ragnarok at speeds not considered safe in airspace. She didn't care, not expecting to run into aircraft while over the continent of Trabia. The moment word got back to her that her cowboy hadn't returned with Quistis and Zell, she'd flown back toward Balamb in a huff, in hopes of getting Squall to let her go after Irvine. He promised her he'd be back with her after this mission ended, so why did he stay? Because he found his father, duh Selphie. She wrinkled her nose and checked the console again, deciding to ignore that little voice in her head.

The mountains near the Valsaar region loomed before her, but she didn't bother landing at the drop-off point where she'd left the team last time. It'd be at least a two day trek up that pass, and true to form, impatience won out. She rocketed straight up the pass, looking for anywhere safe to land the closer she drew to the actual city. Unfortunately for the townsfolk, the city square provided the only real space to accommodate such a large spacecraft. Without remorse, she set down, making sure she grabbed her parka and zipped it all the way up to her chin before exiting through the hatch. Several faces greeted her as she trotted out and she beamed at them all, wiggling her fingers at them in greeting. "Hello, I'm looking for a tall, cute cowboy with red hair and pretty blue eyes and a black hat. Any of you seen him?"

To her dismay, they merely scattered as the gate guards hastily ran toward her, swords drawn. Swords? Selphie considered her nunchakus, with her as always. Well, she had just sorta landed in the middle of their city unceremoniously. So, rather than consider them hostile immediately, she turned to greet them the same as she had the townsfolk. "Hi, sorry to startle you, I just came here to get Irvine Kinneas. Promise I won't park it here long, so please don't ticket me?"

The pair exchanged looks and one spoke for them both, "Miss, if you have business with the Baron, his keep is at the far edge of the city. Please, do what you need and leave." Technology such as the Ragnarok went beyond rare in Valsaar, bordering on the unreal and disturbing. Neither guard relished the idea of attacking the strange woman who exited the craft, not knowing what other strange and wondrous things she might possess. It was better to let the Baron deal with her.

The keep loomed in front of her as she approached the huge double doors at the entrance. Like something out of a childhood nightmare, she considered it carefully. Here lived her boyfriend's father? Ick. Surely Irvine didn't really want to stay here. She reached for the knocker, finding it to be heavy even with her junctioned strength, and struck it against the door repeatedly. No answer. She frowned and tried again. Still, no answer. Hands on her hips, she shouted, "Hey! I know you have my cowboy in there! Anyone home?"

Selphie frowned, lifting her hand to waggle a finger at the man and lecture him when a deep voice in the darkness interrupted her, "Golna, let her in." She blinked, her hand slowly lowering as she felt something strange and queasy turning her stomach. Both arms wrapped around her waist then as she tried not to gag right there in front of the servant. That voice, it frightened her down to the core, and yet she found herself entering the keep anyway, as if her legs moved of someone else's volition. The doors shut behind her with a hollow sound of finality.

Irvine awoke that morning with a scream, but the dream shattered already, slowly falling away into the recesses of his mind. He knew it involved Selphie, though within a few minutes he didn't know why. Groggily he struggled to get out of bed. More sleep would have been welcome, but nightmares always left him too edgy to doze off again. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, meaning it was already afternoon. He had slowly begun to adapt to his father's sleeping patterns, staying up later at night. After dressing, he tested the door, finding it locked yet again. Apparently his sojourn through the keep had been a mistake, not at all sanctioned by the Baron. Golna's eyes never lifted from the floor as he escorted the cowboy back to his room. He never spoke a word either. Irvine got the feeling that he'd gotten the servant into a lot of trouble, and that bothered his conscience.

Walking to the window, he stared down at the city below, resting his forehead against a cool window pane. Something decidedly red caught his attention and he squinted, eagle eyes darting over a large craft in the city square. It was huge, impossible to miss even at this distance. The Ragnarok. He blinked. Selphie? Here for him? Or maybe Squall? Or maybe all of them? Hope began to soar through him and he slumped slightly against the window in relief. They came back for him. Thank Hyne for having real friends. Still, he needed somehow to warn them about this place, that strange living jewel downstairs, this castle itself that breathed with its own life. But, the door was firmly locked. He wasn't going anywhere.

Later that afternoon, the door opened, as usual, Golna, presumably, with a lunch tray. The servant shuffled in quietly, but the cowboy didn't turn away from the window. Not until the he caught the distinct sound of a clearing throat. Golna stood near the doors, having shut them after himself, but in his arms he carried the cowboy's pack, as well as the shotgun holster, shotgun included. "Pardon me, my lord. I felt you might be needing these."

Surprised, Irvine blinked at him, not yet moving from where he stood. "Is Squall here for me? The Baron is letting me go?" Surely that explained this. Perhaps Lothodien realized how futile it was to keep his son here. Squall could send all of Garden's SeeDs to this spot if he really wanted Irvine back. The servant shook his head, setting everything down on the bed.

"No, a young woman arrived for you today. The Baron has her below, I suggest taking her with you. Go back to your Garden, young lord. Go back and never return here, keep her safe," he said, his voice grave. A young woman? Irvine felt his blood run cold. Selphie? It had to be, she alone knew the ins and outs of the Ragnarok enough to fly it by herself.

The servant bowed his head, folding his hands in front of him. "Everyone knows what happens to those in this keep when an heir is born. I do not want to die, young lord. You are far too much your mother's son. You have her eyes, her stubbornness. I pray you can end this curse on us all." And with that said, he exited, leaving the door wide open. Leaving Irvine to find Selphie and get the hell out of the keep.

Down below, Golna had said. Irvine struggled to recall how he'd gotten to that staircase. Each turn frustrated him, desperation hurrying his steps. Selphie was in danger, and that gave him more than enough impetus to rush through the hallways without any attempt to be stealthy about it. With Leviathan awake and watching through his eyes and the shotgun loaded with enough pulse ammo to blow away Ultimecia a second time, he felt confident enough to do what needed doing and get the hell out again. Finally the old scent of death caught his attention, and he followed it gleefully, disappearing down the stairs and through the corridor in the nearly blinding darkness. The keep slept for the moment, and the torches in their sconces did not light as he passed them.

The rotunda, dark and foreboding, had not changed in the least after his last visit. The jewel atop the pedestal slept silently, dark and lifeless. Scattering the dust at his feet, Irvine strode toward the circle of stone seats that surrounded the pedestal. Yesterday they were all empty until the keep awoke, but not today. He swallowed his ire as he found Selphie there, her hands nailed into the stone. Unlike the woman whose death he witnessed previously, she was not cut anywhere, and still wore her little yellow dress and boots. Only her hands were bound to the stone chair, and they bled very little. No rivers of blood, much to his relief.

She gasped as she saw him, tears filling her emerald eyes. When the Baron locked her down here, she thought her life was over and feared her Irvine had been corrupted by this place. Seeing him now, the anger in his eyes, the gritting of his teeth, she felt a wave of relief flood through her. He kneeled in front of her, grabbing at the spikes through her hands and she squeezed her eyes shut in pain as he attempted to pull them free, to no avail. He cursed, repeatedly, and whirled around toward the pedestal, shouting, "Damn you, let her go! It's me you want!"

Immediately Irvine wished he could take that back. The room flashed with light, blinding him again to leave spots flashing in front of his vision. He staggered, dropping to one knee as he heard Selphie's terrified scream. The room came to life instantly, light flickering from torches along the rotunda's walls. Dust, cobwebbing and other signs of neglect gone, the floor clear, the jewel atop the pedestal glowing with that steady heartbeat throbbing. That voice, the one that usually soothed and comforted and called out to him, now shrieked with ear piercing volume, bringing the cowboy to his knees, barely able to keep a grip on his gun. Leviathan sprang forward then, attempting to intervene and free Irvine's mind enough to let him think. And then the impossible happened. Irvine felt it as if someone plucked out his soul and sucked it away, Leviathan's presence suddenly palpably absent. The jewel had drawn his guardian force from him, leaving him not only weaker, but completely open to the entrancement of that terrible voice.

In its thrall, he collapsed to the ground, eyes squeezed tightly shut. Selphie screamed and sobbed his name repeatedly, but her voice sounded so distant. I can't... I can't save her. Lights flashed in front of his inner vision, dragging him unceremoniously through the will of the force that invaded his mind and body. The Sanguinary, a primal force in existence before the age of man, the jewel a mere shard, a manifestation on the physical planes. Unable to touch the world alone, it needed servants to enforce its will, to bring it nourishment. Irvine's bloodline long ago allied with the strange, alien force, ancestor after ancestor having succumbed to its power, mad and drunk off the seemingly limitless abilities granted to him the day he embraced the Sanguinary. Wives, daughters, servants, anyone within the keep dying horridly to its destructive appetite. Kinslayers. Now it wanted Irvine, to continue the chain of Badrianas and perpetuate its will, and hold, on Valsaar. He would have an heir soon and the Sanguinary planned to take his soul on that day. An heir... wha--? Who? Selphie? Oh Hyne...

The Sanguinary's grip ended suddenly, leaving the cowboy heaving for breath on the floor of the rotunda. Selphie's sobs echoed in his ears. Footfalls echoed on stone, slow and methodical. "I was going to wait, Nashoba. Allow you time to accustom yourself to the keep. But I see the Sanguinary has already made you familiar with your legacy." It was Lothodien's voice. He entered the circle of chairs, reaching out to touch Selphie's hair, frowning as she moved her head away from his hand and stuck her tongue out at him. "Shhh, my dear, you will not be fed to the Sanguinary. You are far too important now for that... or at least the child you carry is."

This only confirmed Irvine's suspicions. He rose slowly to his feet, his breath finally returning to him, his heart calming. The shotgun came up with him, aimed straight at his father. "Let her go. We're not staying here, Lothodien, we're leaving. Now." Amusement sparkled in his father's eyes and he shook his head, gesturing to the still throbbing jewel.

Irvine paused to consider this. He knew what sort of powers the Sanguinary granted now, and it did include a sort of invulnerability. With Leviathan gone, he no longer possessed the ability to command his stored spells. Lothodien was right, but... Irvine turned to look at Selphie, knowing what he was about to do might very well kill them both. But it was better than living in thrall to the Sanguinary. Better than his soul being sucked away while the woman he loved died the same way his own mother had. Better than perpetuating this vicious cycle any further. "I love you." She read the look in his eyes, and whispered the same in return, knowing, without understanding how she knew, that the end would be soon. "

This bloodline ends with me. I will not walk in my father's shoes," Irvine said to Lothodien then, and before the Baron could react, or retort, or even wonder what the devil the cowboy was up to, he turned and fired a round of pulse ammunition at the glowing jewel atop the pedestal.

The shriek emitted through the room left Irvine's ears ringing. The jewel shattered like glass, shards flying through the air, striking the stone with enough force to leave a mark. The cowboy dove toward Selphie, shielding her body with his in hopes of protecting her from any stray shards sprayed in her direction. He felt one bite into his arm, ripping through the duster, another into his leg and he grit his teeth against the pain. Selphie pressed her face into the cowboy's chest, concentrating on the scent of gunpowder and leather, holding back her tears of pain and fear. Irvine grabbed at the spikes nailing her hands down, finding that at last he could pull them out, freeing her. Howls of torment echoed around them both, but they held onto one another, squeezing their eyes shut as everything crumbled around them. The ground trembled violently, gail force winds tugged at everyone in the room, the scent of old blood and ancient violence rose in nauseating waves. But, neither of them opened their eyes, prepared to die in each others arms as the world exploded around them.

Finally, everything stopped. Silence rose around the couple with a deafening finality. Irvine slowly cracked open one cornflower blue eye, peering at the back of Selphie's chair. He turned his head, still keeping her against him, even as he felt her stir, wanting to see. The room had shifted again, dust caking the floor as if no one had tread across in in centuries. The torches, silent and burnt out, shed no more eerie shadows along the rotunda walls. Lifting his gaze, he dared to look at the pedestal. The tall column no longer reached for the ceiling, crumbled and fallen in a ruin at the center of the room. The jewel that sat atop it gone, shattered. His father lay in a crumpled heap, flesh whithered and decayed down nearly to bone, as if centuries had passed since his death. The danger had finally passed.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Irvine drew back, brushing at Selphie's face to wipe away the tears streaking her cheeks. She threw her arms around his torso and hugged him as hard as she could, her chest still heaving an occasional sob. Both of them helped save the world from Ultimecia's reign, and now they sat in the aftermath of the Sanguinary, alive still. Luck sure did favor them.

"Selphie, look at me," Irvine asked, drawing her back and lifting her chin so he could stare into her frightened, yet relieved eyes. She complied easily enough, trying to keep her lips from trembling. This had been one of the most frightening days of her life. Something about the emotion in the cowboy's eyes soothed her, however. That calm blue reminding her of the sea after a storm. And there, kneeled in front of her, staring into her eyes, he realized what she meant to him. His childhood best friend turned lover. Memories of her waking him up in the middle of the night at the orphanage to go hunt ghosts under the moonlight, or drag him down to the beach during the day to build sand trains and pretend she was the conductor. The day he was reunited with the others, seeing her in that little dress and staring into those beautiful eyes of hers. Their first kiss, the first time they made love. And now she carried his child... If she had died, it would have killed him just as swiftly. "I love you Sefie..."

The day couldn't have gone more perfectly. Garden awash in yellow and white ribbons, daffodils and white tulips, the wedding ended up being a spectacular event, every student, Cadet, SeeD, instructor and Balamb towns person invited. The Quad was so full they had standing room only in the back. Selphie dressed in white silk and satin, but refused to wear that silly veil. It blurred her vision and she wanted to see everything as her foster father led her down the aisle, especially the sight of Irvine in a tux. Oh he complained about it in length, not wanting to abandon his cowboy trappings even for this event. In the end, they compromised and she grinned from ear to ear to see him wearing that silly hat of his.

Squall officiated the ceremony, which shocked half the Garden and made the rest titter. No one expected him to be cajoled into the role, but Selphie was especially convincing, apparently. Quistis, maid of honor, stood off to the side, beside one of Selphie's friends from Trabia, a dark haired girl named Ameesha. Rinoa would have made a lovely bridesmaid, Selphie lamented, but all attempts to find the Sorceress were futile. Her rivalry with Quistis finally ended too, both of them bonding and strengthening their friendship with wedding talk and wedding plans. Zell stood on the other side, across from Quistis. Irvine shocked him by asking him to be best man. The two hadn't exactly gotten along on being reunited, not at first. Seifer had been doubly shocked to be asked to take part in this too, standing to Zell's side as a groomsman. Squall even lifted the exile placed on his former rival, allowing the blonde into the Garden for the first time in over a year. Everyone had been determined to make sure the couple had the best ceremony possible. Even if it meant putting aside old grudges.

Squall kept the vows short, and Selphie giggled once as she realized he was trying hard not to twitch. Speeches never were his strong point, and doing this in front of the largest crowd ever made him nervous. Irvine had to wipe tears from her eyes when it came his turn to say, "I do." She couldn't believe any of it was happening. The biggest flirt of Galbadia Garden, and he was all hers, lock, stock and gun barrel. No one expected them to be the first ones to take this plunge either, certainly not the frivolous playboy and the scatterbrained pilot. Both of them reveled in proving everyone wrong.

Afterwards, Selphie thought she would pass out before the line of people congratulating the couple finished drifting by. She hugged all sorts of people, half of them she hardly knew. But, everyone seemed genuinely happy for her, the cheery mood infectious. Weddings had that sort of effect. After the unease in Galbadia, an event like this bolstered morale all around. The couple escaped soon after, pausing long enough to be pelted with rice and for Selphie to toss the bouquet over her shoulder. Girls scrambled for it, all save for Quistis who stood calmly at the back and shook her head. Such silliness. Everyone laughed at her surprise as the bouquet bopped her on the chest and fell to the ground at her feet. Then she scooped it up before the other single girls could turn around and snatch it from her, a blush coloring her cheeks deeply.

Inside the Ragnarok, Selphie pouted as Nida insisted the two retire to another compartment on the ship. He would be flying them out to Trabia, where the two intended to spend their honeymoon in Valsaar. Now that the city was free of the Sanguinary and Lothodien's grip, the townspeople requested that Irvine return with his new bride for their own celebration. Selphie loved Trabia's winters, and had squealed with delight over it even as her cowboy seemed leery. Afterwards, they could head back to Trabia Garden and their new posts there. Headmaster and Commander.

Selphie collapsed onto Irvine's lap in a fit of giggles, nuzzling his throat with a mock purr. He laughed and tried to move her to the seat beside his. "Come on, Darlin', I want you in a seat belt before Nida takes off." She pouted and refused to move, knowing the cowboy wouldn't let her out of his embrace even if the ship took off at break neck speeds. He fixed her with a stern gaze, resting a hand against her stomach and she realized abashedly that he wasn't just concerned for her, "Come on, sweetheart." This time she complied, pouting at him as he fitted the seatbelt on her himself.

"I'm not even three months pregnant, Irvine," she whined at him, knowing she'd be showing soon enough, but at least they'd gotten married before she couldn't fit into the dress anymore. The very early knowledge of their child had lent to speedy wedding preparations. All at Selphie's insistence, she wanted to be married before she had children. Fighting against the shoulder strap a little, Irvine leaned in toward her as he chuckled at her. She was so adorable when she pouted.

"Well, that was a happy ending, was it not?" he asked, though if anyone looked in his direction, he appeared to be alone. Something tugged at his subconscious, quietly agreeing, though no conversation began. He watched the Ragnarok lift into the air, some of the crowd waving to it, and the couple they knew sat within, as it streaked off into the distance. The reception continued afterwards, music blaring suddenly and a circle formed in the center of the room for dancers. Refreshments lined a table at the back of the room, which was still packed with merry makers.

"The Hyne descendant and the chaos focus. I wouldn't have thought them even compatible," he continued, though that presence at the back of his mind seemed uninterested in his musings. He was here with a job to do, and it felt he should just get to it. With a sigh, he shook his head, dark locks falling across his forehead until he dragged them away. Yes, a mission. He was not here to watch a wedding so much as find a certain someone. Through the crowd he moved, seeking his target more with an inner eye than with his physical senses. He spotted her standing near the refreshment table, talking to the other bridesmaid. She never turned to notice him at all, but he waited, patiently, until she finally started in his direction.