Disclaimer: The characters, items, places, etc. of Final Fantasy VI are property of Squaresoft, Inc. No infringement is intended.
6. The Returners
by Junj - junj1@ibm.com

     General Percy Banon Stearns, simply called “Banon” by those who knew him and those who didn’t, wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He was tired of this issuing of orders and planning, always planning. He was a soldier, and, as such, he should have been out on the battlefield winning this war with the intelligence and quick-thinking of a man born to lead other men, not sitting in the tallest tower of Figaro with only God knew how many maps spread out before him in the appearance of complete disorder. He knew where each and every map was, however, knew the wax markings upon them by heart, knew exactly where the enemy positions were on the map – at least those the enemy wanted them to know. Which was why he thought he should be on the field. Fighting by remote control wasn’t fighting at all; it was simply a fancy chess game. He was no strategist, that was for sure.
     He glanced up, his eyes meeting those of a man he would’ve sworn for dead a few days ago. Edgar gave him a weak smile, dropping his hands tiredly onto a map spread across the table. Banon tried to return the gesture but found that he was too tired to even try. He hated this fighting. How long would they have to kill each other until the people finally overpowered their oppressors? How many more battles? He was so very tired.
     “I have a feeling that this battle will decide the outcome of the war,” he said, finally breaking the silence that had fallen between them. “We simply do not have the men or the money to continue such a costly campaign. We either defeat the Empire there or never.”
     Edgar nodded noncommittally. What did he honestly think? The Empire was going to continue fighting for as long as possible if only to have a reason to tax the people after the war. But taxes were better than this. Anything was better than this. He would gladly fight against Kefka all over again if it meant that he wouldn’t have to play the game with anyone’s life but his own. The rebellion would last in spirit for only a few more months; in name it would last for decades.
     “So, you’re going to continue on with our original plans, then,” he declared dryly, watching the sun as it began to dip beneath the expanse of sand dunes, painting an almost sickly red across the golden sands. He let out a slow breath, tearing his gaze from the window to meet Banon’s eyes. “You think that’s smart?”
     “I am beyond the point of wondering which course of action may or may not be smart,” he replied darkly, pushing himself from the ornate chair in which he had been sitting. He strolled to the window, clasping his hands behind his back as he glanced out onto the courtyard below him. People scurried about with chocobos and pack horses, running on last minute errands before the aid of the sun left them. How he envied them all, how he wished he could be as insignificant as they, a mere ant underneath the towering shoe of a tyrant. Life would be simple, then. Life was not simple now.
     Edgar snorted, setting his feet on the desk as he stretched his arms over his head. “That’s pretty cynical talk coming from an esteemed general such as yourself. Honestly, Banon, I thought that you had more concern for the conduct of the Returners in this rebellion.”
     Banon smiled thinly. “And I thought you would think of our movement as more than a simple rebellion. You are not unknown in the ranks of our men, either. If soldiers would hear such a thing, there would be no war.”
     Edgar grinned. “All the better, then,” he declared, before the smile disappeared into a somber expression. “You’re not stupid, Banon. You must know that we’re not going to win this one. We allowed the Empire to take control of the situation because men, under any circumstances, cannot be ruled by anarchy. The Empire is here because the people prefer oppression more than any amount of freedom. With oppression comes purpose and hope, Banon. When the people run free, as liberal as the wild beasts, there is no purpose to life, there is no hope.”
     “War brings purpose,” Banon countered, frowning as he turned away from the window.
     “But how many people are hopeful because of it?” Edgar’s smile returned, a small grin that barely perked up the corners of his mouth.
     “More than enough to run it.” Banon sighed, turning to the window once more. “Look at them,” he said, brown eyes softening in the light of the setting sun. “They all run about, doing errands and whatnot. What simple lives they lead. And, yet, here we are, a couple of old soldiers, deciding their fate. What will we decide?”
     Edgar arched an eyebrow. “What will they let us decide?”
     “Anything we want them to, of course. If the people need purpose, we will give them one.”
     “And then?”
     A shadow of a smile graced Banon’s lips. “I think only about the immediate future, an occurrence not uncommon these days. And then? I honestly do not know. We will cross that bridge when we get there.”
     “If we get there,” Edgar said, a surly note in his voice. “Intelligence says the Empire is closer now than ever to obtaining this new weapon we had been talking about.”
     Banon shrugged. “They may obtain it, they may not. It makes little difference. One of us will invent yet another way of killing men, and the others will steal it, adapt it, improve it until it is one day replaced with yet another way of killing each other. I fear the day when the alchemists run out of ideas.”
     Edgar shrugged half-heartedly. “Come on, old man. You shouldn’t lie, at least to yourself. I know you have a son out there fighting in the ranks. The prospect of a weapon a sword cannot destroy must frighten you.”
     “I had a son in the ranks,” he muttered darkly. “He is only one more insubordinate soldier running off at the mouth without the patience for his mind to catch up.” He shook his head almost ruefully before changing the subject. “Does the prospect of a new weapon frighten me? Of course not. Man is the most deadly of all weapons. And, unless the women decide to kill us all, we’ll be destroying ourselves until we finally sunder the world.”
     “A premonition of the distant future,” Edgar added slowly.
     Banon strolled back to his gilded chair and sat back down, half of a smile tugging at his face. “A distant future that may not be as far off as you would like to think.” Banon turned to the door, raising his voice. “Rueben!”
     After a few moments, a head of hair popped through a crack in the door accompanied by the solemn face of a man who had spent many a year marching through the playing fields. The face was tanned and weathered, but mild green eyes sparkled deep within it underneath bushy, red eyebrows. Silver lined the red hues of his disarrayed hair and the long beard adorning his face, matching his rumpled clothing in untidiness, but he paid it neither any heed as he knuckled his forehead.
     “Sir?” he asked, his voice a dump rumble beneath his long beard.
     Banon turned in his chair to look at Rueben, a smile on his face. How he loved this old man, an old soldier like himself, who would rather have a pike in his hand than ten thousand maps. “Fetch for General Chere, please, Rueben. Tell her that it is imperative she arrive quickly.”
     Rueben nodded. “Aye,” he acknowledged before turning to go about the task.
     “Wait,” Edgar said suddenly, stopping the man mid-stride. “Get my brother in here, as well. He will have to run this army should I ever find myself dead. He should be here.” He looked to Banon as he said the last, wondering if perhaps Banon would question his judgement. There was no question. Banon waved Rueben away.
     “Get Sabin as well, then,” he ordered absentmindedly. “Have them both come immediately.”
     “Aye, sir. I’ll get ’em up here faster ’an you can spit ten feet.”
     Banon managed a weak smile in response before Rueben was out the door and plodding heavily down the steps of the tower. He waited until the sound of the man’s footsteps had disappeared before he turned back to Edgar. Edgar was staring at the maps darkly, his mind seemingly thousands of miles away. There was silence between them for what could have been an eternity.
     “Does it hurt you much?” Banon finally asked, friendly compassion etched in his brow and he leaned across the table to put his hand on Edgar’s shoulder.
     Edgar laughed shortly, though it sounded weak and forced. “What do you mean? The wound itself or the fact that a man I trusted enough to show my back to decided it would be a good place for his dagger?”
     Banon’s face was unreadable, but his eyes were mild deep within his sunken sockets. The deep brown depths were enough to smother Edgar, and he was forced to look away. This was the man who would betray him. They could not possibly part ways without backstabbing and other such nonsense. It was a shame men could not remain friends after a war decided to pop up and drive them all apart. A shame, indeed.

     The stars were gone that night, hidden by a thick cloak of gray clouds that could have been a curse or a blessing. The darkness smothered the world in a blanket of hot humidity, the clouds taunting the cracked earth from their perch in the heavens. If it would rain, it should do so and be done with it, wash away the stench of death that clung to the world like a pungent perfume. If they would not let the cool water wash the earth, then the clouds could leave her to the stars. The stars were always so beautiful in the summer.
     Celes Chere leaned heavily on the stone wall, a small gust of wind blowing through her longs locks of blond hair. It was a hot wind and did not comfort her in the least. Dust and sand stung at her eyes before the wind died down, and she felt the tiny grains scratching her. She blinked repeatedly to force back the tears that were building and knew immediately that they had not been caused by the dust. Her heart felt like it was tearing itself apart, twisting in her chest with each of its beats. She would never forget how she felt when Edgar had told her what had happened, and she closed her eyes as she felt the shock and pain come over her once more.
     She leaned back against the cold stone of the castle Figaro, wishing she could melt into the hard rock and just disappear. If she could, then she wouldn’t have to deal with this. All the fighting, deaths, betrayal… it would just be gone, and her heart wouldn’t hurt so much. She wouldn’t have to hear Edgar’s voice whispering in her ears. Locke’s betrayed us… Locke’s betrayed us…
     But he didn’t.
     She sighed heavily, feeling an incredible weight pulling down on her. It seemed to stifle her, making her feel more helpless and alone than she ever had in her life. She knew he hadn’t betrayed them. He would never have dreamed of it. Nothing in the world would make Locke betray his friends. There was nothing in the world that would ever make him betray her. He had sworn to always protect her, and he had never failed her. His word and loyalty were stronger than steel, and her faith in him was just as resolute. She could not bring herself to believe that Edgar’s words had any validity to them. Locke just couldn’t betray his friends. He had fought so hard for them, he had fought so hard for Rachel, for her. Regardless of evidence, regardless that the Excalibur had been laying on the dusty ground with its edge still slick with blood, regardless that Edgar swore he had seen the action with his own eyes… It just wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Because she loved him so much.
     “General Chere?”
     The soft voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she immediately sprung into action, pushing herself off of the stone wall and placing her stoic mask back into place, wiping the grit and water from her eyes. The pale moon chose that time to peek through the dark and thick clouds, and she turned to the speaker, immediately recognizing him as Baron’s aide. His name escaped her, but the weather-worn and kind face could not be mistaken. She licked her lips, wiping her sweaty face absentmindedly.
     “Yes?” she asked, her voice sounding harsh and brusque to her ears. She winced imperceptibly and knew she sounded like a fool. There was little she could do about that, however.
     The aide seemed neither offended nor frightened by her tone, but he merely knuckled his forehead as he took a step forward. “Banon would like to see you as soon as possible, m’lady,” he declared. He leaned toward her conspiratorially, a kind smile in his eyes. “He’ll be wanting to discuss the strategy, m’lady.”
     She sighed, her spirits sinking further. She didn’t care about the strategy right now. What she cared about was Locke. She wanted to unsheathe her sword and travel straight to Neo Vector, leaving this mess behind her and opting instead for a simpler task. She wanted to cut down the ranks of the Imperial Army and free Locke from his captives. There was no doubt in her mind; he was a captive there. She knew that he would not have defected. He hated the Empire. He believed in this cause more than anyone else she knew. He believed in freedom. He did not believe in betrayal.
     The aide knuckled his forehead again before straightening his long, bushy beard and stepping back. “M’lady,” he said as he departed, his body disappearing into the shadows and then around the corner, his thickly-soled boots thudding heavily against the stone catwalk. Moments later the creak of the wooden door at the end of the catwalk reached her ears, and she knew that she was alone again.
     She turned back to the sand and the cloudy sky, feeling the heat oppress her as she leaned over the stone wall and looked down at the shifting sands tens of feet below her. She thought for a moment that if she jumped from the castle wall, she could be free again to do as she pleased. She was sick of being a general. She had followed orders and made decisions for others her whole life. How she wanted to just escape from it all. But she couldn’t. Not yet. Her life would not be complete without her soul-mate. She would find him first, and then she could do as she pleased. Unfortunately, it looked as though she would have a hard time doing just that.
     She sighed again and pulled her eyes from the dark sands beneath her. That was for another time. Right now, she was needed. Banon wanted to win a war and secure a victory for the Returners. She just wanted to believe that Locke had not betrayed her, wanted to hear his voice whispering to her that he would never betray her. But, because she could not have that, it looked as though she needed to be content with winning Banon’s little war.
     Celes straightened slowly and started down the narrow catwalk, her footing sure though the darkness hid most of it from her eyes. She reached the door and pulled it open. Stepping through the portal, she pulled it closed behind her, the hinges letting loose a small creak in protest as she did so. She paid it no heed, however, and it was lost on the hot and humid breeze. It would start raining soon, and no one would open the door to the catwalk while the desert thunderstorm slammed into the castle with the strength and fury of the gods. She didn’t care though because she knew where she would be. She would be sitting in the northwest tower, planning the fate of others once more. That was fine by her. She would play the game for a few more days, and then, when she had finally found the truth, she could be with Locke, and this whole role of playing God would be gone.
     She allowed herself a small smile as she walked down corridor.

     “What do you mean we’re just going to continue on with the plan?!”
     Sabin Figaro looked back and forth between the two men in the room, his eyes wide with shock and his expression twisted into one that was incredulous and unbelieving. He couldn’t believe that his own brother was in agreement with Banon on this issue. They were going to kill hundreds of thousands of men doing this. Edgar had said it himself: Locke betrayed them. They had every right to assume that the Empire now knew of their plans, and yet they were still going to continue with them?! They were walking into a huge ambush.
     “This is stupid,” he growled angrily, standing. He shoved his hands into his pockets, a frown etching itself on his features. He wanted to break something. More importantly, he wanted to pound some sense in his brother’s head. “People are going to die, and we can prevent it!”
     Banon sighed, leaning back in his chair and eyeing Sabin with a patient glint in his eye as though he was trying to explain something to an ignorant three-year-old. Sabin glared at him in response. Banon opened his mouth and was about to explain the situation, but Edgar beat him to it.
     “Sabin, there isn’t any other way,” he declared softly. His expression was subdued, and his blue eyes were hidden beneath his brow as he stared down blankly at the maps on the table. His finger absentmindedly traced the winding river that wove itself through the hilly savanna to the south of Figaro for a few moments before he sighed and leaned back in his chair. “If there was, I would gladly take it in a heartbeat.”
     Sabin didn’t reply, sitting back down and leaning heavily on the table, his face still one of brooding. Edgar noticed his expression and grabbed his shoulder in a compassionate and reassuring manner. Sabin met his eyes for a brief moment before he looked away, staring blankly off to the wall of the room.
     “The two main forces of our army must be brought together,” Banon added, crossing his hands over his chest. “With their current positions, it would take weeks or possibly even months if they were to take a different route. The Light Brigade would be forced to travel north for scores of miles in order to reach another pass through the mountains. The White Lions would be destroyed by the Imperial Army before Cyan reached them. Our only choice is this one.”
     Sabin sighed angrily. “Can’t the White Lions… I don’t know… retreat?”
     Edgar laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “The Lion has never retreated,” he muttered.
     Banon ignored Edgar completely, turning his gaze on Sabin’s hopeful face. “The forest stretches behind them for too long a distance. They would never be able to regroup until they reached its end, and, by that time, the Empire will have destroyed them. If I was confident in the guerilla tactics of Figaro’s army, then I would have no trouble telling them to stay put in the forest for as long as possible and have the Light Brigade take the northern pass through the mountains. However,” he continued, turning his gaze sharply to Edgar, “the Lion has never been subtle, either.”
     Edgar frowned, shaking his head. A strand of his long blond hair came loose from his pony tail and fell over his brow. He pushed it behind his ear in slight exasperation. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but he didn’t, his expression dark. No one else spoke, either, each man turning to his own thoughts. The silence in the room was as oppressive as the humid air flowing in through the open window. Though the sun had disappeared almost an hour ago, the air remained as hot as ever, and the denizens of Figaro could only sweat and hope that the night air would turn cold to their touch.
     After what seemed like an eternity of brooding silence, Sabin finally sighed, straightening in his chair as his gaze met Banon’s. “But there has to be another way,” he declared. “I mean, anything other than this has to be better. The enemy knows our plans, our routes, our numbers. If we continue on knowing this, then the results will be disastrous! Our whole army will be obliterated. Think of all those people, Banon!”
     Banon opened his mouth to reply, his eyes still mild and patient. He felt as though Sabin was being foolish. There was no other way, yet the young man could not see it. He felt anger tearing at his insides but resisted the temptation to shout or yell or even show it. He had only shown his anger to one person in the world, and doing just that had led to dire consequences. He would never do that again. Never.
     “I am thinking of them,” he said finally. “I am thinking of how the White Lions are being slowly strangled by the Empire. I am thinking of how easy it will be for the Empire to simply head north from their current position and destroy and pillage all the defenseless villages on their path to here. Soldiers are meant to die in war, Sabin. The villagers, children, mothers… they aren’t.”
     Sabin rose from his chair once more, angry in his blue eyes. He was so frustrated by this entire situation. He was not a man easily moved by his rage. He knew he was brash at times, but he was never angry. But this war had even let his rage overcome him. “No one is meant to die,” he growled. “You don’t pay people to die. You don’t send them off to their deaths!”
     Banon frowned in disapproval. “You obviously don’t understand the situation, Sabin. Soldiers are trained and positioned to serve the people. If they best serve the people by sacrificing their lives so that others may live, then they will do just that. A war has only one purpose, and that is to kill people. People die in war. Would you rather it be the men who are trained to fight or those who have no chance?”
     Sabin didn’t like Banon’s response, and he glared at the older man from beneath a furrowed brow. “This will not be a fight, Banon; it will be a slaughter!”
     Banon sighed heavily and was about to rebut Sabin once more when the door opened slowly and the lithe form of Celes Chere walked through the portal, closing it behind her with a soft click. She didn’t approach the table, her eyes moving warily from the three men there. She pursed her lips and took a silent step forward, but Sabin turned to her sharply, causing her to stop short.
     “Celes, you gotta tell him that he’s wrong!” he said, his voice cracking in desperation.
     She studied him for a moment before she walked to the table, looking disinterested as she glanced at the maps covering its surface. “What about?” she asked, calmly, hoping that she was not betraying that she had no want to be in this tower. This was the last place she wanted to be now. There was nothing in her that wanted to plan the deaths of thousands of nameless people.
     “He wants to continue with the original plan,” Sabin continued. “The Empire is bound to know about it by now! Anyone who steps on that field is going to be killed. Make him see that, Celes…” He sank back down into his chair, feeling the helplessness of the situation tearing at his heart. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The Returners were supposed to defeat Kefka, and then the world could finally be at peace. No more Empire, no more Espers, no more fighting. Only here they were, except this time it wasn’t them sacrificing themselves; it was them sending others off to die.
     Celes sat down in an empty chair, studying the maps carefully while she felt the weight of three pairs of eyes boring into her. A sudden realization struck her so hard, that she almost gasped aloud. She forced herself to continue staring at the maps, unable to look up without betraying her thoughts. If it hadn’t been Locke who had betrayed them – and she knew that it hasn’t been him – then it could very likely be someone in this room, someone who knew everything that went on strategically. She took a breath to steady herself and turned it into a sigh. She knew what she had to do.
     “I think the Light Brigade should continue on its current course,” she said finally. Sabin gasped in shock to her left, and she could feel the small smile spreading across Banon’s lips to her right. She looked up, and her striking gaze took in all three men at the table. “The Empire may know what we’re doing, but in knowing, they will be playing right into our hands. They may be able to harry us on the journey to bring the two armies together, they may even may able to set up an ambush, though I doubt they could seeming how the land for leagues in any direction is flat and open. Even though they might be able to do this, we can do better because we’ll be prepared for it. We’ll be expecting it.”
     Banon nodded in approval, a smile of satisfaction on his face. “My thoughts exactly, General. An ambush is hardly worth setting when your quarry already knows about it. The skill of General Garamonde’s men is outstanding. They should be able to turn any Empire offensive around.”
     “This is nonsense,” Sabin declared bitterly. “Nothing but blood and tears can come from this.”
     Banon shrugged apologetically. “There is no other choice. The Light Brigade is the only chance we have. They have not yet lost a confrontation, and we shall hope that they do not lose here. A failure on this field will be the end of the Returners.”
     “I have faith,” Edgar said slowly, looking up from the maps. His blue eyes were soft in the candlelight. “Cyan will not fail us. He has always had providence on his side. He will win this battle. I have faith.”
     “God willing, faith will be enough,” Celes said softly.

     The next day, as the sun was slowly climbing toward the sky and driving away the chill of the desert night, the castle Figaro was bustling with activity. Once again, the courtyards were filled with servants and soldiers, each on their way to carry out their respective errands. It seemed to be a world full of chaotic activity, but Edgar knew that it had more reason and purpose to it than almost anything else in the world right now. From his perch high above the castle below, he could see almost anything he wanted, and he couldn’t help but remember Banon’s comments from the previous day. War brings a sense of purpose to their insignificant lives. But he could not remember a time he had stood up here and not seen the same people running back and forth on the same duties. Maybe war just brought hope.
     He sighed softly, letting himself lean wearily on the strength of the castle his ancestors had built from nothing. It had been said by the neighboring kingdoms that building a castle in the middle of a desert was stupid and a waste of time. The Figaro family, however, had never been one to turn away from a challenge. The castle had been built and the roaring head of a lion gilded into the tallest tower, a badge that represented the determination and courage of the family. The Lion of Figaro had never stopped roaring since that day, and the castle walls had never been breached by the enemy. The crowned stag of Narshe had fallen, the silver fox of Albrooke was forever gone, and even the golden eagle of Doma had disappeared from the world. But the roaring lion remained, a testament to the cleverness of having built a castle in the desert.
     He shook his head ruefully. He couldn’t remember the time when there had been any other kingdom than Doma and Figaro in the world. The forts and castles of the olden times had been laid under siege and then destroyed by the growing Empire. And he still shook inwardly with rage at the thought of seeing the Imperial dragon flying over the Lion. Never. That would never happen to his homeland, not while he was still breathing.
     Turning his thoughts from the past, he looked to the rising sun, suppressing a chill that wanted to ravage his body beneath the warming rays. The black clouds had moved off somewhere to the south and were gone, having left without dropping their thundering rains over the castle and offering some blessed relief from the unusual warmth of the summer. It would have been a pleasure to see the desert alive for a few moments with the bright flowers of the cacti and the animals emerging from their protective homes beneath the sand and rock.
     He turned around, leaning back against the small stone wall and turning his gaze to the door that led back down the small tower. Above the door was the Lion, still strong in the rising sun, and, above that, was the white and gold standard of Figaro castle. He wanted to be that lion, and all he felt was weak. He couldn’t help but think that somehow he was failing his people by his meager attempts to save them.
     The door slowly opened, and he glanced down as his brother stepped out into the sunlight.
     Sabin walked forward to stand next to Edgar, his face pensive and calm as he leaned over to watch the people moving back and forth with supplies and messages. The silence was only broken by the murmur of voices and the bustle of the people working beneath them. Finally, Sabin spoke. “I thought I might find you here,” he said.
     Edgar nodded absentmindedly. “You always do,” he replied, stretching his arms in front of him. His wound was still sore, and he was tired. He had discarded the white platemail the kings of Figaro had been wearing into battle for centuries and replaced it with a light tunic and hunting pants, somehow feeling that he had no more right to wear the white and gold than any common boy. He sighed. “Some day the time will come when you won’t find me here, though.”
     Sabin smiled slightly, glancing back at the face of his brother. “You’ll always be here,” he declared, his tone confidence and strong, the voice of the Lion roaring above their heads. “There will never be a day when the Lion meets the sun that you won’t be up here with it.”
     Edgar shrugged, his eyes moving up once more to study the superb craftsmanship of the Lion. It was flawless. The sand and dust could not touch it. It remained as perfect as it had been the day it was created, as constant as time itself. Edgar knew he was not that strong, and he said so to Sabin, his voice weak and pathetic to his ears. He was no Lion. He was no king.
     Sabin pursed his lips thoughtfully, behind he turned, placing a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Fate made you a king,” he said finally. “That coin… You were meant to be the King of Figaro, Edgar. I have no doubt in my mind about that. You… you were always the better half.” He laughed shortly at that, but it faded as soon as he saw the expression on his brother’s face. He had never seen Edgar so torn and tormented. The blue eyes that were normally so bright with laughter and jest were clouded with confusion and pain.
     “I’m no better than the men we fight,” he said softly, closing his eyes. “I shame my kingdom.”
     Sabin shook his head fervently. “No.” He swallowed, wishing that there was something he could say. Edgar seemed unwilling to accept anything that Sabin offered. “You know that isn’t true.”
     Edgar shook his head slowly. “If you only knew the things that I did,” he whispered. “If only you knew.”

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