Categories > Games > Final Fantasy 6

Eulogy of the Incomplete Souls

by Virgo 2 reviews

For the FF Ficathon 05. "Men with secrets to keep; other lovers unspoken." Because the incomplete enjoy company as well.

Category: Final Fantasy 6 - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst - Characters:  Edgar, Locke - Warnings: [!] - Published: 2005-05-08 - Updated: 2005-05-08 - 1741 words - Complete

Eulogy of the Incomplete Souls

This is the first time I've ever tried to write a FFVI yaoi and, for some reason, the only way I could think of it was a rather, well, angsty piece. Which is strange because Locke is rarely EVER this outwardly angsty with me before...


Edgar's hand was warm against his back. He shivered at the touch as much as he shivered at the sound of silk on skin on silk.

"You don't have to go." Edgar nearly whispered. Sleep was edging his voice and could've covered up any lingering hopeless notes if Locke hadn't already known it would be there.

He never made it a point to stay for long. Not with Edgar at least. He respected the man too much to curl up at his side and pretend he was someone else.

"You can stay." He said, just as quietly as before. "It's not an obligation, no strings and all, but it's fine if you stayed every once in a while." He threaded his fingers (just slightly shorter than Locke's, thicker, shaped more for tinkering then opening treasure) through Locke's soft, cornflower hair.

It was a mistake, but Locke didn't resist when Edgar's hand cupped at his shoulder and guided him back to the bed. He slid his legs under the cover and settled his head against the pillow. It smelled faintly feminine and the thought of that hurt on so many different levels.

Edgar watched the curve of the other man's shoulder and the tense muscles of his back. So many nights he spent trying to unravel Locke, just to watch him curl back in himself again. He had liked to think that, over time, they had become 'best friends' (as Edgar never even had a friend, he wasn't certain of all the qualifications of 'best' friend entailed), he had liked to think that he knew something of the treasure hunter beneath his smile and optimistic outlook.

They shared some of their pains together- mostly over some of the best vintage imported from the Veldt whose harvest grew just as wild as their beasts. They would talk long into the nights then, and fumbled with each other for comfort. But even then, heady with drink and dizzy for companionship, something was always impersonal between them. And whenever Locke left so soon afterward, Edgar knew he wasn't ready to understand it yet- he wasn't trustworthy enough for it yet.

Edgar watched Locke's back as his sides began their level pattern of sleep. He reached out an arm but dropped it in the space between them, not touching the other man.

He was not yet brave enough.


"Hey, there, your Highness!" The court had long since become accustom to Locke's apparent discourtesy to their king, accepting it only because His Majesty said he liked the informality.

The head advisor translated for them: "Because they are friends."

There was a time and a place to distinguish between friends and nobles and commoners, the court felt, but after the desertion of the young prince, they felt they could let this one slip.

"Locke!" Always ready to find any reason to abandon another tedious and damn-near pointless update in the fact that, yes, the desert would still be dry for another eight months, Edgar swept away from his courtiers and wrapped Locke in a one-armed hug. "It's been a while, how've you been?"

"Er, Your Majesty, you really must-"

"Come, come, you must be tired!" Edgar said loudly and precisely, clearly indicating he didn't give two shakes of a chocobo's tail feathers about what he 'must' do. "Let's go to the dining hall and I'll have someone cook you up a nice, big meal!"

The king and his companion hurried out of the throne room, arms over shoulders, smiling and chatting like they hadn't seen each other in years. Once out of the main hall, Edgar asked, "How long have you been back?"

"Most the day. Got all my stuff put up in the guest room, bathed, ate and heard you were in another meeting so I decided to play your 'get outta jail free' card." Locke grinned brightly. "You owe me dinner."

Edgar snorted and ruffled Locke's hair. "Like you ever pay for anything you eat around here, anyway."


The first time they met was in South Figaro. Locke, a well-known traveler and rumor-monger, had spent almost half a year gathering information for the Rebellion. He was told of a new possible addition to the cause- a very large and powerful possible addition -that just lacked information that Locke could very well supply.

He was told: meet the contact at the bar, he'll be in the north side corner, long blonde hair with a gray cape. Go to the bar, order a drink and ask him if he thinks it'll rain in the desert. If he says 'Not for another three new moons,' it means he'll meet you at the first room in the inn. If he says 'You'll see moogles running around first,' it means the Imperials are watching too closely and he'll meet you by the west entrance in ten minutes.

As it turned out, they met again at the west entrance where two chocobos were waiting for them. They spoke sparingly on the ride to Figaro castle and the entire time, Locke felt this new contact found something amusing. When asked, the other man said it wasn't anything important and the more Locke prodded, the bigger the smile grew.

"If you really want to know," he said secretly, his voice was like brandy- smooth and sweet, "you'll find out soon. We're coming up on the castle."

The contact went up first as the guards commanded them to halt. Flashing something from his cloak to them, they stepped aside and saluted, the two steadying the mounts as Locke and the contact dropped to the ground.

Through the castle they went and Locke saw as each person they passed bowed or saluted and Locke had a feeling it wasn't because of him. Jogging up to the other man, Locke cleared his throat.

"I take it you're, uh, someone important around here?"

He chuckled. "You could say that."

"I'm gonna take a wild stab because there's no way it could be true. You're not, like, the prince around here, are you?"

This time he laughed, and if his voice was like brandy this laughter was like unaged wine- inconsistent and bitter. "No, definitely not."

"Oh. Well, good, I guess."

"I'm the king."

Locke stopped in his tracks. "The what?"

The contact stopped similarly and turned, amused grin spread all over his features. "King. Me. Edgar Rene Figaro."

Locke spluttered, trying to think of what he was supposed to do in the presence of royalty. But the contact- His Majest, King Figaro, SOMETHING -just laughed again, warmer this time. "It's fine, it's fine. Don't worry." He clapped a hand on Locke's shoulder. "Call me Edgar. We wouldn't, after all, want the Empire to know that I'm siding with the Rebels just yet."

Nodding his head, Locke followed numbly through the castle. He was there for a better part of the week, exploring the castle and answering any questions the ki- Edgar had. And, over the course of those days (most of which was still spent fumbling with how exactly he was supposed to act and Edgar laughing and prodding at him for it) Locke decided he had to get back at the guy for telling him something like that wasn't important.


Locke didn't have to ask anyone to know where the king was. There was only one place he could be at this time of night. Climbing up the stairs, he heard a faint voice singing some lullaby and, knowing how deeply Edgar could sometime think, clomped loudly up the rest of the way.

"Nice of you to join me." Edgar said as Locke's head popped up from the interior of the tower. "Don't have an extra glass, though." He swirled the glass bottle vaguely in his hand. "Don't have a glass period."

"Glasses are overrated." Locke said, leaning against the parapet and taking the bottle to his own lips. "Nice night for a drink."

"It's always a nice night for a drink. And if it isn't, then you haven't drunk enough."

"I'll drink to that." He held up the bottle for a toasted before he took another swig, then passed it to Edgar who did the same.

They stood quietly, contemplating the studded night and the tides of the sand around them.

After a while, Locke said, "I'm surprised that you're not trying to woo Terra right now."

"She's had a hard day." Came the reply, tongue slightly thicker then usual. "You can see it in her eyes. Besides, she's the same as us in a way."

Locke made a curious noise in the back of his throat. "How so?"

"She's lost something important to her. Part of what makes her her." Edgar took a smaller drink this time, watching the brightest stars through the swirling color of liquor. "When something so precious is taken away from you so suddenly, you really can't get to who they really are underneath."

"Because something so big is missing." Locke breathed into the chill of the night. "And they're incomplete."

"I would do anything to help her to get it back."

"Yeah, well," the was a hidden bitterness in Locke's voice as he pushed away from the edge, "she's lucky. She still has a chance of getting it back." And that bitterness was directed partly at her and at Edgar and at the hopelessness that festered inside himself.

"There will always be hope."

"Sometimes hope isn't good enough." Bowing his head shallowly, Locke said, "Sleep well." And as he disappeared down the stairs, Edgar could imagine that the untouchable void he'd been trying to dispel all this time was gaping at him like a open, ravenous mouth. And he imagined that, at the bottom of it, someone was laughing at him.
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