Howl, the Moon!

Fandoms: Final Fantasy XIII/IV/After Years
Pairings: Pre-Fang/Lightning, Snow/Serah.
Rating: PG (M15+ in later chapters for violence)
Spoiler Warning: Contains characterization spoilers for FFXIII (Lightning, Serah, Snow, Fang), spoilers for the world and characters of FFIV and its sequel, The After Years.
Warnings for Whole Story – will contain spoilers: Blanket warning – I'm not going to specifically warn for anything that's fair game in the Final Fantasy games. This will include death, mind control, coercion, injury, extreme violence, and whack meta-magic. Angst, hatred, mortality and darkness is also a given – especially in the last half of the story.
Summary: Reports of a raging red horde threatens Mysidia. A Paladin, and Dragoon and a Dark Knight lead the Red Wings east, to settle the score and find out what this whole 'Lunar Howl' business really means. Fang/Lightning, Snow/Serah, FFIV AU, post-The After Years.

Notes: Takes place thirty years after the end of the FFIV sequel, The After Years. Fusing two of my favourite Final Fantasy games was an interesting thing for me. It all started when I wondered how Fang would be in the FFIV world, and was meant to be a one-shot amongst a LOT of other ones. Really started plotting it out when the fang_lightning comm. ended up having the monthly theme of Lunar Light. So obviously I connected that theme to this fic and struck gold.

As an aside, I think that Lightning totally has a thing for dragoon-types.

The main, developing pairing is Fang/Lightning, while the beta pairing is Snow/Serah. Now, enough of my expository banter! I'll save it for LJ.

The Captain of the Red Wings

The smooth, stone halls of Baron Castle were bustling with servants, civilians, castle guards and the odd Red Wings warrior, as Snow Villiers made his way towards the throne room. The summons parchment was crumpled up in his gauntleted hand. For the life of him, he could not figure out why the King would wish to see him, so soon after his last mission report. The patrols had been clear, Baron's borders were secure and there was little sign of trouble. The Red Wings had only just returned home! And Snow, he had only had time to snatch a brief moment with his love.

Perhaps he'd screwed up again – Snow pushed the thought away forcefully. The patrols had gone of without a hitch, and he couldn't imagine why any of the Red Wings would have had an issue with the way things had gone down.

Snow settled his shoulders, and cracked his knuckles as he strode through the hallways. No point in thinking about it. Nothing for it, but to see what the King was after. Hopefully he wouldn't screw up the audience – not like last time. He winced as he recalled the mess he'd made of it all. He wasn't sure why that rack of spears had been there, of all places, but it sure hadn't been a good idea to have them in the throne room like that. Anybody could have tripped over them!

Well, except for maybe his lieutenant, but she was a whole 'nother league above him.

The wide, oak doors leading to the King's throne room and beyond, were guarded by a small squad of castle guards. They looked up and saluted Snow as he approached, and he awkwardly raised a hand in recognition of their salute. Leviathan's beard, he was never going to get used to all this weird-ass saluting – it had been fine when it had been at old Lord Captain Highwind, but dude. He'd seriously have to do something about all that awkward formal… stuff.

The sound of boots on stone and carpet brought Snow to a halt, and he looked behind him. Dark armour, curved, Odin-class blades strapped to her back, that tattered red scarf trailing out behind her as she strode along with purpose… Even at this distance, she seemed to exude annoyance and contempt for all things living.

Snow grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets as he watched her approach. From the looks of the parchment in her gauntleted hand, his First Lieutenant had also been summoned by the King of Baron.

Lightning Farron stopped before him, resting a hand on her hip. With the Dark Knight's helm on, Snow couldn't see her eyes, but the visor had been pushed up, giving him view of the lower half of her face. Even with that limited information, the flat press of her lips spoke of a nasty scowl. Great, she was pissed off. Wonderful news.

Snow fingered a circular object in his pocket, only too mindful of something else that would probably piss her off. No need to linger on that problem, she'd find out and skin him soon enough. 'til then, he had a job to do.

"Phew. Thought I was the only one the King was gonna yell at, but if you're here too, it must not be all bad news," Snow said as he scratched the back of his head, eager to cut through the tension. No matter what else happened, a tense Lightning was not somebody he wanted to take into an audience with the King.

"Tch." A corner of Lightning's lips twitched up, but it was quickly smothered by his lieutenant's iron control. It was a good try, though, and he chalked it up to a partial success. Snow turned back for the massive doors to the King's throne room, gesturing for Lightning to move ahead of him.

"Lord Captain Villiers is here, answering his Majesty's summons," Lightning told one of the castle guards at the door, receiving a sharp nod and a salute as the herald slipped in to inform the King of their arrival. A few moments later, the herald opened the double doors, motioning for them to move into the throne room. Snow squared his shoulders.

Time for him to face the music, no matter what tune the old man would play.

Flanked by Lightning and the herald, Snow entered the King's throne room, quickly scanning his surroundings. It seemed that most of the dangerous weapons had been removed from the room – Snow grinned. That was a nice start. There were a number of courtiers lining the hall, and a few guards mingled with Baron's elite. The stone hall was carpeted in red and gold, and the rugs led upwards, to where the King, his wife and his daughter all sat on a dais.

It was a throne designed to impose, no matter how kindly the current King was.

"Your Majesty! Presenting Lord Captain Snow Villiers and First Lieutenant Lightning Farron, of the Red Wings!" the herald called out, leading the pair to the dais, stooping in a low bow to the royal family. Snow and Lightning mimicked the herald's bow, but finished up with a sharp salute in the usual style of the Red Wings.

King Ceodore smiled, rising to his feet as he motioned for his soldiers to stand at ease.

"Well met, Lord Captain Villiers, First Lieutenant Farron. Baron hails your presence," Ceodore told them, descending slowly from the podium. His hand reached out to clasp Snow's shoulder gently, giving his captain a reassuring squeeze. Though he was aging, Ceodore still remained hale and solid. Snow had heard that the old king still practiced combat – that it was something the king had picked up from old Captain Highwind, and the late King Cecil.

He grinned. For royalty, he'd found that Ceodore wasn't all bad news.

"It is an honour to be here, your majesty. But I have to ask – what's the deal?" Snow asked, as Ceodore returned to Baron's throne.

"No, no. No problem with that side of matters, nor your patrol of Baron's borders," Ceodore told him softly, his eyes suddenly very far away. "I bring you before me, because my sources have mentioned some troubling tales, carried to me from abroad."

"Troubling tales, your majesty?" Snow asked slowly, watching Lightning fold her arms over her chest. She didn't seem surprised by the news, but it was so hard to tell with that woman. Had she heard something, while down in the township last night? He began to fidget, smacking the palm of his hand with a fist, repeatedly.

"Mm." The King looked to his only daughter, Cinissra, who nodded and rose gracefully to her feet.

"My father speaks truly. There have been reports of a raging red horde, of monsters sighted to the east of Mysidia, starting from Mt. Ordeals," Cinissra said, her clear voice grave. While Cinissra had declined an apprenticeship among the Red Wings and had little interest in military matters, she was well-versed on magical lore and kept up-to-date with information on happenings abroad. Snow had to remember that.

Ceodore shook his head, allowing his daughter to take her seat again. "Each night, they creep closer and closer to Mysidia, a nation and settlement that my father vowed to protect during his reign. I do not intend to break that vow, either. But… the appearance of these monsters worries me."

"So you want us to go and put the horde down, is that right?" Lightning's voice cut in, as cold and dispassionate as usual. With that black armour, she stood like an onyx statue in their midst. How could she stand to be so still? "That's a big job, if Mysidia's mages can't handle the horde itself."

"In so many words," Ceodore agreed, his tone a little dry. "My family and Baron still owe a great debt to the world, and I will not let it be said that I shirked my duties in that respect."

Sounds like it came straight from old Highwind himself. That man was always big on the redemption shtick, right?

He looked to Lightning, who was nodding as if she'd heard it all before. Old Highwind, the previous Captain of the Red Wings, had been a bit of a mentor for the dark knight, even if he'd disliked the path that Lightning had ultimately taken in life. Bahamut's flare, he'd been party to enough of their explosive arguments over the merits of the dark arts. A whole lot of you're throwing your life away, it won't do any good now, what about long term goals – it had mostly fallen on deaf ears.

Bahamut only knew why Lightning had up and chosen the power of the deathsword and all its consequences, but she was damn good at it and frankly that was all Snow cared about. Bad publicity be damned.

Still, this whole meeting was feeling way too tense for his tastes. Snow grinned, attempting to put everyone at ease as he declared, "You got nothing to worry about, your majesty. The Red Wings can handle a little group of monsters, no sweat!"

Ceodore smiled. "Then I will leave this mission in your capable hands, Lord Captain Villiers. Take this night to restock and prepare, and take the fleet to Mt. Ordeals on the morrow. I have sent word to Dysley, and contingent of Dragoons will assist your endeavours. But please, be careful. You are dismissed."

"Well, that was pretty interesting," Snow said as he pushed through the double oak doors and out into the halls of Baron Castle, Lightning falling into pace just behind him. He reflexively cracked his neck and knuckles. The whole summons business hadn't nearly been as bad as he'd been expecting, and he was seriously dying to let out all that cooped-up attention, as it was still rattling around inside him like marbles in a suit of armour.

"Tch. 'Interesting'? Are you serious?" Lightning breathed out sharply, and though the dark helm's vivid green eyes concealed her eyes, Snow had the distinct impression that she was glaring at him. She shook her head in exasperation. "Hordes of monsters to the east of Mysidia? Call it like it is, Hero. It's disturbing."

"That too," Snow agreed lazily, as he nodded in acknowledgement to the salutes of the guards by the next door. There she went with that 'Hero' business again. Was it in derision, or was it just a nickname? Even after all these years, he couldn't tell. "But it's not far from Mt. Ordeals. Old Highwind would have thrown a fit, man."

Lightning made a sound that was half amusement, half annoyance, as they descended the steps to Baron Castle's courtyard. "It has been a significant place for Baron, for a long time. It can't be coincidence that these monsters would appear there, of all places. Why not Eblan, near the Tower of Babil? Fabul?"

Snow laughed. Lightning was being a pessimist again, and from the slight smile on her lips, she knew it too.

"Of course, you'd rather they appear right on top of Baron? Seriously, Light. Quit tinhatting. We got a lot of work to do before we move out tomorrow. Got men to rally, asshole dragoon commanders to bro, supplies to hoard and weapons to calibrate. Conspiracy theories can wait 'til we're airborne."

"As the Lord Captain commands," Lightning replied dryly, punctuating her answer with a sharp salute. Snow watched his lieutenant move off, to begin the preparations for tomorrow's campaign, and he smiled a little crookedly.

As harsh and critical of him as the woman was, he knew that Lightning Farron was the best damn commander in the Red Wings. She knew tactics, logistics, she knew the chain of command like the back of her hand and while she was mediocre at best with airship navigation, her skill with those Odin-class swords more than made up for it.

But with all her no-nonsense and tactics, somehow she'd been overlooked for Lord Captain. Even more shockingly, it had been Snow himself who'd been promoted to lead the Red Wings after Highwind's death.

Bahamut's beard, but it was times like these that Snow wondered what Old Kain Highwind had been thinking, when he chose ex-delinquent, absurdly-optimistic Snow over the controlled, Dark Knight Lightning, to succeed him as Lord Captain.

Snow had heard the rumours, the ones that had sprung up like weeds since his promotion. Everyone expected him to screw this up, to lead the Red Wings to destruction and get himself killed in the first few months of the job. False airs and bravado aside, but… part of him wondered if the rumour-mill was right. That he really would screw up. Snow sighed, running a hand through his shaggy, blond hair as he looked up at the cloud-streaked sky.

First thing was first, though – before the rest of Baron believed in him, he'd have to believe in himself. That was all there was to it. He'd show Lightning that he was a worthy commander, and a worthy… he thrust his hand in the pocket, checking that the object was still there. He smiled when he felt it. Great!

"Now to take care of the jerkwad that runs the Dragoons…" Snow muttered, as he headed for the Dragoon barracks. And Lightning thought she had it so damn hard with the paperwork – she didn't have to deal with that imperialistic bastard every time they needed Dragoon assistance…

The sun was touching the horizon by the time Lightning had finalized preparations for the next day's campaign, and had sent the supply and recruitment lists to the King's clerks. The paperwork was no longer her problem tonight, and after a whole day of numbers and planning, she was ready to slouch back to the quarters she shared with Serah, and just sleep until daybreak. But damn Villiers would never let her skip Red Wing tradition, even if he'd have to come and roust her from her blankets.

I swear to Bahamut, if you break into my room one more time, Snow, you are going to be shorter by a whole head, she thought, with a small amount of viciousness, as she pushed her way out of the dimly-lit command centre. Baron's courtyard was stained in the setting sun's red and gold, the servants' preparations for that night's meal already in full swing.

Lightning paused, thoughtful. In such commotion, she could probably slip up to her quarters and bar the door, tradition be damned!

The Red Wing tradition – started not long after Snow had been forcefully drafted to the Red Wings to keep him from a life of delinquency, and a good year before Lightning had chosen the deathsword – dictated that on the eve of a sizable operation, they'd go down to Baron's tavern and celebrate. Because, Snow had claimed all those years ago, you never knew who wasn't going to be coming back home.

It wasn't a terrible sentiment. Lightning just couldn't be bothered playing nice with the new recruits and Dragoons when she needed a good night's sleep. She silently groaned, wavering between ignoring tradition or ignoring her pounding headache. But Snow would be down there already, so he'd know if Lightning skipped something he took so damn seriously. And the last time Snow had stormed her room had been unpleasant enough, when they'd both just been Red Wings recruits – he was her commanding officer now.

There was really only one thing for it.

The walk down to Baron's large tavern was relatively short, though the path down the tavern's alley was a muddy quagmire due to the recent rains. There was still light by the time the old, stone-brick building came into view, the torches inside and out already lit up for the night. From the sounds of things, the celebrations were already underway – glass shattering, raucous laughter, and was that a small explosion she just heard? She thought she could hear the melody of a harp over the general din, but only if she strained.

Her headache seemed to pound in rhythm with the revelry. This was a bad idea.

You just have to do this for a little while, she told herself firmly as she approached the wooden door. These are your soldiers, show a little spine for once.

She straightened at the silent taunt, and pushed her way into the tavern. The smell of cheap ale was almost overwhelming at first, and the massive hearth on the far wall held a raging fire that made the room seem stiflingly hot. The main room was packed with uniformed Red Wing soldiers, the division of Paladins and what seemed to be a small squadron of dragoons. Lightning sighed – so that had been all Snow had been able to procure from Dysley? A disappointing number. Worse, they all looked to be fairly raw and inexperienced.

Lightning forced her way through the crowd, scanning the room for Snow. Usually, he was easy to locate, as he was always in the centre of the festivities. She skilfully avoided getting splashed with ale as a group of Red Wings pushed their way passed her, her mind working. So if she couldn't see Snow, then…

Snow isn't here, Lightning realized with a grimace. That hypocritical bastard.

On the positive side, she was free to head back up to the keep, then. Lightning was sliding covertly towards the door when she felt something – or someone – latch onto her elbow. She whirled with a muffled oath, and barely stopped herself from slamming her gauntleted fist into the face of the dragoon who'd just caught her.

The dragoon didn't seem fazed as she watched Lightning let her fist drop to her side, her green eyes showing nothing but amusement. That was an… odd reaction. Few dared to get in a Dark Knight's way, and even fewer when that Dark Knight was the First Lieutenant of the Red Wings.

"And where did you think y'were going?" the dragoon asked her, in what sounded like a Mysidian accent. Her hold on Lightning's elbow tightened before the First Lieutenant could pull away.

"Back up to the castle," Lightning said, raising her voice, so that the dragoon could hear it over the din. "I can't waste my time on… this. I have a lot of preparations to complete."

The Dragoon raised an eyebrow, her green eyes sceptical. Lightning tried to shrug off the sudden uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. It wasn't exactly a lie, was it? Lightning's tired mind scrambled for a profile for the dragoon. Wild, dark hair, green eyes, Mysidian accent, complete disregard for authority, and Lightning knew she'd seen that tribal-style patterning on the blue Dragoon armour in the courtyards.

Fang Yun, a relatively new dragoon recruit from Mysidia, her mind supplied as she scanned the woman's face, which was missing the customary dragoon visor. Only been with Baron's military three years. Loose cannon, often at ends with Dysley. Bad news.

"But you jus' got here!" the woman – Fang – complained as she tugged on Lightning's elbow, hard enough to pull the dark knight off-balance. Even as she stumbled, Lightning fought her first instinct – to slog the other woman one for invading her personal space. She frowned. Didn't Fang have any idea of who she was pulling around, like some raw recruit? Fed up with this ridiculous charade, Lightning jerked her elbow from Fang's grasp.

"C'mon," Fang begged her in a low voice, grinning at Lightning's obvious annoyance. "A coupla mates and I got this great game goin' on. You should have a shot. It's a real barrel of monkeys."

Lightning cursed softly, looking back towards the tavern's door. So close, yet so far away… It looked as if Fang Yun wasn't about to let the topic drop, so finally, Light inclined her head in a curt nod. She'd at least see what this so-called game was.

The dragoon whooped and motioned for Lightning to follow her, and they made their way to the back corner of the over-crowded tavern. Two men – one of the older Red Wings soldiers, and a dragoon – were seated at a rickety table. The entire surface of the table had been covered in empty pitchers of ale and chipped mugs. Lightning grimaced.

Attractive.

Rygdea, the older Red Wings soldier, raised a mug lazily in her direction, and then looked back to the wall. Some idiot had rigged up a dartboard, and there was one of the newer Red Wings recruits – a blond kid that Lightning vaguely recalled as going by the name 'Maqui' – standing unsteadily before it. Clutched in one hand, was a number of darts. Lightning looked back to Fang, her question obvious.

Fang slung an arm around Lightning's shoulders, pulling her close so that Lightning could hear over the din of laughter and music. Lightning pushed down a surge of irritation at the familiarity of the contact.

"The game goes like this," Fang said, her breath scorching Lightning's ear. "Every time this kiddo misses hittin' the dart board with one of them there darts, we –" Fang gestured to herself, Lightning, Rygdea, and the other dragoon. "-gotta drink a shot of Eblan's finest rice wine."

From the smell of ale on Fang's breath and the slight slur to her words, this wouldn't have been the first time that night she'd played the game, before she'd dragged Lightning into it. Lightning pushed herself free of Fang's comradely hold, frowning at the three of them.

"He's smashed. He won't even be able to see the board, let alone hit it with the darts."

Rygdea laughed, filling a small, shot-sized glass with the rice wine. "That's our lieutenant, sharp as ever!"

Fang smirked at Rygdea's laughter, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Her green eyes were challenging, though, as she stared Lightning down. "And that there is the point, darlin'. Are y'always this much fun to be around, or am I jus' special?"

Lightning looked at the dragoon sharply, but the other woman looked like the picture of innocence. "Whatever. I'm out of here."

She strode away from the cramped little table, intending to go up to the keep and sleep until daybreak, but Fang moved to block her path. Lightning scowled at the other woman, but Fang didn't back down.

"Huh." Fang's expression was thoughtful as her eyes roved Lightning. "Didn't think that the Red Wings promoted the chickenshit."

Chickenshit? Lightning's back straightened. That dragoon just called her chickenshit? Her hand twitched for her swords Zantetsuken and Zanmato, dying to show Fang Yun just how chickenshit the First Lieutenant of the Red Wings really was, when just a cut from either of her curved, serrated swords could spell instant death to the target –

Lightning forced her hands down, exhaling sharply. She had a better idea, and she wouldn't have a murder to explain to Snow and Dysley in the morning. She turned her back on Fang, stalking to the table as she pulled her dark, horned helmet off, tossing it carelessly to the ground at her feet. Sweat was making her spiked hair stick to her damp neck, but at the moment, she didn't give a damn as she pulled out a rickety chair, and grabbed a shot glass.

Lightning looked up, meeting Fang's bright, green eyes squarely. Like hell she was going to back down from this challenge now.

"Let's do this."

Fang just smirked, shrugging lazily before she slid onto one of the chairs beside Lightning.

"Got a bit of fight in ya, I see." Fang turned towards Rygdea and the other dragoon, accepting a shot glass from one of them. "Orright you blockheads, game on! Maqui, if y'd be so nice as t'do the honours?"

The blond kid just nodded unsteadily, and looked blearily back towards the dartboard on the wall. His first throw didn't even make it within a few feet of the dartboard, skittering uselessly against the battered stone wall. The rice wine scorched Lightning's throat as she obediently downed a shot along with the others, before slamming the chipped, ceramic shot glass to the wooden table.

Bahamut, that stuff was awful, but neither Fang, Rygdea or the other dragoon seemed to comment. Perhaps they were too far gone to even care how their drinks tasted.

A few more darts later, and Lightning wasn't sure that this whole challenge was a good idea. The world seemed to lurch with the slightest movement, but from the number of darts still in Maqui's hand, the game was far from over. She tightened her hand into a fist – she couldn't back down now, or she really would be a coward. Another missed dart, another shot, and by that point she could barely taste the alcohol. A pleasant buzz was starting to spread out from her stomach, easing the tension between her shoulders, in her mind.

This really isn't so bad, Lightning thought as she watched Rygdea splutter as his shot went down the wrong way, watched Fang thump him on the back. She stifled a snort at the way Rygdea's face flushed, the way he kept arguing that he was more'n ready to take y'three pussies down, but a few moments later he was passed out on the table, a small amount of drool leaking from the corner of his mouth.

"Pft, what a lightweight," Fang sneered as she topped Lightning's shot glass up, though her hands were so unsteady that nearly half of what she poured ended up on the table beside the glass. The other dragoon was the next to go down as Maqui ended the final roulette of darts, sliding from his stool with a drunken-sounding hiccough and beginning to snore loudly.

Victors in their stupid little shots game, Fang slung an arm about Lightning's shoulders. The dragoon was acting far too familiar for Lightning's tastes, but the buzz in her body and overall laziness in her mind was enough to dissuade Lightning from shoving her off.

"Know what?" Fang said in Lightning's ear, her breath reeking of the Eblan rice wine, her voice loud enough to make Lightning's drunken brain cringe. "Wasn' expecting you to last this long. Maybe they do make 'em tough in Baron."

Lightning snorted, elbowing the dragoon sharply in the ribs. Not hard enough to hurt, but it was enough to get her point across. "I do have an entire army's honour to uphold."

"I like how y'imply that a dark knight has honour. For an officer, you ain't half bad." Fang slapped her thigh, throwing her head back and letting out a full-throated chuckle. Lightning watched her, a small smile on her lips. It was nice, how Fang acted the way she felt, instead of tiptoeing around Lightning because of her military status and all the baggage that came with swearing to the deathsword. It wasn't a martial style with a lot of love or respect, not like a bloody paladin, mage or dragoon.

Lightning supposed the old Captain, with is exploits in the previous Lunar Crisises, had had a lot to do with that sudden love. Dark Knights, despite their power, were still associated with a time in history that everyone just wanted to forget. It was hardly her fault, though. She still needed the extra boost in power, that edge that would let her protect what was precious.

Still feeling entirely too charitable towards this Fang Yun, Lightning grabbed a mug of the much-weaker ale and swallowed a large mouthful. The normally warmed ale was stone cold now, but she was smashed enough to not care.

Looking over the rim of the mug and smirking at Fang, Lightning said, "You're not that bad yourself."

Fang drew back in mock surprise, her voice loud enough to carry over the general din of the drunken celebrations around them. "Do m'ears deceive me? The First Lieutenant is actually payin' a compliment to a lowly Dragoon?"

"Here I was, thinking you were being so utterly irritating because you didn't realize my rank."

Fang just grinned, grabbing Lightning's mug of ale from her hands, and taking a deep swallow from it. "It's never that simple, Sunshine."

"Sunshine?" Lightning asked with a scowl, her mood clouding over almost immediately. That nickname. What in the name of Bahamut was that meant to mean? Sunshine?

Fang shrugged easily, slinging an arm back around Lightning's shoulders, as she leaned forwards to explain in a lower voice. "Dark Knight, obscenely cranky disposition, that glare f'starters."

It must have been the buzz from all the alcohol – that had to be the only reason that Lightning was reconsidering gutting this Fang Yun right where she sat. Come to think of it, it was almost funny, in a pathetic sort of way. Lightning covered her mouth with the back of her hand, fighting her amusement. For once, she even felt like laughing.

Instead, Lightning just muttered something, and looked off to the side as she took a deep breath. She frowned – she thought she could smell jasmine for a moment.

"Just don't make a habit of it."

The dragoon grinned, giving the First Lieutenant a crude approximation of the Red Wings salute with her free hand. "No worries, Sunshine."

Lightning laughed, feeling the thrill in her veins amplify with her increasingly good mood. There was something deeply amusing about Fang's antics, and something relaxing. She leaned into Fang's shoulder, biting her lower lip slightly as she took in the sharp angle of Fang's profile, her wild, dark hair. It had been a long time since Lightning had been attracted to anyone, but even so, she was certain that she…

She froze, frowning as she realized just what she'd been doing. She'd had far too much to drink that night, and she was playing a very dangerous game with this Dragoon she hardly knew. Even the slightest scandal – such as the First Lieutenant being caught naked and groaning in the arms of another woman -

Get a grip, soldier, don't get excited.

-would reflect badly on the Red Wings and Baron's fragile international diplomacy. There was status to think about, there was propriety. There was the fact that she'd been openly flirting with this woman, and no matter how pleasant it had felt, she'd been practically throwing herself at Fang! No wonder Fang had been so amused by Lightning's reactions.

This had to stop.

Lightning rose swiftly as she pulled herself from Fang's overly familiar grasp, fast enough to make her head spin and her vision swirl sickeningly. Grimacing and forcing herself to endure, Lightning reached down and grabbed her dark helm from under the table, tucking it under her arm as she turned her back on the confused-looking dragoon. She felt a little regret, but it was for the best. That's all that counted.

"Where you goin', Sunshine?" Fang asked, her voice low, her green eyes puzzled by the abrupt change in Lightning's demeanour.

Lightning didn't trust herself to answer. Still kicking herself for letting her guard down, she made her way to the tavern's exit. The air outside the building was like ice, the wind's stiff chill setting in quickly through the blackened armour. Lightning embraced the numbness, fleeing the warmth and buzz from the alcohol leech out as she headed for Baron's castle.

Fang leaned back with a groan, watching the Dark Knight vanish into the night.

"Well, that went great," she muttered, taking another draught of Lightning's ale. Still sprawled over the table beside her, she noted that Rygdea had stopped drooling. Her eyes narrowed, and she elbowed him in the ribs – hard. "Y'can stop pretending, Vales."

The Red Wings' wingman sat up with a colourful-sounding curse, rubbing the gap in his armour that Fang's elbow had targeted.

"Ruddy bitch," Rygdea growled. He hocked and spat off to the side, before grinning widely. "Whatever, Yun. I'll see you in th' mornin', got a date with my bunk all lined up. Gonna be real cozy. Sure you weren't wanting to join me?"

Fang laughed at his nerve – that attitude was exactly why she liked the man in the first place. "Keep dreamin', Vales."

Rygdea grinned, downing the last of his drink and clapping Fang on the shoulder as he moved to leave the tavern. "Maybe I will. Maybe 'bout you an' the First Lieutenant."

The smug bastard ducked the jug that Fang swung at his head, as he scrambled to make his getaway. Fang scowled, cursing her aim. A pity – that pitcher could have done with a Rygdea-shaped dent in the side.

It was raining, by the time Lightning made it back to the keep, and she was stone-cold sober. She shook her head, disgusted with herself. No matter how unconsciously, she'd been considering kissing Fang, right there and then. In full view of the Red Wings. In a tavern. She knew that it would be a bad idea – even without her private mission and the Red Wings to think about, there was still a glaring issue.

Relationships for a dark knight were a bad idea – Bahamut only knew when she'd tap the darkness for the last time, and gave her final souleater. At best, she was a ticking time-bomb. At worst, she was the walking dead. Lightning, paused outside the chambers she shared with Serah, looked down at her armoured gloves. She clenched the hand slowly. There was Serah to think about, Serah to protect.

Even if it meant Lightning's inevitable death in exchange for this power, she'd see that Serah remained safe and happy.

Quietly, Lightning eased the outer doors open – she froze as she heard low voices, bracing herself against the wall and drawing Zantetsuken as her heart began to pound. An intruder, or just a visitor? Her mouth twisted into a grimace, tightening her grip on Zantetsuken and reaching for its twin, Zanmato. It was a bit late for a visitor, so that left only a few options, none of them alternatives that Lightning wanted to consider.

She'd either walked in on a kidnapping attempt, or she'd walked in on her sister with a lover.

Staying as quiet as the dead, Lightning leaned back against the wall and simply listened to the lowered voices.

Snow's heart was in his throat as he knelt before her, taking her hand in his own and pressing his lips to her knuckles. The moonlight, streaming in from the open window, stained her skin and dress silver, the view stealing his breath away.

Serah Farron rested her other hand on his shoulder, the touch warm through his heavy jacket. He cherished it.

His voice was hoarse with barely-restrained emotion, when he spoke again. "I promise you, Serah. I'll come back from this, and when I do, everyone will know for sure that I'm the guy for the job."

She looked a little surprised at his admission of doubts, even as he covered it up with boundless optimism. Her eyes softened. "Snow, I never doubted that you would be-"

He slammed a fist to the floor, feeling his knuckles bruise from the force of his blow. "You don't get it! Between Dysley and your sister… I'm convinced all of Baron is laughing at me, saying that I'm just a puppet on the strings of people who should be backing me up! I've gotta prove that I'm not just some figurehead Kain set up to take the fall,that…"

Snow forced his voice to level, to become more gentle. Less desperate. Rational.

"I've gotta prove that I can make you happy!" He reached out, wrapping his arms around her waist, burying his face in her stomach. He felt her arms fold over the top of his head, accepting his sudden embrace. "Serah… I've got to prove it to them, and myself. And when that happens, I'll have proved to Lightning that I deserve you, that I can take care of you now."

He felt her hesitate, searching for the right words. Heartbeats stretched on for what seemed like eternity, before she finally spoke. "You have to do what you have to do, Snow. Just don't forget that you have people that love you, no matter what. And those people are the ones that will help you through."

She was right. Serah was always right. She was cautious where he was bold, thoughtful when he blurted whatever came to mind. She was proper, he was crude. She was born of high blood, and he'd been drafted off the streets for vandalism. She was everything that he was not, and even though they were so different…

He couldn't imagine life without her.

Snow took a breath, releasing his grasp on her waist and reaching into the deep pockets of his coat. His gloved fingers found what he sought, and he drew it out carefully, his hands shaking slightly. It was now or never. Time to face the music, because that's what heroes did.

"Serah… please." He reached forward, grasping her hand gently in his own. "When I get back from this investigation, can we make this whole thing official?"

Serah gasped as he pressed a ring into the palm of her hand. He released her hand with a smile, letting her stare down at the ring that remained. That ring was only thing that Snow had left of his mother, and now? He was giving it to the woman he loved, the woman that he planned to start his own family with.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes almost not believing.

He guessed he had to make it completely obvious, then. "Will you marry me?"

She stared down at the ring, and for one terrifying moment, he was certain that she'd refuse.

"Snow… I… yes!"

The words felt like magic in his ears. Serah choked, and sobbing, flung herself into his arms. Snow held her as she cried, stroking her hair, his heart fit to bursting. Even if he had his work cut out for him with the rest of Baron, he knew that didn't need to prove a thing to Serah.

Lightning leaned against the wall, silent, but her mind a whirlwind of anger and confusion. She almost couldn't believe it. Snow, to marry her sister? She shook her head, forcefully. How could she not have noticed this? How had they managed to keep it from her? She was his lieutenant, for Odin's sake! How could Serah have kept it from her?

She waited until Snow made his way from the chambers, determinedly resisting the urge to lash out from the dark with Zantetsuken, before she quietly entered the joint rooms. There was no sign that Serah had been awake at this hour, no sign that Snow had ever been there at all. Just how long had they been meeting like this, behind her back?

Long enough to want to be wed, the insidious part of her mind whispered.

Wordlessly, Lightning opened the door to Serah's room, leaning against the doorframe as her eyes strained to resolve the shapes in the dark. She could see Serah's form on the bed, obviously pretending to be asleep. She scowled. As if Serah would be able to sleep, not after accepting a proposal from the man she apparently loved. Lightning watched her for a few moments more, before quietly closing the door again.

Serah had been the entire reason that Lightning had sworn to the deathsword. After the violent death of their parents at the talons of monsters, Lightning had vowed to protect Serah, to preserve the last of her family. Simply remaining a private in the Red Wings clearly wouldn't have been enough – her father had been a wingman, and he still hadn't been able to save either himself or their mother. She'd had to go further.

The deathsword, no matter how staunchly Captain Kain had been against the idea, had been ideal. Power, in exchange for years off her own life. Her life for Serah's, and she'd seen it as a fair trade.

But with Snow in the picture… he was vowing to protect Serah as well. Did that mean that her place as Serah's guardian was being usurped? A small part of her both dreaded and relished it. If Snow was capable of protecting Serah, then was there any need for Lightning to keep draining her soul, her lifespan, for the needed power?

Maybe. Maybe not.

A/N: If anyone cares how I came up with the job classes for each of the Big Three (Light, Fang, Snow), plus more in-depth descriptions of who these alternates are, check this out (http : / zerrat . livejournal . com / 26982 . html)

Confused as to a term from FFIV, or just want a refresher? I've also posted a quick dossier there for FFIV/the After Years.