"You have sullied the name of my fair lady and for that, you must face my blade!" The White Knight charged, scarlet plumes streaming from his helmet, his alabaster armor gleaming in the dusky rays of the late afternoon sun. Gaily dressed spectators cheered as the earth shook from the furious pounding hooves of his mighty steed. "Die, you cowardly knave! Hell awaits thee!"

"No, Seifer! I didn't mean it! She just looks…AHHH!!! Shit! Get away from me! Help! He's crazy!"

Zell's belled cap fell from his spiked hair as he ran around the makeshift tilting area set up on the grounds just outside of Balamb Garden. A flat area in the woods surrounding Garden had been converted to a weeklong Faire for the entertainment of the students and Balamb townspeople. Organized by Selphie Tilmitt, the Faire was bringing in some much-needed cash for a library renovation.

In addition to the popular jousts and swordfights, there were jugglers, musicians, storytellers, fantastic creatures on display, and booze everywhere. Wine, beer, mead, ale, wine, liquor, and more wine…it was glorious. It had taken Selphie three days of hard negotiations with Cid before he allowed the inclusion of alcohol on the grounds, but receipts from the sales of Marlboro Mead and wines from the finest wineries in Winhill were enough to convince him that booze at an affair like this was one of the greatest ideas since inhaling oxygen.

Various booths were open for the costumed patrons, their cheap lumber facades decorated with a rainbow of bright fabrics and paint, adorned with flags and ribbons proclaiming their loyalty for one of the festival's parties. Selphie thought it would be more fun for the actors and spectators alike if they could support one house over another. Because of this stroke of genius (or madness, if one considered that it was Selphie) most of the customers and performers were ambling through the festival decked in the colors of their chosen champions.

By far the most fashionable colors were ebony for the house of somber Leonhart and green for the dashing Lord Kinneas. Some wore the regal crimson of the festival king, His Majesty, Cid I, and others flew ribbons of whichever tint best matched their costumes. If one looked hard enough, a rare flash of white could be seen among the trees and packed stands. A few fights erupted here and there when supporters of one house clashed with those of another, but there was nothing like a bit of bloodthirsty entertainment to make people spend a little more money.

Vendors were scattered in the woods around the tilting area, selling goods ranging from jewelry and dresses, wine and beer, replica weapons and armor…to magic potions, wine and beer, wine and mead, wine and food. And wine.

Small stages were arranged so the drunken participants could navigate through the swarming actors, trees and other drunken participants without banging too many pantyhose clad knees. Lilting harps and the sweet tang of plucked lute strings blended with the crashing steel and muttered curses of those brave enough to trade blows in the festival's main events, creating a discordant music that carried for miles.

The bleachers and seats were filled to capacity with hooting and screaming actors and onlookers, some spilling out on the grounds, others leaning over the fence separating the tilt from the crowd. It was all for show, but the tilt was still a dangerous area. Lances and swords were dulled, but the potential existed for serious injuries from the fights themselves or the unpredictable behavior of the horses.

Zell Dincht, the festival jester and aide to the King, was busy keeping curious bystanders from being crushed by horses and armored actors when he glimpsed the costume worn by one of the faire's noble ladies. Elbowing the helmeted knight nearest to him, he made a remark about thanking the man who invented the corset. He said if that woman could be convinced to squeeze into one of those miraculous pieces of clothing everyday, then wearing tights and a belled cap were well worth it.

The knight said nothing. He merely mounted his horse and took his shield and lance from the hands of his page….

His shield with the blood red cross from the very tall and muscular page…

The page that kind of looked like Rajin...

Oh shit.

Zell tried to climb the fence, but the horn that signaled the beginning of battle sounded from the center of the arena. "Fuck me. Help!"

His Highness and The Queen, the lovely Edea, absorbed the scene from their lofty perch in the hastily assembled box seats. As the delicate airy sounds of a flute twittered among the branches, the clatter of armor and rumble of heavy hoof beats could be heard from the main stage.

"Damn it Seifer! I can't run in these tights!" Zell ducked when Seifer's lance passed over his head. The green slits barely visible behind the ivory facemask of Sir Almasy glittered in malicious excitement.

"If you had kept your tongue in your mouth, cur, then you would have no reason to flee my wrath! Now turn and face your death!" Seifer thundered past the trembling Zell, spinning his warhorse at the end of the arena to the applause of the growing crowd. Racing back to Zell's cowering form, he reined the colossal beast and dropped the point of his lance to the quivering mass of mauve and saffron tights. He raised his head and addressed the massive throng. "Should I show mercy to this lump, this wastrel, this dog? He has slighted my lady and I must defend her honor. What say you?"

Seifer eagerly listened to the resounding yells from many throats. "Louder! What say you?"

"Yes! Have mercy!" A group of girls from the library ran to the fence, pleading with the victorious knight. "Spare him! Please, kind sir. Our mistress would be most displeased if you were to lop off his head."

"No!" The cafeteria workers dropped their baskets of turkey legs and took up the glad shout. "The dog at your mercy has stolen our hot dogs for years! Avenge us, good sir!"

"Split him from nave to chops! Make him bleeeeed!" A slightly mad pixie in a sunshine yellow skirt and a horned headdress and multicolored wings bounced to her feet and cheered the conquering hero. Flower petals fell from her hair when she tore the headdress off and began twirling it overhead. "Defend your lady! Her damned honor is at stake! Huzzah!"

"Selphie! Don't encourage him! He's already taking this too seriously as it is."

"But Quisty, the jester insulted his lady! Didn't you hear what Lord Seifer said? And for that, he must face his blade! Off with his head! The dog must die! Mwahahaha!" The bleachers vibrated with the force of the stomping feet and throaty screams of many hundreds of jousting fans. Selphie's shrill voice could be heard above it all. "Hey White Knight! Why don't you ask the lady? It's her honor after all! Ask her!"

Quistis groaned when the cheers reached the decibel level of the Ragnarok at takeoff. Thrilled spectators rallied behind Selphie, their random chants soon becoming a steady mantra. "Ask. Her. Ask. Her."

Seifer hoisted his lance in salute and galloped to the decorated box seats of the Balamb nobility.

Fingers in her ears, Quistis roared at Selphie to sit down and shut up, but the horned imp ignored her. "Selphie! Sit down before…oh hell."

Much to Selphie's ear-splitting delight, Seifer dismounted in front of them, bowing low to the costumed pair. He removed his helmet with a flourish, blonde hair damp from sweat and green eyes looking up through dark lashes. Speaking loudly for the benefit of the crowd and the royal party, Seifer addressed Quistis. "Milady, the motley knave now cringing in fear on yon battlefield has insulted your honor. With your leave, I shall dispatch this villain forthwith, and return his soul to the depths of the abyss from whence he came."

Seifer gave Quistis a devilish grin, winking when she stood from her seat and scowled down at him. Zell was right. The Instructor had one hell of a rack. If only she would bend down a little farther…

"I don't know why you're over here. The Princess is sitting two boxes over."

"Why, dear Lady, you wound me! My heart and sword belong only to you. Her dark beauty is nothing when one has seen the azure splendor of your own exquisite eyes. I fear that there is no woman to command the thrust of my blade unless that woman be you, my most divine image of perfection." Lowering his voice, Seifer spoke only to Quistis. "And speaking of perfection, you look absolutely ravishing in that costume, Instructor. Care to skip out of here and test my swordsmanship?"

Quistis rolled her eyes. "Thrust of your blade? Swordsmanship? Seifer, are you kidding me? Talk about blunted weapons…"

"Ouch, Instructor. Pity that you haven't put your name on the lists. Your tongue is much sharper than any weapon on the field." Seifer threw down his lance and raised both arms to the expectant crowd, pacing a few steps in front of Selphie and Quistis. "The Lady is cruel. I ask her for a token of her esteem and she turns away. My heart is broken."

Boos and hisses greeted Seifer's words when he held his hand to his heart and bowed his head. Selphie sharply elbowed Quistis. Smiling and waving, she said through clenched teeth, "He's gonna throw Zell in horse shit or something awful if you don't play nice, Lady Quisty. Act your part so the show can go on."

Shoving Quistis to the edge of the balcony, Selphie whistled sharply at Seifer. "Yo! Knighty-poo! The Lady here has changed her mind. She said she'd give you a token if you spared the poor dumbass fool."

Vicious catcalls and jeers transformed to cries of elation when Seifer turned his megawatt smile to the embarrassed blonde. "Why, Milady! Is this true? Have you deemed me worthy of your notice? 'Til I hear it from your sweet lips, I'll not believe the words spouted by the bifurcated tongue of the foul winged changeling by your side. Tell me, oh lovely Lady, that I may spare the idiot today and proudly wait to rejoin battle on the morrow."

"Quisty, throw something at him."

"I didn't bring anything heavy enough to kill him, Selphie."

"You know what I mean. A ribbon or bow or anything like that. Don't you watch movies?"

"Well, yes. But I didn't plan on participating in this festival at all. I'm woefully unprepared."

Their argument was interrupted by the grinning White Knight. Once again, he won the crowd. "Oh, dear Lady. A physical token would be far too cheap and paltry. If you would but favor me with a kind gesture, I feel that I could face the gathered forces of nefarious Galbadia or the ruthless tribes of the far Trabian mountains with a glad heart. Simply smile or wave, my Lady. Any small gesture twill serve."

Quistis threw her golden hair off her shoulders and leaned closer. Seifer waved his arms, hushing the shouting audience. Bending her head so that her hand was shielded on both sides by a blonde curtain, she extended her middle finger and winked. "There's your token of my affection, Knight."

Jade eyes danced. "Beautiful gesture, Instructor. I'd expect no less. And now, before we have a riot, I have a chickenwuss to pardon." Mounting his steed, Seifer placed his helmet back on his head. Eye level with Quistis, he winked back. "I do love that costume, Instructor. How about a bet?"

"A bet? What kind of bet?"

"I win the tournament and you don't return that costume to the rental place. You keep it and wear it for me. Just for me."

"You win the tournament? That's rich. Squall has beaten you in every event so far. And I know you can't defeat Irvine at the archery contest. I'll take that bet. But when you lose, I'll still keep the costume."

"Mmm. Really? Is my idea just too tempting for you to risk losing? Want to make sure that you keep it around just in case?"

"Don't be silly. When you lose, I want you to wear this thing. Let's see how much you like it when you're stuffed into a corset."

"You are a kinky little minx, aren't you? But until then, my magnificent one, I must leave you and that gorgeous rack of yours behind. If you can't wait until the end of the week, you'll be able to find me in one of the wine tents. I'll keep a seat open just for you, dearest Instructor. Now, my audience awaits …"

Seifer spurred his horse back to the center of the arena. Poking Zell in the ribs with his lance, he addressed the crowd for the final time that day. "The Lady has shown mercy on the piddling whelp that shivers before you. And since my Lady demands it, he is free to crawl back into whatever stinking pit he calls home. Away from here, yellow cur! And keep your evil words for the tarts you try to nightly seduce. Milady shall be exposed to only the skills of those with sweet tongues and gentle…words. Now get thee hence, fool!"

With a final poke to Zell's ribs and a kick to the horse's flank, Seifer galloped out of the arena, the flaming ruby cross on his shield reflecting the fiery light of the setting sun. Quistis watched him go, shaking her head. Cocky bastard.

"So, Lady Q? You did watch the joust yesterday, didn't you?" Selphie gathered her headdress and adjusted her glittery wings. It was a hard job, fairying, but somebody had to do it. After all the excitement, she figured she would have to add an extra layer of varnish to her wings. Every time she jumped to cheer, more shimmery bits fell off her costume. If dressing as a demonic wood fairy was this much work, then she would be a devilish wood sprite next year. A sprite was more dignified anyway. No glitter at all. Oh yeah. She was talking to Quisty. Oops. "So, like I was saying…did you actually watch the events yesterday, Quisty?"

"Well, no. I was grading papers and I missed it. This is my first day here."

"Yeah, well, you know how you said that Squall had beaten Seifer at every event so far?"

"Yes. Oh no. What's with that look?"

"See, the thing is…Seifer would have won, but his horse yesterday threw a shoe in the last tilt. I think the blacksmith was a little tipsy from hitting that flask of his too much. He let me try some of that shit. Pure moonshine from the stills in the forests of Timber. Strong as hell. Good stuff, though. One swig and you're like, BOOYAKA!"

Quistis slapped Selphie on the arm. If the story was the scratched vinyl record, then Selphie was the needle that had to be placed back in the correct groove. Without interference, Selphie would jabber all night.

Selphie blinked a few times and continued, "Oh yeah. Anyway, so here comes Squall in all his Black Knighty glory, charging up the lane, and poor Seifer gets knocked off his gimpy horse. So…"

"So Seifer isn't just full of himself. He's actually good at this stuff. Oh fuck me."

"Hee hee! Don't let Seifer hear you say that! The way he was looking at you, he'll take you up on it! Now come on, let's hit the mead hall! We're supposed to meet Xu and Rinoa for drinks before the night is over. Let's go! Unless, that is, you want to hang around the wine tents. I'm sure Seifer would love to see you…" Selphie dragged Quistis through the dwindling masses, darting between people with an almost supernatural grace.

Dang. I just wanted to see why everyone was so excited. Now I might lose a bet. To Seifer bloody Almasy. Shoot me now. He'll never let me live this down.

"Hurry up Quisty! Thar be fine drinkin' up ahead! If we don't get there quick, we'll have to drink Toothless Pete's 'shine."

"Toothless Pete?"

"Yeah, the blacksmith! God, Quisty. To be so smart, you sure are ditzy sometimes!"

"But, the blacksmith has all of his teeth, doesn't he?"

"Well yes, that's the point!"

"What? How the hell is that the point?"

"Jeez, Quisty. Stop with all the questions. Let's just get to drinkin'."

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Note: I don't know if Renaissance festivals are just an American thing or not, but in case you don't know about them, a Renfaire is basically a flea market with music, shows and costumes. I think they were originally meant to inform people about certain historical periods, mostly the years spanning the European Renaissance and parts of medieval periods. Sure, you'll find the occasional educational bit, but by and large, Renfaires are historically inaccurate excuses for perfectly reasonable adults to dress like Medieval hookers (excuse me, harlots) and tacky court jesters, drink, eat turkey legs, drink, dance, drink, quaff a pint or two, watch a joust, drink some more, etc. So…that's a Renfaire. I love 'em. And here's my Final Fantasy VIII version. And for the sake of the story, everyone is back in or around Balamb Garden. Just go with it.

And the 'thy', 'thine', 'thou' stuff...I have no idea when to use which one. I could look it up, I suppose, but I'm lazy.