Of Fortune, Friendship, Fate, and Fish

Summary: In which a talk of poetic symbolism while fishing leads to something more for Amarant and Freya, and Steiner wins a bet.

Disclaimer: Heh...my previously forgotten disclaimer. I don't own them, and they don't like me. As with most of the people I write about, they wish I would just get a life and stop bloody well picking on them. They are, as far as I know, owned by Squaresoft. Thank-you.

Notes: Wow! I'm uploading a whole, complete story all at once! [Checks her own forehead for fever] At the same time, though, many things have remained constant. In the grand tradition of my stories, this takes place at some point that I don't think existed in the universe. All I know is that it's intended to be before Memoria.

Oh, yes. And I know next to nothing about fishing, so I'm kind of just putting in what sounds like it makes sense to me. I don't know if dried worms can be used as bait; I just assumed. I apologize if I have offended the delicate sensibilities of any great fishing gurus out there. :o)

As always, flames can be sent to the_pyre42@hotmail.com, or can simply be left in the reviews. However, if your review contains a great deal of profanity, or any unnecessary comments about my sexual habits, or those of my mother, I would appreciate it if you sent them to me at my e-mail address.

I love mail. [Giggles]

And now, oooooooooooooooooooooon with the shooooooooooooooooow!!!





Part One: Fortune and Fish



It was late afternoon, that time of day when the sunlight turns pale and clear, almost as though it has lost all enthusiasm and energy, and is looking rather forward to turning in for the night, if the moon would just hurry the hell up and rise already. If the day is especially warm, the beating of this pale, yet intense heat down upon them can make people feel drowsily as though they might also rather like to turn in for the evening. This particular day was a very warm one, and Zidane Tribal was no exception to the common mindset of people.

Yawning and stretching, he came to a stop.

"Okay, guys," he announced, glancing around the small clearing and tossing his pack against a tree, "this looks like a good place to stop for the night."

"But, Zidane, it isn't even dark yet! It won't be for a few hours yet," Dagger protested half-heartedly, glancing superritiously about the clearing. It was a cool, shady spot, about twelve or fourteen feet in diameter, and surrounded by spruces, pines, and birches on all sides. Nearby, the babbling of a small brook could be heard. 'It is a pretty place.'

"We're stopping already? We could easily keep travelling a good two hours," Freya informed him dubiously, though lacking _very_ much enthusiasm.

"Yeah, I know we could, but...nah," the young man grinned. "It's a perfect spot, and I think Eiko and Vivi are getting tired."

"We are not!" the little girl declared petulantly, tossing her pack into the pile with the others, and then running to the small mage's aid as he collapsed atop the pile.

"Come to think of it," Zidane continued, "we could all use the chance to relax a bit."

"Relax!" scoffed Amarant, striding into the clearing and leaning against a tree, crossing his arms. "I've half a mind to just keep going."

"I'm sure no one would mind if you did," Steiner assured him icily.

"Hey, enough, okay, guys?" Zidane pleaded. "Let's not start any fights."

"I was not the one starting a fight," the Knight of Pluto declared airily, crossing his arms.

"Hmph!" Amarant replied eloquently, trying to cross his own, but finding them already crossed. He pouted. Or would have, had it been less glaringly out-of-character. Zidane shrugged.

"Okay, sure. Anyway." The young thief was rustling through the group's packs. "Let's start handing out tasks. Dagger, you and I can get the fire going, okay?"

"Alrighty," the dark-haired girl replied, stifling a yawn.

"Vivi? Eiko? You two wanna go look for some berries?"

"Sure!" Eiko chirped brightly, taking Vivi by the hand and tugging him from his less-than-comfortable repose on the pile of knapsacks.

"We're low on our food supply. I'd like to save it for some time when there's nothing in the area to catch. There's plenty in this area. There's a pond not far from here - about quarter of a mile that way - where there are probably tons of fish. Amarant? Freya? You guys wanna go do that?"

Amarant shrugged and stalked off. Freya, with an impatient sigh, jogged after him. Zidane raised an eyebrow. 'Hope that wasn't a mistake...' Aloud, he continued.

"Steiner, Quina, you guys wanna set up our bed-rolls and tents?"

"Okay, Zidane," Quina replied cheerfully. Steiner heaved a long sigh.

"Of course. Come along, Quina. Let us get started."



"Hey!" Freya called out to the red-haired man. "Wait!"

With a sigh, Amarant came to a halt.

"What?" he demanded impatiently, not turning around.

"Where are we going?"

"To get fish. Where'd you think?"

"...But isn't the pond that way?" she asked, pointing to the left.

"We aren't going to the pond."

"But I thought we were to be catching fish."

"We are. No fish in that pond, at least none bigger than my finger. Can tell that by the location and depth."

"...So, then, where are we going?"

He pointed ahead, to where the trees thinned into a small stretch of flat grassland, which then dropped off sharply into a rocky decline leading down to an equally rocky shore. They walked on in silence until they reached the decline.

"What are we using to fish with?"

He glanced at her.

"I found the fish. You make the fishing rods. That is, if you think you can do it decently."

With that, he turned and darted down the hill. "Right," Freya murmured, starting toward a large tree on the edge of the nearby forest. She stopped beneath it, gazing up into the leafy canopy. 'Now, how does one go about choosing a branch for a fishing rod?' Spying a branch about five feet long and about the width of a carrot, she took hold of it and wrenched it from the tree. She repeated the process with another relatively suitable branch, and then took a spool of string from an inner pocket of her coat and wound a length deftly about the end of each branch four or five times. She chuckled; never let it be said that she could be caught unprepared. Picking up the makeshift fishing rods, she strode back to the decline to the shore. As she prepared to jump, a voice shouted up,

"Hey, rat, what the hell's taking so long?"

Rolling her eyes, she jumped from the top of the steep hill and landed lightly on the sand next to Amarant.

"Here," she said, shoving one of the sticks at him. "Take your fishing rod."

He eyed the stick warily.

"Eh, I suppose it'll serve the purpose well enough," he commented finally.

"If you've something to say about my craftsmanship, just say it!" she requested mock-tearfully. He sighed.

"Sometimes I worry about you."

"Really?"

"No."

"How touching."

"Shut up and follow me."

Shaking her head, she followed. The sandy beach ended abruptly. 'Oh, won't this be fun...' she thought, gazing warily at the widely-spread pile of boulders that jutted up from it.



Five minutes later, she had discovered just how much fun this would not be. The gods must, she decided, have been in a very sadistic mood when laying out this rock bed. From up ahead, Amarant made an impatient noise.

"You coming?"

"Hold on!" she called back severely, warily testing a boulder with her foot to ensure its sturdiness. Finding it safe, she leapt to it and searched around for another nearby. "Scrambling about on a pile of rocks isn't exactly how I fill my days, and I would just as soon not break my neck by trying to step on the wrong one."

"Sure."

"If it weren't so closed in here - " She glared balefully at the jagged canopy of boulders above them, extending almost to the surface of the water in most places. " - I could just jump, clear all of them at once, but."

"But if you tried to do that, you'd jump right into another rock, and I don't think that helmet of yours breaks rocks," Amarant finished with a chuckle. She halted and stared at him in mild surprise. 'I suppose the mental image of me leaping right up into a rock and falling back down again must be rather amusing.' As a ridiculously slapstick idea made itself apparent, she laughed in spite of herself. Amarant turned around, gazing at her quizzically.

"What?"

"Nothing," she assured him, scrambling onto a different boulder and preparing to leap over to his. He stepped aside to give her room as she landed. Her foot hit a patch of still-wet seaweed, and he shot out a hand to steady her before she slid right off the rock, and narrowly avoided being impaled by a fishing pole as she flailed.

"Careful," he warned solemnly as she struggled to regain her footing. "Slippery here." She glared at the smirk that he was obviously fighting.

"I meant to do that."

"I'm sure."

"I did."

"Yeah, I believe you," he assured her, then proceeding to climb down a sudden sharp drop in the rock pile. Freya peered over the edge of the boulder, carefully avoiding where the overhanging rocks almost touched said edge; at the bottom, the rocks were set much closer to the water, about a foot or so up from it. They could probably just fish from there. Amarant misinterpreted the reason for her hesitation.

"You gonna need help getting down here?" he called.

"No, I'm fine," she declared, tossing her fishing pole down and beginning to edge her way down the pile after it, blindly searching for a certain handy-dandy shelf-like protrusion she had just seen while looking down.

"That drop's bigger'n you are; you aren't gonna find the shelf that way," the redhead informed her, arms crossed.

"Alright." She crawled back to the top of the pile, rolled over, and began edging down on he stomach, then let go of the top to let herself fall.

"Of course..." Amarant mused with a hint of a grin, "that shelf's a bit loose; you might want to avoid it altogether."

His words were quite muffled by the sound of rocks bouncing off of rocks and tumbling to the ground, as well as by Freya's shriek of dismay as she, too, bounced off of the rocks and tumbled to the ground.

Amarant knelt next to the pile of rocks and offered the dazed Burmecian a hand.

"Did you mean to do that, too?"

Silence.

"Uh...rat?"

Silence.

"I didn't think that drop'd hurt you, or I'd have said something."

Silence.

"Freya? You okay?"

A pause. Then...

"Hold on. I'm still trying to decide."

Her wry smile, however, told him that she wasn't hurt. She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. She glared at him.

"And stop laughing!"

"I'm not laughing."

"You're laughing inwardly."

"No, I'm not."

"Then stop smirking!"

"I'm not doing that, either."

"...Fine. Let's just go get fish."

"Heh...there's a line you can't use just anywhere."

She walked to water and sat cross-legged on the edge of the rock.

"Erm..." she began as Amarant sat down a couple feet away, "what do we use for bait?

And hooks, for that matter?"

"...You didn't get any worms or hooks?"

"...Was I supposed to?"

"It's part of the fishing pole, isn't it?"

She sighed. "I'll be back," she informed him, beginning to stand. He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry about it. I thought you'd forget; I've got some crap."

"...That's fascinating, but what are we going to use to bait these fishing lines?"

He stared at her incredulously for a moment.

"...Are you drunk?"

"No! Why would you think that?"

".Never mind." He pulled a small canister from the small bag he carried. Prying off the lid, he set it between them. "Just tie a piece of that wire onto the string and stick one of these suckers on the end."

She peered into the canister, lifting an eyebrow.

"I didn't know that it was a common practise to dry worms."

"It is if you fish while you're travelling and haven't got time to always be digging for bait. Do you know what happens when you put a can of fresh worms in a bag that you're carrying around in the sun all the time?"

"No, but I'm guessing you do."

"Couldn't get the smell out. Had to burn the bag and get a new one."

"Ah. Fascinating. I would have thought that it was the movement of the worm that attracted the fish. But then, I've never been a fish," she admitted, delicately plucking a worm from the canister and threading the bit of wire through it. He watched, amused.

"What? You afraid of bugs or something?"

"No!" she declared indignantly.

"You're such a _girl,_" he commented, smirking.

"Are _you_ drunk?"

"What, you mean you're not?"

"Not what?"

"A girl."

"Of course I'm...what on earth are you talking about?"

"I don't know."

They both let the strings drop into the water, and sat in silence for a time. The late afternoon had given way to early evening, and the light was dimming, casting a purplish hue over the scene. The sun, preparing itself to set, reflected off the water in a myriad of golds and pinks and oranges.

Gradually, the pile of fish between them grew as the supply of bait dwindled. 'That's four, and they're pretty big...I'd say that's enough for everyone,' Amarant reflected, mentally tallying up an estimate as to how much everyone would eat. 'Eh, get a few more to be safe.'

Although he would have died the death before admitting it, he was glad now that the group had stopped for the night. He was actually quite enjoying the little fishing trip. The water at this time of day was, he reflected, nice to look at, and the spot was a pleasant one: sheltered from stronger winds, and nice and quiet. He was also, he conceded reluctantly, rather glad that Zidane had sent Freya with him. He smirked. 'Better than being sent with anyone else - she talks less.'

He watched her carefully. She had taken off her helmet and set it on the rock beside her, and her hair - somewhere between white and silver, he decided - swept over her shoulders, falling to the middle of her back, stirred by a soft breeze sweeping in from over the water. His gaze lingered for a moment on her eyes. The contrast of their bright green against the white of her fur and the pale silver of her hair was startling. He smiled slightly.

'She's pretty nice to look at, too, once she takes off that damn hat and stops trying to be intimidating...' He started in surprise as this thought meandered its way through his mind, and looked away immediately, staring out over the water. 'Where the hell did THAT come from?'

At the sound of a soft laugh, he shot her a questioning look.

"What?"

"I was just waxing ridiculously poetic about the symbolism of climbing over those rocks."

"...This is gonna give me a headache, isn't it?"

"I don't have to tell you..."

"Go ahead. I could use a good laugh."

"I'll thank you not to refer to my metaphor as 'a good laugh,' Mr. Coral."

He gave a wordless grunt, pulling the line from the water and baiting the fishing hook again. She shot him a sideways glance.

"So, do you actually want to hear this?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Alright. I was just thinking that trying to get safely from one rock to another is much like when one starts out on a new facet of life. It means leaving behind something that you know is safe, but of course, you also know you can't stay there forever."

"Be pretty boring to stay on the same rock for eternity."

"Exactly!

"Not only that, but the tide comes in, and you get all wet."

"Erm...alright. Either way, a person must move on. You can try to step on the next rock over, very lightly, testing it at first, making sure to keep most of your weight on the safe rock, but this is no way to live. Eventually, one must simply take the plunge and leap to the next rock. Sometimes it is sturdy, and you may continue on with your life. Sometimes, it isn't, it comes loose, and you fall off, landing somewhere you never meant to be. So, in essence, it's all a matter of taking a leap of faith, or clinging to the same rock for years because you know it's safe...what?"

She frowned in mock-offence at the sight of her friend's shoulders shaking with laughter.

"I knew this'd be good for a laugh," Amarant finally said with a sigh.

"I told you it was ridiculous."

"And you were right. Although, ridiculous as it is, there may be something to it."

"Please tell me you aren't serious."

"No, really. So many people are so bloody scared of change, the thought gives them a nosebleed."

"I suppose that's true everyone at some point..."

"So they let themselves cling to things that they hate, or things that'll never be able to make them happy."

"Sometimes..."

"And they let it make them bitter because they're missing out on life, and they don't know who to blame, because they're cheating themselves out of living. And, of course, no one ever admits that they're the one behind their problems."

"Also true in some instances..." She shifted to turn back to the water, puzzled. What was making him so vocal about his thoughts on this? He continued.

"So eventually, they start blaming everyone else, and start pissing on everyone."

"What a lovely bit of imagery," Freya commented, wrinkling her nose. "But I think you're a bit too hard on people. Not everyone is the cause of their own unhappiness."

"Maybe not, but you choose how you deal with your problems," Amarant pointed out.

"It can be a very difficult thing to deal well with some things," Freya replied softly, looking down.

"Yeah, it can; it can also be incredibly damn simple."

"It can be difficult to know the difference."

"What's to know? If there's a place to move, you move."

"So, running from pain is better than remaining in a safe place?"

A silence. Amarant gazed thoughtfully at the water for a moment.

"They can mean doing the same thing sometimes."

"But..."

"Look, Crescent, there's a difference between running from pain and moving on with your life."

"So, what is the difference?"

"I don't know, but it's there."

"I'm afraid you'll have to back that up; I'm not quite sure what you mean. I don't think you can simultaneously run away and refuse to move on."

He scowled at the vague hint of mockery in her tone, the first tendrils of anger rising through him.

"Alright," he declared defiantly, "let's use you as an example."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you."

She gazed at him, eyes narrowed. Her fishing pole, forgotten, slipped into the water with a small sploosh.

"How, exactly?"

He unwisely ignored her expression, and less wisely still continued with a smirk, setting his own makeshift fishing rod aside, then turning to face her.

"That man of yours; how long have you been looking for him?"

She drew in a sharp breath, clenching her fists.

"Don't bring him up..."

"A long time, right? Four, five years? You spend all this time looking for a man who left you on his own; why?"

"He had a reason..."

"I think it's because you're afraid to move on; you're afraid of being alone."

"Afraid of being alone?" she repeated incredulously. "I've been alone for these past years because I've been searching for him!"

"Yeah, but even if he isn't there, you still define who you are by him."

"I don't want to discuss this any longer," she choked out, hating the sound of tears in her own voice.

"Tough," he shot back ruthlessly, suddenly furious. Furious with her for willingly allowing herself to be hurt, with that man for bringing her pain, and with himself for bringing it up, for deliberately going after raw nerves...and, at the same time, for caring that his words made her eyes grow dark with pain. He shook his head. "You asked. Deal with it. Now, while you're running from the pain of being alone, you're chaining yourself to a man who doesn't even remember you, a man who, for all you know, doesn't want you chained to him and never really did. Maybe you don't want to have to define who you are without him; or maybe you like having the memory of a man better than you'd like a real one around, because that way, you can have the relationship the way you want it."

"You are absolutely out of your mind! How do you claim to know anything about me?!"

"Oh, I don't claim to know; I'm taking a guess. But if it's so crazy, why are you so angry?"

"I'm angry because what you're saying is downright insulting!"

"And it's even more insulting because it struck a nerve? Hey, deny it all you want. Maybe it is all crazy; I'm no psychic or head doctor. All I know is you're afraid to move on; afraid you might fall."

"Please drop it."

"Why? Because it hurts?"

"Because I don't think you're in any place to talk. Because I want to know what it is you're running from."

"What I'm running from?" he repeated tightly with a short bark of laughter. She shivered, whether from the breeze of early evening or from the glare he had fixed her with, she was unsure. She wrapped her arms around herself and returned the gaze unblinkingly. For a moment, they were both silent. Finally, he continued. "Well, it isn't the knowledge that I've spent the last five years of my life searching for someone who can't even remember my name, let alone ever loving me. Have you ever thought," he continued, taking in her stricken expression, her eyes bright with unshed tears, with a grim satisfaction, "that maybe there was another reason he left? If he really loved you so much, why the hell didn't he take you with him?"

Freya sprang to her feet with a sharp gasp, sending the last hour's worth of fishing skittering back into the water from whence it came. But of course, what mattered fish at such a moment, when one was confronted with the question that had lurked in one's mind for years? She tensed, physically fighting back tears.

Taking in the mingled fury and anguish in her expression, Amarant wondered it perhaps he'd gone a bit far, and braced himself against the inevitable barrage of kicks and punches. None came. After a moment, he glanced up, a voice at the back of his mind telling him that this was probably a foolish thing to do; she might take the opportunity to go for the eyes...if she could get to them through his hair. He needn't have worried; a quick glance about him showed no sign of her.

'What the hell...?'

He peered about him more searchingly. Finally, he caught sight of a flash of red scrambling from rock to rock at the top of the large pile.

'Huh...running away, eh, Crescent? Not the best way to make your point...'

He turned indifferently back to the water, pointedly ignoring the voice at the back of his mind that whispered to him that upset people were not careful people, and that she'd had enough trouble with those jagged, wobbly rocks when she'd been calm.

'Not my problem.'

'But she could get hurt...'

'And why should I care?'

'You're the one who upset her.'

This gave him a moment of pause.

'And you know you're worried...'

'No, I'm not.'

'Oh, you know you're going to go look for her - why not just go now and save time?'

'I'm not going to look for her,' he thought with an air of finality.



Fifteen seconds later...

"I hate you," Amarant muttered aloud to the voice at the back of his mind, hauling himself onto the top of the pile, carefully staying down to avoid hitting his head on the rock canopy, which sloped down sharply to almost meet the edge of the drop.

'Aww, thanks, punkin'!' it giggled, sounding, at that moment, oddly like Eiko.

"Don't make me punch you," he growled darkly.

'Now, that would be rather self-destructive,' it giggled back impishly.

"Oh, shut up." He crawled beneath the overhanging rocks and then stood up and glanced about.