Chapter Text
“Whatever god you’ve been praying to has been paying attention, Mr. Almasy. Looks like you’ll be avoiding the firing squad after all.”
Seifer blinked in confusion as his lawyer threw down a stack of folders on the table between them, the old coot’s grin entirely inappropriate considering they were only a few days out from his execution. “Growing senile already, Greene?” he scoffed, his cuffs and chains jangling as he scratched at the beard he’d been itching to shave for weeks now. “They’re sending my ass off with a noose. Not bullets.”
He hated that. More than all the lies that were being spread about him in the press. There was no fucking dignity in dangling at the end of a rope, eyes bulging and veins popping. He’d seen enough of them to know. Hell, front-row tickets for his upcoming hanging were probably in hot demand.
Greene pulled back a chair and tapped the folders. “There’s a loophole,” he said, looking actually hopeful. “It’s not ironclad, but with some luck, we can pull this off.”
The words didn’t sink in past the numbness that had taken him over ever since his sham of a trial. Better not to feel anything than to let in the dread. He’d already died in the Lunatic Pandora months ago. His body simply had some catching up to do.
“A loophole?” he said with a snort, leaning back in his metal chair, but the damned thing was bolted down into the floor, denying him the simple pleasure of tilting it back and throwing his feet up onto the table. “We both know you’re not that good a lawyer, Greene.”
That earned him a disgruntled sigh. “You’re lucky I’m willing to represent you at all, Mr. Almasy.” Greene peered at him sternly as he opened one of the folders and retrieved several files and a pen. “You could’ve landed yourself a far less sympathetic attorney.”
Seifer laughed darkly at that. “I’m pretty sure you’re just for show, old man.” He gave a dismissive wave towards the door, wanting badly to return to his three concrete walls and iron bars. He could do without any false hope. “You can quit the charade now.”
“The trial was a charade, yes, but the very fact that Galbadia bothered with a trial at all might play to our advantage. It means they want to uphold the appearance of fair and legal proceedings.”
“Get to the point, Greene.”
“When Esthar stepped out of the shadows several months ago and entered diplomatic relations with the rest of the world, they signed very strict extradition treaties with several countries, Galbadia included.” Greene’s smile widened. “All Estharian nationals, without exception, must be extradited to Esthar for prosecution or to serve their sentences, no matter the severity of the charges.”
Seifer’s stomach began to squirm. The old coot was being way too specific and sounded far too optimistic for this to be another dead end. He reined in the part of him that desperately clamored to live. “Why would they treat me any better? I dropped a fucking Lunar Cry on their asses.”
“Esthar’s criminal law abolished the death sentence.” Greene leaned in and raised his eyebrow speculatively. “It’s also a well-known fact that Esthar’s president is somewhat of a bleeding heart with a soft spot for the downtrodden. Especially those who suffered at the hands of a sorceress. If you’ll get a fair shake anywhere, it’ll be there.”
“Only one problem with your brilliant plan there, Greene,” Seifer said with a snarl. “I’m not Estharian.”
“You aren’t, but your soon-to-be spouse is.”
Seifer’s eyebrows climbed high. “My what ?”
Greene tapped the papers in front of him with excited emphasis. “Marriage to an Estharian national automatically grants you the right to apply for Estharian citizenship.”
Seifer frowned as he tried to wrap his brain around such a farfetched plan. “My execution is ten fucking days away. No way we can find a crazy enough bride in that time.”
“Your groom is already accounted for,” Greene corrected smugly. “And he has friends in high places who can expedite the paperwork.”
Bewilderment warring with hope, Seifer began to suspect this was just a cruel joke to kick him while he was down, but his lawyer kept prattling on with an excited air of accomplishment that seemed too sincere to be feigned.
“Your visitation rights are severely limited right now, so unfortunately a wedding in person will be impossible. It would have added legitimacy, but in this case a proxy marriage will have to suffice.”
The inexplicable stream of words didn’t stop as Greene uncapped his fountain pen and slid it forward across the table along with the stack of papers. “All you need to do is sign this consent form that authorizes me as your representative. Please fill in these forms as well. Later today I have an appointment at the Estharian embassy to finalize the proxy marriage and to start the application process for citizenship. Galbadia will likely contest the legality of the marriage, but we’ll take them to court if it comes to that.”
Seifer stared at the papers that promised another chance at life, if at least for a while longer. Perhaps long enough to stave off his rapidly approaching execution. Long enough to find a way to escape when everything inevitably fell through.
Fuck it.
He didn’t care about the poor idiot that had developed an inadvisable crush on the century’s worst war criminal. He’d heard about such crazy bastards. Hell, the homicidal maniac one cell over on death row got daily fucking fan mail. He’d use this opportunity if he had to. He would claw his way out of this fucking hellhole.
He grabbed the pen and papers, only for his gaze to fall on a familiar name. His pulse spiked dangerously, his fingers closing around the fountain pen with a white-knuckled grip.
“What the fuck is this?”
Greene gave him a steely-eyed look. “Your only chance. I suggest you take it.”
Seifer looked back down with disbelief at the name and handwritten signature that was emblazoned at the bottom of the paper.
His groom to be.
Squall fucking Leonhart.