Disclaimer: FFXII belongs to Square Enix.

A/N: This fic includes OCs. It takes place before, during, and after the main events of FFXII. It is not a written account of those events (if you're looking for that, there are some great fics out there.) Gabranth, Basch, and Marquis Ondore IV are some major players - in the fic, that is ;). Concrit, comments, blasphemy and ferrets welcomed.

The Fields of Mirrors

Prologue

Roses and Wine

On the day the Archadian forces invaded the Republic of Landis the harvest festival began. All over the country, farmers hurried to cut, sort, and clean their crops. In the small town of Tas Rostadt, the local tyanyan maker announced that, serendipitously, his grapes were ready to be picked and crushed that very day. This meant that what was usually the most productive day of the year became something of a rehearsal for the night's festivities. All other crops were ignored while the grapes were gathered into buckets, except the occasional one that somehow found its way directly from the vine into the mouth, or those that children tossed at each other and crushed underfoot while dashing to and fro. In hours, the tyanyin maker's whole vineyard was picked clean without him once having lifted a finger, though every family assured him that he now owed them each a bottle of the vintage. Then the crushing took place, with four or five pairs of feet stomping in the grape filled wooden vats and each hand clasped on to a neighbour's shoulder, so that when one person slipped, everyone else followed, laughing as they fell one after the other like sticky dominoes. By the end of it, everyone's feet and ankles were stained alike a hue of deep purple.

Afterward, barefoot and hatless despite their father's warnings, Meira and her sister Nessa chased one another through what was left of the tall barley yields near the road, their small feet flying like purple finches until, exhausted, they collapsed in a fit of giggles. Lying on their backs, each trying to convince the other she'd won, they saw neither soldier nor airship. And as they walked down the road toward the festival, there was only the huge and harmless sky, heavy in the west with the hot setting sun, and a wrinkle of grey clouds on the eastern horizon

"There's a storm coming," chirped Nessa. She was riding on Meira's shoulders. Unknotting one of Meira's ponytails, she tied her hair back with the blue ribbon while struggling to maintain her balance. "They'll have to cover the vats. And the wagons. It's bad luck."

"I hope it gets here soon and sweeps you away so I don't have to carry you anymore," said Meira, "you heavy lump."

"I am not a heavy lump – you take that back!"

"Aye – you area huge lump – the wind won't be able to carry you away!" she said and laughed, laughing even more when Nessa protested.

ooOoo

"My son," exclaimed Amos fon Rothbauer holding a letter in one hand and what looked like a small necklace in the other, "a pilot!" He laughed and slapped the back of the nearest man at the table before continuing to read the letter aloud while those who were interested leaned in, straining to hear him over the general commotion in the pub. Nearly the whole town was packed into the pub and the air was thick with smoke and the smell of sweet mead, apples, and breads. In the corner, couples and children danced around the small band, to their frenzied music and the beat of those clapping around them. Nessa danced (by far the smallest in the crowd,) but Meira sat with her hands squeezed between her knees. She was hoping that despite her sunburnt face she might be asked to dance by a slightly older boy who was drinking not far from her with a group of friends. Finally Nessa had to yank her up. It was only then that the older boy came over to dance, though they didn't dance together, and Meira spent the whole time looking down at her feet, and trying to hide her finger nails, and wishing that she'd washed.

"Meira! Meira!" Amos bellowed across the room, waving the letter in the air. Meira heard and skipped toward him and Nessa trailed after her, out of breath and still dancing so that some of the women fawned over her as she went by ("So cute!" "That's Amos' youngest." "Looks so much like her poor mother.")

"Where is your sis – ah, there she is. Oouf!" he said. Nessa bounded unto his lap. He held the necklace out in front of Meira's eyes. "For you," he said. A delicate chain attached to a silver bird with outstretched wings. The phoenix. "From your brother – and hell it must have been for him to get it." Her father handed her the letter as well.

"What about me? What do I get?" Nessa whined.

"Ah, you little one, get – tickled!"

As Nessa shrieked while their father tickled her, Meira read the letter from her brother:

Dear Father,

After these two long years my training is finally complete. I am now a pilot in the Crimson Wings. Hopefully I won't play too much the fool.

Negotiations with the Archadians are still ongoing, yet it is only a matter of time before their Emperor Gramis and our Ministers reach a trade agreement. Until then, I must remain in the capital, though our role here is limited to banquets, looking formal-like, and air shows to impress the Archadians.

By the time you get this letter it will be the harvest festival. Send me a bottle of tyanyin, will you? These city folk charge a fortune for it.

The Gods be with you,

Amos Jr. fon Rothbaur of the Order of the Crimson Wings of the Third Squadron of the Most Hon. First Ministers and Magistrates of the Peace.

P.S.: What a title when only a few days ago I was still just a farm boy from Tas Rostadt competing with hundreds like me or better.

P.P.S: Enclosed is the symbol of our Order. I had to pretend I lost the first that was given to me in order to get it (now my Captain thinks I am absent-minded and is constantly double-checking my work and uniform.) Give it to Meira, will you?

ooOoo

That night Nessa, still aflutter from the celebrations, insisted on sleeping in Meira's room. Even with her pillow cocooned around her head, she could not block out Nessa's shrill excitement. " – yes, and that's what I told him too. Oh! And did you see the wyrdhares? Do you think father will bring me one this year? I can take care of it, I'm old enough, I am – and last year he said – neschi! You're not even listening!"

"Ow! Don't pinch me, Nessa. And don't swear! I was listening, just trying not to .. ow! Stop, you little wyrm!"

Eventually the night air cooled and so did Nessa along with it, her comments and complaints becoming softer and fewer and then finally there was only deep, steady breaths. The blanket was tugged from one sister to the other until both were tangled in it and in each other's limbs, two tangled sleeping kittens.

ooOoo

It was in the night that they attacked. At first, the sounds that reached Meira's ears bent to the will of her dreams. Cries and bombardments had a dissonant music to them, like drums and chimes heard underwater. How long this lasted she'd never be sure. Then suddenly she was pulled from this dream, shook violently awake by sweaty hands and a harsh, frightened voice.

"Meira, wake up, wake up!" the voice cried. She opened her eyes and saw her father, his face white and eyes frantic. He was not looking at her, but instead above her, through the window. What sounded like thunder roared outside again and again, in quick succession, filling the room with dazzling light and then darkness again.

"Is it a storm?" she asked. She sat up. She felt Nessa's small arm slip through hers.

"Nay," he whispered, "'tis not thunder you hear." He looked down at her, struggling for words. "We ... We have been invaded."

"What – " What did he mean, 'invaded'? Invaded by what? The rabid wolves that last year had slaughtered so many of Tas Rostadt's chocobos? Was that why she could see the glint of the same rifle used to kill them clutched in her father's hand? Yet his hands were shaking. They'd not been shaking the last time.

"Get up now. We must go. Get your sister."

Twisting around, Meira laid one arm over Nessa's shoulders and the other under her legs. Her sister's nightgown, cold and wet, stuck to her hand and Meira recoiled automatically.

"What is it?"

"I ... she's wet herself."

Nessa started crying. Pushing Meira aside, he picked Nessa up with one arm.

"Hold it," he said and handed Meira the rifle. Just then there were a dozen short pounds against the house. Again and again – and the sound of broken glass. Nessa screamed. Amos grabbed Meira's hand and pulled her out of the room. Fast, fast they ran through the hallway and the smell of smoke and burnt wood. They ran towards the front entrance, but the windows were shattered and flames rose up from the floor to the ceiling, blocked the door. On the ground and walls arrows still aflame were imbedded into the wood.

"The monsters," her father cried, "they mean to burn us alive in our sleep. Come on, the back door!"

Now the smoke was worse and Meira could hardly see. Her eyes stung and she could hear her father coughing. His hand held unto hers so tight it hurt. The fire seemed to be everywhere; sweat rolled down her back and the heat was almost burning her skin. Her father threw open the door and they stumbled out into the cold night air. Meira could see again. The sky flashed white and red. Shouting came from both far and near, in every direction. And there was gunfire. Gunfire – and more fire arrows – a shower of them pierced the ground near her feet. Her scream caught in her mouth as her father yanked her around the corner, and to the ground, so that her back was pressed again the icy stone of a water well. He crouched beside her with Nessa shaking in his arms.

"Listen to me, Meira," her father whispered urgently, "Dios' house is but a hundred yards from here." He put Nessa down and pushed her into Meira's arms. "Near the hearth and under the carpet there's a door to the cellar. Take your sister and hide there – don't argue with me," he said, cutting her off before she could speak, "just take your sister and go – go! Go now! Run!"

And she did. Away from the sound of arrows striking the ground, away from her father, away from home, she ran fast towards the dirt road and didn't look back. Nessa's sweaty hands kept slipping from her own. Broken barrels were strewn across the road and the ground was muddy with wine. Roses, lilies, and a dozen other flowers spilled out from overturned wagons were stomped underfoot, the thorns cutting up their bare feet. Keeping running, she told herself, keep running. But when she saw Dios' house completely engulfed in flames, which licked the sides and roof like giant, searing tongues, and as far as her eyes could see each house after also alight, Meira stopped running: for where was there to go?

Nessa pulled at her arm. "We have to go back for papa!"

But Meira could not go back. She could not go forward. Her legs shook under her as her eyes darted all around her, afraid of every sound, every shadow and light that sped across the land and sky. It was then, while her eyes were upon everything but Nessa, that her sister's hand slipped from her own one last time. Meira turned and looked. Nessa was running down the road, back towards the house.

"Nessa!" Meira screamed. She tried to run after her, but her legs would not move. Then she heard a voice cry out:

"Bomb the road!"

And the ground burst. Dirt shot up into the air. Meira's ears rang. All she could see was dust and smoke. Dirt rained down on her, into her mouth and eyes. She cried out, but heard nothing. She felt something hot and sharp slam against her. Then she could not breathe. There was no ground. Then darkness.