Author's Note: I, like so many people, have fallen in love with Bravely Default, especially our favorite blonde dandy. This is a thought-heavy Ringabel piece with some interaction with Edea, because the two go hand-in-hand like Nutella and crepes. Don't worry, this is a spoiler free piece. Also, feel free to give me feedback and criticism!

Disclaimer: I don't own Bravely Default or any characters therein.

…

Sand, rocks, sand, more rocks – oh, a patch of gravel. How exciting. The journey to Hartschild was positively riveting for Ringabel. He had lost track of how long they had been trudging over the unfriendly landscape, wondering how it was possible for the Shieldbearers and Swordbearers to effectively wage war on such an uneven and harsh turf.

"We should arrive at Hartschild by tomorrow, but I really think we should camp for the night. We need to be well rested," Ringabel heard Tiz's voice propose, growing from timid to more assertive – much like his personality during the length of their friendship. His voice broke the silence that had fallen over the group, as Edea and Agnès were still pretending that the other didn't exist. Occasionally Tiz or the fairy-thing attempted to rouse the vestal out of her solemn quiet, only for the brunette to utter a nearly-surly (if she could have properly mustered up that emotion, Ringabel would have felt more put out by it. Instead, it felt almost childish) response in return.

The sprite huffed angrily at Tiz, "but if we stopped, who knows what will happen to the fire crystal! We have to get there as soon as possible so Agnès can awaken it."

Of course, the flittering thing would try to push Agnès harder; the poor girl looked nearly faint with fatigue. The coiffed blonde rolled his eyes at the winged creature that had never shied away from her dislike of him. "Tiz is right. If we don't stop, we'll be far more susceptible to attacks due to sheer exhaustion. A wounded vestal is hardly optimal."

Though Airy looked at him as if she would inject him with Deathstalker venom as he slept, she fluttered her wings and assented. They would be stopping for the evening.

Tiz and Agnès began discussing where best to set up camp, leaving him with his blonde goddess. By all accounts, that would have been positively lovely.

But, she had fallen into utter despondence at the mounting rift that had appeared between her and the vestal. She blamed herself for what had happened, for the deaths that had occurred by her father's order or by his hand. Occasionally, throughout the day, he noted her large green-blue eyes glass over; whether with unshed tears or through revisiting memories (or both), he wouldn't try to guess. However, it made attempting conversation frightfully difficult.

Not to mention, it made him feel almost guilty for the perverse nature of the thoughts he had about her.

Key word: almost.

After they had set up the tents and after the sun had set and stars bloomed in the inky sky, that's the word that kept filtering through his mind. The word turned into a mantra as she took a seat a conservative distance away from him on a time-flattened rock, the moonlight highlighting the abstract land formations that gave their makeshift campground an interesting scenery.

He could almost remember the feeling of her skin beneath the pads of his fingertips, the scattered moles on her back his favorite constellation. He could almost remember the feeling of their hands entwined while walking through the city or in the throes of passion, or the way her lips felt when they snuck prolonged kisses in damp and stony hallways. He could almost remember these things, but the visions were hazy and his imagination had always been notoriously active; there was a good chance that these details he had thought of when he saw her – the silken strands of her hair, strong fingers in his belt loops – were just a display of a very desperate man who had been going through a very humbling dry spell.

Ringabel could almost convince himself that his affection for the headstrong and vivacious blonde was entirely fictional.

But, he couldn't.

There was a slight breeze, it ruffled the excruciatingly placed hairs of his pompadour. He turned his head to look at his companion, her jaw set as she stared off into who knew where. He missed seeing her face set in an almost homicidally angry expression and he longed to see her sparkling eyes. She was quite a captivating beauty when every hair on her body quivered with energy and vigor, whether that aggression be directed at him or a monster almost didn't matter (though, he quite obviously had a preference).

If the sand caked within his boots was not enough to remind him of the sweltering heat they were surrounded by, the proximity to Edea with the bravo bikini fresh in his mind reminded him of just how scorching his environment truly was. Mercy, he was sure that if he ever got amnesia again, he would still have a clear memory of the tantalizingly thin straps and those delightfully tiny fabric triangles that barely covered her bouncing–

Sigh.

The noise almost made him jump and he turned his head to Edea, the vestiges of the sigh weighing her body down and slumping her shoulders forward in her Valkyrie armor – she hadn't once set down Einheria's halberd, even now she still tightly gripped the elongated weapon. Right, now was not the time for such intense fantasies (even if they were delightfully flesh-filled and permanently burned into the back of his eyelids), because the sorrow was thick enough to tamp down any notion of naughtiness; it was her way of inviting him in, he'd be a complete imbecile if he allowed the chance to slip away. Clearing his throat, he broke the silence, "it isn't your fault in the slightest, you know."

In the dim light, he saw her jaw clench. It was hard to say how much time elapsed before she spoke.

"I could have stopped it."

Ringabel could barely hear it, but nonetheless the soft statement flittered through the air and it was his turn to let out a long sigh. "Edea, not long ago you were completely unaware that Agnès was not a monster hell-bent on destroying the world with her dastardly powers of prayer. The brutality of the Bloodrose Legion and the Knights of the Eternian Sky are not within your control and their actions are just as new to you as they are to Tiz or Angès."

The mention of Angès' name made her flinch slightly, her eyebrows gently creasing with a wince. He calmly added, "I suppose it's easy to let the pressure of these events weigh falsely on your shoulders, but you are nothing like Ominas Crowe or Argent Heinkel. I can't imagine what it must be like to fight against your Master or those you considered as close as kin, nevertheless these atrocities are their indiscretions. War tears people apart in the sake of ideologies. You are not wrong to fight for yours."

Edea turned her head to look at Ringabel, surprised by his serious demeanor – he could read the apprehension in her gaze, the way she was taking in what he said and calibrating her response; that was weird in and of itself, as she was more along the lines of react-then-think. Under her scrutiny, he turned his attention to his fingernails (he had always hated dirt and grime and monster blood beneath them and kept them meticulously clean) in an attempt to not fall prey to her intense stare and keep his conduct nonchalant. This might have been a grave conversation, but by the crystals he was only flesh and blood; such attention from his favorite fantasy could have a dubious loin connection if he wasn't careful. He didn't want to lose the opportunity to show her that he viewed her as much more than a very well-endowed piece of eye candy, he truly wanted her back to her feisty, normal self.

Even if, in this day and age, "normal" seemed like such a foreign concept. Until – assuming it would – his memory came back, he wasn't certain that he would know what a normal day would even look like. Though, perhaps he was getting ahead of himself, there was still a river of lava to cross, Eternian forces to slay, anticrystalism to combat, and a warrior's heart to win. One step at a time, Ringabel.

Long, cascading hair shifted as she tilted her head and set her mouth in a straight line. "I will fight to the death for her. I won't let my father ruin any more lives. Even if she doesn't want me to help, I'll never stop."

"Good." His attention shifted back to her face, momentarily entranced by her thick rim of lashes casting shadows on her round cheekbones. "I would be deeply forlorn without your battle trained form by my side."

"You're such a pig, Ringabel."

In the dark light, he almost missed her grin.