Ragnarök
A Final Fantasy Tactics fanfic
By Tenshi no Ai
I don't own the characters and locations in the game that are presented in this work, Square Enix does.
(Meta-fic to TobyKikami's Gemini, third of the 'Fields of Green and Gold' series, and a Meliadoul birthday fic)
-0-
Gossip traveled quickly in Ivalice.
For instance, Balbanes Beoulve once sneezed after a devastating battle in northern Limberry. Word spread like wildfire (Sir Balbanes has pneumonia!) and the topic of discussion in every bar was about the coalition's chances of winning the war if Balbanes were to die. The good people of the land, who all loved him very much, were verbally kicking him out of his sickbed and tossing him into his tomb a year before he began to suffer the worst complications from his cold. He eventually died, but it wasn't by pneumonia. That is the essential nature of gossip; it is true, but not true enough.
But either way, it is so very tantalizing.
Meliadoul Tingel had heard some very interesting gossip. It had something to do with Riovanes Castle and a massacre. Heads were crushed, skilled knights disemboweled, gore splattered on the walls like crimson paint with a touch of pale pink, perhaps mauve. It was all very interesting in that 'thank God Almighty that didn't happen here!' sort of way. The lady knight hardly cared, though, as it had nothing to do with her and her training. That was why she had taken a select group of trainees to Bervenia in the first place, as it was a quiet place where she could bark orders and meditate on the recent events in her life.
Three weeks had gone by, yet there was still no word from Izlude.
-0-
When the black wagon entered the gates of Bervenia, Meliadoul only spared it a cursory glance before returning her attention to her troop. It consisted only of women who had shown considerable talent in battle. Her current goal was to make it more acceptable for females to be placed in positions of leadership, which in her eyes could only be a good thing. 'Women shouldn't have to be knights or monks in order to be used in the midst of battle,' she had argued many times before, 'we're not playing at being men here. Our bodies afford us a different advantage in battle, so why not train for that standard?' As an example of this belief she had brought a slim kunoichi, as well as a couple steel hawk-eyed archers and wise summoners each to her hometown, telling them that they would be on the forefront of revolutionizing the combat standard; no longer would the ideal female unit be either a blushing white mage or bulky monks and knights. They had loved her as soon as she had proclaimed this.
She did not find it hypocritical to say such things when she herself was a physically powerful Divine Knight. Her true power was not in the blade of the sword, but rather in her devotion to God. There had to be a reason why she was born a female in the premier knight family of the Glabados faith; perhaps God had entrusted her with the duty of opening the minds of Murond to the true power of femininity. And what better way to do this than to become an accomplished elite knight and Zodiac Brave by the age of twenty-three?
Meliadoul liked these thoughts. They helped her focus her mind to the future, instead of worrying about her brother when there was nothing she could do about that. Izlude was fine, he had to be. It was just a simple mission to retrieve the Virgo stone and eliminate the traitorous clergy who sought to rebel against Murond. Wiegraf, who she personally saw as her mentor, was with him.
He was fine.
"...Lady Meliadoul? Is something the matter?"
Meliadoul shook away the thickening cobwebs of worry from her mind and focused on the woman before her, one of the best kunoichi exclusive to Murond. Her mahogany eyes flickered beyond the blonde with the red headscarf, to the other women who were casting looks of concern at her instead of paying attention to their training. She sighed at this sight; a leader should never make her troops worry about her. "Nothing at all," she shook her head, trying to convince herself of her own words. "Come on, back to work. This isn't a vacation!" Her exclamation snapped the warriors back into action, and soon sharp implements were whistling through the air again, only to be stopped by magical beings wielding impressive energies.
No need to worry, she thought to herself in a mantra that was becoming all too familiar, he's fine.
The crunch of a boot against the crisp summer grass alerted Meliadoul to a lingering onlooker. She calmly turned around, the hem of her dark green dress rustling over the grass. "Priest Onoti," she murmured, taking in the serious expression of the elderly man bearing heavy snow-white robes in the August morning. She didn't like the worn look on his face, so she smiled widely, saying in false cheer, "I can't blame you for looking so miserable in this heat. I hear it's been snowing nicely in Goland, just like usual. It sounds a lot better to be cold than to feel like a fried cockatoris in this armor, don't you think?"
He did not smile; instead, a tear rolled down his crumpled face. Wiping it away, the priest grasped her hands in his own. "My dear Meliadoul, you must come with me immediately," he beseeched her, his gravely voice thicker than usual.
"Well, certainly," the brunette answered, holding his gnarled hands in what she hoped was a comforting manner, "I'll be right there. Go on ahead," her voice was steady and sure, though she wasn't sure if she felt that way personally, and the aged priest nodded and left.
It must be more victims from Riovanes returning to their hometown for burial, she realized as she turned around to address her troop, he's too old to deal with this, especially after the Fifty Year War and this so-called Lion War. She shook her head once again, bothered by her thoughts. "Everyone, take a break until I get back. It's getting pretty hot for you summoners, isn't it?" Smiling as her troops cheered and practically fell over themselves to return to town and the nearest bar, she started to head back, resolutely striding towards the church even as a narrow string of dread within her was plucked at by what felt like an impatient bard.
-0-
Bervenia Free City, as the birthplace of Ajora Glabados, was singularly known for having a grand church, on par with the ones in St. Murond and Lionel castle town. While the one on Murond isle was as traditional as the one in Lionel was revolutionary, the church in Bervenia was comforting, with a homey, clean feel that soothed the soul and relaxed the mind. It was eight centuries old, with renovations only restoring the building instead of modernizing it, and so the look gave it an appeal only truly old buildings can give.
Meliadoul was familiar with the church; indeed, her family home was a block away. Vormav had married her mother here, she and Izlude had been baptized here, and all three events had been performed by the Holy Priest Jebere Onoti. Not only was the well-established priest a friend of the family, he was considered by the young Divine Knight as a spiritual mentor, solidifying and helping her understand the tenets of the faith she had been born to serve under.
It worried her to see him in such a distraught mood. He was as old as the High Priest, but it never occurred to her until now that it would be ideal for him to retire. Not now, when the Church was on the crux of reforming Ivalice into Saint Ajora's promised land.
But I suppose there must be a time for everything, Meliadoul thought as she crossed the threshold of the church, as per God's will. She strode past the nave, where all the white mages assigned to the church were cleaning the stone pews, wondering why they were throwing such pitiful glances at her. Entering Onoti's private office, she was struck by how small he seemed behind his desk. "Is there something I can help you with?" she asked after the initial shock died down.
"Oh, Meliadoul. I must show you something, but I am afraid at how you would take it," he moaned, the timbre of his voice shaky. She stepped forward, pulling down her hood so that her short hair was exposed, and smiled tenderly.
"Good father, I am the Meliadoul you have known from youth onwards, but I am also a knight of the Tingel name." Reaching out, she touched his hands, which were limp and frail on the top of the desk. "Father taught me how to overcome all obstacles, physical and mental. Do not be afraid for my well-being."
"Very well. Come with me." He eased himself out of his chair and began to head to the door, the Divine Knight holding one of his hands the entire time. It reminded her of her childhood, when the priest was much younger and held her hand with a firm strength as she happily meandered about. Now she was doing the same to him, yet she was still the child. It felt wrong in the same way that the comfortable feeling of the church now suddenly felt awkward. Within her golden armor her flesh felt raw, exposed nerves that were overloaded with pain with each step. She wanted to pull away, but she was being the strong one with the firm grasp and so she continued following the priest.
He lead her to the chamber where the white mages treated their patients before turning to her. His expression was grave, an uncomfortable pity dwelling within his dark eyes. "Meliadoul, you do not have to do this," he whispered, and she let go of his hand.
"If I've come this far, I might as well go the whole way," she murmured, wild nervousness rolling in her chest.
"Then, dear child, enter."
After a heavy moment, she lifted her hand and twisted the doorknob, pushing the door open with an ease she didn't feel. She stepped inside the room, which was clean and bright and smelled faintly of spent ethers and blood.
There was a body on the floor.
She stepped forward, metal against stone, and stared.
The body was on top of one of the mats the mages would use to place a wounded body on, giving comfort to the patient as well as keeping the floor unstained. There was a thin black blanket on top of the body, a last charity and the mark of death as one. The blanket was pulled up to the chin, a child tucked in for its eternal rest. The body had a head full of light brown hair, and Meliadoul knew that it was thin to the touch. Her mother had the same kind of hair, long and thin. How her father so loved to run a possessive hand through her mother's tresses, and how withered it had looked against the fluffy white pillow on the woman's deathbed. The body had an unusually pale face, the pallor more fitting for an alabaster statue of some distant angel than what was once a living human being. There were flecks of dried blood, brown with a tinge of red, dotting the darkened lower lip of the body as well as the chin. The eyes were closed, but she already knew what their color was, once. The body
The body. No. Not 'the body'. That body had a proper name.
Izlude.
There was a distant crash ringing in Meliadoul's ears, and she dimly felt a sudden pain along her knees and shins. There were footsteps and someone grasping her shoulders and shaking her and words and utterances and none of that matter when her brother, her darling brother, her beloved brother was lying there, just lying there and why isn't he moving why is he so pale that can't be her brother it was supposed to be an easy mission
"Meliadoul!"
Her eyes focused quickly, though there was nothing to look at but the body in front of her. "...Izlude..." she whispered, her voice so frail and tattered that she couldn't recognize it as her own.
"I am sorry, child, so very sorry..." She could hear Priest Onoti say this, dimly, but she jerked away from his hands and crawled forward, a husk of the proud knight she knew she was. Placing a hand on the hem of the blanket that was so lovingly tucked up to her brother's chin, she yanked it off.
Izlude's breastplate was shredded, twisted strings of gold limply falling into the grievous wound. It looked like it was caused by one swipe of a monster's claws, hardened bone that was strong enough to tear through gold and flesh. Someone had been kind enough to place what was left of his novice's surcoat, once the same color as her own but now black with his blood, over the worst of the wound, but Meliadoul could tell the exact nature of his death.
He had been eviscerated.
She looked behind her, where Priest Onoti was fretting, hands automatically clenched into the prayer format. "Where...?"
He looked away from her, or perhaps from the body, and shook his head. "Riovanes."
"What?" Her voice was a little stronger now. "How? He wasn't supposed to be anywhere near Riovanes! He was sent to Orbonne!"
The priest brought one finger up to his lips. "It is disrespectful to raise your voice near the dead."
"It's disrespectful to me that he's dead!" she shouted before glancing back guiltily. Izlude would've looked as if he were sleeping, if it weren't for the blood splatters on his face. "I'm sorry," she continued in a quieter tone, more to her brother than to the priest.
The elderly priest knew this too. "I will have the white mages do the ritual cleansing"
"No," she looked back at him, her eyes suddenly dull, "I'll do it. It's the job of the female family members, remember?"
"Meliadoul"
She chuckled hollowly. "I know I don't look like it, but I'm still a woman. Izlude deserves a full compliance to ritual." She tried to smile, though it looked shaky, wobbling more than a bar local after hours. "He deserves that much..."
"Alright," Priest Onoti conceded, "I will have the water delivered. What should I get from your house?"
"A new surcoat and breastplate. Izlude will be buried as a true knight."
The priest left, softly closing the door behind him. Meliadoul scooted closer to Izlude's body, gently touching his cheek. It was smooth and felt vaguely like wax. She let her fingertips drift up to his hairline, then into the thin strands of his light brown hair. Despite her attempt to keep her eyes on his face, she could not help but glance at the wound that had caused his death. What was left of the golden breastplate was coated in dried blood, mud over wealth.
"Oh, Izlude," she whispered, her tone as soft as it ever was whenever she had chattered with him, "if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. Blood rusts armor, remember? You...you don't want to be a knight with rusted armor, d-do you?" Slowly, her head sank downward with the force she was using to hold her tears at bay. "N-no one will respect...a knight with rusted...ar-mor..."
Meliadoul was a good knight, unaccustomed to losing battles. However, she just couldn't win against her body, and the tears leaked through her eyes no matter how tightly her eyelids were clenched.
-0-
It was quiet in the room, a meeting hall for church councils. While the room had often borne silent witness to matters pertaining to everything from debates over the nature of Saint Ajora to theological analyses to who would be elected as the next cardinal, it had never been a war room.
Until now.
"I want you to tell me everything you know about the attack at Riovanes," Meliadoul said in clipped tones as she paced around the front of the room, her eyes ringed with deathly dark circles as she stared down those who sat at the council table. Her troop members stared back at her, unwilling or unable to pull their attention away from the Divine Knight. She was like a black hole, a force beyond anything they could comprehend that drew them in by the mere pull of her eyes. "Who was there? Why? The castle is owned by Gelkanis Barinten. Where is he?" she insisted as her troops continued to stare dumbly at her.
"Everything's a rumor," one summoner sighed, "and there are so many rumors."
"Rumors are based on some sort of truth," the lady knight stated. "Crushed heads, torn bodies...after seeing Izlude I can believe it."
The lone kunoichi slouched in her chair. "I heard that Duke Barinten's body was found on the ground outside, as if he'd fallen off of the roof."
"Yeah, but all of the bodies inside the castle were crushed by something inhuman."
"That sounds like the case of Cardinal Draclau's death."
"I remember! All of the Shrine Knights guarding the inside of the castle were murdered!"
"But that was because of the heretic, right? Heretic Ramza?"
"Well, he was at Riovanes too, wasn't he?"
The Divine Knight held up a hand. "Heretic Ramza was supposed to be dealt with by Examiner Zalmo."
Everyone quieted suddenly. "Well, Lady Meliadoul, I'm friends with one of the knights who was sent on that mission," the first summoner started, "and Examiner Zalmo ordered an escape after the heretic began fighting back."
It was obvious that Meliadoul hadn't heard this bit of information by the sudden stillness that had overtaken her pacing. "He didn't finish the job?" she asked, blank-faced.
"...No."
"He went back to Murond without finishing the job?"
"Yes."
The knight stood ramrod still for a long moment, then she slammed one golden fist into the wall behind her. Something cracked loudly, but no one was sure if it was bone, metal, or stone. For her own part, Meliadoul was the very image of detachment, though her eyes were suspiciously wet. "Are you telling me," she said conversationally, her voice low and bland, "that because of an examiner's gross negligence and cowardly actions, my brother was killed by that heretic?"
No one answered.
"I see," she whispered. The tears were falling now, but the blank mask that was now her face still remained. "I would like someone to find out the movements on the heretic Ramza, as well as the good examiner. If either of them enters Bervenia, then they're going to die. Is that understood?"
Her troop stared back at her, faces painted with shades of an indistinct fear at her words. It was one thing to assist in killing the heretic, but to threaten the life of a celebrated examiner? That was heresy! As devoted warriors of the Glabados faith, they were obligated to slay her for such treacherous words, even if she was their respected leader. But they could not turn away from her expressionless visage. Sleepless nights, lack of nourishment and what was once unfocused rage dragged hateful marks into her attractive face for all to see. That she suffered, that she could suffer moved them to follow her orders, and even to want to carry them out on her behalf. One by one they twisted their hands gracefully, forming their approval with the prayer of Saint Ajora.
There was no acknowledgement of their loyalty from her. She pulled her fist away from the wall and walked away, muttering something about going to the graveyard to talk with Izlude.
Where her fist had smashed into the wall there were cracks, her vow to avenge her brother's death marked in stone.
-0-
Meliadoul had lost something the moment her eyes showed her the torn and bloodied body of her brother. Despite her high rank, she had held onto a certain innocent mindset, the belief that it would be her and her brother leading the next generation of the Murond Shrine Knights. Even though she was always worried when he left on a mission, even though she insisted on training him personally, just in case she knew something that could save him.
Even though she loved him so much that she was sure she would die if something happened to him.
She didn't die. No, that would've been too easy.
Meliadoul had lost something the moment Zalera, the demon of the Gemini zodiac stone, had revealed to her that her body wasn't appropriate for possession, just like her brother's, but her father's had been. It wasn't enough that her brother died, no, her father had to be taken from her as well. Her father, once so kind, was now a Lucavi. Her father murdered her brother.
And now, to avenge the fallen Izlude, she would have to murder her father.
Meliadoul couldn't even find comfort in her religion. Everyone was corrupt, priests to knights up to Cardinal Draclau and the High Priest. Even the good saint she had prayed to all her life was a fake, a pathetic spy turned phony saint. All she could do now was to pick up the tattered pieces of her life and walk away from the lies she'd once loved to believe in. Yet something still bothered her.
How did Izlude get to Riovanes, anyway?
She tried not to think about it too much as she greeted Ramza's allies. They sympathized with her loss, she could see it in their battle-worn eyes. Many of them had lost something precious of their own, and it was oddly comforting to know that they weren't just handing her heaping amounts of pity. She had lost everything important to her, but she still had her pride.
"Excuse me."
Meliadoul turned her head slightly, seeing the much smaller girl beside her. This girl wore a foreign outfit of white, and although she had a hood like the female knight her short hair was easily seen. It seems sloppy to the older woman, but then she remembered blood on gold and her jaw clenched in reflex. "What can I do for you...Rafa?"
"I was wondering if I could do something for you," the mage answered solemnly. "When I heard your family name I thought it had sounded familiar, but I did think about it enough just to be sure."
Meliadoul wasn't sure how to take that. "My family name? What about it?"
The girl's expression grew grave, and the Divine Knight was reminded of Priest Onoti's own expression not so long ago. It was the expression of not wanting to say something that needed to be said. "Your brother was Izlude Tingel, the Shrine Knight at Riovanes, correct?"
"Yes." Meliadoul tried to smile, more to stave off the tears than anything else. "He's my younger brother." That was never going to change. She would never let his memory die; he was always going to be her brother.
"You were really going to kill Ramza to avenge him, weren't you?"
She only nodded, her mouth and throat suddenly craving cold water. Rafa's questions were starting to drag along her still-tender nerves.
"...Alright." A resigned look crossed over Rafa's face before she lowered her head. "My brother once told me that he had met with Izlude before Riovanes."
"Excuse me?"
"...You should talk to him about the rest," the Heaven Knight whispered sadly, her eyes dark with some unknown emotion. "I was going to kill Barinten to free my brother...so I can understand. Just..."
"'Just'?" Meliadoul prompted, scanning the area for a boy similarly clad like Rafa. When she received no answer after a minute, she looked down into the girl's soulful eyes and was suddenly reminded of Izlude.
I'm worried, Melia. Being a leader, going to Orbonne. This...this is right...right?
Assurance. She was looking for assurance. The older woman nodded slowly. "I just want to talk to your brother. I have a few questions of my own," but even as she said that she wasn't sure if she was telling a lie.
Rafa seemed to understand this, and she left without a word. That action alone impressed Meliadoul, even as she went off in search for Rafa's brother. It was easy enough to spot him, white against emerald-green leaves. She strode towards him, a metal whisper along grass waiting to die at the first sign of winter's frost.
She had lost so much. Was it okay if she gained something too?
"Are you Rafa Galthana's brother?"
-End-
This fic, and by extension the Fields of Green and Gold series, was inspired in class one afternoon while I was daydreaming about Meliadoul's involvement in TobyKikami's Gemini. I wanted to keep the ambiguous nature of Gemini, though, so you'd have to read it to find out what happens in that story's final scene...or what doesn't.
Oh, and this is being posted on Meliadoul's birthday, December the 24th.
The title comes from two things. One, it's the knight sword that Vormav/Hashmalum drops after his battle in the Graveyard of Airships. Two, it's the Norse version of the apocalypse. The world before the Ragnarök is brutal and full of war, but, while all the gods die in their final battles and the world ends, some of their sons live on to build a more peaceful world.