Disclaimer: La Pucelle © Mastiff, Nippon-Ichi.
Summary: Revolution against the Church and the Goddess throws the world into chaos once more. Gone is the time of peace, now is the time for change and turmoil, and a poignant reunion of two hearts.
Spoilers: The whole game.
Notes: Writing fic for La Pucelle? Hmm, yesh, I'm a history freak, so I loved the setting of alternate Medieval Europe. Maybe it's the characters that made me squeal. They have personality. They, for once, made me sympathize – it's really quite different from FFX, when they tried to force that emotion. FFX is overrated. Moving along now. Maybe it just involves churches and bratty sixteen-year-old protagonists. Looked up and down for LP fics, and surprise, surprise. There are none. First fic of LP here? Maybe. La Pucelle is teh crack, no kidding. Plot bunnies are everywhere because of that. I snagged one of them. (pats tiny Croixmuse) Love triangle = double bonus. ♥
A Winter's Caress
La Pucelle
Prelude
Father Salade, of the Church of the Holy Maiden, had locked up the church, marking the end of the day. With the dim light from the lantern hung on the entrance walls, swaying side by side, he shoved the keys in his pockets with a grunt, tipped his hat low and walked home, his eyes already half closed.
As soon as all lights visible from the windows of the church flickered out there was a muffled noise, a stirring and a rousing from every angle of the outside. Word had it that Crevette, migrant and once citizen of the Pot au Feu City, had strange premonitions hours before and wished to share it with her fellow comrades. Within hours of having a discussion in an abandoned shack just at the corner of town, they had all come to the agreement that they should meet in the entrance of the church as soon as Father Salade retired for the night. Father Salade was so highly regarded as a figure that he stood on a pedestal next to the Goddess Poitreene herself, so even as he slept, many still dreaded the consequences, not what they were about to do, but what the outcome would be should they be unveiled.
Hidden behind the bushes of the church, crouching down on the soil, Crevette was already gripping her sword with her companions side by side. She was eighteen years old but her appearance was handsome and guiding in spite of the fact that her long hair had never been cut and her parts of her teeth had been chipped. Before long, the number of villagers joined her, a number that almost made up a quarter of the city. The atmosphere was grim and crackling with tension so thick one could cut it with a knife. When Crevette saw that she had everyone's attention, she cleared her throat, quietly, and whispered but with a quiet ferocity that everyone could hear.
"Rejoice, my friends, how long we have waited for this day. Soon, we will strike down the chains of our never-ending cycle of these lives we had lead for so long. We have never known happiness, nor will we ever until we ground our enemies on the ground like dirt. The truth is before us: our lives are bitter, short and wretched." There was a slight quiver in her voice if one could hear closely. However, everyone was still captivated in her speech. "We are born with no savior, treated like discarded trash out in the streets; our pouches are stolen by little children with no sense of justice of what is right or what is wrong. Not a poor soul is free, not as long as they hang onto the teachings of the Goddess Poitreene like a man with water on a hot desert. But we do not blame these on the people whose only crime are the misleading beliefs they have in their hearts. It is the Goddess Poitreene and her followers who poison their minds with fallacious teachings!"
"You," she pointed to a villager near her. "Where was the Goddess Poitreene when your child was trampled on wagons that day before? Why could she not save the child from harm? That child was a tiny but bright speck of life, promising to grow more, and yet, she is wrenched from your care so brutally and refused her right to live in this world. Is this all part of fate, Goddess Poitreene's fate? Is she also not one of Poitreene's children? All of you, my friends, you all suffered tragedies... tragedies which the Goddess could so easily prevent... and yet, she sits there on her almighty throne looking down at us, sipping a glass of wine while we suffer!"
There were quiet murmurs of agreement.
"Her followers of the church are hypocrites. They extend their hand to ones who worship the Goddess, and they never came to us when we cried for help. Our town was wiped out by zombies, demons, and never once... " Again, her voice faltered. "Never once did they come to help. Never once did they listen to our pleas, and we could only stand there and watch while our loved ones are killed and our houses burnt down. All this could be prevented if the Goddess Poitreene gave us just a miracle, just a small miracle, but even that is not enough? She lavishes in our praise and prayers, but is loath to embrace the very ones who suffer under her gaze? We may not stop the Kingdom of Paprica herself, but we, at least, could have relief in our hearts to know that we could stop the fallacy from spreading further by striking down her followers, the very pillars of Poitreene."
"My friends, rejoice, for tonight... the Fallen Angel Calamity came to my dreams. She led us here into the very roots of Poitreene, and this is a sign that the corrupted system of justice has to change. We will change the system itself, the faithful citizens of Fenêtre under the guidance of the Fallen Angel! Believe in yourselves, my friends, miracles may exist for them, but they also exist for us. Never listen to the words of your enemies, for anyone who serves the Goddess is ours, just as the Goddess is the Fallen's enemy. Let us unite against a common adversary and never let our hearts waver. Followers of Poitreene are enemies. Followers of Calamity are a union. We share the same beliefs, we will strike the pillar down in unity. Let justice... the true justice prevail!"
There was an astounding uproar, but young Crevette raised her sword for silence.
"In my dreams, the grass swayed in the wind. I sat on a hill, under a tree. It was lush and green, and the life that flows in that tree was unlike any other tree I've ever seen in my life. The grass surrounding it blooms flowers. But there was blood on its branches and the roots are old. Before I knew it, the tree suddenly shriveled up, its leaves dying, as if they were poisoned. Then, the Angel Calamity talked to me. The tree is an example of the lives we could've led, but it could never be... not unless we wipe out the poison that is the Goddess' justice. That tree is the heart of the Dark Prince. He is her follower, but he has vanished from the world. She sang to me:
Don't go near the hill
Don't go near the hill
What does the snow hide?
It hides the hill
It hides the hill
The birthplace of the Dark Prince
Don't go near the Hill
Don't go near the Hill
It is this song that provokes fear into the hearts of Poitreene's children. Together, if we believe in ourselves, we will find the Dark Prince and have his sword cut down the statue of Poitreene, and live his place rightfully in this mockery of a world. Fallen Angel Calamity wishes us to strike down Poitreene and revive the Dark Prince, and we will abide by her wishes." She raised her sword, this time, for support. "Are you with me, my friends?"
The silence was torn apart by the raging excitement. Even before Crevette finished her words, they had already raised their weapons in the air and charged at the majestic church. Even the hesitant and frail ones waved their hands in the air and danced around. Women banged against the church's entrance doors with their kitchen tools, children smashed the windows with stones they picked up, men set their torches alight and threw them on the grass beds which the church buried its roots on, chanting," Down with Poitreene! Long live Calamity!" The doors finally gave way under the weight and force, and the church was soon ravaged. Every inscriptions about the Goddess was burnt and hurled out of the window, statues were overthrown. They spared nothing, not even Father Salade's office. No furniture was left intact, no paintings were left untouched. The beds in the infirmary were slashed with swords. They sang until their throats grew hoarse.
Their voices were so loud, it awoke some of the villagers, who rose out of bed to see what was happening, sure that it was merely some brats running around up to mischief. By the time Father Salade and Sister Olive reached the broken gates of the church, there was not a single soul there, and it was now as silent as death. The doors creaked, woods were splintered and bricks were fractured by hammers. The church, that once stood as grand as it was possible, where people prayed their hopes and dreams to, now lay in ruins.