Title: O Sad Slave of the Gods
Rating: T
Genre: General/Adventure
Pairing: Eventual Alicia x Rufus, of course.
A/N: At first, I was so enamoured of the game that I decided to painstakingly transliterate every cutscene and write a game script – since none were present – to post on gamefaqs. However, as I went along, my descriptions became increasingly elaborate. Then I thought, why squander the unnecessary creativity? Therefore, this is more a glorified game script rather than a novelization, heavily based on the in-game dialogue.
Why had I settled for writing in Rufus' perspective rather than Alicia's, or anyone else's, for that matter? It was easier, I suppose. His character bears a greater – albeit limited – resemblance to mine than Alicia's, who I have very little hope of characterizing accurately on the mindscape. Additionally, what with the other characters lacking a consistency of presence throughout the game, his is the only alternative to Alicia's perspective for an unbroken retelling of the tale.
Disclaimer: I don't own VP. 'Nuff said.
Plot summary: He refused to die as some brainless vessel of the gods, his soul burned away into oblivion while some high and mighty parasite slipped into his skin like it was nothing more than a travelling garment. The story of Valkyrie Profile: Silmeria, as told by Rufus.
Chapter 1 – Defiers of the Gods
Part I: The First Meeting
It was a beautiful, glorious afternoon at the harbour of Solde. The sky was an unending banner of blue, interrupted by the occasional drifting cloud and the silhouettes of seagulls circling overhead. Upon the brine-washed cobblestone streets, townsfolk bustled to and fro between the numerous stalls, filling the air with their incessant bartering. Complete with the salty breeze and undulating tides where colourful fisherman boats took residence, the town was the very quintessence of prosperity and activity.
The interiors of the town tavern were no less busier, dense with the cacophony of traded gossip rather than people. Here, where swarthy sailors' faces abound, silver coins exchanged hands to make merry with drink (or a less widespread morsel of news). Singular in his refusal to join in the festivities, a lone man sat at a table in the corner, his disinterested expression all but broadcasting the fact that he was lost in his own thoughts.
Tall and lanky of build, he was dressed in traveller's garb of green and brown tones. If one were to look more closely, they would notice the lack of sword arms replaced instead by a well-crafted bow and quiver strapped to his back, indicating a proficiency in the respective arts. More notable still, was the pine-green hair that hung to his waist, secured there by a single band.
His name was Rufus.
Rufus yawned widely, not bothering to cover his mouth, and slouched further in his seat. Collecting information by means of sitting around in taverns was a bother, if a necessary one. After all, he had scented his way here on nothing but the merest whiff of a rumour, a rumour that Dipan, the secluded nation on the northernmost peninsula of the North Lands, was intending to rebel against the gods.
As mankind was at large, a god-worshipping community, such sacrilegious intentions spread through the continent like wildfire, first reaching his ears in the desert village of Kalstad some months ago. The whys and hows of this colossal undertaking had not made themselves apparent to him yet, and may never do so, but he was nevertheless excited. Were he to join Dipan in their unholy defiance, he could have a chance at challenging Odin, the oh-so-benevolent (note: sarcasm) king of Asgard, to win back the right to his own life – or more likely, die, but death was surely better than his accursed fate anyway.
His long, dexterous fingers curled around the handle of his mug, lifting it to his mouth in but one of many instances where he had pretended to drink. He had ordered ale only for the sake of appearing normal – or as 'normal' as someone with unmistakably green hair could appear. The taste did not endear itself to him at all, and none of the liquid touched his lips before he had set the mug down once more.
As much as the bitter, acrid flavour was unpleasant, the memories were more so. Unbidden, his mind roved to an incident where he had, in all foolhardy inexperience, gulped the entire contents of his mug in one go. His sharp senses had been dulled to a sluggish blur, and a bunch of nearby thugs had swiftly taken advantage. He still bore evidence of that time – knife scars across his back and below his ribcage. How he'd managed to survive was truly a wonder.
Shuddering, he quickly dispelled the memory, concentrating instead on the surrounding snippets of conversation, which had grown louder all of a sudden.
"Liner service cancelled today! All departures suspended due to an accident! I've said it a thousand times! There are no plans to resume service!"
"Gimme a break! You mean there are no other ships?"
"No means no!"
He shut out the rest of the increasingly flustered hubbub. Damn and blast. Looks like the option of sailing to Dipan was ruled out for now. What a nuisance.
Long ingrained habit meant that his irritation did not show on his face, but he was broiling inside all the same. He had little choice but to linger in town for a while longer, until they readied the ships for their next voyage to Dipan. He would again have to scrape the bottoms of his extremely limited funds for a mutter and an averted gaze from the innkeeper, and endure the points and stares of the townsfolk at his strange hair and too-delicate features (thankfully his pointed ears could be covered with a simple bandana without incurring suspicion). It was woefully obvious that he did not belong here (or anywhere else, for that matter), and he had no desire to suffer more unwanted attention than he absolutely must.
Perhaps camping outside the town would be a better idea –
His musings were interrupted by the approach of footsteps in his direction. At first, he thought that the owner of said footsteps was going to walk past him, but when they stopped at his table, he couldn't help but release a small breath of astonishment.
Before him stood a diminutive girl of around nineteen years of age, though her small size would easily lead others to believe otherwise. However, his eyes, sharpened by his half-elfin heritage, could pick out the faintest whisper of lines at the corners of her eyes.
"Can I help you?" he said perfunctorily.
She clasped her hands together, visibly nervous. An unsurprising reaction where he was concerned, though mistrust was by far the more prevalent of the two.
"I, um… know a great way to reach Dipan," she babbled, "and… if you wouldn't mind coming… with me?"
He took another glance at her. She was clad in a tight leather bodice complete with puffy sleeves and a short skirt; embroidered stockings covered her legs, which ended in low-heeled shoes. The well-cut fabric spoke of wealth – perhaps she was of noble descent? Long hair the colour of sand framed her heart-shaped face, decorated with an ornate metal hairband. With her wide blue eyes, dainty nose and pouting lips, she could be considered pretty.
Not that he was interested in the slightest. If anything, he wanted nothing more than for her to leave him alone, alone to his discontented musings. Why had she decided to bother him, of all people?
"Why me?"
Uncaring of how rude he would appear, he turned his shoulder to her, ending the conversation. Or so he thought.
"Forgive me. I did not introduce myself. I am Alicia, princess of the kingdom of Dipan."
This information surprised him, causing him to turn around to face her. Princess of Dipan, she said? What a remarkable coincidence. Too remarkable, probably, his cynical mind injected.
Not only that, but something about her seemed off. Her demeanour had changed all at once, from anxious awkwardness to something regal and befitting of a queen. Where was that stuttering from a moment ago?
"I am concealing my identity for a reason," she continued, and he realized she was kneeling before him, which made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. "It is imperative that I return to Dipan immediately. I am in need of an escort. Seeing you unfazed by the commotion, I could tell you were a man of great calibre. Of course, you will be adequately compensated. Will you accompany me?"
Me? An escort?
The idea was admittedly foreign to him. After all, he had been alone all his life, an outcast amongst elves and humans alike. He had never known the comforts of company, never known the intricacies of human interaction between common folk, let alone royalty. Would he bumble and fail to address the princess in a manner suitable for her title? Unquestionably.
Yet, if she knew of an alternative route to Dipan… Anything to hasten his confrontation with Odin and the blissful aftermath – be it victory or death – would be welcome.
He made up his mind. "Sounds fair."
"Then follow me." She rose gracefully and walked away, beckoning him to come follow with a slight jerk of her head. He stared absently after her for a moment, contemplating this latest change of circumstance, before doing so.
After stocking up on food supplies and other travelling necessities, they left the waterlogged docks and fishy marketplaces of Solde behind, treading along the gravel road that would take them to the Lost Forest. The sun was still high in the sky, but day would no doubt break by the time they reach the woods. The girl paid no heed of this fact, however, simply pressing on with single-minded determination.
She – princess Alicia, somehow he doubted that – was walking a few paces ahead of him, her gait sure and steady. In the process of trailing her around town, he had given the so-called princess of Dipan some serious re-evaluation. For one, why was she alone by herself, without a cortège of loyal retainers to accompany her and carry out all these peasant errands? Secondly, wasn't the princess of Dipan rumoured to have been dead for a while now? And thirdly, why did she so often pause and mutter to the air, as though conversing with it – or more fancifully yet, a person invisible to any senses but her own?
As though giving evidence to his suspicions, she was indeed gesticulating to the air at this very moment. He decided to interrupt her, lest this strange behaviour befuddled him only more.
"Hey, who're you talking to?"
"Hmm?" she murmured absentmindedly, appearing to have just taken notice of him. "Oh – nobody."
He let that one slide; he had more important questions to interrogate her with. If she were an imposter – a possibility that became increasingly apparent to him – what were her intentions? He most assuredly did not want to get mixed up in some fool girl's politicking; being her associate in this sham, however remotely, would guarantee a place for his neck on the chopping board.
While he would welcome death, a death in vain would be all it amounted to in this particular instance.
"Just curious, but you said you're the princess of Dipan, right? What brings –" here, he could not help but imbue the honorific with a measure of incredulity "– Her Majesty out here all alone? And where have you been all this time? They said the only daughter of King Barbarossa died some years ago."
There was a brief pause, then she whipped around with unexpected force, a deluge of questions spewing from her mouth in rapid succession.
"What about you? Where have you been? What do you intend to do in Dipan?"
Taken aback by the girl's sudden change in attitude, he only managed an inarticulate, "Uh."
Sensing her advantage, she pressed on. "Come to think of it, you haven't even told me your name."
Made atypically aware of his own rudeness, he brushed his thumb against the bridge of his nose in chagrin. "My name's Rufus," he supplied.
"A pleasure to meet you, Sir Rufus."
With that, she turned around and marched ahead, leaving him to gape stupidly after her once more.
It was then in the wake of his verbal clumsiness, that he realized she had managed to elude his questions. She was a slippery one; he had to give her credit. But if he kept pestering her about it, she may eventually give in out of sheer annoyance.
Not that it ultimately mattered, anyway. When he reached Dipan, he would be freed of his (foolishly-agreed) duty of escorting her, to at last pursue his retribution against Odin.
No, he would not die as some brainless vessel of the gods. He couldn't. Fate was surely kinder than that.