Training Days

by trimurti

Shrine Knights Wiegraf Folles and Meliadoul Tingel are the Murond Zodiac Braves of the Aries and Sagittarius stones respectively. What gives them their fire?

Training Days

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.

(First of the 'Fields of Green and Gold' series)

Ugh...you're strong!! No wonder Wiegraf lost!
--Meliadoul Tingel, Bervenia Free City

-0-

She was the first thing Wiegraf Folles saw when he woke up.

She was standing at his bedside, pouring the contents of an elegantly simple kettle into a matching cup. On the small cherry stand there were other containers that he imagined were filled with cream and sugar, luxuries he had never seen enough of in his life to become accustomed to. But he supposed it was different in Murond, enough that even a recent newcomer like himself would receive attention from a...maid. Something like a maid. He continued to scrutinize her openly, as her head was turned away from him. This woman wore a long forest-green dress and a matching cloak with a hood that was pulled over her head. Her arms were bare, a testament to the warm spring days on the island, and he noticed that her arms were trim and muscular.

"Why are you doing that?" he asked, noticing that his voice did not startle her. Instead, she merely glanced at him before tipping the teapot up, stopping its flow before she put it aside. Her poise was remarkable, something he noted before she turned back to him and smiled.

"Do you take sugar or cream with your tea?"

It was her voice that did it. He knew maids before, women made timid by the constant verbal and physical abuse from their lord or lady. There was no way this woman could be one of them, not with the steady hum of confidence running up and down the timbre of her alto voice. "You're not a maid," he stated as he sat up from the bed. "Why are you doing this?"

"I wanted to meet the infamous White Knight who led the Death Corps, so I thought I would welcome him." She tapped the fingers of one hand against the grain of the table, and he thought he saw calluses along the palm. "I do apologize if I've woken you from your nap."

"It's alright," he muttered, still unsure of this strange woman. The scent of the tea was pleasant though, and that made him a little less inclined to care about the woman's motives. "Is there anything else you wanted?" he asked pointedly.

"I suppose not." Walking towards the door, she stopped and turned back to him just as she laid a hand on the doorknob. "It's a good brand of tea. My brother likes it, but you'll find it goes down better with at least a spoonful of sugar," she suggested before opening the door and taking her leave.

Wiegraf didn't know why, but the tone she used to solicit advice sounded familiar. It wasn't until after he took a sip of tea and nearly spat out the bitter brew when he realized that it was the same tone he had used on Miluda many times before.

'I know better than you about this, but I'll respect the fact that you just won't listen.'

The tone of the older sibling. The tone he would never use again.

-0-

"...And that building over there is the main hall. There are bookrooms underneath it, and the High Priest's quarters are at the top. This place, over here..."

Wiegraf listened to the boy beside him, memorizing the details of Murond Holy Place. His guide was a lanky youth named Izlude, whom Wiegraf knew to be Vormav Tingel's son. While the White Knight was unimpressed with the lineage of others, the boy seemed alright. He was one of Murond's Zodiac Braves, the one who held the Pisces stone. What was amusing to the older man was how genuinely pleased the boy had looked when Wiegraf was introduced to him as a fellow Zodiac Brave.

Wiegraf knew the legend of the Zodiac Braves. Every Ivalician did. They were the proud warriors who had saved Ivalice from the threat of a king overtaken by the Lucavi, mythical demons whose fate it was to die by the hands of mythical heroes. That was all they had been, mythical heroes in a time when ships sailed the skies instead of the seas. Once they had killed Lucavi they had disappeared, leaving behind the stones that were their proof of their duty.

He thought it was only a legend until he caught sight of the teal-colored stone with the sigil of Aries inscribed into it. Now he wasn't so sure.

--I want you to become one of our Zodiac Braves. You, of all people, can understand the pain everyone must suffer after these useless wars caused by the nobles. Fight for the people on our behalf. Let's help each other out during these times, shall we?--

He liked the sound of those words. Though it meant that he was now allied with the Church when before he had shunned the idea of begging for their help, those words alleviated some of the shame. He could learn from the Church, become one of their braves, train for the rest of the Holy Sword skillset...anything for strength.

Anything to avenge Miluda.

That was enough. He'd risk any amount of humiliation to make sure his sister hadn't died in vain. What did a tenuous, exploitable honor mean next to his blood sibling's death?

Like a thin sheen over his eyes, these thoughts made him blind to the world around him. That would be the burden he would have to bear, the guilt he would always face. And so, entranced by his thoughts, Wiegraf was shaken by the scene in front of his eyes. Metal and color, swords and green.

Just as his sister had once worn green, so did she. Just as his sister had once swung a blade, so did she.

There were four knights of no special rank surrounding her, brandishing swords that gleamed in the morning sun. Charging as one, they sought to subdue her. And she, with a silver blade and golden armor, gamely met their challenge, pirouetting about like a fairy among a field of flowers to celebrate the coming of spring. But while a fairy was delicate, gentle in the cusp of its maidenhood, her only mark of womanhood was in her floor length gown, the hem fluttering around while she struck with a brutality like lightning. With one sweep of her sword, ending with the clash of metallic thunder, she sent one man tumbling away. Ducking underneath another knight's swing, she rose up and smashed her sword against the ribs of her attacker, turning away even as he cried out and fell. Her blade met another's as she blocked a slash aimed for her head, parrying her opponent's sword away with an elegance unknown to heavy sword users before striking him in the stomach.

One left, and Wiegraf saw the predatory smile on her face as she stalked towards the man, a cuar on the hunt.

"Isn't she incredible?" Izlude murmured in what sounded to the older man like resigned awe.

Wiegraf shrugged. Her swordplay was pretty, but it would've been useless during a war. "She could be better."

"...Oh?" When Wiegraf looked at the boy, he was surprised to see annoyance flitting along the normally gentle-looking adolescent's face. "Well, I suppose you'd know better than I," Izlude continued, keeping his eyes on the fight in the training yard.

They must be close for him to react like that, Wiegraf mused. In truth, he was curious of her himself, considering her odd action of serving him tea. Female knights were not known for their femininity. "Who is she?"

"My sister, Meliadoul." The answer was punctuated with a grand clatter as the last knight fell to the ground, the woman--Meliadoul--standing victorious. "She's a Divine Knight," Izlude added before cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling, "Melia!"

The lady knight turned, one arm raised in greeting as the other sheathed her sword. There was a smile on her face, bright and genuine, her demeanor startling the White Knight once again. Miluda had never been that happy after the end of training; only a grimace of determination would decorate her face afterwards. But Meliadoul seemed happy, turning away from them long enough to shout some orders before making her way to them. "Good morning, Izlude," she said in a melodious tone, her cheeks pink with her earlier exertion. "You look tired."

"Hm, I feel it, just a little," Izlude responded, scratching the back of his head. "My favorite tea's been used up."

Wiegraf thought he saw the Divine Knight wink at him just before she said, "That's too bad. I'll buy more the next time I go to the mainland, alright?"

"Thanks," her brother said, smiling.

For some reason, Wiegraf was starting to feel irritable. Perhaps Meliadoul had picked up on this, for she gestured at him, asking, "So Izlude, who is this?"

"Oh! Sorry...um, this is Wiegraf Folles, our newest Zodiac Brave."

"...It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Tingel," Wiegraf blandly said. For her own part, Meliadoul merely nodded at him.

"I'm Meliadoul. It's a pleasure to meet a fellow Zodiac Brave." She glanced at her brother, who was blissfully unaware of any prior meetings. "Izlude, don't you have practice soon?"

The youngest knight of the trio sighed. "Yeah. Oh, could you do me a favor and finish giving Sir Wiegraf the tour? This was the last stop."

"Sure. Have fun."

When Izlude had left, Wiegraf appraised the woman before him. "Since when did Divine Knights lower themselves to serve tea?"

She looked amused at his question. "Hm. Is it really 'lowering myself'? I said I just wanted to welcome you. Plus, I knew that if I did that, you'd remember me at our next meeting."

"So, this is a plot of yours? Down to having your brother give me the tour of this place?" He wasn't sure what to make of this woman, and by the smile on her face he could tell that she was reveling in that fact.

"Well, that was just a coincidence." The smile on her face disappeared. "I've heard a lot about you. How you were in the war, that you formed the Death Corps to battle the injustice of the aristocracy. I personally find that very admirable."

He looked away, his disposition soured by her cool tone and distant approval. She didn't know what he had gone through, day after day, to build his dreams, only to lose it all. "Do you find it admirable that I'm the only one left?" he asked. She shook her head, her expression strangely contemplative, which just annoyed him even more. "You couldn't possibly know everything I've gone through, so don't bother with the compliments."

"You're right, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you. I just wanted to ask you for a favor."

"What is it?"

"I want you to train me."

Wiegraf was rarely left speechless during the midst of battle, not to talk of during a conversation. "Excuse me?" he managed to get out after a moment.

"Well, you see, it's an embarrassing thing, but..." Meliadoul sighed, "I can only learn so much within Murond. I may be a Divine Knight, but I do know that I don't have much in the way of real, practical battle experience. Everyone here is so restricted, moreso because I'm their commander's daughter. I can't glean anything useful when I'm being treated with such delicacy." Her dark eyes flickered up to meet his, and he could see the sincerity of her words within them. "You know what war is. You know the chaos, and you stayed alive not because you were a coward, but because you are a warrior. That's why Father chose you as a brave, and that's why I would like to learn from you."

--Brother, I won't be left behind anymore. I'm going to become a knight, just like you!--

They didn't sound the same. One was passionate in her determination, the other practical. But somehow their words resonated with the same feeling, the same need. And just like how he was under the sway of one, he was under the sway of the other.

"How do you know that I won't treat you as the people here have treated you?" he asked calmly. "I'm now a Shrine Knight, just like you. Angering your father is not high on my list of things to do."

"You won't be able to help it," Meliadoul responded, one dark eyebrow raised in defiance. "You've only ever fought for the purposes of war, I'd wager. If someone comes at you with a sword, your first thought wouldn't be to disarm, it'd be to kill. You aren't made for delicate things. That's why you were a leader, after all."

Wiegraf narrowed his eyes at her forthright assumptions. "You're awfully arrogant, Miss Tingel."

"No, I'm confident. 'Arrogant' is what you label those whom you loathe, and if you loathed me you wouldn't still be here." She crossed her arms, the very image of obstinacy.

"You remind me of my sister," he grumbled, wishing his words were true. "Fine, I'll train you."

She looked almost as if she had wanted to ask something, but instead she bowed slightly and said, "Thank you. You won't be sorry."

He wasn't sure why, but he already knew that he wouldn't be.

-0-

It was evening when he saw Meliadoul again, standing in the training yard where he had met her for the second time. She was dressed casually enough, a long-sleeved beige tunic replacing her golden armor, but everything else was in place. Her head was tilted up, watching the fiery sunset, but she turned when he entered the grounds.

Wiegraf looked around, enjoying the silence. It was dinner time for Murond's residents; he hadn't wanted to train the commander's daughter with an audience. In his hands were two long sticks, foreign training swords that Murond had imported for its own warriors. "Here," he called, tossing her one of them. "Do you still want to do this?"

Inclining her head slightly, he thought he could see a small smile on her face. "Of course." Her stance changed, with her feet spread wider apart and the wooden sword diagonal in front of her small frame. She glanced at his own stance, which wasn't a fighting stance so much as him just standing by casually, and said with a pinch of sarcasm, "Are you ready?"

He nodded. She attacked.

She came at him with what he thought of as an utterly graceful charge, her sword swinging down at his left shoulder. One step to the right, and he thrust the stick forward, the point of it smashing into her diaphragm.

That's admirable, he thought as he watched her jump back, holding the wooden sword in front of her with one hand as she pressed the other hand on her stomach. She was gasping loudly, her face hidden by the rim of her ever-present surcoat hood, fighting either unconsciousness or nausea. After a few minutes, she weakly returned her other hand to the hilt and looked up at him, her face unreadable.

When he was sure she had recovered, he shook his head. "What was that?" he asked evenly. "Don't aim for my shoulder. You're trying to kill me, remember?"

His sister had looked at him in barely disguised disgust when he had said those same words to her. She had whined a little, then after he lectured her on the horrors of the battlefield and her wasting his precious time with her complaints, she had finally gotten ready for a second time while anger still seethed in her eyes. Why he was expecting the same from a strictly trained Divine Knight he wasn't sure, but he was still surprised when she smiled grimly at him with focused eyes and stood in a position that mirrored his own.

"I'm ready, Sir Wiegraf. At your word?"

-0-

Wiegraf began to associate Meliadoul with the continuous crash of wood, never relenting in her attack as she glared at him with steel determination. Wood and steel came from the earth, and so too did it seem that her steady charge was influenced by that very same thing. Fire can be extinguished, water can drain away, and the wind can still, but the earth is always there.

--I'm going to be with you all the way, brother. Don't expect less from me--

He began to think of her as his sister.

He watched Meliadoul stretch languidly, turning this way and that, arms flung up towards God, before she sat down primly, legs tucked underneath her. She always stretched in the same way, he'd noticed. It was wholly methodical, down to the way she let her fingers splay out as the sun danced just beyond the reach of her hands. But she was ambitious, he knew, and he was beginning to think that if she really wanted to touch the sun she'd find it in herself to do so.

"It's such a nice day," she said, smiling up at the blue sky. It was late summer, months after he had arrived desperate for something, anything, to achieve his dream.

Their dream. His sister had died for it, after all; she'd done more for their dream than he had.

"I suppose," he replied. "It's hotter on the mainland."

Somehow, he knew that she was smiling even before the young woman turned her face to the side and up. He preferred to stand. This was still business, even if all they were doing now was sparring. "And I thank the good saint every day that he chose Murond as the site where everything should begin." She gestured at her clothes, hood and dress and trousers and boots all. Only her face and her arms from the elbows down were uncovered, a model of the piety she was known for. "Otherwise, I'd try my hardest to get transferred to Goland. I refuse to feel like a chocobo dinner."

Wiegraf smirked at this. "Perhaps you shouldn't wear so much." He was comfortable and casually dressed. The weather hardly ever fazed him.

There were always more important things to worry about.

"Oh my." She was looking at him, her expression unbelieving. "I never thought I'd hear a White Knight advocate a woman baring herself for the sake of comfort. I mean," she looked away, "would you say the same to your sister?"

He narrowed his eyes. Meliadoul had never broached the subject of his sister before, and he didn't appreciate it now. "My sister had the common sense to know what suited the day," he responded, his voice harsh; it was a tone like the edge of a blade.

There was no movement in the training ground for a long moment before the Divine Knight stood. "Well," she started, her head still turned away, "let's just go one round today. I have some knights to train after this."

Her eyes were dull while they sparred. The match was short, and soon he found himself alone, holding two wooden swords when she'd pushed hers into his free hand.

Wiegraf wasn't fond of metaphors unless they were of his own creation.

-0-

For the next few days, Meliadoul seemed to have trouble saying anything substantial to Wiegraf. Oddly enough, this hadn't stopped her from sparring with him. He figured that was good enough. It wasn't as if she had said anything he had wanted to hear in the first place.

At the training field, he dodged an overhand strike from the woman before swinging his sword, which she deftly parried away with a loud crack. Attempting to get through his defense, she aimed a fencing strike at the center of his chest, her body taut and low to the ground in a passable imitation of the style that was so unlike a heavy sword user's. Unimpressed by this effort, he struck her sword away, but when he tried to counter she swiftly spun around and smashed his attempted blow with a backhanded downward slash. She was too close for him to effectively battle her, pressing her advantage and using her smaller frame to twist away from his strikes.

"I'm impressed," he said sincerely, quickly stepping away from her in an attempt to give himself some breathing room, "you're very tenacious. It reminds me of my sister."

Meliadoul smirked. "I remind you of your sister? Is that supposed to be a compliment?" She rushed him, which he quickly sidestepped. He had learned that it didn't pay to block her charges. The woman was stronger than she looked.

"Well, only bits of you, really." He turned around, seeing her familiar hood still perfectly in place after all their sparring, and couldn't help but remark, "As I recall, she had hair."

That brought out an immediate reaction from the woman, as her cheeks reddened and her brow creased. "My, it's nice to see that even you have a sense of humor," she muttered dryly before stabbing her sword in his direction. "So, just because you can't see something, that automatically means that it doesn't exist?"

He raised an eyebrow at this. "I used to think that wasn't true."

"Then what happened?"

"I can't see the justice for our people, and I certainly know it doesn't exist."

"Not yet," the Divine Knight softly responded, "we just have to keep fighting harder for it."

An odd feeling ran through Wiegraf then. He remembered a time when he had thought that was all it would take to deliver justice to his improvised people. It felt like such a long time ago, but he knew that the Hokuten had destroyed the Death Corps at the end of winter, nearly half a year ago. "That's idealistic," he sighed, realizing the hypocrisy of his words.

But that didn't make them any less true.

"Aren't you?" she shot back, walking past him. "Tell me about your sister."

He turned to her, annoyance creeping into the stare he was shooting at her back. "Why do you want to know?"

"I wonder." Meliadoul glanced at him over her shoulder, not moved by his irritation. "I'd like to know if she would approve of your apparent hostility to idealism."

Anger flared within him at her cool attitude. What gave her the right to stand there and act as if she was his superior because she was still naive, still innocent of all the travails of fighting for what she truly believed in? "She's dead, so she really can't approve of anything," he spat out, feeling oddly vindicated when she flinched at his words.

"Oh...I'm sorry," she whispered, her expression one of regret. It angered him even more, this sudden switch from superiority to pity.

"What kind words you bestow. Why do you bother?"

She turned around then, his own anger now reflected in her. "I have a brother, you know. I can relate to the bond you must've shared with your sister," she snapped back.

Yes, she did, he knew. One in the present tense. One who was alive.

One she hadn't sent off to meet his death at the hands of nobles.

"...Would you?" he asked out loud, the sound of his voice hollow to his own ears.

"What?" There was a puzzled look on Meliadoul's face. It was striking, mainly because it was a new look to him.

"Would you send your brother off to meet his death?" he repeated, watching as her expression went blank. He continued; he couldn't help it. "He's a knight. He has useful skills. He wants to fight. You can't keep him in this perfect little stronghold forever, not even if your people can take the power away from the nobles without a fight. That's just a dream. So he'll have to fight, and one day he'll come up against something stronger than he is."

That noble. Ramza Beoulve. Just a kid who didn't know a damn thing about the world around him. He followed orders blindly, without knowing the full scope of his actions. Miluda shouldn't have died to him, but she did. Wiegraf should've killed Ramza and avenged her, but he didn't.

Why didn't he have the power to do what he wanted? He knew how the world worked, after all. He knew what he wanted to do for his people. That damn kid only knew lies, and yet...

"Izlude is old enough to make his own decisions." Meliadoul's voice was light and calm, but her face was dark with unbearable sadness when he looked down at her. "I raised him. I know how he feels about himself, how desperately he wants to help Ivalice. He's at the age where he thinks he can do anything," she smiled fondly.

"And if he dies?"

"I'll kill whoever murdered him. I'll avenge him."

Something was cracking inside of him. Everything sounded so right when she said it, even though he knew from experience that it just didn't work that way. The aristocracy can't be beaten without having power equal to theirs. Siblings can't be avenged. This woman just didn't understand, just like he hadn't once.

Why did she have to sound so reasonable while saying the things he once believed in?

"I tried," he whispered, "I tried."

"Tell me."

He did. He told her about Miluda, whom he had trained. He told her about the wars he had fought, both the one that plagued Ivalice as well as his personal one, trying to get his people respected for their achievements. His voice lowered as he related the end of the Fifty Year War, and the true start of the Death Corps. He talked about terrorism, anarchy, mass defections and the crumbling of the corps. He gritted his teeth and got past the episode of Miluda's death, his defeat, and running to Murond.

He expected Meliadoul to laugh when he talked about being defeated by a bunch of mere Hokuten cadets. He didn't care about whatever respect she may have had for him, but it still surprised him when she only nodded, her face devoid of any judgment.

"I thought you would think me pathetic, for losing to cadets," he said later, when the sun was sinking into the ocean beyond.

"But if you see him again, you'd try to avenge your sister again, wouldn't you?" When he nodded, inwardly wondering if he would ever have that chance in his lifetime, she smiled. "I can understand."

For the first time, he believed in her words.

-0-

Wiegraf had always had a hard time relating to other people on a personal level. It had been easy for him to recruit people using the straightforward logic and common sense he had been born with. Miluda had once commented on this phenomena, calling him 'charismatic'. That was going too far, he believed; all he did was open a possibility that many commoners had shied away from seeking. No one seemed to hold onto that same logic with the same devotion he had, not if the droves of defecting members of the Death Corps was any proof. He appealed to people's wants, but he could never go any deeper. On Murond, it was much the same. He appealed to the people, but only because he held the same beliefs they did. Otherwise, he was a mild curiosity, a rare White Knight upon their holy shores.

Meliadoul was a bit different. She had made it apparent from the first that she was curious about him, and that she wanted something from him. He had accepted this, if only because her high rank proved that she had enough skill to be adequate practice, even though he concentrated more on learning the Holy Sword skillset whenever he could. But she was brimming with a sincerity that he couldn't deny, and though he finally realized that she was only bits of the sister he once accepted as his best assistant, he found he actually enjoyed spending non-sparring time with the Divine Knight.

"They're all idiots, may Saint Ajora save them."

Certainly, the conversation was never boring.

Wiegraf glanced at her. They were currently outside, wandering one of the corridors nearby the grand battle halls. The clash of metal swords could be heard past the stone walls, though the sound was faded by the time it reached their ears. Meliadoul had been in a mood he would've described as petulant, the woman about two facial tics from pouting. She had suggested the walk before their usual match, claiming that he was pleasant company. He had commented that a warrior must always be ready to fight, no matter their mood.

That hadn't improved her disposition.

"Who are you talking about?" he attempted to understand.

"Whoever plans out who the examiners will take with them for support," she explained. As he had never cared about heresy missions, this was lost on him.

"Ah."

She was looking at him out of the corner of her eye when he glanced at her. "You don't understand."

"No."

"They always take the worst female units with them."

"Hm."

"You don't care."

"I'll care if you explain why I should."

"Fair enough." She brought out her arms in front of her, cracking her knuckles and wrists. "All Murond cares about training as far as women go are knights and monks. It's sickening."

Wiegraf thought back on the days of the Death Corps, remembering that he had always taken women with him when he personally carried out a mission. When he realized that he had only used female knights and monks himself, he elected in not commenting. "I see. Why is that bad?"

"Because women have different strengths than those jobs require," she said patiently, having stopped their stroll and now standing directly in front of him, "of course, a woman could do a fine job as a knight or monk, but why not expand their strategic horizons? Rarely are the female mages used as much as they should be, not to talk of other jobs."

He raised an eyebrow at this, his leadership prowess slightly insulted by her words. He vaguely remembered his sister having more of a variety when it came to her own female troops, but he had hated dealing with mages. Magic was just too random to make him trust such an ability, especially with the unpredictability of battle. "I seem to remember my own female troops doing just fine as knights and monks. Anyway, what about yourself?"

The Divine Knight frowned, crossing her arms in front of her. "I'm from a knight family. It's what I was born to do," she retorted. "What of your female troops? Did you only use women?"

"Well, yes." Then he frowned as he noticed the new look decorating her face. "I might have some morals as a White Knight, one would think," he muttered.

She waved a hand in front of her face as an apology. "No, no, forgive me. It's just unusual for me to hear, that's all. I hadn't realized that so many women would have joined the Death Corps."

"Why not? Both men and women suffer the same under the heel of the aristocracy." He sighed, trying to push away the creeping feeling of failure. "Though, I'll admit that it was easier for me to recruit women than men."

"Hm..." Meliadoul gave him a small smile, shifting her arms so that she was holding herself loosely. "I can certainly see why."

He shook his head at this, almost embarrassed by her words. Miluda had once said something to the same effect as a joke, but it was strange to hear that from a woman that was not related to him. "Aren't you supposed to be a pious Divine Knight, swearing body and soul to God?" he asked, and was unsurprised that the lady knight was now staring at him with something akin to disgust.

"I don't need you to remind me of my holy vows," she shot back. "As I was saying, try to think outside of the box and use something other than female knights and monks." Shaking her head, she turned away from him and he could hear her muttering, "There must be something I can do to counteract such widespread belief. Disgusting."

"Why don't you put together a...varied group?" he suggested. This seemed to catch her attention, as she glanced back at him with a curious look on her face.

"Really, that's one of the ideas I was considering." She smiled at him, looking very grateful for his advice. "Would you try it too? It may help."

"Alright," he replied, pleasantly surprised at how her smile grew wide enough that white teeth showed between her pale lips. She had never smiled that openly to him before. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had seen a smile that wasn't tinted with worry or pain.

It was a nice smile.

-0-

Wiegraf walked around the buildings that made up Murond Holy Place, the cool late autumn air soothing along the exposed contours of his face. Many of the trees planted on the island had leaves that had darkened into a glorious crimson just as bold as the surcoat over his requisite Shrine Knight armor, gold the likes a commoner like himself never thought he would lay his eyes upon, much less wear. He was unconsciously flexing his hands as he walked. They had gotten so used to holding the hilt of a sword, as the calluses upon calluses, experiences upon experiences, that were layered on his hands were a testament to. It was hard work, and hard work was something he had never scurried away from. He welcomed the pain, the fire running through his arms after an endless amount of swings; the agony was the fire of life. Fire melted away the impurities, leaving behind something tempered, something refined.

After months of dousing his impurities with fire, he had finally learned the Holy Sword skill that thrust lightning into all those who opposed him.

Now, as he walked, he basked in the exhilaration of his accomplishment. This moment was his, and no one could take that away from him.

"Melia, how has your training been going?"

"Oh, fine as ever. Wiegraf is a more than excellent sparring partner. And yours?"

Wiegraf stopped. He had been fast approaching the corner of the building he had been walking the perimeter of, but now he couldn't go any farther. He didn't know why; after all, he had as much right to be walking around as the Tingel siblings. The pride over his accomplishment drained away, and all that was left of his earlier euphoria was the persistent licks of fire that burned within his arms.

How could those voices affect him so much?

He walked to the corner of the building and looked past it. Green and gold they stood, their backs to him as they leaned against the railing of the outside walkway. Meliadoul's hood flapped about in the chilly breeze, but it was properly secured. Izlude's hair had no such protection, the light brown strands dancing around while the boy occasionally swiped them out of his face. They were standing next to each other, the younger a fair amount taller than the elder, but that had never diminished her authority.

Wiegraf took a few steps back, leaning against the wall as the siblings continued their conversation. The feeling that wiggled nervously inside him was one he was unfamiliar with, but he did not move.

"You know, I was surprised. You don't usually get along so well with others...I mean, you don't usually make the attempt to."

"Oh, am I so unfriendly now, little brother?"

"No, that's not what I meant! Do I twist your words around?"

Wiegraf heard the peal of Meliadoul's laughter, full-bodied and mellow, each note sharpening the feeling inside him. "Sorry, sorry. I just like being around him. It's refreshing to be around someone who has lived a life outside of Murond or Bervenia."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. You're doing better than I am, though. I've tried talking to Delita, but...hm. Never mind."

"Izlude?"

"No, well...you know, Delita talks to Father a lot. It's...a strange sight."

"Yes. He's not even a Zodiac Brave, yet he has the most important job to do. Don't worry about it. We have our own jobs to do, anyway."

"Melia, you and Sir Wiegraf sound alike. No wonder you two get along so well."

"Hm, maybe. Wow, what a compliment you give to your older sister. Oh, my face feels so hot..."

"Melia..."

They began to laugh, their voices mingling and soaring into the autumn sky. Wiegraf closed his eyes, finally understanding what was bothering him.

We were never that way. There was...all we shared were tense conversations and the lingering scent of blood. We never had the luxury of seeing our battles in the distant future while living in a peaceful present. My...our dream could've never afforded such a waste of time.

Was he envious of them? He still wished his sister was with him, and his heart was still filled with loathing over his weakness in failing to avenge her death.

But if she was still alive now, would I have bothered to become stronger?

He shook the thought away. No use pondering what might have been. All that mattered was now. He was going to grasp power, and he was going to use that to enforce his dream upon Ivalice.

More power. He needed more power.

He walked away from where the siblings laughed and talked like the mere children who knew nothing of the world that they were. He was going to train some more, he was going to become more powerful. As he strode towards the training area where he and Meliadoul often met, he relished the idea of fire, of becoming a living inferno of life.

Yet, each step he took was leaden, heavy with the weight of the dreams he carried.

-0-

In the morning he awoke in his bed, completely and utterly sore. His fingers trembled from the force of his training, and the rest of him was still reeling.

Last I remember, I was outside. How did I get here?

With a great effort, he sat up in his bed. He dimly noted that his body was free from the golden armor, leaving him in the light clothes he had worn underneath. His armor was neatly hung up on the armor stand in the corner of his room, a golden golem awaiting the spell of life. There was something white on his bedside table. His arm didn't move the way he wanted it to, but he eventually managed to grasp the note, reading the slanted handwriting with bleary eyes.

Wiegraf, you certainly are dedicated, aren't you? I happened to come across you when I went to get some training in before bedtime. I almost thought you were dead at first! Izlude helped me carry you to your room--you're a bit heavier than you look, particularly with that armor--and I removed all your armor. I hope you aren't embarrassed by that; we've all collapsed during a good bout of training. Though, I'd like it if you went to me in the future before training, just in case something like this happens again. You'll give the new trainees a fright if they find your body in the morning.
--M

The entire note was typically Meliadoul: the handwriting was crisp, the contents it bore short yet detailed, complete with a wry statement that he knew was the crux of her sense of humor. Yet she cared, sounding like the elder sister she had always been. Though she was slightly less than a decade younger than he was, he couldn't find her tone condescending. That would be like saying her entire being was a mass of condescension animated, and he knew that wasn't true. After all, she wasn't Dycedarg Beoulve.

He sighed, tossing the note back onto the table. The white sheet drifted, skimming the table top and gliding towards the floor. He would've liked to reach down and put it back into its proper place--he was always a stickler for neatness--but his muscles were still trembling and frightened of any more actions on his part. With some hesitation he laid back onto the bed and fell into a near dreamless sleep.

There was the image of Miluda, smiling in that feral way that was her trademark. Cheekbones raised, eyes darkened, wheat-colored hair shifted green and up, and then there was Meliadoul with that smile that exposed both teeth and gentleness.

One woman smiled only on the battlefield, the other out of it. They both had pretty smiles, ones that showed the depth of their vastly different personalities.

The image faded, the fire cooled, and Wiegraf rested.

-0-

It was unusual for the man named Wiegraf Folles to feel inner confusion. The war had been one thing, chaos only controlled by the fact that there were, at least, two sides that wanted to annihilate the other. Everyone for themselves, but they did have allies. In those situations, Wiegraf was a rock, perfectly structured in his attacks. But that was war, and he was not currently in one; at least, not one he had ever fought in.

He had feelings for Meliadoul. His problem was that he wasn't sure what kind they were.

It was that not knowing that really bothered him. He had to know, if only because it was better than having the situation distract him from his training. If it turned out that he felt like a brother to her, that would be fine. It would be the same if she was genuinely just a friend. And if it was a deeper attraction that drew him to her, that would not be as bad of a problem as not knowing. At least then he could simply tune out those feelings or stay away from her. The latter would be a shame, though; she was a fine sparring partner. However, he preferred to stay as far away as possible from the battlefield of love.

It was wintertime in Ivalice. The island where Murond stood was besieged with constant downpours and heavy winds that filled the ocean and brought waves crashing down upon the shores. The indoor training halls were constantly in use, but the outside one that Wiegraf and Meliadoul frequented was slick with mud. Neither of them wanted to use the halls, however; her status virtually guaranteed an audience, one that would not look favorably upon the still unknown White Knight. Valuing their privacy, they trained apart.

It was this separation, so sudden after meeting each other almost daily since the spring, that caused the confusion now blooming in his mind. It wasn't just the fact that she was a skilled knight; no, not anymore. There was something essential about her that he liked. She was nice, though not oppressively so; she was ambitious, though not so much that her heart was frozen with her pursuit of whatever it was that she wanted to accomplish; she was lively yet appropriately subdued, she was feminine yet not coquettishly so, she was confident yet she was not blinded by it.

He missed all those things that she was.

He missed her.

But he didn't know why.

It was raining one night when he decided to go out for a walk. He was weary from his training, but not so much that he would collapse like that other time. On impulse he decided to go to Meliadoul's room and ask her if she wanted to join him. They both had their quarters on the same floor of the dormitory for the Shrine Knights, and he was soon at her door. He knocked on her door, but at the third knock the door swung open. "Izlu--" the woman began in the most cheerful tone Wiegraf had ever heard, then she took a step back in surprise when she realized who exactly was at her door. "Oh, Wiegraf. What can I do for you?"

She must be expecting her brother. I should just go, he thought. "I hadn't realized that you were busy. I'll go."

She crossed her arms, not acknowledging his taking of leave. "If you tell me what you came here for, I'll decide for myself how busy I am."

This woman. His mood lightened, though his expression was the same as always. "I thought I would ask if you wanted to take a walk with me," he said, "but if you're--"

"In the rain?" she interrupted, smiling when he simply nodded. "Let me put on another coat, then." It was then that he noticed that she was in her normal outfit sans armor, the dress baggier than her frame without the golden pieces. Yet she had on the surcoat as always, the hood properly fitted even in her room. When he nodded again, she turned around and pulled out a long dark brown coat, lined with the beige fur of a red panther. Once she had this tight around her body, she walked out of her room, closing the door behind her.

"What about Izlude?" he asked once they started walking together. She shrugged.

"If I don't see him tonight, I'll see him tomorrow."

He didn't think of his next words before he spoke them. "You really take that for granted."

"I guess I do, and I'm grateful for that chance," she responded, looking straight ahead when he glanced at her. "Once, I was told that I was smothering him. I wasn't letting him become his own man. After that, I've tried to keep some distance."

"Oh." For a number of years he had been separated from Miluda, and he couldn't say if that had helped her growth. Considering her rudeness, poor-me attitude and demanding nature when they had been reunited, the answer was probably a no. "You and Izlude seem very close."

"Well, I raised him after our mother died. Sometimes I forget that I'm just his older sister..." She sighed, and he felt her gaze even before he looked at her. "Was it like that for you and your sister?"

He had to think about it. "I don't know..." he started slowly, "probably different. I left her in the care of others when our parents died, and I became a knight only for the pay so I could support the both of us. When I returned, she wanted to be a knight. If you think that being her teacher is the same as you being a mother to Izlude, then perhaps."

"Ah, I see. And that was when you started to understand the injustices against commoners, right?"

"Yeah." Something like a smile touched his lips. "You remembered."

She smiled. "Of course. Let's sit down."

They sat in one of the cloisters that led to the training halls, sheltered from the rain. With the clouds and the night, there was nothing but melted darkness to his eyes. It was as if he was surrounded by a void, and if it wasn't for Meliadoul's pale skin he would've sworn that he was alone.

"I like this," she whispered, "just seeing the rain bathe the earth. It's times like these when I realize the power God has over the land."

A memory came up in his mind, bidden by her awestruck words. It was after a battle, countless bodies bleeding and broken lying on the earth. Rain had fallen then, over him and those who followed him. The water drenched everything, but he still smelled the intensely powerful stench of metal, blood and steel both. He could still smell it now, distant yet still there. "It's not enough," he muttered, wondering if she would hate him for his blasphemy. When he looked at her face, though, there was only thoughtfulness in her dark eyes.

"We have free will. God will only wash away the actions of our sins." She closed her eyes. "It is up to us to cleanse this land of the muck we create."

"Is that why you became a knight?" he wondered out loud.

Her eyes opened, pools of dark in the cloud covered night. "No. I wasn't supposed to become a knight. Mother had wanted me to become a white mage. Izlude was supposed to be the brave and awesome knight. But..." she smiled with the weight of the memory she was reciting, her words laced with something that soothed him, "Izlude looked so alone. Father had him training as soon as he could stand, and he had always looked so out of place as a child among teenagers, so..." She shook her head before looking directly into his eyes. "What could I do?"

"How old were you?"

"Eight."

"And your father didn't mind?"

"Oh, he was harsher on me than anyone else!" She laughed, though there was a tinge of pain in it that made the White Knight frown to himself. "There were women as knights, of course, but the fact that I willfully decided not to follow Mother's path was insulting to him. After all, he married her," she chuckled. "It wasn't until I was twelve when he finally realized that my heart was set on my goal."

Curiosity nipped at him. "What did you do?" he asked. He knew her to be ambitious, but he had secretly thought that her father had supported her completely. That would've explained why a woman in her early twenties would've been able to become a member of one of the most prestigious knight classes; it was a romantic thought to think that anyone, much less a woman, would've accomplished such a feat through hard work alone.

"See for yourself," she said as she reached out for his hands. Her hands were cool to the touch, and he could feel the years of dedication imprinted on her palms and fingertips against the back of his hands. Lifting them, she placed his hands on the sides of her face, and he felt the smooth cloth of her surcoat hood. Smiling lightly, she tilted her head up twice, indicating that she wanted him to push back the hood that obscured much of her head.

For a single moment he honestly thought that she really was bald, that her father would've only seen her resolve if she had less hair than the commander's full head of hair. But then he was pushing back the hood, and dark strands rippled down as they were released from their captivity. Her hair was short, the ends fluttering at the corners of her lips; to cut her hair and furthermore hide it was a woman's oath of complete devotion, a symbolic sacrifice that promised that her object of devotion was greater than even her femininity. Bangs dusted her forehead, dark against light. With her hair exposed, her face took on a much gentler look, softening her usual wry expression and accentuating her high cheekbones. Five years had just disappeared from her overall look, bringing her down to Izlude's physical age. Even so, her eyes still held the steadiness that her natural confidence had bestowed upon her.

Amazed by the discovery of a new Meliadoul, Wiegraf tentatively touched her hair on the pretext that he was merely smoothing down the tousled locks. Her hair was thick, and he imagined that it was as dark as the wet earth, now given the means in which to grow fields of green and gold to sustain monsters and humans alike. Certainly that would've fit with the person she was. He glanced down from her hair to her eyes, a look she returned with her own patented steady gaze.

Why aren't you letting go?

He was being forward, he knew this intellectually. He was pawing her hair while she sedately watched him. Yet her eyes held no malice, no disgust, but neither was there anticipation dancing in her gaze. She was just watching him. It was much the same with him, except those feelings that he didn't understand had deepened to a point where he, in a different frame of mind, would've been outwardly revealing his frustration. There was no trill of desire running through him; at least, not like the one he had occasionally indulged in his youth. Neither was he doing this just because she invited him to, or else he would've let her go by now. He simply couldn't imagine letting her go in this moment.

Let go. You don't need this.

It was a demand, deep in his mind. Any other day, any other time he would've followed this instinct. It wasn't in him to get too close to people. He simply had never met anyone that he had wanted to stay around other than Miluda, and his own blood shouldn't count. Maybe that was why he couldn't understand. All he could feel was her thick hair scattered over his fingers like fertile earth and the comfortable heaviness of her gaze. In this moment he didn't understand what he was feeling, but that didn't stop him from carrying out the only action befitting such a moment.

The rain was still pattering later, when he released her from his embrace.

-0-

When a man and a woman meet and get to know each other, is it always the wont of one or the other to bridge the gap between friendship and love? If this is so, then would that mean that pure friendship can never be possible between the sexes? Swearing friendship while casting lingering gazes and gentle touches, concealing passion in favor of a pretense...or is this just the exception to the rule?

Questions, questions. So many questions. However, Wiegraf had one of his own answered on that rainy night. The feelings he couldn't understand were still a mystery to him.

The attraction he felt towards Meliadoul was not that of desire.

It was a relief to him, and from the looks of it, to her as well. They both held no embarrassment over that night; indeed, they never talked about it again. They, however, continued to talk to each other. In this matter they whittled away winter, and spring soon alit on the island of Murond. Grasses sprouted out of the enriched earth, clouds began to scatter from their campaign of warfare on Ivalice, and, most importantly, the training field the two elite knights frequented was dry enough to use again.

Wiegraf could hear her muttering about the mess the trainees had left during their morning training, as there was equipment scattered here and there along the edges of the actual sparring field. He smiled to himself; those trainees were lucky they were now at lunch and were unable to receive a lecture from the lady knight. "Are you done?" he called, standing in the field with his practice sword at the ready, ready to reveal the fruits of his training.

"Yes, sorry." She stood before him, the way she held her sword indicative of how much she had learned by sparring with him. Her stance was as mockingly casual as his own, concealing the dangerous ease in which she could kill without the expected properness a knight was expected to conduct themselves with.

What did adhering to the proper stance mean in war, after all?

He never made the first move unless he could see a clear opening, and the Divine Knight had the sort of defense expected from a person skilled in the use of heavy, slow weapons. He had seen her train with the spear alongside her brother; she knew how to cover her body with a weapon very well. Because of this, he always waited for her to attack first, relying on his experience and slight speed and strength advantage.

He didn't have to wait long, as Meliadoul rushed at him with a downward slash. A basic block was his only defense, their wooden swords forming a wobbling cross. Her face was underneath the cross as they each struggled for the advantage, and he could see the fire in her mahogany eyes as she bore down upon him. Each fought for dominance over the other, but he could feel her weakening, bending to him.

She will be the first--

The grimly pleased thought that flashed in his mind was cut off as the Divine Knight neatly flipped her sword so that it was behind his, using his own momentum against him as she smashed his sword out of her way. He managed to hold onto it, but his entire body was wide open. The first slash dug deeply into his left side, just underneath his ribs. He hadn't had time to cry out in agony before an especially punishing horizontal slash smashed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him and pushing him back. Then there was the thrust into his diaphragm that he did not see, disoriented as he was by the second blow. He fell onto his back, struggling to breathe while trying to ward off the black spots that had now appeared at the edges of his vision.

After a minute of coughing, he opened his eyes to see her standing above him, her face in shadows as her head blocked the sun from shining over him. "Are you alright, Wiegraf?" she asked, sounding worried. She could've been laughing at him for all he cared; he wasn't going to show that she'd affected him more than momentarily.

"You've..." he started, feeling nauseous, "gotten better."

He could not see her face, but her tone said it all as she muttered, "Are you sure you haven't gotten worse?"

How dare she. While he had been straining against his limits to blaze in his efforts, she had not altered her training regiment at all. While he had scraped every bit of power he could get, she had sat around and laughed with her brother. She didn't have a reason to become strong, not like he did. She didn't deserve to beat him, not when she had everything and he had lost it all. What did she need strength for, when all she was doing was following someone else's dream?

Why was he always surpassed by mere puppets?

Moving his legs suddenly, he tripped her and watched as she fell with a strangled cry, eyes clenched as she landed on her sword arm. It was then he realized what he had done in his bout of fury.

Why did I do that? It was just a sparring match...

Apparently Meliadoul felt the same. "What was that, Wiegraf!" she yelled as she struggled to sit up, her legs entangled with the floor length dress she habitually wore.

Shaken by his actions but not showing it, he slowly stood. "In battle, don't mock your enemy until he's dead," he stated, the rationalization irritating his ears.

There was a wariness in her eyes as she watched him approach. "A whole year, and you still haven't understood my sense of humor? I'll admit that was tasteless, but..."

Right. I'd forgotten...but for a second...no, it didn't sound wry, it was mocking...

"I apologize," he said, holding out a hand to her. "Some lessons hurt."

She smacked his hand away. "I understand," she whispered, her tone as chilly as Shiva's touch. "But a whole year has passed and you never did that before. What's wrong?" The last few words regained some warmth, mostly due to the 'elder sister' tone she was now using.

"Nothing's wrong," he answered, not knowing the veracity of his own words. "Do you want to go another round?"

There was a tired look on her face that he noticed before she stood and turned away from him. "Sure, nothing's hurt except for my pride. Are you able to? I'm sure it hurt earlier."

He merely nodded at her concern. Her first comment made him crease his brow at a new thought as it struck him. He hadn't cared if she was injured, just as long as she was able to fight. Just as long as he was able to train using her.

Just as long as he became stronger.

-0-

The Shrine Knights had stood tall and alert during the important morning assembly led by Vormav Tingel himself. The news the Shrine Knight commander had recounted would've caused murmurs to buzz around like locusts, if it were not for Vormav's presence. Wiegraf himself was slightly intimidated, but not because of the Divine Knight who stood before him with eyes flaring with a strange light.

Those at Orbonne Monastery were traitors to Murond's cause. Currently in their possession was the zodiac stone Virgo. Orders were to kill the treacherous clergy who opposed them and take back the stone, for the glory of Murond.

Izlude Tingel will lead the expedition. Wiegraf Folles will be his second-in-command.

Wiegraf, standing next to Meliadoul in their rightful place up front as fellow Zodiac Braves, could've sworn that a tremble had coursed through the lady knight's body at those last words. When he surreptitiously glanced at her, she was stock still, her face not betraying her thoughts. It might have been his imagination, though her lips did look thinner and more tightly pressed together than before. Then he returned his attention to the man with the royal purple surcoat before him, catching the tail end of a glare thrown at only him. The White Knight merely looked back; he was not Izlude, who could be cowed by such a hateful look.

He was more powerful than that.

When the assembly ended, he thought to talk to Izlude about their upcoming plans but stopped when he noticed Meliadoul approaching her brother. Wiegraf was not insensitive enough to break that conversation, so he made to leave the grand auditorium the whole of the Shrine Knights had gathered in for the meeting.

"Wiegraf, may I have a moment of your time?"

He turned and saw Vormav there. Inwardly shrugging, he nodded. "What can I do for you, sir?"

The Divine Knight was studying him with a face lined by the years. Yet, although Wiegraf could've been wrong, there was something truly powerful tracing every line of the older knight's face, particularly in his eyes. "When you go to Orbonne, remember to carry your own stone with you. After all, it is your pledge that what you are there to do is blessed by God Himself."

"I will, sir." The White Knight hadn't even thought about it, but as long as he was playing the part of a Shrine Knight he would dance for Vormav. He would follow their asinine orders. Though, there was something in Vormav's gaze that was pushing Wiegraf to follow orders.

Fire. There was fire in Vormav's eyes, a smoldering one that threatened to flare out into an inferno at the least provocation.

No wonder Izlude always seems hesitant around his father, Wiegraf understood, the boy's sensitive to those sort of things. Meliadoul probably never even noticed.

"Good, good," the Divine Knight chuckled, a perfectly structured artifice. "It's good that there are some people who can take orders. You'll get far," the corners of Vormav's lips rose slightly, "jumping to follow the orders of your superiors. In fact, I doubt you'll ever escape that."

Wiegraf was not a man quick to start a fight, but he nearly drew his sword right then. As it were, all he could do was coldly stare back, his entire body chilled at the thought of playing the puppet for the rest of his life. He could only feel his fire during his training towards his goal.

But he knew that he was no match for the inferno constantly blazing within the Divine Knight, and so he just numbly stood there as the other man left.

-0-

The days passed quickly until it was the night before the selected warriors would leave Murond and conduct their campaign against Orbonne. This night found Wiegraf Folles sleepless and aimlessly wandering the vast compound on the island. By mere chance he found himself heading towards the training field, the warm July air ruffling through his short hair. He brooded as he walked, a normal routine for him.

Damn that Vormav. He's no better than a noble, spewing words like that. But he does have power...dammit. Why should I have to take that? What would Miluda have done...probably would've attacked him right then and there.

He laughed at the thought; his sister had always been the more zealous of the two. That had been her nature, straightforward yet a good assistant.

"You look good when you laugh. I wish I could see that more often."

He inclined his head at those words, acknowledging them. "Meliadoul," he murmured, and with the sound of her name she came up to his side. He was conflicted on whether this was a good or bad thing; his feelings for her had been even more confused as the spring warmed into summer.

Not like it mattered. It was a petty thing to worry about, just another thing to impede him.

They stood quietly next to each other for some time, lost in their own thoughts before Wiegraf decided to be kind. "I promise I'll protect Izlude."

"Don't you dare."

He glanced at her, seeing her features hardened by the shadows of the night. "Then what would you have me to do?" he asked evenly, humoring the fact that technically she outranked him.

"Izlude is eighteen. He can handle himself. After all, Father saw fit to make him the leader of this mission. It's your duty to support him," the Divine Knight looked up at him, her eyes those of a person who had too much to lose. Perhaps he had those same eyes, once.

"As you say." Wiegraf sighed. "I thought you would've been chosen to lead the mission."

And will I always be the second, the support? Did I give up more than my pride the day I set foot onto Murond?

Meliadoul shook her head, wringing her hands once before stiffly letting them fall at her sides. "So has my father so decreed, so shall it be done." Her words were bitterly formal, and it surprised him that one of the Tingel siblings could show such venom towards their beloved father.

"Izlude will do fine," he said...reassuring her? He wasn't too sure why he would bother, but it seemed right. Maybe he really should've tried to understand the way he felt about her, instead of always pushing the thought away.

"Yes," she responded solidly, but when he looked at her face he could see something still troubling her.

"Is there something else?" he asked, trying not to sound brusque and succeeding somewhat.

She took hold of one of his hands then, an action that visibly shocked the man. It was bare skin pressed against bare skin, and although he had placed his lips upon hers once before, this action was terribly intimate for him. "Wiegraf," Meliadoul said, coolly professional despite the undercurrent of emotion in her voice, "you must promise me something."

"...What can I do for you?" he whispered, noting that her hands were cooler than his.

"Take care of yourself. Please."

He knew why she would say such a thing. It was known that Ramza Beoulve had killed a cardinal, and that he was stealing the zodiac stones from the Church's grasp. She even knew what the boy was to Wiegraf, and if Ramza managed to slip away from the heresy examiner that was hunting him down he would surely head for Orbonne and the Virgo stone.

Slowly, he brought his other hand over one of hers. "Don't worry. I'll make sure to kill him this time."

The shadows hinted at a smile curving on the Divine Knight's face. "Good. That makes me feel better."

"Bloodthirsty, aren't you?"

"That's 'cautious'. Bloodthirsty is what you'd call someone you loathe, and I know you don't loathe me," she teased, her voice taking on that lilting quality it often did around her brother. He had heard it only a few times, and never directed at him before.

Suddenly, he had a glimmer of understanding. Meliadoul was...familiar.

The look on his face must've alarmed her, by the strange way she was now staring up at him with. "Wiegraf?"

He saw something familiar in her expressions, in her ambitions, in her actions. So familiar, so wonderfully well known to him. It was because of this that he was prone to acting strangely, whether it be telling her about his past, or wanting to listen and help in her ideas. So, he resigned himself into once again acting out of his normally composed persona.

He hugged her.

Her body stiffened, unused as he was in having others invade her personal space. "Wiegraf," she started, a warning implicit in her tone, "don't--"

"I'm not going to do anything," he mumbled, his eyes closed. After a long moment, she relaxed in his arms, resting her head against his chest and even being as bold as to lightly wrap her arms around his waist.

"This is new to me," she whispered, her words muffled yet clear enough for him to understand. "I mean, I don't like you, not in that way, but this is..." she exhaled quickly, a laugh without sound, "nice. I'm not used to this."

"Neither am I," he replied. This was the truth. He simply was not used to relaxing as completely as he was now. There was always something that required his attention, someone he needed to recruit for his dream, a battle, a training session, his sister...always, always something. He knew it was the same with her.

Why aren't you letting go?

He understood why. To let her go was like letting that essential part of him go. That was why she was familiar; not because he thought she had a bit of Miluda in her.

It was because they were the same.

They were knights of the heart, unable to be easily regulated by the strict codes that governed all knights. Always challenging the system while others allowed themselves to be bent by it, they kept struggling to bear the weight of their idealism on their shoulders. There was something always more important to them; she had the welfare of her brother and the Church, he had a sister to avenge and his own plans. Lofty ambitions drove them.

But he wondered if he wasn't slipping from the weight he bore, his cherished idealism heavier still by the dawning realization of how much power he would need to command before he could free his people from the aristocracy's merciless grasp.

Let go. You don't need this.

His idealism? He needed that. That was what made him into a White Knight in the first place, the need to help others stronger than his own survival instincts. So what if he had to give away his pride? The most successful men in history were all unscrupulous, but at least his goal was good.

His ambitions would save him in the end.

They pulled apart, almost mirror perfect in the way their arms dropped by their sides. Meliadoul was smiling, and not even the shadows generated by her hood and the night could hide that. "Godspeed, Wiegraf," she said simply.

"Thank you. I'll support your brother to the best of my ability," he said, his tone light.

She nodded before turning and walking away, and he briefly wondered why she was heading to the building that housed the chapel, but then shrugged it off. She was devout, after all. He made his way back to his room, in a better mood than he had been in a very long time.

When he entered his room, the first thing he noticed was a bluish glimmer on his bedside table. On closer examination he found it was the Aries stone. Absently he rubbed the engraved insignia on the stone. He didn't remember putting it out here.

By the time he went to bed, his good mood had fled, his thoughts concerned with the upcoming mission. He looked to the stone again, its teal glow like that of the hottest flame. Soon I'll have the power to make all my dreams come true, he thought as he stared at the stone, his stone.

To have a power like that, I'll do anything. I need it.

The last thing he saw before slipping into a dreamless sleep was the glimmer of the Holy Stone, a spark of what was to come.

-End-

It's difficult for me to write about Wiegraf, but I hope I was able to bridge the gap between Chapter 1 and Chapter 3 Wiegraf.

The similarity between Wiegraf and Meliadoul has always struck me: Older siblings, elite knights, full of ambition, seeking to avenge the deaths of their younger siblings. What is the most interesting thing to me is how their zodiac signs, as well as those they carry as Zodiac Braves, reveal the subtle difference between them. Both are earth signs holding stones of fire signs; steady people with passion. Wiegraf is a Virgo (mutable earth) holding the Aries stone (cardinal fire), while Meliadoul is a Capricorn (cardinal earth) holding the Sagittarius stone (mutable fire). Aries' fire of leadership drives Wiegraf's Virgoan dedication to the point of self-destruction; however, the wandering quality of Sagittarius tempers Meliadoul's Capricornian steady leadership and makes her more susceptible to understanding different approaches. I can see how the Pisces and Capricorn stones would signify different aspects in Izlude and Dycedarg respectively...heh, sounds like the basis of another series.

I never intended this to become an out-and-out romance. I'm not saying it couldn't happen at all; in fact, I can see how it would work and I like the idea. However, they both have things more important than each other, and Wiegraf contracts that really detrimental problem at the end of Chapter 3, so...