Disclaimer: Tales of Symphonia, its characters and its world, are the property of Namco. This is a work of fan appreciation only. I get no material compensation for this writing, and make no claim of ownership.

Which is probably a good thing.


Kratos Aurion had a good deal on his mind.

He often had a good deal on his mind. A "special case" in almost all that he encountered, somewhat spoiled although he tried to control it, he wasn't used to things not going the way he wanted them to. He hated diplomacy missions to begin with, and this one did nothing to help his opinion of them.

Didn't those Igaguri fools understand that he wasn't their enemy? Yes, he had a vested interest in getting them to side with Tethe'alla, once and for all. Of course he did, he was a Knight bound to King Meltokio. But his interest was two-fold, and the second part of it was that his liege had the information and power to wipe their honorable asses off the face of the earth.

More and more he was becoming discontent with his King, how he handled things. But what could he do? He had sworn an oath of fealty. All he could do was carry out meaningless diplomacy missions to a tribe who utterly refused to be anything but neutral, even in the face of a threat of genocide, with a sullen Half-Elf slave who refused to be anything but silent and grim-faced.

At the thought of the slave, his anger eased into pity. Kratos slid a glance at his companion. She had come to the castle about a week ago, a prisoner of a raid on the Sylvarant city of Triet. He forced his stomach to settle, as he did every time there was mention of violence between the two nations, and observed how this batch of prisoners were dealt with.

The Knight knew, with sharp pity, that this Half-Elf in particular would suffer the moment he noticed that she was not only the only woman captured this time, she was also the only Half-Elf. Indeed, it took only a day for the torture to begin. On the second day, King Meltokio sprung this mission on the Knight; the third, Kratos asked that she be his servant on this mission, after having to rattle his saber and bloody a few noses upon interrupting a few of his fellow Knights brutalizing the poor woman. He wasn't sure if they'd done more than beat her until then, but he certainly couldn't in good conscious leave her there.

It wasn't so often, either, that King Meltokio actually granted such abrupt requests. Then again, it wasn't so often that Kratos Aurion made those requests and Kratos Aurion was, of course, a "special case".

So far, the woman hadn't looked him in the eyes a single time. She hadn't spoken; hadn't made any sound, in fact. He could tell she was beautiful underneath the smudges of dirt, ash, and blood, with brilliant green eyes and long blond hair tinged the color of sea foam, as only those with Elven blood could have. Those green eyes were dull and clouded now, her hair a tangled mess. She hadn't bothered washing herself after that interrupted attack, and Kratos now feared that the trauma might have damaged her mind.

That thought settled any issue regarding her for him. Confident in his solution of at least one dilemma, he cast his wine-tinted eyes to the darkening sky, motioning to the girl to stop. "We won't make Meltokio tonight," he said quietly. "Nightfall is only about an hour away, and they close the gates at dusk. We might as well stop here for the night as anywhere. No point in pushing ourselves."

As had been since the start of this journey, the Half-Elf woman merely set her pack on the ground and began unpacking various articles; her sleeping blankets, cooking utensils as well as her own mess kit, other tools that would be useful in setting up camp.

For all he had done his best to give an impression of confidence, something about her withered his inner fortitude. She certainly didn't make it easy to talk to her, that was certain. Reminding himself that his dear comrades may have broken the woman entirely, he forced his outer veneer of calm and said, "I need to speak with you before we reach the castle again, anyway."

The woman paused in her labor, her limbs stiffened. This reaction held for only a heartbeat before she resumed her duties. Again at a loss as to how to proceed, Kratos watched her. He then observed that she was favoring an arm; digging the fire pit would be hopelessly difficult for her. Being positive that this was not an injury she had when they left, he concluded that she must have sustained it at their last rest, while preparing their meal.

Acting on instinct, Kratos put a hand on her shoulder as she set to digging the pit. Ignoring how she jumped in reflexive terror, he said, "You're hurt. Let me do this."

The woman backed away without argument, still refusing to look him in the eyes. He sighed, and set about digging with the small hand shovel she had procured. "You seem exhausted. Perhaps you should just rest tonight."

"Prepare myself for resuming my duties at the castle," she replied flatly.

It was the first time Kratos had heard her voice, when it wasn't raised in a cry of pain or fear. There was something melodic about it, soothing. His heart ached to hear it sound so desolate. "You won't be resuming your duties at the castle," he returned firmly, not looking up from his digging. "I'll be requesting that you remain my personal servant, instead of returning to general servitude."

A silence descended on the two, although it was far from a companionable silence, nor a thoughtful one, and not even a confused one. This silence was full of tension, of fear, of mistrust.

It was the woman who finally broke that silence. "With all respect due my Lord," she said in a low voice, "if that is your intention, I would prefer you kill me now."

This got Kratos' attention. "Wh- you want to go back to that pit?" he asked, looking up at her with wide, shocked eyes.

She met his gaze, and now the Knight saw that her mind was very much in tact. "I do not. I want less to become a man's 'personal servant.'"

Kratos sat, stupefied, for several moments, before her interpretation of his declaration dawned on him. "Oh." She thinks I want her to be my- "OH. Oh no. No no no." He dropped the hand shovel and spread his hands in a surrendering gesture. "Lady, I mean you absolutely no harm," he said firmly. "I requested you accompany me because I saw how you were being treated. I can't let a rodent endure that kind of treatment, let alone another sentient being." Seeing that her distrust was unwavering, he dropped his hands. "It will get better once you're under my care. I promise you."

The Half-Elf chose her words carefully. "Promises from someone sworn to defend the country who brought me here at sword-point against my will and separated me from my family mean little to me."

"I see." Kratos considered this for a moment, then picked up the hand shovel and resumed his work. "I do not plan on releasing you back to the custody of the government. As I have no intentions on making you my personal servant, I'm not going to kill you, either." He ignored the glower she was burning into his head, keeping his face averted and his eyes firmly on his fire pit. "I suppose I'll just have to prove my promise the good old-fashioned way."

"I suppose you will," the Half-Elf replied quietly.

Kratos made a noise at this, sat back to look at his handiwork. He was losing his touch... but how well-constructed did a fire pit have to be? He turned his gaze to her again, pointing the hand shovel in her direction. "You know, it should be a testament to my word that I've so far taken no retribution for your tone. Another knight might have beaten you unconscious, if only for that last remark."

"Why haven't you?"

"Because I don't hurt people for not behaving the way I want them to," he returned. The Knight tossed the shovel aside and rummaged through his pack, then sat back, grumbling to himself.

"What's wrong?" the Half-Elf asked.

He was quite pleased, even if it wasn't with his pack. She was starting to open up a little bit. "What's wrong is that I have no idea where our provisions got packed," he muttered, staring gloomily at the bag. "I could have sworn I-"

The woman reached into her own and smoothly pulled out two packages made from grape leaves. "Here. I grabbed them as we were leaving Igaguri. You were so frustrated that you walked right past them."

"Oh." Heat spread over the man's face. "Thank you." Not bothering to take the meals, Kratos immediately started filling the fire pit with kindling. He felt her emerald eyes on him, piercing into his very soul. Without looking up at her, he could not tell the emotion behind her stare, but he imagined it would be contempt. Why wouldn't she be contemptuous of him? As she had said, she had very little reason not to hate every human in Tethe'alla.

And he would not look up. Although he might be trying to gain her trust, he was still quite proud and refused to let anyone see the pretty shade of crimson his face must be at the moment.

His thoughts distracted him enough to ignore her gaze, until he had to light the fire. He dug in his pocket for his tinder and flint, only to discover both of them damp. When in the world had his tinder and flint become damp? Sighing heavily, he attempted to use them, to no avail. Finally looking up, he smiled at his companion ruefully. "It looks like this will be a cold dinner. I'm sorry."

The woman shook her head and stood. "No. Step back."

Kratos obeyed, albeit puzzled now. While before she had refused to speak to him, now she was issuing orders. Not that it bothered him; it was just peculiar. She was afraid he meant to hurt her, so she was doing the very things that, if he didn't mean well, would trigger such abuse. It didn't make much sense to him.

The Half-Elf woman focused on the fire pit for a number of moments. A piece of jewelry- a choker with a stone, deemed utterly worthless and thus she was allowed to keep it- glittered in the rising moonlight.

The fire pit flared to life with a whoosh.

The Knight knew he probably shouldn't gape, but it was an automatic reaction. The woman seemed satisfied, settled herself down and set the packets near the flames, although not so near to catch fire. She ignored his staring for a number of moments before prompting, "Was that the first time you had seen magic?"

"It was the first time I'd seen magic cast with just a look," he replied in awe. "How did you do that?"

The woman smiled. Kratos caught himself as his mind jarred to how pretty she really was, and how beautiful she must be when healthy. He set his thoughts firmly back on track when she told him, "It's something that I practiced a lot. Not many people can do it."

"None that I know of," the Knight returned. "You must be extremely talented."

The woman fingered the bauble around her neck. "No, not really."

That was the last of the conversation for quite some time. The two waited patiently for their dinner to heat, then ate in silence. When they were done, they sat in silence for a little bit longer. When Kratos guessed that it was nearing midnight, he sighed. Once more, while they were on the road, this woman seemed content to stay awake. He knew that it was because she did not trust him anymore than the monsters.

Perhaps just being cordial wasn't enough. "I would like to know your name," he said softly. Her response was a low Hm, almost too quiet for him to hear her. Once again, he fought the discomfort and tried a different route. "I am Kratos Aurion."

Silence, yet again. It seemed that all the progress he had made abruptly went away, frustrating him horribly. "I need to know your name," he said firmly. "You're going to be my personal servant, and I need to be able to address you by something other than 'Hey you'."

Still no response. Kratos' spirits thoroughly crushed with disappointment, he sighed and settled himself. He wasn't going to sleep while she stayed awake. She would not be able to defend herself, and he didn't want to take the chance that he would not be awakened fast enough.

"My name is Martel, Lord Aurion."

Her sudden response startled him. He stuttered, and then said, "It's a nice name. Does it mean anything?"

She nodded. "Seed of hope."

Kratos smiled at her. "When we're alone, please call me Kratos. I don't particularly care for my title."

"Yes, Lord Aurion." There was a hint of teasing in her voice, but also one of… trepidation. She's testing me…

Not quite knowing what response she expected, he replied curtly, "Yes, that's how you refer to me when we're around others."

His response seemed to reassure her, because Martel laughed. "All right… Kratos." She yawned, suddenly appearing weary beyond toleration. "I'm sorry… I don't think I can stay up with you this time. I just feel so tired all of a sudden."

"It's fine," he replied gently. "I'm used to this, you are not. You should be well-rested tomorrow, anyway. I anticipate a bit of a verbal battle with my Lord the King, and then you'll have to learn what your duties will be as a servant to a knight. I wish I could say that you will have time to regain your strength first," he said ruefully, "but it's important that we maintain decorum."

Martel sighed. "Don't tell me even kindness to Half-Elves is punished."

"Kindness, no, regarding one as an equal, yes."

The woman's eyes widened. "Equal?"

He turned from her, letting the shadows hide his smile. "Go to sleep, Martel. We have a busy day ahead of us."


Things happened that first day as Kratos had predicted. He argued long and passionately about being able to take a Half-Elf prisoner of war as a servant. She was forced to stand by and listen to them speak of her as if she were a mere animal, of less value than even the criminal slaves.

When Kratos finally won the debate, her faith in him was wavering. He was clearly agitated still, and they walked in silence. He guided her through the palace, finally coming to a set of rooms she assumed to be his. She entered grimly and he followed, then shut the door behind them. Preparing herself to accept that he had betrayed her, being just as cruel as every other Tethe'allan human, she turned to face him proudly.

She was greeted by the man leaning heavily against the door, head bowed and face hidden by a hand. "I'm sorry," he said after a few moments. "If it helps, it was almost as hard for me to say those things as I imagine it was hard for you to hear them."

The shame in his voice broke her prideful insistence that he was an evil human. "You did what you had to," she responded quietly. "I think if you had let it be known that you didn't think those things, I wouldn't be here now. I might even be worse off than I was before."

"Probably."

"So thank you."

The man looked up at her, a hint of a smile on his humiliated face. "I've been using the other bedchamber in these quarters as a kind of storage. It'll take some time to get it cleared out. In the meantime, I'll summon the seamstress to get you fitted with appropriate attire."

"I thought what I was given was servant's clothing," Martel replied in a confused tone.

"It is, however personal servants have a different uniform to differentiate between a worker in service of the palace and a worker in service of a noble. You may be treated better by others, because they'll know by your uniform that if you're mistreated, they'll have to deal with your master." Kratos opened the door and hailed one of the servants stationed in the hallway and gave him the order to seek out a seamstress. It seemed that the servant declined, because Kratos cursed, spoke again quieter. At the next reply, he looked back at Martel. "I'll be right back. It seems that I need to go myself." Without waiting for her response, he closed the door behind him, and locked it.

Martel stared at the locked door for a few moment, feeling like a prisoner. "No," she said aloud, "I'm not a prisoner. He probably locked it for my safety." With that self-reassurance, Martel looked around the room in wonder. The Knight's quarters seemed to be like an apartment, the room she stood in a type of living room. A raggedy but comfortable-looking couch rested against the wall beside the door, offering a clear view out of a window. The Half-Elf investigated this view, revealing to her astonishment that the window looked out over the Royal Gardens.

Understanding slowly came to her as she continued her investigation; a desk was against the western wall, laden with paperwork. Several quill pens lay scattered over the few bare areas, and an inkwell sat precariously on the edge. Gingerly, Martel rearranged a few of the papers that were grouped to appear to be part of the same document, and moved the inkwell away from the edge. Unable to stop her curiosity, her eyes roamed over the pages. She could barely read Elven, and was almost entirely illiterate when it came to Common, and yet she was able to pick up a few words of the document. King… head… order…

The woman now looked to the bookcase beside it, packed with all sorts of books, some of them looking rather old. There was one that was worn, the binding cracked. She touched it, then in a spurt of bravery pulled it from the shelf and examined it further. The pages were gold-leaf, and felt brittle to the touch. Martel examined the cover, sounding out the letters on it. "K… ra… tos… Is this his journal?"

"One of them, yes."

Martel whirled, her heart pounding with reflexive terror. Instead of the rebuke she expected, he laughed heartily. "I don't mind if you wish to read my books," he said kindly, gently taking the worn leather diary from her fear-numbed hands, "but I'd prefer it be one that does not contain my life's story. There's little in it that would be of interest."

"I- I'm sorry," Martel mumbled. "I noticed the inkwell about to topple, and then I caught a few words on your papers and then I got curious, and-"

"Curiosity is a good thing," Kratos cut her off, replacing the book. "No one would ever discover anything if there was no curiosity. I'll pick a few books I think might interest you. In the meantime-" he motioned to the woman standing by the doorway, one Martel identified as another half-elf. The other woman seemed strangely relaxed, a great difference from the usual careful, tight, fear-driven actions that Half-Elves usually performed in the palace. "I will be clearing out the room that will be used for your private quarters. Use my room to do her fitting."

The other Half-Elf bowed slightly. "Yes, Lord Aurion." Kratos rolled his eyes, sighed heavily, and disappeared into one of the side rooms. The woman smiled at Martel. "Well, now, shall we get you better dressed? The personal servants' uniforms are much more attractive than the standard uniforms."


Kratos was able to watch in pleasure as Martel regained both health and strength, and then morale. In a few days, Martel was smiling frequently again, and a few weeks led to her laughing. The Knight couldn't shake the feeling, however, that something was terribly wrong. He would catch a glimpse of her, when she thought she was alone, and the sadness and anxiety on her face was overwhelming.

He wondered, the first time he saw it, what could make her so morose. He recalled, later that night, that she had mentioned being separated from her family. He considered making an attempt to locate this family for her, but what good would it do? He had no way- or desire, considering the laws governing half-elves- to bring any such family to her. He could consider smuggling her back to Sylvarant, but there was no way to do that without putting both of them at the top of the kingdom's wanted lists.

Besides, he told himself, there was no guarantee that he'd discover her family alive. If he found that they had perished in the attack that brought her to Meltokio, he was honor-bound to let her know. It didn't matter that she was a half-elf. A knight didn't withhold information that a person had a right to know, under any circumstances. No, it would be better to just wait. Perhaps she could grow to be happy under his protection.

There was one other thing that distressed the knight, and he could only hope that it had nothing to do with Martel. It seemed that the Prince and Princess of Tethe'alla were plotting something.

Princess Megan was like a little sister to Kratos. He loved her dearly. Prince Tylor, was a... different... story. He was, to put it mildly, a spoiled brat. He loved to undermine Kratos in every way he could, only because he could. Kratos had heard Megan call her older brother a 'conniving son-of-a-bitch' at least once, and so it disturbed him- greatly- when it appeared that they were putting their heads together to accomplish a mutual goal.

He was trying to ignore all of these concerns; truly, he was. He had to get the next report in to King Meltokio. Being in charge of procuring supplies for their army and funding the war, he had been ordered to make sure the King was up to date on all transactions. Looking over the numbers, Kratos sighed. This insane war was going to break their treasury. It was only by Kratos' reassurance that they could make it without coercing further funds from their people.

He didn't think that he would be able to discourage the King from turning loose the tax collectors after this financial statement. The money had to come from somewhere, and like hell would it come from the King's own coffers.

So engrossed was he in ignoring his troubles and trying to crunch numbers that Kratos didn't notice when the stack of paperwork and books he tossed one of the ledgers on to tipped. He sensed the shift in his environment and looked up just in time to see the stack topple over. Kratos jumped up with a curse, barely avoiding being struck by a stray book.

"Kratos!" Martel banged open her bedroom door, the expression on her face nearly panicked. "Are you okay?!"

"Yes, Martel," he said quietly, somewhat embarrassed. "I just got distracted, that's all."

Her Knight's reassurance was sufficient, and she then turned her attention to the heap of mixed up pages on the floor. "And how did you manage that, Mister?"

"I told you, I got distracted!"

"I'm not cleaning that up."

He faced her fully now. "Oh, come on-"

"Nope, I'm not doing it," she said firmly. "I still remember the last time I tried to clean up one of your 'distraction disasters' and you were trying to sort the paperwork out of the mess I made of it for weeks. It'll save us both the aggravation if you do it yourself."

Any response Kratos might have had was cut off by his quarters door opening. Kratos stood abruptly, turning to snap at whoever the intruder was, then fell to one knee. "Prince Tylor," he said in a tight, forced civility. "I would appreciate it if you knocked before entering my private quarters. I believe I asked you this- many times- but I apologize for my negligence if I have not."

"Yes, you have," Tylor commented. "I just forget. You'll forgive me, I'm sure."

"Of course," Kratos muttered through gritted teeth, and rose from his prostrate position. "Is there something I might help you with, your Highness?"

"Yes, indeed," Tylor replied smoothly. Kratos' stomach dropped as he noticed the Prince's stare rested squarely on Martel. "Tell me, Kratos. Is she a... good... servant?"

"She is a good servant," Kratos replied, moving the emphasis of Tylor's question.

"Funny, the way you allow her to speak to you gives the impression that she's not just a servant," Tylor mused. "It almost sounded like a quibble between lovers."

Martel made an indignant noise, the first sound she had made since the Prince's uninvited entrance. She would have continued but for Kratos's firm motion for silence. "I give all of my personal servants the freedom to speak their minds," he replied with dignity. "It is not limited to just this half-elf girl, it is all of them. To answer your unspoken question, however, I do not use her- or anyone- as a personal whore."

Tylor's slimy gaze slid to Kratos. "I would watch how I'm speaking if I were you," he said smoothly.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Kratos repeated blandly.

"Well, since you're so eager to be helpful, I'll cut right to the chase." Tylor smiled his snake's smile. "I'm taking that half-elf. She'll make a beautiful addition to my personal harem, I'm sure."

"Absolutely not," Kratos returned immediately, flatly.

"Oh, don't be like that! I'll make sure you have a replacement within the day."

"No, Prince Tylor, you are not taking my servant," Kratos repeated, leaving no room for argument.

His tone was futile. "This is an order, Sir Aurion," Tylor said, his smile fading fast. "I'm not asking for her, I'm telling you that I'm taking her."

"And I'm telling you that you're not," Kratos returned heatedly. "His Majesty the King, your father, gave her to me as my servant. Unless and until you give me a direct order from the King himself contradicting my rights to her, she's not going anywhere."

Tylor drew himself up to his full height, his face screwed up in a countenance of fury. "I had hoped you were smarter than this, Sir Aurion," he said stiffly. "But I'll play by your rules. You'll have your 'direct order'. Then we'll see how far your self-righteous attitude gets you."

As Tylor stalked back towards the door, Kratos turned to the stricken girl. "Clean this up, Martel, and don't argue. I need to go cool my temper for a w-"

"Kratos, look out!" Martel shrieked, pointing behind him. The Knight whirled on his heel in time to dodge the thrust of Tylor's dagger.

Tylor lunged again, wildly, and Kratos maneuvered to keep the incensed Prince away from Martel. "Tylor, calm yourself!" Kratos snapped, managing to get a hold of Tylor's wrist to deflect another strike, but only for a moment.

"I will have that slave!" Tylor snarled in response, lunging again.

The Knight's back was quickly being forced against the wall. Kratos's gaze darted around, looking for a way out that wouldn't endanger Martel, and failed to find one. "Tylor, I've been a Knight for almost as long as you've been alive and a high-ranking one for most of that time," Kratos said quickly, desperately. "You don't want to fight me. You'll get hurt!"

"Oh ho, threatening royalty now, huh? Look who has the weapon!" With that, Tylor screamed in fury, lunging forward. Kratos stepped back once more, putting his back against the wall, and reached out to grab Tylor's wrist one more time. It wasn't enough, though; Tylor was moving with too much speed. Grimacing, Kratos twisted the Prince's wrist as Martel shrieked in terror.

Tylor's eyes went wide, staring. The Knight and Prince remained locked in that position, unmoving. Martel pressed a hand to her mouth to suppress her cries, praying through her fear.

Then Tylor slid to the floor, the blade of his dagger buried in his chest.

Kratos and Martel stared at each other, neither really comprehending what had just occurred. "I didn't mean to twist his arm that far," Kratos said quietly through pale and numb lips. Martel didn't respond.

A gust of wind from the open window in his chambers ruffled the papers still on the floor from Kratos's clumsiness. The spell of horror was broke. Kratos leapt forward, grabbing Martel's wrist. "We have to go, now!" he hissed.

"But- but it was an accident-"

"That doesn't matter!" Kratos said in a tight whisper. "I just killed the Prince! We have to leave!"

"But where-"

"We'll work those details out later! Let's go!" Kratos tugged on Martel's arm firmly, hard, and was met with no further resistance.

If the guards thought it strange that a high-ranking Knight and his half-elf servant walked through the palace corridors and out the front gates with such urgency, none questioned. Many of them were told to obey Kratos's commands as if they came from their own unit leaders. After all, Kratos was a special case.


A/N: I hope this rewrite is as enjoyable as the original. I'm on medical leave from work for at least the rest of the month, so I hope I'll be able to turn out more chapters. ;

In other news, I have an account with now, and an original story in the process of being posted. That one might take some time, but it will get up. If you're interested, my username is the same as on or you can send me a PM for a direct link to my profile.

I love you long time if you go look! heart