A Knight and Her Lady

A Final Fantasy Tactics Fanfiction by Myst Knight

Note: First time trying shoujo-ai! See what you think. Also, some violence and language.

She had done her best to avoid attention, she figured. The Chocobo she had borrowed from Alma was tied a good distance from the castle, and she had foregone her traditional knight's garb in favor of mercenary duds. A bandit's hood kept her flaxen locks from reflecting the bright afternoon sun, and her sword was wrapped in shrouds of black cloth. It all turned out to an unnecessary precaution; the coast was clear all the way from the ramparts to the gardens, with none of the usual personnel at their posts.

The walk to the Zeltennia church ruins was eerily calm, with naught but a rustle weaving through the willow trees. Agrias' footfalls were like the march of the dead, a cascade of fallen soldiers who could never lower their arms, even when the war was won. Inevitably, the former Holy Knight's thoughts turned towards the Death Corps, a brushfire that eventually gave birth to the confusion and complexities of the Lion War. She had not sympathized with the rebels at the time, but the war had turned everything upside down and inside out, and now, it was Agrias Oaks who drifted amongst the shadows.

She found the woman kneeling in a circle of flowers, her white skirts pooled about her and her hair flowing down her back like a cacao waterfall. Her shoulders were lowered with the weight of compromise and deceit, her porcelain cheeks stained with shining streaks of tears. Agrias felt the usual mixture of affection and sympathy, but now the tiniest twinge of anger arose within her, tightening her fist at how Ovelia had been duped by those closest to her. But as a warrior, Agrias could only act in a manner suitable for one, and so she swallowed her frustration and approached her Princess with a sure, confident gait.

Ovelia did not turn to face Agrias at first, absorbed in the task of adjusting her sleeves. Apparently, she was hiding some object, whether it be a weapon or something else, it was unclear. "Your security was quite lax," Agrias spoke into the silence, taking the initiative in lieu of the Queen's reluctance. "You must believe you are safe in the kingdom you've created with Delita."

"I just wanted to be left alone," Ovelia responded, her head drifting to regard the other woman in a cursory manner. She would not meet Agrias' eyes.

The knight knelt down beside the sandy-haired beauty, resting her hand on her kneepad. "Come, my Princess, let's leave this place," she said, trying to catch her eye. "It's not suitable for one such as yourself."

"It's a place of my own making," she rejoined, her face twisting up with a savage scowl. "And a grave as well."

It was at this point that Agrias caught the glimmer reflecting off the object hidden in the Queen's sleeve. The dagger Ovelia held was crude and chipping; likely she had just bought it at a second-hand weapons shop. Her knuckles were white around the worn grip, her wrist shaking with barely-contained anguish. Although she was holding it like a amateur, the fury in Ovelia's eyes was something Agrias had only seen in Lucavi.

Coming to a realization, Agrias tilted her liege's chin, a liberty that was quite bold from a knight to a Queen. "You sent the castle guards away, so there would be no witnesses," she said, recalling how easy it was for an outlaw such as herself to slip into this purportedly secure stronghold.

"No." Ovelia shook her head fiercely, sending a spray of tears flying about her brown locks. "I didn't want the people to see their Queen as she really is." She gnashed her teeth in a fight to keep her composure. "A filthy interloper, congealed in the shadows of sorrow."

In a fit of frustration, she thrust the dagger towards the earth, slicing a few flowers from their stems in the process. The tears flowed anew, soaking the ground and her skirts as Ovelia howled in defeat, slamming her fist repeatedly against her covered thigh. Agrias stood by her side, a lady in waiting, and waited for her Princess to compose herself. When at last her sobs subsided, Agrias was left looking at a broken woman, dresses in the fineries of Ivalice royalty.

It was then Ovelia told her the whole story, how the real Princess Ovelia had died as a child, how a common girl was brought it to take her place. Ovelia had built her entire life on the facade of royalty, trying to please everyone in the name of a bloodline that was but tap-water. She was already ten-feet underground before she realized she was digging herself into a hole, and the only thing to do was to keep digging deeper. Now, it seems she was digging her own grave...and Delita's.

Agrias couldn't know how much Ovelia had truly suffered from her burdens, but sxhe reached for Ovelia's hand, and gently pried the dagger from her weakening grip. "This dagger," she began, regarding Ovelia and herself in the blade's reflection. "It's not suitable for royalty such as yourself."

"Oh Agrias, I'm no noble!" Ovelia sobbed, burying her head in her hands. "It's just one more lie atop the others!"

"You are a Queen." Agrias interrupted the woman's self-pity with a stern look. "You had only the people's best interest at heart, and will sacrifice anything for their happiness. It's more important than any watery bloodline. I've learned that well."

Ovelia's red eyes beseeched her Knight, a glimmer of life shining within her corpse-like demeanor. "You talk of Ramza Beoulve, and his warriors," she said, invigorated by the mention of her one-time ally.

Taking her hand once more, Agrias brought Ovelia to her feet amidst a rustle of skirts. "We have all risked our lives and our names to bring peace to great Ivalice. But you are still my Princess. It is a Knight's duty to protect his charge, and it's time I honor that commitment. These weapons of war, they are for a knight's hands, and I will not let you carry this burden."

"Agrias..." The Queen's eyes filled up with tears of a different sort, her hand reaching up to caress the knightess' beautiful, statuesque face. A quick breeze was starting to whirl around the church ruins, sending a flurry of flower petals about the two women and around their heads like a circlet. For the first time that day, and perhaps that month or that year, Ovelia smiled, the same sincere smile Agrias remembered from those halcyon days at Orbonne Monastery. "You're always there to save me," she told the knight, her fingers absertly playing with Agrias' fine, blond hair.

Agrias smiled winsomely, holding the young lady by her narrow waist. Ovelia was drawing closer to her protector, her skirts flapping about her pale legs as she pressed up against armor and breastplate. Her Princess was beautiful, a gentle garden flower that was not to be plucked by the likes of King Delita Hyral. "Come with me, Ovelia," Agrias said, finally addressing her without an honorific. "It's time to leave this life behind."

Ovelia nodded, smiling through her tears. "Yes!"

Under a nimbus overcast that filtered the late afternoon, Ovelia and Agrias stole away to an oak tree just off the country road into town. Agrias lifted her liege in a manner similar to bridal carry, a liberty she was no longer hesitant to take of the young queen, thanks to the casual climate of Ramza and his band. Ovelia wrapped her arms around her Knight, transfixed by the heroic visage that she had but seen only from a respectable five paces. All too soon, the trip ended, and Agrias let Ovelia down in a flurry of white skirts.

"Wait here, if you will," she told the runaway queen, adjusting the sling that carried the sword on her back.

"Agrias?" Ovelia crept towards her savior, hands clasped in front of her heart. "Please Agrias, what do you intend?"

A shadow of malice swept across the Knight's face. "I made a promise to myself," she muttered quietly, her hand curling into a fist as the clouds seemed to darken with her anger.

The crash of flung finery and fallen furniture was not heard by the denizens of the castle; Agrias had already taken care of them with a skill-set borrowed from foreign Ninja warriors. Delita had hit the ground in an undignified heap, his head covered by his cape and his legs akimbo. Scrambling to a crouched position, he stared balefully at the figure before him, who stood as fearsome as a Worker automaton from bygone ages of Ivalice. Agrias' eyes were as Zodiac stones, and seemed to glow with an otherworldly rage.

To his credit, Delita did not remain prone, but rather jolted up and into a swift swipe with his Defender sword. As if observing a gnat, Agrias sidestepped the attack and grasped the inside of the King's arm as he brought it round again. Not wishing to dignify her blade with the blood of a traitor, Agrias instead swung her foot into Delita's chin, a high that once more left the man sprawled on the floor of his royal quarters. Delita coughed, and spat out a sliver of blood that had accumulated at his torn lip.

"I trusted you to protect her," the woman told him, her voice as iron. "You did not. I let you safeguard her happiness, but you led her to darkness." White teeth gnashed together like the fangs of Reis the dragon-form. "No more will I shirk my knight's duty's, Delita Hyral. You will never come near my Princess again."

As Delita writhed on the royal rug beneath him, Agrias flowed forward him like the shadow of the reaper. The commoner-come-king's eyes were alight with fear, fear of this woman and of her sword of justice. With one hand, Agrias hoisted Delita up and stared him down, her mouth twisted into a rough scowl. To his credit, he met her eyes, as if not wanting to give her the satisfaction of begging for his life.

Unbeknownst to him, Delita's death was not what Agrias had in mind. She simply turned him around, keeping him restrained by his arm so he could not struggle. Recalling Orlandu's advice about incapacitating swordsmen, she pulled and twisted on his bicep, ignoring the strains of protest until she heard the predictable SNAP. With the deed done, she tossed him back on the rug like so much refuse, feeling a sense of relief at his weakened groans.

Agrias then turned her back on the fallen monarch, her dark cloak trailing behind her. "Wallow in the corruption you've created," she said. "Your time will come."

Delita growled his hatred, his gauntlet-covered hand clawing at his shattered sword arm. "You self-righteous bitch!" he seethed, glaring with eyes that knew a lifetime of prejudice. "What know of you, my suffering? She was the only thing that made this lot in life worthwhile. You dare take her from me!?"

Agrias tossed a look behind her, remembering the many hardships she and her queen had weathered since first crossing paths with Hyral. "Tough," she said. "Blame yourself, or God."

With that, the former Holy Knight headed out with a new lease of life. Leaving Delita, with his trim and gold and broken arm, to wallow in the loss of skewed ideals and a straw-haired princess.