X.
The unfamiliar clanking of armor echoed throughout Rabanastre's royal halls, a resounding anathema to the quiet desert culture they had witnessed since their construction. Bergan's heavy footsteps silenced Drace's, while Judge Zargabaath strolled along between them, ever the mediator in their debates, and—as usual—longing for the hour when he would be returned to his ship and allowed refuge from the rampant political nonsense that plagued the royal guards. Drace could debate with the best of them, but he always dreaded her spats with Bergan, mainly because of how clear the two made their contempt for each other. She had approved of Ferrinas and Zecht—if only in the slightest—and undoubtedly blamed Vayne for their deaths, which did little for the prince, given that she had hated him since long before. So too did she dislike Bergan for his haughty ascension and arrogance in the conduction of his less-than-admirable duties. She didn't particularly like Zargabaath, either, but he at least knew when to keep his mouth shut, and therefore earned a few points in her favor. She tolerated Gabranth and never passed up an opportunity to spar with Ghis.
Worse, however, was Bergan. He had once overseen the Third Fleet, but earned it little recognition in the war and thus turned to his skills in politics to keep him afloat in the upper levels of Archadian society. He supervised all manner of war crimes and illicit activity, and was privy to the more complex workings of Vayne and Gramis—and he delighted in rubbing this in the other Judges' faces. Imposing as Drace was, all Judges preferred her over Bergan—in fact, they preferred anyone over Bergan.
Since the fete, he had been suspicious of Drace, and hounded her to no end until she finally voiced her concerns that the Senate had grown bored and unimpressed with Gramis and now sought to replace him. When pressed further, she told him that she feared they would not serve Vayne complacently, and Zargabaath mirrored her worry that Lamont would be forced in his place. Bergan, of course, remained steadfast in his praise of Vayne.
"The Senate may play at intrigue," he insisted, "but Lord Vayne is not one to be brought down easily. The entire military waits upon his orders, from the war council down to the rank and file. What better blade than he to strike down the enemies of the Empire?"
Drace withheld a laugh. "Your Honor reminds me of Zecht, two years since. He, too, put his trust in Lord Vayne's strength, and look what became of him."
"I will not hear you malign Judge Zecht!" Bergan snapped, rolling his eyes beneath the protection of his helmet. "He was a noble warrior—and trust in Lord Vayne is never ill-placed."
"Vayne took two of his own brothers' lives," said Drace. "He is ruthless beyond contempt."
And now Bergan laughed. "Ruthless? Would he were moreso! He gives traitors no quarter, be they even of his own blood. How fitting for one who would bear the burden of empire."
"But could we bear him?" Drace replied, an oddly feminine ring accompanying her sarcasm. "What do you think, Zargabaath? Surely you do not believe his brothers were traitors."
"So found Lord Gramis," Zargabaath stated dryly. "You would do well to mind your tongue, Drace—that matter is long past."
Telling Drace to mind her tongue was like telling Monty to stay put. She lived for a good debate and seemed to get quite a kick out of stating her mind when she knew it would spark controversy—a habit feared by all but the ever-reserved Gabranth, who found it admirable to say the least and entertaining to say just slightly more. But although Drace had her fun with the other Judges, only with Bergan did she argue on a serious note. In truth, she held no particular grudge against him, but she simply could not put her trust in a man who defended Vayne's past treatment of his brothers. With Monty under her protection, she found it a reasonable point of paranoia, and though Gabranth didn't dare speak of such things, he had since the beginning whole-heartedly agreed.
"Honestly," Bergan told Drace, "you'll believe anything if it poses a threat to Lamont."
"It's my job, after all," she conceded. "He would have been killed long ago if his father let him run free."
"Now there's the truth," Bergan scoffed. "His Highness has lost all sense of discipline. That damned girl softened him."
"So defamation of Judge Zecht is unacceptable," Drace mused, "but Judge Ferrinas' daughter is fair game?"
"Lineage is not always as reliable as it should be," he growled back. "A proper empress would have ruled at her husband's side, not scolded him into political stagnation. Had she an ounce of her father's gall, Rozarria would be ours by now."
"However can you live with such anger?" Drace asked airily.
"Settle down, you two," Zargabaath groaned. "This bickering will lead you nowhere."
"Who are you to say so?" Bergan replied. "Don't act as though you didn't notice the emperor's weakness after he met her."
"Why must I always be in the middle of these things?" Zargabaath sighed.
"He's not going to let it rest until hears what he wants to hear," Drace warned.
"If you must know," said Zargabaath, "I think it was Master Lamont who led the emperor to his present state, and I commend him for it. I like to think of myself as a patriot, but I've seen this war's toll taken before my own eyes, and in my opinion the cost has far exceeded the worth."
"And yet if Rozarria is not properly handled," Bergan answered, "it will have all been for nothing. We stand on the brink of world domination. If Lord Gramis would but lead us one more step forward…" He shook his head, his disappointment clear even through the steel helmet, and continued despairingly: "…But I suppose it's useless. Indeed, Master Lamont has weakened his heart. We must wait for Lord Vayne to take the throne; he will see this war finished."
"Now that we can agree on," said Drace. "For better or worse."
"But who is to say that Lord Vayne will not bend to his brother's influence?" Zargabaath asked, allowing Bergan a nod of acknowledgement. "Even you become a different man in his presence."
"I certainly wish no ill on the prince," Bergan replied, "but he is as weak as he is sweet; Lord Vayne will recognize this."
"Let us hope."
Drace rolled her eyes, though her helmet masked the gesture. "Need I remind you gentlemen that Master Lamont could very well be listening in?"
"Isn't it past his bedtime?" Bergan asked.
"He's staying up with Lord Vayne until Gabranth returns—not that a little thing like bedtime has ever stopped him before."
Zargabaath laughed. "No girls allowed, eh?"
"He's at that age," she admitted. "It may even do him good to pay more attention to politics. He'll have to face it sooner or later."
"Come now, Drace," Zargabaath went on. "He's just a boy; he's got better things to do."
Suddenly Monty rounded a corner up ahead, sliding a bit clumsily on the gleaming stone floor, and dashed across the hall before them with a small laugh. The game was clear, for he wore Gabranth's helmet. His footsteps faded and were soon cut off abruptly by the slamming of a door, and before long Gabranth came clanking around the corner as well. He gave his fellow Judges and an exasperated look of curiosity and they pointed him in Monty's direction, which he quickly followed.
"Pathetic," Bergan grumbled. "It's been too long since you saw any real action. For nearly a decade now, you and Gabranth have been too busy playing mommy and daddy to properly serve Archadia in the war."
"Do I detect a hint of jealousy?" Drace mused.
"You forget that Gabranth's service is what ultimately landed us Dalmasca," said Zargabaath.
"Two years ago," Bergan added.
Both men had more to say, of course, but didn't dare say it in Drace's presence.
It had long been suspected that something more was going on between Drace and Gabranth, or had gone on, or was bound to go on someday. There was no proof, of course, and neither seemed the type to mix work and play, and probably the most compelling evidence against it was that the two would be hard pressed to ever find a moment alone together—they traded shifts regularly, and only seemed to keep each other's company when in Monty's presence. Furthermore, Drace was ten years Gabranth's senior, not to mention she hailed of aristocracy while he was just the mutt of farmers from a kingdom now extinct. At times, the other Judges would admit that they were likely thinking too hard into the matter—that they were bored, and, like giddy schoolgirls, needed something to gossip about. But the topic continued to come up, regardless of how immature they so often felt when discussing it.
The rumors had been persistent enough to reach those involved, and neither of them had given their comrades any opportunity to expand on their theories. Indeed, it was difficult to study their interaction, since they allowed themselves so little of it. Their only reliable time alone together was just after putting Monty to bed, when the servants would vacate the kitchen for an hour or so before the nightshift arrived, leaving it the only unguarded room in the palace. For that hour, they could speak without fear of eavesdroppers or Vayne's spies, which proved most advantageous, as both quite often had a fair bit to say about Vayne. For nine years, that had been a casual part of the routine. They'd take off their helmets. They'd talk without restraint. She'd have tea and he'd have whiskey—both knew the tea to be nothing more than a disguise for her own nightcap, but, being a lady of breeding, she couldn't openly admit such things. At the end of the hour, they'd hunt down Monty, who never failed to escape the confines of his room and wreak some form of havoc on the palace by then. Gabranth had found it best to let him wear himself out before bed and deem sleep his own idea, and though Drace had at first declared this a terrible method of parenting, once she realized how well it worked, she ceased her judgments and went along with it. Though she hated to admit it, Gabranth had an unmistakable talent for dealing with unruly children—a skill, she feared, he had learned from his years of keeping Basch in line.
"He's useless now," Bergan went on. "We don't need some dog from Landis to help our hunt—the prey is already ours."
Drace nodded slightly and repeated Gabranth's words to her so long ago: "It's a shame they do not know when they are conquered."
"Can't say I ever expected as much from you…" said Zargabaath.
"Why not say so to the emperor," Bergan pushed. "A word from you, and he'll be back on the front lines."
"And I'll be left to wrangle Monty up on my own everyday," she replied. "Do you really think me that stupid? Besides, he's not useless in his element. I'm confident he could never be replaced."
"And when Monty's older?" Bergan asked. "What then? He won't always need babysitters."
"That depends on what's to become of him," she said coldly.
Bergan laughed, shaking his head with pity. "What does it matter? He'll be either a plaything of the Senate or a son-in-law of Emperor Margrace."
"Don't be absurd," she scoffed. "He'd settle for no princess—he's already got his heart set on a peasant. And those mud-witted Senators don't stand a chance. The fools think a child emperor's strings easy to pull from the shadows, but they will find that Master Lamont is no puppet."
"So you would flatter him," Bergan sneered. "The boy takes after his mother—he hasn't a violent bone is his body."
"You've never fenced with him," Zargabaath muttered.
"What do you think he would do?" Drace asked. "Certainly not as he's told, I hope."
"He's an escape artist," said Bergan. "He'd bow to any demand they should make of him, so long as they promise him it will end in peace."
"Nonsense," she replied. "He would refute their petty demands and acquire peace by his own means."
"Either way," Bergan insisted, "he will cow at the prospect of bringing about this war's end."
"And either way," Zargabaath added, "he will not get it."
"…Oh, really?" said Drace.
Zargabaath nodded. "I believe the Senate would at first be most pleased to be handed a docile lamb for their own shepherding, but when they realize the truth, they will bare their teeth and devour him." Drace and Bergan both seemed to lose their fervor for the argument upon hearing this, but Zargabaath continued steadily, his eyes trained forward beneath his helmet: "Master Lamont is indeed an escape artist—he will go over their heads without hesitation. He will be a true dictator."