Title: Finding Home
Chapter 12: Opening Day!
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Ocean or any of the characters involved. This work is not intended for profit.
A/N: Finally, opening day! This is another chapter that grew out of control. This whole story has really grown in a way I never anticipated. Thank you to everyone still reading, especially those kind enough to provide feedback. We're going to hit all three PoVs in this chapter. The transitions should be obvious. I think.
I will make corrections as I find them. As usual not betad.
Lady Clair,
You will find the requested evening gown and all accessories enclosed. I am confident the outfit will prove a worthy match for the lovely pendant you provided. I am relieved that you are being true to your own heart at long last. I have had the pleasure of making Master Fayt's acquaintance. He is far superior to the self-important social climbers I feared you would eventually settle for.
Sara
P.S.
Any reservations you have regarding the cut and style of the gown are unfounded. Those so generously blessed by the gods should not hide their gifts, least of all at such an occasion.
The letter was written in Lady Sara's normally frank style. Gods, the seamstress' handwriting was efficient and to the point. Clair laid the note down on her writing desk.
Such a beautiful gown and on such short notice…
She was grateful for Lady Sara's efforts and her support. Clair stared at the gown, hanging next to the full length mirror. The dark blue satin shimmered softly, winking at her. Clair ran her hands down the skirt. Light, smooth, almost delicate to the touch… Even hanging there it looked elegant. And risqué. Sleeveless. Backless. Clair eyed the neckline nervously.
Not hiding her gifts, indeed.
Clair wasn't prudish, not by Aquarian standards. (The term Greeton harlot was well known and for good reason.) But the evening gown was a far cry from her professional wardrobe.
Unable to resist, Clair stood before the mirror, holding the gown against her body. It was as dark a blue as she had ever seen, a sharp contrast against her fair skin. Nervous as she was, she'd wear it now if she could. Clair compared the dress to the necklace resting against her top. They were a near perfect match, the fabric slightly darker… as dark as Fayt's hair. Knowing Lady Sara; that was by design. The woman did not believe in "close enough."
I have had the pleasure of making Master Fayt's acquaintance.
Lady Sara might have seen fit to explain that in a little more detail. What could have possibly caused their paths to cross? Clair sighed. She'd drive herself crazy wondering how that encounter came to pass. All the same, the seamstress' approval did make her feel a little better.
I am relieved that you are being true to your own heart at long last.
Lady Sara also did not believe in denying one's own heart, for anyone's sake.
Nel knew.
Clair couldn't be sure how, couldn't be sure when, but that fact was undeniable. Clair laid the gown gently across her bed. The last time they'd spent any real time together was back in Arias, before the tournament was announced. Dinner in Arias with Fayt and Nel, staying up late into the night, early into the morning, with the two people closest to her.
It felt like a lifetime ago.
After that… well Clair had to admit, since returning to Aquaria none of them had had an easy go of it. Learning that Arias, its desperately needed relief efforts, were to be put on hold, had not left her in the best frame of mind. Fayt's support, his presence, had helped her through it. It always did. She'd resolved to make the best of it, holding her tongue through the remaining meetings, and focusing on getting back to Arias in time to join him.
Still, Nel's mood had been absolutely foul.
Clair had expected it, known it was inevitable. "In love with the same man." Clair whispered softly, the words echoing in her ears. Like something out of Rozaria's favorite romance novels…
Some friend she was… but there was no denying it any longer. She'd tried, writing off her feelings as some silly infatuation, fighting against her own heart. Clair sighed. She was in love with Fayt, had been for some time. As guilty as it made Clair feel it wasn't her fault, it wasn't even Fayt's.
Nel had no one to blame but herself.
Nel, who could have simply acted sooner. For instance, any time after Fayt had chosen to remain on Elicoor. One confession, one kiss, or Gods forbid, any indication that she wanted a relationship with Fayt. Did Nel think the rest of the world was going to wait on her schedule?
Fayt couldn't, not if he wanted to make a life for himself on Elicoor.
There would be time to obsess over that later.
Speaking of time, she was expected to attend all the matches and banquets. Clair was not the type to indulge in tardiness, not in her division or her own life. She quickly passed through the foyer and closed the front door behind her. Renting a small guesthouse in Peterny was the right choice. As comfortable as staying at the Front Door was (and the name was just adorable), the idea of living in a hotel for so many weeks on end was not very appealing.
On the main street a pair of guards passed, making their patrol. Not a desirable task, patrolling and missing a day of the tournament but critical. Thieves were nothing if not opportunistic.
It fell to the city's garrison to keep drunken townsfolk from getting out of hand. The alcohol would be free flowing in every bar, tavern, and tent, by day's end. It was inevitable that tempers would flare, arguments would spill over into the streets and not just among the commoners. Her father had raised concerns over drunken nobles defending their honor at the point of a sword.
Clair feared he was speaking from experience but did not have the courage to ask.
The city center was more active than she'd anticipated. With the tournament so close at hand she'd expected to find it empty. Stragglers or diehard shoppers, a few small groups milled about. The merchants shouted over each other, selling everything from finely honed weapons to exotic jewelry to the dwindling crowds. A group of young noblewomen and their attendants caught Clair's eye, looking over the various goods.
Clair had declined invitations to such group outings during the festivities. A tempting offer, one Clair would normally have accepted. She enjoyed such company and navigating the right social circles was no small part of a noble's life.
Her thoughts were elsewhere lately.
Once beyond the western gate the crowds became a sea of people. Clair swiftly made her way to the nearest entrance reserved for the nobility.
"Lady Clair!"
Lady Camilla called out to her. Tynave waved at her side, trying to peer through the shifting masses. Clair waved back, smiling broadly.
"Greetings Lady Clair," Lady Camilla grinned. "We were just about to take our seats."
Tynave sighed dramatically. "Farleen is as punctual as ever."
Clair almost giggled at her put upon expression. Farleen took being fashionably late too far. Fortunately, the purple haired woman was not a part of the Runological Corps. Tardiness was the cornerstone of a well-disciplined unit. As well liked as Farleen was... Honestly, Nel could be such a pushover at times.
They entered the upper level of the arena. Below them, the commoners were already piling into their sections. They must have had their fill of the street performers and merchants, though not of the ale. There were shouts from the ground level, calls for drinks and bets to be placed. Most jostled with one another, arguing, and pointing into the arena center.
The sixteen fighters formed a square, four on each side, facing off across the battlefield.
Clair froze.
Fayt stood with the other Aquarian fighters, forming a line on the west side of the arena. He'd forgone his normal Earth inspired attire for a simple white sleeved shirt and a fitted black doublet. He stood tall but not rigid, ready, wearing an expression of pure focus with his sword clasped between his hands.
Had it only been three weeks since he'd seen her off to Peterny? Everything had been better in Arias. Confusing and intimidating and exciting. The days spent working together and the evenings spent in the manor felt more like a dream than a memory.
"Told you," a singsong voice came from behind her.
"Don't gloat." Someone hissed.
Clair glanced back, only to find Tynave and Lady Camilla weaving through the crowd on the way to their suite. Clair climbed the last few steps to her own suite, putting it out of her mind. Whatever those two were talking about, Clair doubted it would hold her interest.
Clair found the viewing box surprisingly empty, with more servants than guests. There was a tall blonde noblewoman standing beside the serving table. Most likely Lady Rigel, one of the few Glyphan nobles assigned to her suite. Clair considered introducing herself but the noblewoman was preoccupied sampling various appetizers. She recognized Lady Leieria standing next to the front railing, staring out over the arena.
Clair wondered a bit at her father's absence. Odd, for all her father's faults he was quite strict about punctuality and was usually the first to arrive. Perhaps he'd been delayed, visiting old friends, trading stories, or placing wagers. Or he was doing something crazy like trying to enter himself into the tournament…
Clair walked to the railing, allowing Lady Leieria to see her before bowing. "Good day, Lady Leieria. You are looking well." Though equals in rank, a certain courtesy was owed to the older woman.
"Lady Clair," Lady Leieria smiled in greeting. "I was just appreciating all that you accomplished." Clair followed the gesture, staring at the lower levels. While the nobility and other prominent guests were assigned seating in the upper galleries, the commoners had free reign over the lower levels.
The only exception were the Sanmite denizens. They'd been given a large section at the very edge of the battlefield to accommodate their… odd statures. Clair thought she could make out the Menodixes and other shorter patrons standing on benches to see over the railing. The fairy folk were in high spirits, floating above their countrymen or darting about excitedly.
"I can hardly take the credit for this," Clair began honestly, "the Craftsmen's Guild needed little oversight." And even less motivation. The Merchants had paid well for their labor, for good reason. The three days of festivities promised to deliver them small fortunes.
Clair's gaze found the battlefield again. Fayt stood as before, and he was no less dashing. Behind him stood a squire, bearing Aquaria's banner. The other representatives stood on either side of him. The three other fighters, or more precisely their squires, bore a second banner. Well-known banners from well-known families. The Hartells, the Westcotts, and the Morleys.
The Morleys.
Clair glanced at Lady Leieria. "Sir Reynard is projected to do well." It was true, or true enough. Sir Reynard Morley was expected to do well but not to win. No, the tournament favorite was a certain Glyphan captain.
Lady Leieria Morley stared down at the tournament fighters, her face unreadable. "I would be lying if I said I wasn't concerned," she sighed before smiling at her. "Reynard is determined to win the day." All Clair could do was smile back.
She had always gotten along well with Lady Leieria. Though the reputation of the Lasbards and Clair's own position as head of the Runological Corps meant few would criticize her to her face. Court intrigue aside, Clair thought it was genuine. To say Lady Leieria shared her appreciation for etiquette and professionalism would be an understatement.
Though Clair couldn't claim to be close to the older noblewoman, she could empathize.
As skilled as Fayt was, and as much confidence as she had in him, Clair was worried for his wellbeing. There would be no easy battles, not by the looks of the competition.
The Glyphan fighters formed a line on the eastern side of the battlefield: one member from each brigade and Albel Nox. All looked formidable though Clair wondered how the Storm and Dragon Brigades would fair fighting afoot. The other eight positions, sold by the Merchant's Guild, were largely unknown. Some of their banner men bore Aquarian or Glyphan heraldry. Clair spotted the banners of at least two mercenary companies. The tournament field had shaped up much as her father expected.
"Lady Clair!" A pair of voices shouted from the level below them. Two young girls waved up at her. "Lady Clair!"
"You have quite the devoted following." Lady Leieria remarked dryly.
Clair cleared her throat. She managed to hold her smile as she waved back. "They mean well." At least they were harmless and less likely to propose.
"Their enthusiasm is understandable." Lady Leieria was watching her. The older woman regarded her thoughtfully. "What a lovely pendant. Where ever did you get it?"
"Oh," unconsciously Clair's fingers went to her chest, brushing against the surface of the stone. The jewel, a sapphire, was cool to the touch, unnaturally so. Like most gemstones, it was enchanted and radiated runological energy. "It was a gift." Clair answered absently, her fingertips tingling as she traced the edges of the jewel. Sapphires were known to offer protection, aid in defense, which explained how it had survived the battle in the mines.
Something did survive your little tantrum back there.
"How thoughtful." When Lady Leieria finally took her eyes from the gemstone, she smiled gently. "Clair," she began, dropping their titles. "Won't you reconsider staying at our manor?"
"You are too kind, Leieria." It was a generous offer, had been when Lady Leieria made it so weeks ago. "Over so many weeks," Clair tried to smile apologetically, "I suppose I prefer to keep my own house."
"I understand," Lady Leieria smiled knowingly, "and I'm sure you will run a home smoothly."
Clair managed to smile back, unsure how to react.
"There you are Clair."
Clair turned, the familiar voice a welcome distraction. Her father had picked that moment to join them, accompanied by none other than Count Woltar. "Father."
"Have you enjoyed the festivities?" He grinned broadly, his excitement all too apparent.
"Somewhat." Clair answered, stretching the truth just enough to avoid being chastised. Her father meant well and it wasn't a bad idea. Later, she decided. There would be time to tour the shops and see the street performers.
Her father stepped aside, turning to gesture behind him. "Have you met Count Woltar?"
"We have not been formally introduced." Clair bowed. "Count Woltar, it is an honor to meet you." The man was practically a legend, both for his exploits against Aquaria and his character. Of Airglyph's three brigades only the Storm Brigade was spoken of with anything other than contempt.
"Lady Clair." Count Woltar smiled wryly. "It is a pleasure to meet you, especially under such favorable circumstances." He laughed lightly at his own joke and it seemed the years had been kind to him or perhaps just the recent peace.
Clair watched as more pleasantries were exchanged, wondering why Count Woltar wasn't sitting in the royal viewing box. It was no secret the Count was serving as King Airyglyph's primary advisor. If others wondered, or meant to ask, they were robbed of the chance. A horn sounded off, once, then again, signaling the entrance of the royal guests.
Voices quieted across the arena as everyone moved to take their seats. Clair found her assigned seat, her father on her left. Lady Elena sat on her other side. Lady Leieria and Count Woltar took their seats in the row in front of her.
"I'm not sure who to cheer for," Rozaria admitted quietly, wringing her hands together.
Nel glanced at the priestess, though today she wore a simple summer dress instead of her traditional robes. Rozaria watched the two Aquarian fighters approach each other, lips set in a thin line.
It was quite the honor, being seated in the royal suite. It was no secret that it had been largely at Rozaria's behest. Nel felt a little out of place, being seated next to Rozaria and thereby closer to the King of Airyglyph than her own Queen. But Rozaria asked for so little, accepting the political demands that weighed on every aspect of her upcoming wedding and Nel was happy to support her friend. "I know." She agreed. "In the first round no less."
It was unfortunate but unavoidable. Half of the tournament positions owned by the Merchant Guild's sponsorships had been purchased by Aquarian nobles. It was inevitable to see one pitted against another.
Nel turned her attention back to the battlefield below them.
The two knights came forward in another exchange. Sir Reynard acted first, swinging his two-handed greatsword in a wide arc. Sir Brayden was ready, his longsword poised to meet the heavier blade. Metal screeched as he made the parry. Sir Brayden stepped forward to counter but the reach of his longsword came up short as Sir Reynard recovered.
Nel knew little of Sir Reynard and less of Sir Brayden. Sir Reynard had been chosen to represent Aquaria in the tournament. Sir Brayden had not. By all accounts, both were respectable swords. Well-armed and well trained, in the traditional Aquarian sword techniques.
For now, Sir Reynard's two-handed greatsword looked to be the difference.
Sir Brayden parried one swing, slipped another. He fell back, putting a few strides between them. The air around Sir Brayden shimmered as he raised his blade. He dragged the tip of his sword along the ground. Three spikes of spiritual energy erupted from the ground, charging across the arena floor.
Nel noted the spiritual attack, common in both Aquaria and Airyglyph, flickered wildly as it raced across the battlefield. Assuming Sir Brayden was a competent swordsman, the tourney weapons were doing their work.
Sir Reynard stumbled, grunting as the blast caught him squarely. The tourney weapons might have been blunted, their special attacks weakened, but Nel didn't envy either fighter.
Again, the air shimmered around Sir Brayden as he raised his blade. This time Sir Reynard charged into and through the wave of energy, bringing his greatsword across in a wide arc. Both men staggered, though Sir Brayden seemed to take the worst of it. Sir Brayden backpedaled, almost frantically.
Sir Reynard didn't pursue, perhaps still recovering himself.
Again, the fighters circled one another.
The battle wore on, each fighter managing to land a handful of blows. Eventually, the toll seemed to wear on Sir Brayden. He gave ground more often than he contested it. Nel could sympathize, fighting with a reach disadvantage was problem she knew all too well.
Sir Reynard made a feint and a missed parry left Sir Brayden reeling. A second strike caught Sir Brayden across his helm. Rozaria gasped, seated at her left, and Nel winced as he fell.
Shouts, cheers, and taunts, went up from the crowd. Nel clapped in approval, along with the rest of the royal box. Both fighters might have been Aquarian but Sir Reynard was one of the four official representatives.
The protective barrier fell. Attendants, healers, and banner men, swarmed over the battlefield.
"Care for a wager, Magistrate?"
Nel glanced back, in the second row she found Magistrate Lasselle studying Lord Nichol wearily. "What do you mean?"
Lord Nichol sat back comfortably. "Sir Reynard could well win it all." He mused.
Nel almost rolled her eyes, ignoring them as best she could. Lord Nichol was not a warrior, the Magistrate less so, and she didn't care to hear either man's opinion on the fighters. Nel scanned the rest of the royal suite. Lord Nichol's wife, Lady Dinna, sat beside her husband making polite conversation with one of the few Glyphan nobles.
Nel chose to watch the workers preparing the arena for the next bout. She had no personal grudges with Lord Nichol and Lady Dinna. The pair were gracious hosts, housing the Queen and her entourage (including herself) in their sprawling estate throughout the festivities.
However, Nel was not so naïve as to think it driven by anything other than ambition. The city of Peterny had been largely spared the horrors of war but the people had suffered. Many young men had been called to war, commoner and noble alike. Many had never returned, leaving much of the nearby countryside unspoken for. Every noble family sought some gains, land or title, but Lord Nichol had greater ambitions. He sought the late Lord Emery's seat, to become High Lord of Peterny.
Only a handful of the noble families had the clout to challenge him.
Movement on the arena floor caught her attention. There was a disturbance on the edge of the battlefield, a small child in an oversized helmet-
Nel closed her eyes, cradling her head in her hands. An icicle formed in her stomach. How did she not see that coming?
"Oh dear," Rozaria giggled. Nel shot her a glare but it was lost on the priestess, who clapped both hands over her mouth. Beside her, King Airyglyph smiled at the spectacle.
Farther down the row, at the very edge of Nel's vision, Queen Romeria leaned forward.
Nel looked away stiffly, too embarrassed to look at the Queen, and terrified of jogging Her Majesty's memory. Apris forbid, she recognize Roger! A noblewoman's upbringing refused to let Nel slouch so she sent a silent prayer to all three of the triplet goddesses for help.
But as the old adage went: women were fickle, sisters did not get along, and goddesses were the worst of all.
A female runologist tried to reason with Roger, (Nel nearly snorted at the wasted effort) before trying to grab him. Unfortunately, the insufferable Menodix was a small target and quick. Roger faked left and darted passed the runologist, waving his axe and shouting out some sort of challenge.
As a second runologist moved to assist, Roger slipped through a pair of workers as they cleared the field of debris and poured saw dust over fresh blood.
Eventually, with the assistance of the workers Roger was effectively corralled, seized, and dragged back towards the Sanmite seating area. An older, but only slightly taller, male Menodix grabbed Roger and forced him to sit down. Then he laughed heartily, thumping Roger on the shoulder. No wonder Roger was so out of control.
Nel swore her children would never dare such a thing.
Finally, mercifully, two horn blows signaled the arena was ready for the next bout. Nel gave an audible sigh. The day was warm but not unpleasantly so. Maybe another glass of wine?
Rozaria squeezed her arm and Nel gave her a questioning look before following the priestess' gaze.
Fayt stood in the center of the battlefield, sword at the ready.
The mercenary raised his war hammer, fending off a thrust from Fayt's bastard sword. He tried to rush forward, leading with his axe only for the strike to fall short as Fayt slipped away from him.
The mercenary, whose name Nel couldn't recall, tried batting at the end of Fayt's blade, testing for an opening.
Finding none, he tried to make one, rushing forward and striking high with his hammer, low with his axe. Fayt sidestepped the first, parried the other, using the reach of his sword and his footwork to frustrate his opponent.
Though Nel wasn't sure who had the edge in this fight. Fayt's sword might have had the advantage, normally, but blunted weapons benefited the heavier war hammer and battle axe.
As if trying to prove the point, the war hammer began to glow. The mercenary lunged, thrusting the war hammer forward, almost like a spear. Fayt avoided the hammer's head but not the expanding shockwave.
It might have been a blessing.
Fayt rode the impact backwards. The mercenary brought the still charged weapon down and caught empty air… and the arena floor, leaving cracked and charred stone.
Nel tensed, shifting forward in her seat.
How was a war hammer, impossible to blunt, allowed?
Fayt backed off another step, the mercenary following after him, hammer raised for another strike.
This time it was his axe that was glowing.
Again, the mercenary charged forward, this time feinting with his war hammer. He roared as he brought his axe down and at the top of its swing the weapon burst into flame.
Fayt flanked sharply, rolling away from the hammer blow. He pivoted, ending up on the mercenary's right flank as the axe, in the mercenary's left hand, missed wide. The heavy weapon slammed into the ground, raising sparks and scorching the ground.
Nel hands tightened on the arms of her chair. So close to the other fighter, the length of Fayt's sword was actually a hindrance.
So Fayt drove the pommel of his sword into the other man's face, once to stun him, and again for good measure.
The mercenary staggered backwards, spitting out blood and teeth. Still, mercenaries were not strangers to combat nor injury. The veteran warrior kept his wits about him. As Fayt advanced the mercenary managed to raise his hammer, hoping to keep Fayt at bay as he recovered.
Fayt brought his sword down on the sorry excuse of a parry. Fayt's sword caught the mercenary's forearm, then the shaft of the hammer, and wrenched the weapon from his grasp. The hammer scrapped across the floor. The mercenary tracked his fallen weapon as it-
The follow-up slash nearly ended the fight. The mercenary threw himself backwards, just beyond Fayt's reach.
It was just a matter of time.
Fayt pushed forward relentlessly and the mercenary fell back, trying and failing to open up the distance between them. His choice of weapons now worked against him. His axe was too short to match Fayt's reach, too top heavy to parry effectively. Fayt pressed his advantage, his sword a blur of flashing steel. Some cuts were high, some low, and others merely feints. Fayt sword caught the side of the mercenary's knee, another blow fell heavily against his collarbone.
Surprisingly, Fayt slowed his advance. The mercenary didn't question his good fortune, falling back a step and dropping into a mid-guard.
Fayt sprang forward, energy rolling off his blade, extending his reach, and catching his foe completely off-guard. The first strike landed cleanly across his chest. An attack that normally sheared armor and cauterized flesh, instead left singed metal and blistered skin in its wake. Still, effective enough. The second strike drove the mercenary to his knees. The mercenary slumped down awkwardly, his axe falling from his grip. Fayt paused, holding back a finishing blow as the energy dissipated harmlessly into the air.
The barrier around the battlefield dropped and the official announcement was drowned out by the crowd's approval. A healer led Fayt from the field while two rushed to the mercenary's side.
Nel, halfway out of her seat, released the breath she was holding. Fayt was fine, unhurt, at least not seriously hurt.
Rozaria gave her hand a reassuring squeeze but it was Queen Romeria who spoke. "Lady Nel, you are excused until the banquet this evening."
Nel thought to object but held her tongue. With royalty, the line between suggestion and command was paper thin. Either way, her presence in the royal suite served little purpose. And it was an excuse to be with much preferred company.
"Are you in any discomfort?"
"I'm fine." Fayt answered automatically, then reminded himself that this was a medical checkup. "Nothing serious at least."
"Oh," The healer paused, perhaps flustered. "Right." She was young, somewhere between Pepitta and Sophia's ages. There were more experienced healers about, probably tending to more serious injuries.
On the other side of the room two such healers were gathered around another fighter, though they didn't seem alarmed. They were probably more experienced, if their more elaborate robes meant anything.
After winning his match and walking off the field, Fayt understood that he didn't warrant too much attention.
He glanced back at his own healer. Youth didn't mean inefficiency but Fayt guessed she was an initiate or whatever the term was. Healers, like all runologists, were tied closely to the Church of Apris.
They also took their training quite seriously.
Elicoor was not Earth, with all its technology and conveniences. Life was harder. Children grew up fast, learned to carry the load for their families at an early age.
The questions continued for a few more minutes. Was he feeling dizzy? No. Any serious injuries he was worried about? No. Mostly just bruising. Fatigue or soreness? Yes to both.
She asked he remove his shirt and blushed lightly as he did. Fayt went through a series of motions, wincing as he stretched both arms overhead. The adrenaline was definitely starting to fade. His armor had turned away the worst of the hits. However, those weapons had been heavy and even the glancing blows had stung.
"I'd suggest a healing salve and a good night's rest. I can use runology but one should be careful not to rely on such means too often." The healer rattled off.
That was a good point. Federation studies suggested that symbological treatments, could breed dependence if over used. The healer was competent, even if she was inexperienced. "A salve sounds good." He agreed. Best to save symbology for something more serious.
The healer beamed. "One moment please, Master Fayt." She bowed. Fayt watched her hurry towards the far side of the medical area, where most their medical supplies were stocked. An older woman, probably a senior healer, waylaid her briefly. He identified the older woman as one of the healers that had attended to the other fighter.
A glance back confirmed the other fighter was by himself and preparing to leave. He was a tall man, a few years older than himself, with blond hair. Fayt didn't recall the man's name but recognized him from the match immediately before his own.
"Well fought." Fayt called out to the other fighter, mostly for conversation. It was easier to describe the last match as stalwart rather than impressive, more of a slugfest than anything else. Still, a win was a win was a win. As his coach used to say: there's no stat for whether or not a win is pretty.
The other fighter barely glanced at him, pulling a tunic over his shoulders and fastening the drawstring.
Arrogance or just a competitive streak? Fayt hoped it was arrogance. Better to be underestimated if possible, but would his own reputation allow that? Hard to say. Some called him the savior of the kingdom while others referred to him less kindly.
The blond paused, staring towards the doorway. "Lady Nel." He greeted with a smile and a nod.
Fayt turned sharply, too sharply, and winced as one of the muscles in his back protested.
Nel stood just inside the medical tent. "Sir Reynard." She nodded in return. "Congratulations." She added before heading directly towards Fayt.
Reynard said something, probably another courtesy but Fayt's attention was fixed on Nel.
Nel, always graceful, sashayed through the medical tent as naturally as any woman Fayt had ever seen. Nel came to a stop at his Fayt's side, too close to be casual but not quite enough to raise eyebrows. "You're looking well." She offered coolly. Fayt almost smiled. A casual Nel would have simply said "well fought" or the like.
You're looking quite well yourself.
Nel's armor couldn't hide her figure but a dress with plunging neckline was a welcome change. Fayt had mixed opinions on the full skirt but a high slit, made the outfit all the more enticing because he knew what he was missing. Being mindful not to stare, he turned to face her squarely. "You look lovely."
He'd said that to her before and she'd taken it well, better than hot chick at least. That was the type of comment you threw at a girl at a kegger... with some success.
It surprised him at times, how easily Nel shed her armor, how natural and how elegant she looked in a simple dress. It shouldn't have, he realized. Outside of her missions, Nel's days were spent among the highest levels of Aquarian society.
As much a lady as a lady of war.
Nel opened her mouth, paused, and Fayt swore he saw the color rising on her cheeks. "Thank you." She answered, voice soft. Coy? Nel shifted closer, resting her hand lightly against his bicep as if he wasn't naked from the waist up. "You're not hurt are you?"
He didn't know Nel had it in her. Fayt cleared his throat. He almost gave a shake of his head before remembered what happened the last time he turned too quickly. "Don't worry. I'm-"
"Master Fayt," it was the healer, holding a small jar out to him. He stared, at her and her sudden appearance. "For your injuries." She explained when he didn't immediately reach for it.
Wonderful timing, he thought darkly. Injuries sounded so severe. "erm… thank you." He managed awkwardly, taking the jar.
"Injuries?" Nel tilted her head, a teasing smile on her lips. Yet, she didn't pull away, didn't draw her hand back despite the company.
"I'm fine." He insisted, glancing between the two of them. Fayt tried not to fidget under the attention of both women… and Nel's obvious amusement.
Seeing his discomfort, and completely misreading its source, the healer gave him a worried look. "I can apply the salve for you if you'd like."
"That won't be necessary." Nel answered for him, tone far from amused.
The healer glanced between the two of them, bowed, and mumbled something about other duties.
The poor girl had only just excused herself when Nel glanced away briefly. "Any thoughts on your competition?"
Fayt glanced back toward Reynard, only to find the man long gone, not that anyone would miss him. He smirked at Nel. "Some of them aren't very social."
Something passed across Nel's features so quickly he might have imagined it. "The Morleys are real pieces of work."
The Morleys. Fayt knew the name, if only through reputation. One of the more prominent noble families in Peterny. Lady Leieria Morley was head of the Chain Legion, Peterny's own garrison.
Fayt put the man out of his mind. Aside from crossing swords with Reynard later in the tournament, a cold reception from a noble meant little in the grand scheme of things.
Nel's eyes settled on the jar in his hands, the salve the healer had given him. She held his gaze, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You were saying, about your injuries?"
Fayt tucked the jar under one arm, not quite out of the sight. Unlike the healer, Nel wouldn't accept a casual dismissal. "A little sore." He admitted. Nel continued to study him. He'd had worse, a lot worse, but the adrenaline was fading and he was glad he didn't have another match today. "Going to be worse in a few hours."
Nel finally let up in her scrutiny, sighing softly. "That war hammer was a dirty trick."
Fayt grinned. "I was not a fan."
This time Nel narrowed her eyes playfully. She pursed her lips but if she meant to say anything two sharp blasts of a horn drew their attention.
The next match was about to start.
The medical tent was starting to feel a little tight. Other healers milled about, pretending not to notice them. Soon enough other fighters would make their way through. Fayt slipped his own black vest over his shoulders, slowly, knowing full well he was being watched for any sign of injury. He turned and Nel, sure enough, was watching him, not bothering to hide her concern. Fayt nodded towards the exit. "Feel like joining me for some enemy reconnaissance?"
"I'll do my best."
A/N: Fair warning, long author's note ahead.
I will try not to go overboard with the combat itself. That may sound odd but the reason I latched onto the idea of a tournament was for the social situations built up around it. Next chapter should take a look at the first night of celebrating and lead us into day 2.
There was another running joke in this chapter regarding Clair. Throughout the story Clair has been very conscientious about time and not being late, which is a trait we just learned her father shares. I wanted to hint that Clair is more like her father than even she realizes. And another nod to the fan club that hounds Nel and Clair. As I recall from the game, there was one guy in Peterny who was a member of the club. They never mention how many members there are but he alludes to it being a fair sized group.
A great point was brought up about how Fayt would perceive the gender dynamics on Elicoor. There's a lot of room for discussion there. We'll get a few peeks at what's going on in his mind as he navigates some new social situations. A part of me wonders if such an advanced society, with exposure to so many radically different cultures, would be more accepting. Who knows what people so far in the future would consider "normal?"
Honestly, I've shied away from the issue somewhat for fear of turning some readers off. I didn't want people judging Elicoor's society through our modern values all the time. It's still a dangerous world. Monsters attack people traveling from town to town! And the game's inconsistencies can be a real challenge to blend into one society.
So I think that given the environment, emphasis on manual labor and recovering from the war, it's a lot easier for Fayt to just roll with the gender dynamics on Elicoor. The differences between nobility and commoners may cause more friction since he exists somewhere between those two worlds. My take on the Master title is that it is significant but not tied to birthright. Nel and Clair are noblewomen and they fit into Aquarian society perfectly. Sometimes they are oblivious to how Fayt feels when he's struggling with the social dynamics. Some Aquarians see him as a legitimate hero. Others feel he is rising above his station.
Imagine, what the nobles in Airyglyph think of him...
On a more pleasant note, Roger got to make an appearance, brief as it was. Any thoughts on the OCs? We'll be seeing more of them in the future, if only briefly. Any theories on what their roles will be? I'm glad people like Lady Sara. She serves as a nice counter point to some of the other characters. We will also get at least one scene from Lady Elena's PoV and another from Queen Romeria.
