A/N: I would like to dedicate this chapter to my long time friend Alice who has been dying for this ever since I told her my idea for this story. Alice, I cannot wait to receive your phone-comment and have your fan girl squeals pierce my poor little ear drums. I'm sure Jorge would be honored to hear how much you absolutely "lurvvvve" him.
And for all of other Jorge (and Aimee) fans out there, enjoy!
14. The Ones We Fight For (in which Jorge is a gallant champion and Aimee stops running)
There's a woman sitting at the banks of the river, washing herself with a small white cake of soap. Nude but for the long brown hair that races down her back and comes to a slow stop below her waist, her alabaster skin glows radiantly in the morning light, sparkling with translucent drops of water. Her back is turned, but her head is tilted just slightly to the side, her eyes peering cautiously over her exposed shoulder as if she knows of the presence lurking in the bushes with his paper and pencils, his palette of colors that will immortalize her, make her real. As if she can feel the eyes on her back, intent on making a mockery of her solitude.
It's a beautiful picture, or at least Aimee would have thought so many years ago, when she was a child. The artist is not without talent, and the classical style of the image seduces the senses, giving the woman an ethereal, goddess-like beauty. It is meant to draw the eye and hold it, to give pleasure to those who see it. And how can it fail to please? The woman it depicts was born for such. A gift of beauty and sensuality for the rest of the world to enjoy.
Aimee runs her fingers across the surface of the canvas, feeling nothing but disgust. She knows too much to fall for its tricks. She knows exactly the sort of man who would paint this picture or add it to his collection. She knows the kind of man who would live in a house like this one, an ornate palace drenched in velvet, gold, tapestries, portraits, and diamond chandeliers. A man just like him.
The resemblance is uncanny. This very well may have been the same room she'd stayed in once upon a time. She very well may have become the woman in the portrait if only she had been trapped for longer than she was. It feels so horrifyingly familiar that she wonders for a moment if she's woken up from a long and beautiful dream about running away and becoming a merchant on a traveling caravan and has returned to her old life, her reality. Maybe any minute one of Prideri's servants will come through the door and tell her that she is wanted in the master's room. And maybe this time the job will be completed as it had been intended, this time without any hope of escape.
When she hears the turn of the doorknob her heart plummets, but it is only Jorge returning to the safety of the room.
"The battle is still going strong," he reports. "Apparently that Duke of Tanas character from the last war is back in bu-" He falls silent as he takes in Aimee as she stares at the portrait of the bathing woman with a look filled with nausea and fear. He crosses the room so he is standing at her side, also looking up at the striking image. "Wow," he murmurs. "Isn't that something."
"It's filth," she retorts. "Disgusting."
"What makes you say that?"
"Did anyone ask her if she wanted to be spied on like that? Or if she really, truly wanted to be painted at a vulnerable moment? I doubt it. Men always think a woman like this belongs to them because a chance of fate happened to make her beautiful. They think it gives them leave to do this to her. To expose her as if her body doesn't belong to her, but to anyone who wants to see it."
"But there are women out there who wouldn't object to posing like this. Not everyone in the world sees anything wrong with being taken advantage of."
She nods, having known many of these women herself. "This girl isn't like that," she tells him, her hands reaching up to touch her painted cheek. "See the look in her eyes? That doesn't belong to someone who wants to be seen in this way. You can just tell that she didn't ask to be translated into art for the world's enjoyment. She just wanted to bathe." Aimee sighs and jerks her hand away from the canvas. "You're a man, and that's who it was clearly made for. What do you think of it?"
"The portrait? Nothing, really. The style is well done, and the colors are lifelike. And as you've already figured out for yourself, it tells a story, though perhaps not a happy one. I've seen worse already in this house." He pauses, giving it one last study. "But I agree with what you said. Men are too quick to assume that women should be flattered by the attention we give them. We ought to feel lucky when we earn the love of a woman, instead of feeling entitled to it."
"You believe that?"
"Yes," he says patiently. "I'm not heartless, you know."
"Oh, I didn't mean to suggest you were. It's just that being here... it's making my outlook on things bleak. I am sorry if I offend you."
"You didn't. But are you sure you're all right? If you'd like a rest, I could wake you up when the mercenaries are finished outside."
Aimee eyes the lush canopy bed with distaste. "I have no intention of sleeping here. I'd rather be outside in the rain."
"Ah, yes. The splendors of Begnion never did mix well with you. Maybe if the weather lets up in a few hours, we can ask Ike's permission to set up a tent for us outside."
"You don't have to feel obligated to join me. Even if the rain does stop, it's going to be soggy out there. Don't give up your nice warm room on my behalf."
"As if I would leave you out there on your own with maniac disciples popping out of thin air. Besides, Muston ordered me to keep you out of trouble before we left. You can't ask me to go against the boss's orders."
A smile momentarily reappears on her face. "Ooh, you're my gallant protector for this mission? I had no idea!In that case, you are more than welcome to join me. After all, I heard Boyd telling Rolf that there are bears in this area. Maybe you'll end up wrestling one in my honor!"
"Hey, if I ever saw a bear, I'd call for Kieran. They're his area of expertise."
"But Kieran's not my champion. How could you ever consider backing out of the duty of protecting your lady? Jorge, I'm ashamed of you!"
"So you're my lady now, huh?" he asks in surprise. "I'd never thought I'd hear you admit to that."
"Don't get too confident. I don't know if I can tolerate a knight who won't even wrestle a bear for me. I may have to fire you and hire someone new."
"Ike?"
"Actually, I was thinking Kieran. There's something to be said for a man who won't shy away from killer animals."
Jorge bursts out laughing. "Nice one. He'd make a fair guard up until the point he impales himself in the head while protecting you. But I guess I'll have to do for now."
"I suppose you will." She falls silent for a moment, noticing that the background sounds of clashing steel and shouting have abated. "Sounds like they're done out there. Should we go check?"
"We should err on the side of caution. Ike told me he would send someone to fetch us once the building is secure."
"And the man who owns this monstrosity of a house will disposed of?"
"I'd imagine so. He is a bit lucky that Tibarn isn't with this group, on the other hand. The hawk king would probably personally hunt him down for what he did to Reyson, and it wouldn't be painless way to go."
"I had forgotten that this duke had a hand in that. Despicable, just as I thought. I knew from looking at this room that he would be the sort to feel entitled to anything he wants. Just like-" She stops herself, the name sticking to her tongue. She can't say it. She erased him all those years ago, and she doesn't want to let him out in the open and give him the freedom to become real again.
"You sound as if you've had a bad experience with another man like the duke," Jorge notes, though not expecting her to elaborate further. "If that's the case, I'm sorry. But you can't anticipate every man you meet to be like him."
"I don't," she objects, forgetting to deny his accusation. "If I did, I would have never trusted you, Daniel, or Muston when I found you. But I saw the kindness in your eyes and knew I shouldn't be afraid."
"I'm glad we've proven worthy of your trust, if nothing else."
"You've done more than that. You took me in and provided me with a home without reason to. It's something I'll never forget for as long as I live."
A corner of his mouth tilts upwards into a half-smile. "And here you are, just as troublesome as the day we found you. But believe it or not, I'd make the same decision again. I don't think life would be half as interesting without you in it."
He reaches out slowly to take her hand, but before he can cross the distance between them, a knock comes from the door. "It's me, can I come in?" Ike's voice asks through it, and both of them leap apart, startled by the interruption they should have been expecting.
Jorge opens the door and Ike strides through with the most repulsive looking man Aimee has ever seen in tow. Greasy, bald, and grotesquely fat, with a twitchy little mustache underneath his ballooning nose. No wonder people like my mother and I end up on the streets, she thinks to herself, resisting the urge the cover her nose and run out of the room. He probably eats enough for a family of four and leaves everyone else to starve. What could he possibly be doing with Ike?
"Aimee, I know you left your stock out in the caravan," Ike says, glancing warily at the fat man, "but I was wondering if you could possibly hold on to an item for us. As you can see, we've picked up a bit of an unwelcome guest, and I don't feel comfortable leaving him armed until he's proven his loyalties. If you could look after his tome until I ask for it back, it would be much appreciated. Soren told me that it's expensive, and I don't want it to go to waste."
"I suppose I could give it up as long as this angel of beauty is the one to be its guardian," the man says, eying Aimee appreciatively. "What's your name, my darling? I am Oliver, duke of Tanas. Always a pleasure to meet a face as handsome as yours."
"You let him live?" Jorge asks in amazement. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"I know, I know," Ike sighs. "It's against my better judgment. He wants to protect the herons, and according to Rafiel, there's no ill intent in his soul. And if he tries anything, I have no doubts that Nailah will happily finish him off for us."
"Such folly to think I would harm a single hair on that glorious creature's head!" Oliver groans, his expression rapturous. "I would sooner cut out my heart!"
Ike shakes his head in bewilderment. "Would you, please? I doubt anyone would really mind."
"Ah, such ugly words from such a becoming man. You would be all the more lovely if you permitted your speech to match the poetic majesty of your looks."
"Just hand the tome over to Aimee," Ike snaps, looking earnestly sick. "I have better things to be doing right now."
"Very well, o noble commander." He picks up the book and passes it into Aimee's care. As she receives it in her hands, he take hold of one, fitting his slimy palm against hers.
"Such a flawless specimen," he muses as Aimee freezes in horror. "Wide eyes, full bodied hair, exquisite mouth, red as an apple. If I were an artist, I would feature you in many a picture. Such youthful and lively beauty should not be resigned to obscurity, but should live on for everyone to see and admire. Perhaps I may have the honor of commissioning a painting of you one day."
"N-no," she murmurs, trying to push him off of her. But it's too late. His words fill her ears, drawing her back to a time and place she had never wanted to visit again under any circumstances.
0o0o0o0o0o0o
She feels his hands against her. Not greasy like Oliver's, but smoothed by frequent care and smelling faintly of freesia perfume. He tugs at the neckline of her dress, pulling it lower. "No need for modesty, my rose, you're a woman now," he said, pressing his fingers underneath her chin to raise it. "There, there. Pretty enough for a picture. Beautiful."
"Why do you make these portraits?" she wondered, blushing at his praise. "You have no room on your walls for any more, and I can't think of anyone who would wish to purchase a drawing of little old me."
"Such darling humility." He laughed in his loud and barking way. "I doubt your innocent ears would care to hear the real reason, so I will give you one that is also somewhat true. It is because of time, my sweet Aimee. He has his eye on you, and though you are young and beautiful now, one day it will fade. You will grow old, as will I. But even after years and years have passed, I can look at these pictures and remember you as my rose, my beauty. You will live on in my mind as an unblemished goddess even though you will exist somewhere else withered and gray and past your prime. One must take beauty where it can be found and let it linger on for as long as it can."
"But sir, my mother is an older woman and I still think her quite lovely. If I take after her, I do not think I will turn into a crone so soon."
"Ah, I suppose your mother wa— is— fine enough to look at. But you view her in the terms of your affection. She is your mother, and your love for her makes her grander than she is. You do not notice that her hips have grown wide or that her skin carries wrinkles. Unlike you, she is neither nubile nor fresh. Her time has passed... figuratively, of course."
"You speak like an expert on the matter."
"I know a beautiful woman when I see one," he said humbly. "And I see one sitting right before me. One day I will show you just how lovely you really are, and then you will see." He set down his brush for a moment and grinned wolfishly at her. "A shame you were nearly wasted away living on the streets. How fortunate for both of us that I was able to save you and protect you from further damage."
"Yes. I am glad to be safe again."
"I'll keep you from harm always, my rose," he told her, though even then, young and naïve as she was, she felt doubt in the back of her mind as to whether or not he would protect her only for as long as she was young and handsome, and then leave her to fend for herself, old, used up, and alone.
0o0o0o0o0o0o
She comes back to herself just in time to see Jorge's hands connecting with Oliver's shoulders, sending him stumbling back into the wall. "What the hell are you doing?" he yells in a voice she had no idea he was capable of. "Don't you see how scared she is? Stay away from her!" He pulls her against him as her muscles slacken and her knees buckle out from underneath her. "Ike, get him out of here."
"Will she be all right?" Ike asks in a panic, reaching out to check her pulse. "What just happened to her?"
"She won't talk about it, but I think he reminds her of someone she used to know. The best thing you can do for her is get him away as soon as possible."
"All right. You look out for her, Jorge. If you need any food or drink to give her, let me know." He turns to Oliver, who is still smarting from Jorge's assault. "Come on, you fat mass of ugly. You've traumatized enough of my company for one evening, I think."
After a few minutes, Aimee whispers into Jorge's shirt, "Is he gone?"
"Yeah, Ike got him out. Do you think you'll be all right? We should move you to the bed."
"N-no, not there. Please. I'll stand. Anywhere but there."
"Aimee, you're not fit to stand right now. You've had a shock."
A low sob escapes from the back of her throat. "I didn't mean for that to happen," she moans. "I'm so sorry."
"Why are you apologizing to me? That wasn't your fault. Here." He scoops up her legs and lifts her all the way into his arms. "I'll hold onto you until you can catch your breath."
"Thank you." She rests her head against his shoulder. "Oh, I'm horribly embarrassed. For you to see that..."
"Stop worrying about it, for goodness sake! I saw the terror in your eyes when he touched you. You had every right to behave as you did."
"I wanted to be strong. I wanted to forget about everything, but I can't now. It all felt so real. It was like I was back in Daein again."
"Daein? Where we found you?"
She nods. "I lived there for a time. With my mother. She died of the plague, but I wasn't there with her when she passed. I was..." A few tears slide down her cheeks and she wipes them away with the back of her hand.
"Aimee, you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. I understand."
"No. No, I have to say this. You were the one who told me to figure out what I wanted, and what I want is to tell somebody. All this time I've been running away, but I knew it would catch up to me someday. If I don't confront it now, I'll spend the rest of my life hiding from it and being caught again and again. I don't want to do it anymore. It has to end now."
"Then I will listen to whatever you want me to hear." He looks around for a place to sit, but there's nothing but the bed and the floor. Her earlier reactions to it eliminate the bed as an option— he now has a sinking feeling as to what makes her so opposed to it— so he slowly lowers her to floor so she can be comfortable when she speaks to him.
"Where are you going?" she demands when he backs off to give her some space.
"I thought that maybe you wouldn't want me to be so close, considering."
"I told you that I trust you. All these years I've known you, you've never done a single thing to hurt me. Why would you do it now?" She pulls him back and links her elbow against his.
"Aimee, you don't have to feel obligated just because—"
"I don't. Now are you going to let me talk, or not?" The traces of her tears are gone, leaving behind the willful, stubborn Aimee he knows and loves so well. He'd get nowhere trying to coddle her; even at her most vulnerable, she is far from fragile underneath it all.
After collecting herself, Aimee begins to speak. The words, so long bottled up, spill forth readily as if they have been waiting all these years for the chance to be set free. She tells of her mother, of the inescapable plague, the streets of Daein, the house where Prideri had kept her. Prideri. The name falls like bile from her tongue, but she is glad to be rid of it. She has worn it like a chain around her neck, a proper punishment for her foolish actions, but now is the time to break it and let it go. She wasn't the one who had made him trick her or throw her into bed and attempt to take what wasn't within his rights, she realizes. He may have pinned it on her and her irresistible beauty, but in the end he had been the one to make the choice. A choice between respecting her and taking only for himself. He had chosen the latter, and it was his fault not hers. He was the one who deserved punishment, who needed to seek forgiveness for his weakness. Why had it taken so long for her to realize that? Why had she been in such a hurry to blame herself when she had done nothing but trust in someone who had repaid her in betrayal?
As she muses over this issue, Jorge leaps to his feet, his fists clenched tightly. "We're lucky we're not in Daein right now," he snarls, his face red with anger. "If we were, I'd hunt him down and kill him. Damn the consequences. Anyone who would dare do that to someone so young and in so much pain doesn't deserve to live."
"I may have done it myself," she admits sadly. "I never checked to see if he was all right after I brought the vase down on him. I might have done it. I just don't know."
"If you did, I only regret that I didn't do it myself first."
"Thank you, but you shouldn't say things like that. His death won't change what happened. I have to learn to live with it, no matter how angry the thought of him makes me."
Jorge stops pacing and looks down at her. "You're right. But the thought of him hurting you like that, right after you found out about your mother..."
"Yes. I was just like the girl in that picture. I didn't ask for it to happen, but we don't always get what we want in life. I was lucky that it ended how it did, considering what could have happened. And besides, I found you. You, Muston, and Daniel. Can you really say it ended unhappily?"
"Was it worth the price you had to pay?"
"If he hadn't taken me in, I would have gotten the plague and died alongside my mother. I may have almost been taken advantage of, and I may have become a bit ridiculous and made a few thoughtless decisions since then, but at least I'm still alive. It's what my mother would have wanted for me. So yes, it was worth the suffering. It was what led me here."
Jorge's frown lessens somewhat. "And made you wiser, I see. I guess I can't begrudge you that."
"Good. I really had no intention of letting you." She comes to her feet and stands up beside him. "Now that we're done philosophizing, we'd better get down to business. No point in dancing around the subject after all of this."
"Hmm? What business? What subject are we dancing around?"
A familiar smile lights up her face, practically dripping with sweetness. "Well, before we go out and you become my champion and wrestle a few bears on the side, there is a matter we should discuss. It has come to my attention recently that you perhaps harbor special feelings for me, feelings of a more than brotherly nature. Not that you are the only man to feel such, of course. I am, after all, the most sought after woman in this camp."
"And don't forget the vainest," he says, gladly falling into the old routine now that the new undertones are so very clear. Neither of them are the same as they had been when they'd first engaged in such banter. Both have matured and figured themselves and each other out, weaving through the difficult emotions and horrifying memories to arrive at this. They hadn't been ready all those years ago, or even an hour ago before the truth had come to light. Now that there are no secrets, fear, or insecurities between them, it is finally time.
"I can't help but feel a bit sorry for you, my poor champion," Aimee says. "It must be so hard to love me with all those other men to compete with. You have suffered much on my behalf, but you have borne it well. For that, I commend you."
"For a woman so good and kind, I would have gladly suffered more. And how do you respond to these feelings of mine, my lady?"
"Well... you are not the perfect man by any means. You can be very forward sometimes, and it would be a bit more attractive of you if you had a blade to protect me with, not to mention that you always smell like soot and metal whenever you come visit it me. But then again, I suppose you're as fine as you can be. Any man who puts up with my grating behavior or fights off inappropriate fat dukes in my defense is more than worthy of my regard. You were the real one who has protected me and shown me kindness ever since I fled Daein. As far as champions go, I can hardly hope for better."
Jorge takes a tentative step forward and slides an arm around her waist. When she doesn't shy away, he pulls her gently against him with an affectionate smile. "And as far as lovers go?"
"Ooh, I can't say I know the answer to that one. You haven't shown me what you're capable of in that respect yet, have you?"
"What about Ike?"
"Ike?" Amazing. She had completely forgotten him up until this point. It all seems so stupid now, looking back. He'd never loved her or shown even the slightest interest for a single moment. And what's so special about him, in the long run? Sure he can fight and is as more kind and noble than most men in the world, but he isn't the one meant to understand her or accept her for her quirks and rocky past. And Jorge is just as sweet and handsome, but with the added bonus of actually being in love with her just as much as she is in love— such a relieving thing to finally admit!— with him.
"Ike will have to nurse his wounded heart with a new conquest," she says with a laugh. "He may attempt to duel with you, but true love will prevail in the end. He'll be upset for awhile, but he'll move on after he's done mourning."
"True love, hmm? Are you sure this time? No more games?"
"No more games. Don't even worry about Ike. It's his loss, after all."
Jorge grins wickedly and leans in to her. "His loss indeed," he whispers into her ear before kissing her soundly on the lips and pulling her back into his arms, the place he has so long been waiting for her to fill.
0o0o0o0o0o0o
Soren pulls off his robes in exhaustion, then folds them into a neat pile at the foot of the bed. What a night. First an unexpected rain storm, and then a trip through a mad house to face off against someone they thought they'd killed years ago. If Ashera intends for them to be run ragged by time they reach her tower, she's certainly doing an excellent job of it. Another unplanned battle like this, and who knows if they'd be able to rally in time before the judgment completed and they were all dead just like everyone else.
As Soren digs around his pack for a night shirt, he hears his door unceremoniously being thrown open. He's unsurprised to see that it's Ike entering in unannounced, even though he's a bit peeved at the complete breech of manners. He pulls the pillow off his bed and chucks it at Ike's face in punishment.
"Ever heard of knocking?" he retorts with a mild glare. "I'm in the middle of changing, and I don't need you bursting in on me like that."
"Sounds like the perfect time to burst in without knocking to me," Ike says, shamelessly sinking onto Soren's bed. "Could you do me a favor?"
"Possibly."
"Next time someone asks to join our army, would you do everything within your power to make me say no?"
Soren snorts. "Having problems with the duke? I told you it was a horrible idea. Even if Rafiel can vouch for his intentions, he's still a disgusting excuse for a human being. And then when we catch up to Tibarn and Reyson, he'll have it coming anyways."
"If he even lasts that long with the way he's been throwing himself upon anyone that breathes. If I have to tell him to keep his hands off one more time, I think I'll just do him in myself."
"He touched you?" Soren snarls, his mouth tightening.
"Nah, he knows better. But after Rafiel, he's already tried Mia, Titania, and Shinon. And now Aimee."
"Aimee? I expect she was flattered by the attention."
"Shows how little you and I know about her. She almost fainted when he touched her. Jorge came to her rescue, luckily, and he's taking care of her now. You know, I think there may even be something there."
"Something where?"
"Between the two of them."
"Aimee? And Jorge? Are you joking? Have you been absolutely clueless of the fact that she's been throwing herself on you since the Mad King's war?"
"Actually, I did notice that, thank you very much. But she has to have realized that she never really knew me all that well. If she wants to be happy, it should be with someone who really cares about her. And I know he does. I saw it in his eyes tonight when he got into it with Oliver for her sake."
"You saw it in his eyes?" Soren echoes, his mouth falling slack. "Who are you, and what have you done with Ike?"
"Hey! Is this another insult on my cluelessness? I'm not that bad. And besides, I know what the look is like now that I've seen it in your eyes." He leans forward and presses his lips against one of Soren's bare shoulder blades. "And do you want to hear what else I've noticed?"
"Well, you've piqued my interest. Go on."
"You have nice skin. I had forgotten since I hadn't seen it in so long. You always keep it buried under all of those robes, but it's really beautiful." He takes Soren's arm and studies it critically. "Although I do wish you would eat more. You're so skinny."
Soren's face flames. "As scintillating as this analysis of my body is, you need to go to bed. We should be arriving to the tower in the morning, and who knows what we will be facing there?"
"Did I embarrass you?" Ike murmurs, kissing Soren's stick-like arm to amend for his words. "How rude of me. I should apologize." He turns Soren so he is facing him and kisses him gently on the lips in contrition. "You know," he whispers as he pulls away. "There's really no reason for me to go back to my room. There's already a perfectly adequate bed right here."
"Then let me rephrase my request," Soren sighs, his blush deepening. "Go to a bed where you'll actually get some sleep so you won't be so tired that you'll pass out on the floor before you can even land a hit on Ashera. As much as I want you to stay here with me, I want you to live even more."
"And what if I want to disobey, like you did when I wasn't going to kiss you because of your cut?"
"I would tell you that a cut can heal, even after being reopened. It's only temporary. But death isn't"
"And I would say that I guess I can't argue with your logic. So I'll be a good boy and turn in." He leans in to give Soren another kiss, but Soren pulls away before it can last too long and make Ike forget that he's supposed to be leaving.
"Rest well tonight," he murmurs, releasing Ike's hand. "And here's to hoping we'll live to see another night tomorrow."
0o0o0o0o0o
A/N: Pssh, Soren. Don't you know that if Ike fails to beat Ashera, you just get a game over so he can try again?
Anyways, things are looking up for our couples, but J&A still don't know about the fate of their I&S bet and different wagers, and Soren still has one secret he's keeping buried that Ike should know about before anything further happens between them. Stay tuned!