This story was very difficult for me to write and I know this likely comes off as clipped and jumpy. In truth, I cannot do the scene justice with the fiction because it's a very subtle and powerful event already. This takes place in 4L, and is my take on the scene that occurs if you do not save Ozma.

My next few chapters will be short as Triad (now posted) is my longer work at the moment.

Broken

"Ozma. . ."

Balxephon's voice faded into the brisk wind as he stood alone with his fiancée on the docks of Heim. The woman did not return his breathy words, of course, let alone respond with any type of acknowledgment. After her earlier tantrum, when she had learned that Hobyrim still lived, Volaq had carefully brought the stubborn woman back, broken, beaten, bloody, some limbs held together only by the most tenuous of fibers that were mended together through emergency spells cast by Volaq's rare Light-skilled Templars. The Clerics, Bakram and Lodissian alike, had done a marvelous job in the woman's restoration, but only time would tell how truly she would recover. The once beautiful, graceful, Templar could not even eat on her own, though she could swallow, nor could she move to wash or clean herself if she accidentally spoiled her undergarments. If she was lucky, she would regain some function, perhaps even the ability to lightly communicate with finger taps or movement of the eyes. The Valerians were not the most skilled healers, but they had done what they could with Ozma and only the Wheel knew of what lay beyond for the Moh Glacius woman.

Balxephon stroked the side Ozma's listless face, hand ungloved, his rough, worn skin against soft, pale, new flesh. Perhaps 'twas only his imagination, but he thought he felt Ozma shake under him; more likely it was simply the body's base response to unfamiliar stimulus. Her nerves had been healed and restored entirely and with the amount of magic used on them it did not surprise him that they would respond so intensely; touch to Ozma's face was uncommon and would have easily caused the small tremor. The wind continued to blow between the two as they remained in silence together, Ozma in her mobile chair and Balxephon behind, as her guide, with a light grasp on her hand as he pushed her across the docks to the ship she would return to Lodis in. Very few had come to oversee Ozma's departure, by Balxephon's order. He knew she would not want any to see her as such, so in his deepest respect for the once-formidable woman, he had demanded all but those necessary to the preparation of the ship leave so that Ozma may enter her cabin undisturbed by the stares of the commons.

The duo remained alone on the end of the dock, only a few paces from the edge, as the native crew bustled about behind them, their vocal demands a backdrop and little more. Balxephon carefully turned his partner's chair out towards the sea, to give her a pleasant view of the waves as they broke against the land, of the seabirds in flight, and the bright blue sky, unmarred by clouds, just in case she could see or comprehend what she saw. Balxephon lightly brushed his fingers through Ozma's fine hair, cleaned with her favorite wash one last time, as the sea breeze blew it across her passive, emotionless face. 'Twould not be the first time Ozma had such a drastic change in her personality; the healers told him that due to the intense trauma to her brain and damage to her skull she would likely have some issues with her memory and cognitive function. 'Twas for the better, in this case, Balxephon mused. She would not remember what she had learned of Hobyrim – more preferable would be if she had forgotten Hobyrim's existence entirely. Balxephon had known Ozma for almost a decade, he had watched, quietly, as she had grown from a young woman into a powerful sorceress all of the nobles envied, in grace, manner, and ability.

The Moh Glacius and Von Rahms marriage between Ozma and Hobyrim had been political at first, for unity and consolidated power between two powerful families, but the two had quickly fallen in love beyond what their positions required. She had been a different woman then, one with such passion and devotion and love that even Balxephon's attention, usually so focused on his work, had been drawn to her. After the revolution, Balxephon used every contact he had in his power to keep Ozma's whisperers and spies from alerting her of the truth about his brother. Hobyrim had been stubborn and had broken Ozma's heart in the trial, when he had refused to serve Loslorien. None knew it then, but Ozma had fled the courtroom in shame, for she had used all of her influence to free the man she most sought to have by her side - only to have him turn her away. She had been heartbroken and filled with despair, for she knew the man not only rejected her, but chose death in her place like the stupid, stupid creature that he was. Ozma, too, died that day. Her smiles no longer reached her eyes, unless they were, very rarely, provoked by Oz; Ozma devoted her body and soul to the betterment of the land she loved and to strengthen her family and her Guild, which she would have inherited once her mother died.

Hobyrim had always been such a child; he had never grown up from his time in the Academy. All was so black and white to him, as if he did not wish to see beyond his own morality into the wider world of reality. Balxephon was seen as evil for his actions, yet how many lives had he saved with only two deaths of their parents? How many more lives would have been taken had Lodis continued its decay? The revolution secured a strong future for their children. Hobyrim would have their country torn apart from the inside, had he his way. His brother would start his own revolution, and yet more would die in the process. In his arrogance, Hobyrim believed his method was superior, yet in truth he was no different from his elder. Balxephon's hand tightened against the top of Ozma's wheelchair in anger at the thought; just as Hobyrim would destroy Lodis, so, too, had Hobyrim destroyed Ozma, not once, but twice over. She had given into her hope when she saw him alive in Rhime and had fled in attempt to find him, yet what had she found - naught more than herself broken upon Volaq's sword. Hobyrim never came; he abandoned her, just as he refused Ozma's assistance in court and turned aside Balxephon's mercy. He had torn apart the entire Moh Glacius and Von Rahms families in his ignorance.

Balxephon breathed heavily, the salty sea air unpleasant in both smell and taste, and forced himself into calm. His knuckles were white on Ozma's chair from his frustration. The Lodissian forced his anger down as best he could until it fell into a light rain from its former storm. When younger, Balxephon and Hobyrim had been very close in many ways, but they served as polar opposites in personality and ability. Though their strengths drastically varied, they also complimented each other as well as two sons of one of the most powerful families in Lodis could. Balxephon was less skilled in direct combat and preferred the diplomatic approach, or a focus on strategy. His preferred occupation often made him the villain - he had to make decisions others did not approve of and he was the one blamed for any deaths or failures. In contrast, Hobyrim was everything Balxephon was not, favored by their father, favored by his colleagues for his charisma and appearance, one who always remained honorable. Where Balxephon was harsh and coarse, aged well beyond his years from the stress of being heir, Hobyrim was soft and attractive - the most skilled swordsman in Lodis and, more, favored by their once-shared soldiers because of his loyalty, honor, and mannerisms. Even in their father's last moments he had looked to Hobyrim, not Balxephon. Perhaps 'twas a darker side of him, but Balxephon felt some satisfaction at his ability to take care of the woman Hobyrim had rejected. It had been one of the few personal battles he had won against his younger sibling. Only during his most morbid of moments did he think such, for he had long admired the beauty of the Moh Glacius woman; once she grown into the part, there had never been any other he desired. Of course, his brother had been the one to steal her away when Balxephon had spoken to their father about possible marriage between families, given their closer proximity in age, but 'twas Balxephon won in the end. Ozma was his and he would always protect her; he would not abandon her as his worthless brother had.

For he and Ozma, the misunderstanding and its subsequent result in Krysaro were a fresh start. Lodis had some of the best Clerics and healers that could be found, if anyone could save her from her sad reality, 'twas them. Perhaps someday she would smile or would share long, soft looks with Balxephon and blush with pleasure at the mention of their marriage in place of her former cool detachment and simple acceptance of the political union. At worst, and in truth most likely, Ozma would never move again from her chair without aid and would be unable to control herself in any way. The healers had spoken, with a ridiculous feigned empathy, that Ozma was still able to bear children, as if he only used her for an heir. It had disgusted him to the point that he had almost maimed the woman on the spot. Ozma was not a simple tool used only to produce children. As Ozma and he continued to stare over the sea, the Lodissian ran a hand down his fiancée's face in silent apology for the words that had been spoken to her, the soft flesh entirely unmarred by scars; the healers who slandered him had done a beautiful job in her flesh's repair - perhaps too good, for she was flawless, like a doll. Was she truly so unnatural, or was there more to her than the marionette of a form? Could she think? Did she suffer pain? Was she upset at what had befallen her? Perhaps 'twould be better if her mind was blank, just as broken and battered as her paralyzed body, for a woman in her state not deserve the cruelness of sentience.

From behind, Balxephon heard the steady footsteps and the ring of armor that he knew to be Volaq. Had the High Champion not stopped him, Volaq would have more than a piece of Balxephon's mind, but a spear through his neck for what he had done. No matter how foolish and irrational she had been, Volaq had no right to beat his fiancée as he had done; a few simple spells would have sufficed, no matter Ozma's skilled resistance to them. She had been desperately outnumbered, she could not stand against them all. Volaq not only dishonored Ozma, but also House Glacius, Balxephon, and Loslorien with his actions that bordered upon Barbas' brashness in Rhime. Ozma would have returned to Heim; she was a rational woman, especially once she saw how Hobyrim remained with the man who killed her brother. Balxephon turned around to glare at the other Dark Knight, who seemed to speak with the ship's captain for whatever reason before he turned back down to Ozma, her expression as blank as it had been ever since she first awakened after the incident.

"I will return as quickly as I can, my love. When we finish our duties here, I will take the first ship to Lodis and we will be wed, as I promised." Balxephon ran his hands through her hair again and massaged her scalp gently. Her hair was as thick and beautiful as it had ever been, though it was now parted at the center instead of the side. As he looked down at her, he saw that her mouth, lips still full and supple, had fallen open, and some of her spittle fell from the corner. Balxephon felt a rare, prolonged pang of sadness within him at the fate the woman he loved had to endure; perhaps if she had not been so stubborn and had simply stayed in Lodis like he had begged her in the first place. . .

The Templar let the thought die. No, he was much at fault as Ozma. If he had told her the truth, she would not have run off so irrationally. He and Oz could have sat together and convinced her of the way of things, then she would never have been polluted by Hobyrim's sudden 'revival' and she would have remained in Heim beside him. In his regret, Balxephon moved from behind his fiancée and kneeled down beside her; he grasped her cool hands in his and lightly kissed her cheek. Her flesh did not respond to him, as it had done earlier, as he brought his lips to her mouth and removed the excess saliva. She tasted as she always had, she looked as she always had, yet not even Oz would recognize her as the same person had he still been alive. Balxephon lightly leaned his cheek onto hers as he mused. Ozma had been his company for so long when on assignment that he knew he would be lonely without her. Ozma's hair blew against him as he remembered, still in their gentle embrace, the way she would be subtly annoyed whenever he did not heed her, how she would always walk through the gardens and reveled in their beauty – a softness that she would never reveal to anyone, but also hid badly - as she would lean down and smell each flower that she loved; her favorites were a small white species that bloomed year-round in Galius. In his mind, the flowers were a distinct part of her - her room, the one time he had entered, and Ozma herself, always smelled of them. When he returned home, Balxephon would need to pick the flowers in her place, for he would certainly not allow the servants to do something so special for his soon-to-be wife. On the isles, she openly spoke her mind to him, her worries, her fears, and, for that matter, whenever she felt Balxephon was being a fool or irrational, it was a part of what made Ozma who she was. He would miss her warm welcomes, their meals together, and her purity, even if often delusional.

Balxephon released Ozma's hands and placed them together on her lap as he stood. 'Twas not as if she was dead, he should not think such morbid thoughts. Without another word or sweet touch, he moved behind her chair and pushed Ozma onto the large boat, over the deck. If any shipmate stopped to look at the woman in shock, Balxephon glared until they turned away and pretended they had other business to attend to. Ozma had the most expensive ship that Balxephon could acquire on the backwater island, with the best room and multiple guards; if pirates were truly an issue, as the captain spoke, she would be well protected. Her chamber was large for such a ship and was open, with only a table in the center. The tallow candle on its top remained unlit and Ozma's few belongings, and those that remained of Oz's, were in the corner near her bed. The room was dark and cool, but not unpleasantly so. She would be comfortable here; there was not much to entertain her, but she did not need it. The trip to Lodis would take some time, he hoped her attendants would be up to their task. He paid only the best and he hoped that the women he chose would not harm poor Ozma, defenseless as she was, in annoyance. 'Twas common for caretakers to abuse their patients, especially when they could not fight back. Given the Valerians and their lack of honor, he worried for his fiancée's safety; he had given orders for her to be returned immediately to his manor, not her family's, so that she would be properly cared for.

He looked down on the broken woman one last time before her journey; she remained just as impassive as ever, perhaps words would never again grace her lips, but a part of the his mind told Balxephon that she could see him, even if she had no way to acknowledge his presence. In a rare moment of romanticism, Balxephon again took his fiancée's hand, still far cooler than the air around them, as he rustled through his robes. He took out a small box that he always kept with him and placed it on her lap, open. Inside the box was the small ring that was a sign of their engagement; Ozma did not wear it unless she dressed in her informal clothes, so it had been off when she fled Heim. Balxephon took the ring and placed it back onto her finger, thin, with nails that had just started to grow, where it belonged. He kissed the top of her hand and took back the box before he turned away and walked from the cabin. He could no longer face her, his last words only barely loud enough to be heard: "I will always love you, Ozma. Never forget that."

If all continued on its path, as the whisperers spoke that Denam had taken the Princess and Barnicia and put the High Champion to route, it would not be long before he could rejoin her. These isles had been a disaster from the very start, their losses insurmountable – not only from a personal standpoint, but also a political one. He had been forced to a public confession of sorts, Volaq was too strict about justice to let it pass once they returned, Moh Glacius would withdraw their support of Loslorien entirely now that one of their heirs was dead and the second was unrecognizable, and they would most certainly lose the favor of the council and be unable to act as they wished. He certainly hoped the High Champion had some plan, for Balxephon could see very little way for this to end well for them. Even still, he could not give up, no matter how dark the situation turned; Balxephon had reason to fight. He loved his country just as much as the Valerians loved their pitiful island. He could not lose, if not for himself or his country, but for the beautiful woman who awaited him at home.

Does Balxephon love Ozma in canon? I don't think we've enough information to judge. But for the sake of a story like this, I thought it easier to swallow if he did, even if I've put forth my own reasons for how the love originally started and could have been influenced by Hobyrim.