11. SHADOWY PAST

The war occurred five years ago, the westward march of Archadia, the invasion of two kingdoms – Nabradia and Dalmasca. It was believed to be a struggle for power between Men; however, lurking beneath it was something more: a war between the gods – the Ocurrias.

Long had they steered the human history up from their eternal thrones. Creators of powerful nethicite they are, and with power they choose like some and crush the rest. More than seven hundred years ago, the Dynast-King Raithwall, Dalmasca's ancestor, was chosen to bring the peace to Ivalice.

Until the day Venat, the heretic Ocurria, skew the history's weave and gave the knowledge of the Stone to Man, and the chosen was Vayne Solidor, Larsa's elder brother. Maddened by the trespassers' acts, the Occuria chose one to pass their judgement. The chosen was Ashelia Dalmasca, the current Queen of Dalmasca.

It appeared that their choice was not happy as it supposed to be.

"Well, then, I found no surprise if they would choose Rozzaria this time," observed Razzia. "Since her Majesty declined their offer, not to cut the Nethicite and destroy Archadia Empire," she added after a brief pause to have a sip of tea. Her voice was calm.

They were back to Milieu Manse, sitting at the glass table in grand foyer. Razzia asked them about Occuria, and they were having a discussion on past, present and future.

Razzia regained her strength after a short relaxation. Her arm stopped trembling. Fran and the mage were not so lucky. They were resting in rooms upstairs. Yet, the worst was, obviously, Larsa, still unconscious.

"And they wanna start a war..." Penelo hesitated, stirring her cup, her gaze anchor at the white foxgloves vase on the table.

"We are the arbiters of our own destiny," said Basch, "Occuria might want the war, but it won't occur if we all, Dalmasca, Archadia and Rozzaria, sue for peace."

"Oh, I know," Penelo cried cheerfully, "Larsa-sama and Razzia-sama's wedding will bring the two empires together."

"Well, that's if Larsa make it," said Vaan and bit a cookie, glancing at Razzia. She said no word, just touching her golden ring.

"Vaan!" Penelo scolded.

"How's his Excellency?" Basch asked as he noticed Magister Lukio was stepping downstairs.

"He's fine, but you should've waited for me to come," he sighed.

"We need investigate at once. And it was his Excellency's decision."

"That says Larsa is to blame," Razzia joined in, standing up, "now, may I see him?"

"His Magister is sleeping."

"Very well. I won't wake him up," she declared and dashed upstairs.

The Magister's gaze followed her slender figure ascending with alacrity. A silver gleam reflected on the round-headed bird carved on dagger pommel. "Is she Lady Razzia?" He asked.

"Aye," the Judge nodded.

Thus, they left her see Larsa in private. For a while, she had just sat and looked her betrothed slumbering in silence.

"Larsa. Now, have you seen it?" Razzia whispered; her fingers caressed along his peaceful face, "your dream will not come true. Not in your way."

His eyes closed. His chest moved up and down evenly. Inside it was a heart, a beating heart. Alive. Razzia reluctantly reached to her belt, near where her dagger was hung. She felt a cold sting as she touched the pommel.

Penelo closed the door behind her. She had just done checking Fran. The Viera was good, but fatigued. They all were exhausted. It was time to rest and find something to fill their empty stomachs. She would cook something for them after checking Larsa. Maybe Razzia-sama, too, wanted to cook something for him.

Having cracked the door softly, Penelo poked her head into and carefully surveyed the master chamber. Lady Razzia was sitting on a velvet stool beside the big four-poster with blue and gold curtains. A pool of light stretched her shadow on the checked marble floor. As she approached, the dancer noticed something strange. The Lady convulsed as if she was pulling something with great effort.

"Razzia-sama—" Penelo was asking what she was doing, but the Lady startled and whirled back to look at her with astonishment. Suddenly, she tilted, losing her balance. Her face was on the floor if Penelo did not catch her in time.

"Aha!" Razzia cheered once she sat still again. On her right hand was a brush – one that Larsa had confiscated. It was tucked into Larsa's belt until being pulled out. With eagerness, she dipped it into a black ink pot and started to write it on Larsa's cheek. "I-am-a-Slugtoise," she murmured.

"R-Razzia-sama," Penelo tried to stop her with a weak voice.

"Interested?" Razzia asked, offered her the brush. She hesitated. "Don't worry. I think Larsa is still unconscious," the Lady encouraged her.

"My Lady, I dare not," Penelo declined.

"Oh, Larsa will not hang you for scribbling on his face," Razzia said, resuming her work on the fore head, "but should you fear troubles, just say all was done by me."

"He's gonna be mad."

"That's what it's for." Razzia said, tilting her head to admire her new drawing in different angles. It was a bell with four short legs and tiny eyes, hardly could be interpreted as her subject, a tortoise. To Penelo, she added, "I say his angry face is humorous."

"Say, how's Fran-san?" the Lady asked as she was scribbling on the other cheek.

"She's good. Oh, right, everyone needs a break, so I'm thinking of cooking a good meal for them."

"If I may, I suggest tortoise soup. It'd fit for the (tortoise) emperor," she said, smiling, waving her hands on Larsa's head to make two artificial ears. Penelo covered her mouth with the hand, finding herself both laughing and frowning at the sight. Larsa's face was crammed with black doodling.

"So, are you interested in lending me a hand?" Penelo suggested.

"Well," she swayed her head, secretly glancing at Larsa, "if you don't mind my inexperience in cooking."

As the only daughter of Grand Duke of East Ordalia and the (rumored) precious Princess of House Margrace, Razzia rarely stepped into the kitchen. She considered honing some culinary skills while she was living with Nico, but Nico banned her from the kitchen after almost setting it on fire.

"How is it?"

The two ladies were anxiously anticipating the reaction for their efforts. There were some dishes: fruit salads with soft cheese (specially made for Fran), flat manas bread with cured meat and herb sauce, blackmele tart and tea (Razzia could hardly finished a meal without tea) and of course the star of today – tortoise soup. It was the first time they made tortoise soup. Quite a mess they had created to clean the tortoise.

As they made a big lunch, Magister Lukio and Amont – the mage, were invited to join. The magister did not know how he should say. She was the Emperor's, and High Magister, future wife. Ashe shook her head. Even an excellent cook such as Penelo could not teach the Princess to cook properly. Fran calmly forked a melon piece in others' awe and envy.

"Hey, it's not bad," started Vaan.

"It has a unique delicacy of its own," commented Balthier.

"Aye, it's pretty good for the first try," praised Basch.

Razzia scooped a spoonful of the soup for herself. Gulp! She almost spilt it up. Quickly grabbing her cup of tea, she downed it with the fragrant rose tea. The soup was not a pleasure to look: thick orange liquid with lumpy cubes of brown meat. But it was hoped to be opposite in taste.

The Lady hid her head under her palms. It still lingered on her throat as slimy substance with tinge of strong sourness. "All pleasantries," sighed Razzia and continued eating her soup, "thank you, nevertheless."

"I guessed tortoise soup isn't an easy meal," said Penelo, scraping the back of her head, "but Larsa-sama's gonna love it."

"Definitely he will, he's Mr. Whatever," she mumbled, secretly peeping into the kitchen, where a half big pot of soup located. It was reserved for her betrothed. "You needn't eat it if it doesn't taste properly," she added in a loud, clear voice.

"Don't worry. Everyone enjoys themselves, right?" Penelo soothed; they nodded in reply.

Naive Penelo. Razzia could easily notice their sub rosa look at other dishes. But if they wished not to hurt Penelo's, and also hers, feeling publicly, she would condone it. The meal continued in her silence. All the time Razzia was trying her best to gulp more soup, and so was everyone else. It was a long lunch, every unpleasant thing is long, but over it was.

After helping the cleaning, they retired to the drawing room. Vaan and Balthier was playing some cards game with Ashe and Basch watching. Fran was lying in the communicating room, resuming her rest and trying her best to recall the whispers that she heard during the trance but nothing came to mind. From here, Penelo could see a corner of the garden with the sapphire pond and a tinkling man-made waterfall. The garden was refulgent with summer blooms – cactus roses, tomato flowers and lilies. A stroll along graveled path lined with their colors and scent would be refreshing. But she could not find Razzia. The Lady said she went for a walk. She could be in another part; the garden was large, she guessed.

The room was shaken with a cheer. It seemed they were having an exciting game. Penelo thought that she would fetch them some fruits and sweets. There were tart leftovers from the meal (actually the tarts were untouched as they focused greatly on the soup).

She walked down the foyer, then to the kitchen sitting neatly beneath the stairs. The kitchen anticipated her arrival with clung-clang noise. Someone was cooking something. To her surprise, Penelo found the familiar back of Razzia twice in the day convulsing as if she was pulling something hard. Again she startled as she heard Penelo was coming. The Lady's face was dirtied with soot.

Larsa would not taste it, or his betrothed decided thus. Therefore, shortly having done with the meal, Razzia made an excuse to go out and carry her clandestine plan to eradicate the soup. With all her determination and strength, still she could not lift the pot. Perhaps she would need a hand.

"Why? Larsa-sama's gonna love it," Penelo refused.

"I know he would not disparage it. He cannot taste a thing!"

"Eh?" Penelo was gazing her with big, round honey eyes.

"You don't know that?" Razzia was gazing back with blinking sand-rose eyes.

It was quite a secret (and scandal if revealed) for an Emperor to have ageusia, or loss of taste, and (assumedly) anosmia, loss of smell, also. Razzia had conducted many test and experiments on Larsa to confirm it and so had they a little secret. As the sky pirates and Larsa were close, she believed that Penelo had known that.

"No way. Larsa-same gave me lots of advice on the cooking," Penelo said in disbelief. Actually, it was not her, but Kassy lady of the sweet shop. Anyway, Larsa was meticulous at what he ate.

"He just read it in food and culinary arts books then relate it," she explained. He confided in her.

"It can't be," Penelo refused to believe that the Larsa that praised her cooking had a malfunctioned palate. "Then why must you discard the soup?"

Razzia smudged the soot on her face with the finger. She realized it must be unwise, but... "I just wish him not to see my failed dish."

She did not seem to lie, yet Penelo still could not believe it. Both were insistent on their belief. Thus it settled on a wager. The soup was pardoned, and Larsa would taste it. Penelo would enquire of Larsa about its taste. If the Emperor could give them a satisfactory answer, Penelo would win.

The two retired together with a tray of tea and tarts. The door knob turned quietly. Soon after the door was cracked, Vaan greeted them.

"Hey, Penelo. They're gonna do a thorough investigation of the underground complex," said her partner and dashed out of the room right after she just entered. Penelo stood still, she hardly moved. "Let's go," his voice diminished along with his steps.

"Penelo-san?" Razzia shook her hand softly, "won't you go with us?"

"Um... " Penelo faltered. It took her a few seconds to reclaim her sanity. "You don't stay until Larsa-sama wakes up?"

Razzia whirled back as her foot stomped on the threshold. "Oh. No, I don't."

"But, you don't wanna be with him?"

"I don't see why. My presence does him no better."

Razzia paused then added, "what are you afeard of? He's not a child, he should need no nanny. And so does Mr. Vaan." One more fact she did not want to tell Penelo straightly was that despite being with him, she was impuissant to stop him.

But Penelo knew it. "But if anything happens to Vaan, I... I won't be alone," Penelo stammered, deflating on the nearby chair. Some cards are downturned on the table; they were in middle of a game.

"It's yours to decide. Only I say this is not how it should be."

Penelo hesitated. "Then maybe I should make a change."

"Be troubled not. I'll have an eye on him for you," Razzia offered. Before she could utter a thank you, the Lady turned to look her once last time. "Love yourself, Penelo-san. Don't let the memories consume you."

Penelo sat still. From upstairs, voices could be heard. Vaan's was diminished strong and confident. "Hey, where's Penelo?"

Razzia replied with a softened, "she needs rest."

"What's wrong with her? She didn't..." it got smaller and smaller.

The dancer headed to the window to see her partner's shape passing through the garden, then the main gate. His arms were crossed over his head confidently, just like Thos, her third brother, did in the hazy spring morning.

At the time, Penelo was, too, sitting by window, looking down the street. Men in shiny armors bustled in the street. Leather lappets of their skirts spun like flowers as they turned to leave. Fourteen-year-old Penelo raced downstairs, past the front room to the doorsteps, just in time to have a glimpse of her brother before they had gone.

They said they were losing Nalbina Fortress. Mama said no word; she was blinking her tears. Her two elder sons joined the Dalmasca forces to set forth for Nalbina, and no news of their survivals was heard. Papa was patting him on the shoulder; they looked at each other face to face, man to man.

"I'll be back." Penelo recalled his words, his smile as he saw her panting for both fear and running.

And he never came back.

Neither did her other brothers, nor her father, nor her mother, nor Reks. All she had now was Vaan, and he was leaving. She could never sit by that window slid again.


Royal City of Rabanastre, Dalmasca

Beneath Aminestié Theater

"'Tis hard to believe that you're a part of them," said Revenas, sitting on a comfortable armchair. He was curious if it was the same chair that his Excellency seated himself to watch the play.

Some candles were thrown around, throwing pools of lights, while the rest of the room was lost in shadow. It was a nice, well-lit room considering its location, the storage beneath the theater of friendship, though it was not a part of the wardrobe and storage, only located near. It was one of the remnants of the Old Resistance quarters.

The black-haired man sat with him leant forwards, shedding some light on his face. "It proved that we did a splendid job," he said with his chin rest on his crossed hands.

Both Dalmasca and Archadia had an eye on the theater, yet missed the place. They concealed themselves well. The New Resistance. Still Revenas did not like the way they fueled Nico's play and used it as a covert.

"Her Majesty's being with them, investigating the strange Mist in Westersand," the black-haired continued.

"Ashe should think of her station."

"He's alone in Millieu Manse without his protector."

"And you see this as a chance, huh, Folge?" Revenas crossed his arms, slowly resting his back on the upholstery.

"Vurmas's wing is a claque of Archadia. Dalmasca needs you, my lord."

He knew that. Only have to waiting for the Queen to realize it herself. "Yes, but as long as the Emperor has his crown, her throne is absolute."

"It shall not be long."

"... you did?"

"So are you with us?"

Flickering fires, easy to be blown off. How he had foreseen, yet disappointed when it became true.