Birth and Re-Death
Chapter 32: A Milf Yells at Me
I do my best to wheedle more information on what the hell is going on out of Vasto, but he's the perfect storm of 'doesn't know enough to be a good source of information' and 'dislikes me enough that he wouldn't be super open with me even if he did know,' so he's kinda tight-lipped for most of the exceedingly long journey across several Ylissean provinces.
We mostly ride in silence, which gives me some time to think about this new shitshow of a situation I've gotten myself into. I'm apparently being taken to Themis, which might not be the worst thing in the world because the Shepherds plan to make their way here eventually anyway, but that means Robin and the others are essentially on their own through the entire retaking of the capital and until they make their way here.
What are my options? If I remember right, the distance from Ylisstol to Themis was about a week and a half by horse-drawn carriage, so a solo horse booking it could probably make pretty good time. But that's making a lot of assumptions in my favor. First and foremost being that I'll even be allowed the freedom of movement it would take to get off the premises, commandeer a horse, and escape with enough food and water for a probably three-day journey. And even then, I don't know what I'm doing when it comes to taking care of a horse, let alone how to get it to listen to me and take me back to the capital. And even then, all that only matters if the Sheps are actually at the capital by the time I get there. Will their plans stay the same even though I'm gone? Will Robin change their strategy now that she knows we can't have a repeat of Golgotha and take eight runs to make this liberation plan work?
Would she come looking for me? She wouldn't drag everyone to Plegia to try and track me down, would she? That'd be just as dangerous, no, more dangerous than just going ahead with the plan to recapture the capital first. I hope she knows that as well as I do. I'm sure she does.
Another option is to go along with whatever they say insofar as it doesn't involve acting against my friends. I guess if they're looking to take down the Plegian government, we at least have that in common. And it's not like Mustafa hasn't proven to be at least a pretty decent guy so far. I can't vouch for Aventine or Vasto yet, but I'm open to the possibility that they might not be irredeemable assholes. I guess.
Anyway, I've got shit on my own end to sort out. Like why the hell is the Osprey villa a safe haven for a conspiracy group bent on toppling the Exalted family? I guess all that traveling that the duke is infamous for isn't just for keeping up the province's trade deals after all. He's apparently been meeting at other safehouses with his traitorous buddies to scheme about… I dunno, communist revolution? Vasto won't tell me the exact nature of what they're after in the positive sense. What are they after once the current government is toppled? I guess that'll be something else to figure out.
That's another thing. This group seems to be comprised mostly of people who should be dead by now. Vasto, Mustafa, and Aventine at least, as well as perhaps others. If indeed this group actually existed in-game, I have no doubt that having both Aventine and Mustafa killed essentially dissolves the group and makes it a non-threat. But in this world, I have no way of knowing how influential they might be. How big is this group? Are Chrom, Lissa, and Emmeryn in danger from them? What about the Shepherds in general? Does this political reorganization of the country involve keeping us around, or do we all get the axe? Are they capable of pulling something like that off? Vasto isn't forthcoming with any information on those fronts. I think he's still moderately salty that I accidentally dismembered him over the summer. I told him it was an accident!
It ends up being a couple days as the wyvern flies to get to Themis. Thankfully, finding water isn't too difficult now that we're in a country that actually has abundant life, and he's brought enough food to make the trip almost bearable. The only true inconveniences on the trail are sleep and shitting. At night, I'm required to use Vasto's wyvern for a bed, which isn't the least comfortable thing in the world, but he instructs her to chew my head off if she feels me move to get off her. And as for shitting, he insists on standing a couple feet away, axe in hand, watching me and daring me to try and run off with my pants around my ankles.
Speaking of clothes, forget what I said before. The true worst part of the trip is the cold. My robes, God bless them, got burned to cinders and lost back at the Anchorage estate, and I forgot my leather jacket in my room (and only a couple weeks after I'd gotten it, too!), so I have very little in the way of cold protection. And up in the clouds, with the wind and the chilling air, it would've damn near killed me if Vasto hadn't reluctantly given up a woolen blanket of his for me to cling to while we fly. It's hardly northern Ferox levels of bad, but it sure makes me miss those robes.
In any case, we eventually arrive. I don't know what I expected to see, but it wasn't this. Two things stand out. Firstly, it seems from the outside like the place has been completely repaired. No burnt grass patches, no broken doors or windows, no bloodstains on the stone. It's as if what happened here… didn't.
And second, the place is positively crawling with Plegian soldiers. I count at least a dozen out in the front yard, and a few more on the roof. Mostly lancers and mercs, with a couple archers and mages, all sporting the red and black of Plegia. I know Vasto said it's a farce, and all these guys are actually in on the operation, but holy hell is it a convincing display.
After we land in the paddock near the west side of the building, Vasto starts unfastening the straps keeping me in the saddle. Before he lets go, though, he leans in close.
"I'm choosing to let you go around here without bonds. Don't make me regret that, or I'll give you injuries to match mine. Fair's fair, after all," he growls.
"You know, your voice is pretty sexy when you talk all gruff like that," I reply. He all but throws me off the wyvern's back.
"Aventine won't be expecting you, so I'm going to let him know about our situation. In the meantime… where could that kid have gotten to?" Vasto says as he clambers out of the saddle himself.
The door to the west wing swings open and hits the wall with a clack. Running out the door comes maybe the last person I was expecting to see.
Is that Henry?
"Hello, hello Vasto!" Henry shouts as he rushes over to us. "Didja see anything interesting? Didja kill anyone interesting? Who's this?"
"Hullo, Henry," Vasto replies, seemingly already exasperated. "No, no, and a Shepherd named Randall, in that order."
Henry shrugs. "So a pretty boring outing overall, sounds like." He turns to me. "Hiya! I'm Henry! Nice to meetcha!"
I give him a still slightly disbelieving nod. "Likewise. Like he said, I'm Randall."
"Alright Henry, I gotta go see the old man and the duke and let em know about this one," Vasto says, jerking a thumb at me. "I want you to keep an eye on him, and if he tries to leave the property, I want you to put that Ruin tome of yours to work. Got it?"
Henry gives Vasto a jaunty salute. "You betcha!"
Vasto grunts in acknowledgement and limps off, slightly dragging his metal prosthetic as he does so.
"So," Henry says as Vasto leaves, "you're a Shepherd, right? Is it fun to be with them?"
I shrug. "More enjoyable than being with anyone else so far. In fact, I'd be with them right now if your friend over there hadn't kidnapped me off the battlefield."
"Ooh, you got kidnapped? That sounds exciting!"
Oh good lord, I can already feel myself getting tired of this kid. "Thrilling. If you don't mind, can we talk a little less, maybe? I'm tired and irritable after two straight days of flying."
Henry doesn't seem phased. "Sure! Just don't go running off, or I'll have to take your head off. Actually, that sounds pretty fun too, so I guess you can do whatever!"
"Cool, thanks I guess." I take a short walk around the corner and see the old training ground where the guards used to train. I recall now seeing it for the first time, up in the library in the villa.
As I approach the training dummies, I get a sort of rising feeling in my throat. My head starts to kind of hurt, too, but it's also possible that's just because I'm tired. I walk up to one of the dummies and look at its stitched-on button eyes. Why is that reminding me of something..?
"What are you doing out here?" I ask through a yawn as I half-stumble outside into the brisk morning air.
"Oh, good morning, Mister Randall. I'm fixing up these training dummies before the guards come out here for their morning training session," Melinda says with what I'll call hotel-staff-cheerful politeness.
"Fixing em up, huh? Are they that hardcore with training?" I ask, inspecting what she's doing in particular. "Hang on. Are you just sewing button eyes onto them?"
"Re-sewing," she corrects, "and yes. It helps to know about where an enemy's face is going to be if you have to attack a real person someday, and the eyes are viable targets. Also… it makes them cuter," she adds, much more quietly.
Not quietly enough to slip past me. "You like to make them cute, even though the guys will be out here beating the crap out of em here in a little bit?"
She scoffs as she stands upright. "You would do well to see the merit in fixing people up, even knowing they're going to have the… 'crap' beaten out of them. That will essentially be your job when you're finished training here, you know."
"Well, well, Melinda, I didn't know you were so sharp at turning a phrase," I reply with an impressed smile-frown and a raised brow.
Her eyes widen and her face flashes crimson. "Oh my goodness, that was so rude of me! I beg your pardon, Mister Randall."
I laugh out loud. "No, trust me, I like it. It's good to be put back in my place once in a while."
Her expression seems to be torn between lingering embarrassment and a smile trying to fight through. I find it pleasantly endearing. After a couple seconds, she manages to swallow both and resume a straight face while she continues sewing on the button.
I'm still stroking the little button on the dummy's face.
"Wow Randall, you really like that training dummy, huh?" Henry says behind me.
I turn to look at him. "What do you mean?"
"You've been standing there for like two minutes just rubbing its face, and right now you look like you could start crying," he replies with a shrug.
"I do?" I take a sniffly breath in through my nose. "Huh. Well, I'm fine."
What the hell was that? I haven't thought about that in ages. That was so long ago now. I think that was only a week or so after I'd moved in here. It's not like I forgot about it, exactly, but I guess I just… didn't really think about it for a while.
I shake my shoulders out a bit and take a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm good. It's just kinda wild being back, is all."
"You've been here before?" Henry asks.
"Yeah, I was trained here. Learned how to use a healing staff with Maribelle, the duke's daughter." We start walking around the grounds a bit. I shiver a bit as a punishing gust pushes through my blanket that I just realized I still have draped over my shoulders.
"Ooh, you're a healer, huh? That must be fun! You get to see everyone's wounds up close!" Henry exclaims cheerfully.
I shrug. "It's not the worst job out there. Definitely makes you feel useful. You'd have liked the training, too. You take turns with your partner slicing your arms open and having the other person heal the wound."
Henry just about starts clapping. "Wow, really? How long would you do that for?"
"Few hours a day, almost every day."
"No fooling? That sounds like a blast! Well, unless it hurts. I don't like getting hurt. But all that blood sounds fun! Does it hurt?"
Do I detect a headache coming on? "I mean, it hurt me, but I wasn't very used to pain before I came to Ylisse. I've gotten concerningly used to it since then, though."
"Well, you can show me later how it's done, and I'll be the judge of that. Nyahaha!"
We continue to walk around for a while. I try to get used to the idea that I'm back here. I remember running this way around the back of the villa, evading Plegian soldiers as I tried to find out what the hell was going on the day we were invaded. I tripped over a dead security guard right here. Those images come to mind unbidden and without letting up. They're the only thing I find I can think about right now.
I'm staring at the spot where I saw Captain Jackson make his last stand when a voice behind me interrupts my reverie. "You must be Randall, then."
I turn around. The man standing in the doorway couldn't be anyone but the Duke of Themis. The way he stands, the pristine posture and gainly presence. That's one hundred percent Grade-A Maribelle.
He looks every bit the dapper gentleman I'd expect from Maribelle's family. His chin is prominent but not Jay Leno ridiculous. His cheekbones are high and pronounced. His heavily greying hair, still showing whispers of the blond it used to be, is slicked back and stops exactly where his shirt collar starts. He has one of those perpetually-angry-looking browlines that always scared me when my friends' dads would have them when I was a kid. Though that may be because his brow has to curl around his honest-to-God gold-framed monocle he wears over his right eye. Overall, he kind of looks like the middle-aged result of an illicit affair between Grand Moff Tarkin and the Vice-President of the Daily Days.
He's decked out in an exceedingly fancy suit, with a nice white shirt covered by a dark blue silk vest, which matches his pants. Over his left shoulder he wears a small cape that reaches just above his wrist, white and shiny silk. There's a gold crest embroidered in, but I can't see it from this angle. My guess is the Osprey family crest.
He speaks with that same aristocratic lilt to his voice that Maribelle has, though admittedly it's much more endearing coming from her than this guy. "Oh, where are my manners? My name is Hadrian Osprey, Duke of the Province of Themis. I'm pleased to finally make your acquaintance." He bows slightly.
Remembering myself, I return the bow. "Oh, you were right. I'm Randall. Nice to meet you too."
He raises the brow that isn't holding up his monocle. "It seems you are a more polite young man than my daughter indicated." He shakes his head once, a weirdly calculated movement. "No matter. I wonder if you might have a word with me. Henry, if you would be so kind as to let us speak in private?"
"I sure would, except Vasto told me I had to keep an eye on him in case he tries to run off," Henry replies.
"I have permission from Captain Vasto to relinquish you of your duty. Randall here won't be able to escape from inside the building. If you could find… something else to do, that would be best." I can tell Hadrian is just as apprehensive about talking to Henry as I am.
"Oh! Okay! I'll go see what Mikkel is up to, then!" Henry replies, chipper as ever, and runs off.
Hadrian watches him go, then when the dark mage rounds the corner out of sight, he lets out a brief sigh. "My apologies for the holdup. Please, join me for some tea."
I nod and follow him inside. He leads me up the east foyer staircase — the same staircase I was standing on when I saw what had become of Melinda. When I watched Aversa kill Isadora where she stood. I shiver as my boots fall on the ornately carpeted stairs and we ascend to the second floor.
He leads me a bit down the east hallway and into a small, unoccupied room on the north side of the building. The room is clearly meant for little tea gatherings like this, handsomely decorated and with a small stove in the corner for heating a tea kettle. It looks like a pot is already on, so I suspect the room was prepared in advance.
"Please, sit down," he says, gesturing to one of a few seats at a small oaken table in the center of the room. I take a seat while he pours the tea into a couple finely carved cups and places one before me.
"Not often I get served tea by a duke. Or by anyone, for that matter," I say with a forced, polite laugh. I don't want to piss this guy off while I'm staying in his home if I can avoid it. And without the hypothetical defense of respawning, I feel weirdly naked and vulnerable.
"Well, I suppose there's a first time for everything. I wanted a chance to have a word with you in private before any of our other compatriots got to you and overwhelmed you with questions and demands," he says, very businesslike.
"Is that what I can expect? Questions and demands?" I ask.
"Very likely, yes. Which is why I wanted the first person you interacted with here to be someone you already know is on your side." Do I know that, though? He's being surprisingly wooden for someone who wants to come across as my pal. "So, first things first. I know Captain Vasto gave you some vulnerary on the ride here, but are you still injured in any way? I'm led to believe you were quite thoroughly thrashed in the battle with King Gangrel."
You sure are a flatterer, Duke Hadrian. "Thanks, but I'm pretty much alright. More than a bit tired, as I'm sure you can guess, but otherwise I'm good," I reply.
He nods, satisfied. "Excellent. I'm glad that Vasto's quick thinking was able to get you off the battlefield alive and into safe hands."
Is that how he wants to frame this? Not as a kidnapping, but as a rescue? Sorry friend, you'll have to try a little harder than that.
"I do appreciate being saved, of course, but just so I can be clear up front. Vasto told Henry to blast my head off if I tried to leave the property. Am I right in thinking I'm not allowed out of here now that I've been brought in?" I ask, leaning in slightly to put on the pressure.
The duke leans back an almost imperceptible amount in response. "Unfortunately, that's the way things must be for the time being. We are, after all, taking a major risk in bringing you here and informing you of our members' identities."
"Yeah, none of which I actually asked for, by the way," I shoot back, losing my willingness to play nice with this guy by the second as he acts the part of the two-faced bureaucrat to try and get me calm and compliant. It ain't going down like that.
"Y-yes, well, I'm sure Vasto made you aware of our situation here, what with the need we have for a healer, as well as–"
"Yeah, he told me. Y'all thought I would turn informant for you just because I'd been brought against my will to another faction's headquarters? When I already know you plan to take down the Exalted family as well?"
"Now see here, it's not that simple! There are finer details that have to be taken into account!"
I'm on my feet. "Your finer details can kiss my ass! Healing injured people is one thing, but you really expect me to abandon my friends that easily? Abandon your daughter too, need I remind you?"
Someone clears their throat in the doorway. I whip my head over to look, and I see one of the last people on my list of people I'd like to talk with over tea right now.
"Ah, I hate to interrupt, but it's clear this conversation has become unproductive," Aventine says as he strolls in. He's bailed on the green robes he was wearing when I last saw him, in favor of a simple if nice-looking cream tunic and brown trousers. He still wears that same douchey green hat though, and those tiny, punchable glasses. He takes a seat next to Hadrian.
"You're goddamn right it's become unproductive," I growl.
He holds up his hands to try and calm me. I decide to hear him out for a moment, very reluctantly.
"Now I know that Vasto likely didn't give the best impression of us when he, erm, lifted you from the battlefield and brought you here. Nor was he likely very clear about what our goals are. Rest assured, it's not nearly so grim as you're probably thinking. If you'd be willing to at least let me explain ourselves, I'm confident you'll see we're not so evil as you fear," Aventine says.
"Is that right? And I assume if I'm not willing to hear it, Vasto's waiting outside that door to give me the axe?" I fold my arms.
"Well, not exactly. Vasto will join us later. He's dealing with some… unfortunate news at the moment. But you're at least correct that leaving the villa isn't an option, whether you hear us or not," Aventine explains. "It's up to you whether you'd rather sit in ignorant silence or learn more about who we are and what we want. Then you can at least know if you really are opposed to us."
"And I'm supposed to believe whatever you tell me? Vasto already spilled the beans that y'all want to take down the Ylissean government. How are you gonna spin that in a direction that makes me not want to throttle you for betraying my friends?" I ask.
Aventine shrugs with an infuriatingly dismissive expression on his face. "You can believe whatever you like. I will tell you what we're trying to accomplish here, and you can either work with us willingly, or we can keep you prisoner and continue feeding you only insofar as you perform the bare minimum, which is healing duties. I would prefer to be working with someone who understands and sympathizes with our goals, but I'll settle for nothing more than a healer if I must."
I sniff irritably. "Fine. Let's hear it."
Aventine sits up straighter and smooths out his tunic. "Very well. I will keep it brief for now. In short, our objective is to remove the Plegian and Ylissean royal families from power and replace them with a government that will be directly accountable to the people. In the past, it was necessary to rally behind warriors chosen by the gods as they led their homelands to victory against the forces of darkness. But those days are gone, and now we are seeing the cost of following such families. There has been no demon, no dragon, no devil to fight for nearly a millennium. Now the only enemies that these leaders wish to fight is each other, which they do with alarming regularity.
"With the authority of the divine dragons backing them, these families' authority has remained unaccountable to the people they lead. War after war, crusade after crusade, and what does it win for anyone? Influence and wealth and land for the powerful, but for the common man? Death and poverty. Waste on top of waste. But they'll fight, because how could they not? The blessed rulers ordained by the gods themselves have told them they must, after all! These elites fester on their thrones, and their kingdoms with them. So we mean to oust them from their seats of authority and replace them with a government beholden to the people it would send to war and death. A government that answers to the mandate of the citizens, because it only exists by that same mandate."
"So, you want like a democracy? A republic?"
Aventine smiles, which kind of creeps me out because I've never seen him do that before. "Ah, I see you're a scholar of political thought! I'm so glad we can skip some of the more droll details for the time being. Of course, the details become important later, but for now I need to know where you stand on the idea of creating a republic, one that is run by the will of the people, not the whims of the descendents of heroes long gone by."
Well now, this is an interesting predicament. On one hand, of course I'm aware of the important role Chrom and the Shepherds will play in the coming years, not just in this war but in the fight with Grima to come. But on the other hand, I mean, I'm from America. I came to love the idea of the republic when I was almost too young to talk at all. It's the system I grew up in, and I'd like to think I turned out okay. And while Emm and Chrom might be good rulers, there's a point to be made that not all Exalts have been created equal. Certainly Exalt Gideon left a bad taste in people's mouths, and who's to say there haven't been plenty more like him? If I'm not getting bullshat (bullshitted?) right now, he's sort of got an argument here.
I take a breath to collect my thoughts. "Alright. I'm not saying your idea is shit. Yet. The jury's still out on that one."
"Oh, you believe in trial by jury as well. You really are a learned one, after all."
I pinch my nose. "Anyway. So far your idea doesn't sound inherently evil. Which is why I'm not saying no just yet. But believe me, that is far, far from a yes. Are we clear on that?"
The pair of them look annoyingly chipper. "Crystal clear, Randall," Aventine says. "But does that mean that you'll work with us?"
"A few conditions. First, I want your word that no one in this group will ever bring any of the Shepherds or their families to any harm. Absolutely non-negotiable. Second, I want to be informed on all the operations this group is undertaking at all times. I want to be allowed to clear it all myself. And third, I want a means to get in contact with Robin, the tactician of the Shepherds, as soon as possible. Agreed?"
Aventine and Hadrian exchange a look. "Well, we can certainly make it clear to our men that they are not to intentionally harm any of the Shepherds, but surely you understand why there may be situations where they would be forced to defend themselves."
"Tell them to run. Flee. Tank a few hits if they have to. I'll gladly put the work in to heal the difference," I reply stubbornly.
"We will… see what we can do on that front. Not out of a desire to betray this condition, but rather as a means of not making a liar of myself, I must abstain from an absolute guarantee at this point. In any case, getting in contact with the Shepherds must naturally be forbidden. We can't risk you revealing the nature of our plan or the identities of those involved, especially if we are to abide your second condition. On a personal level, I have no objection to allowing you to know about our operations, so long as your communication with the outside is blocked until you earn our trust," Aventine says.
"So I'm supposed to be kept in the dark as to what my friends are doing or where they might be? I thought you wanted me to be an informant for you. How am I going to be a good informant without talking with them?" I ask.
"Well, there are a few elements to this decision. Firstly, we have no means of preventing you from communicating in some sort of code with Robin or the other Shepherds. You might have some secret language that you would use to send covert messages without our knowledge. We can't risk that."
He leans forward, brow furrowed seriously. "And as for why you'll still make a good informant, I think you know why. You have knowledge of things you shouldn't. You should never have been able to predict my turning on the Ylisseans, nor should you have known when or where it was to happen. On top of that, you knew about Vasto's plan to fake my death before even I did. No one had ever seen you before among our circles, or indeed at all before about six months ago. Despite being a veritable nobody, you just… knew things. So I'm sure you can understand why I think you'll do just fine without getting in contact with your friends directly."
Oh, fucking hell. That's just great.
He slowly breaks out into a triumphant smile as I sit silently, trying to set him on fire with my stare alone. He's got me, and he knows it.
"I'm going to hold off on asking how you knew any of those things for the time being. I suspect you wouldn't tell me anyway, no matter how we tried to persuade you. And unlike that tyrant on the Plegian throne, we don't abide torture. So that secret is safe for now," Aventine says with an unbearably smug tone. How can hearing him saying things I should technically be happy about piss me off so much?
Hadrian finally speaks up again. "Well, I think that's about as good a resolution as we are going to have for now. Tensions remain high, and everyone is in need of some time away from, well, each other, I suspect."
I lean back in my chair, finally allowing myself to relax a little. "You're damned right about that, Duke Osprey. I'd like some time to myself to process all this."
"In that case, can I offer a bath and a change of clothes? Your current garb, while I'm sure it was tasteful when you first bought it…"
I glance down at my outfit. I guess I hadn't really paid much attention until now, since there was nothing for it, but I pretty much look like shit. My underclothes, while not burned to cinders like my old robes, are still pretty intensely damaged from the fight. A few burn holes here and there, a number of tears, and of course they're remarkably frayed and dingy now as well.
"You know, that actually sounds like exactly what I need right now."
I let out a manly yelp as I open the door and am suddenly face-to-face with another person where I didn't expect there to be one. My yelp in turn earns a yelp from Melinda, who flinches back but manages to stop just short of swinging her wooden scrub brush in my face.
"Oh, it's you, Mindy. Sorry," I say a little breathlessly as I step out of the bathroom. I'm still getting used to non-ventilated bathrooms, so the water combined with the stuffy, hot air of the early-summer windowless room still has me a bit lightheaded.
"Yes, it is. My apologies for startling you. I was just about to knock," Melinda says, looking just off to the side of me. I don't get what she's averting her gaze for, though. I put all my clothes back on once I was done. I mean, my hair's still pretty wet, but that's hardly indecent, is it? Maybe she's just salty that I called her Mindy again. Well, it's too late; I've decided the nickname is going to stick.
"Well, the bath's all yours if you need it," I say, gesturing with my head at the door behind me.
"I-I mean, I was going to clean the bath out, not use it myself. The servants aren't permitted to use the guest bath," she says.
"Well, what do you do, then?"
"We've got a bath basin at home. My mother and I, I mean. Usually we draw up some water from the well and share it from the basin."
I consider for a moment. "Well, do you wanna use it? The guest bath. I won't tell anyone if you just want to take a break and soak for a bit."
Her eyes widen almost cartoonishly. "Oh, I couldn't! It's forbidden!"
"Aw, come on, live a little! Who hasn't used the forbidden bathroom once or twice in their lives?" I ask with a conniving grin.
"Me!"
"You're about to clean it anyway, right? Just do that when you're done using it yourself. What's the harm?"
"My mother will find out! She always finds out."
"I'll stand guard out here for you. If I hear anyone coming, I'll warn you," I assure her.
She frowns. "I mean… it's not as though I've never wanted to use the guest bath. But there's no getting anything past her, Mister Randall."
I throw my hands up from my sides, mock-hurt. "What, you don't think I'd make a good lookout?"
"Alright, no offense intended. I just… well, you haven't known my mother as long as I have. She might seem like a sweet, harmless old lady to you, but if you get on her bad side…" She shivers.
"Is she really that scary?" I ask.
"Oh, you don't know the half of it." She looks up and down the hallway a couple times. "You promise you won't try and peek, or anything?"
I raise a hand. "You have my word."
"And if Mother comes, you'll come up with something?"
I nod.
Her shoulders relax a little as she exhales. "Alright. But keep a sharp eye out. She's like a hawk."
"Roger Dodger."
She stops halfway through the doorway. "Thank you, Mister Randall."
"You're welcome, Mindy."
I hear her sigh as the door shuts behind her. I smile in spite of myself and take a seat on the floor next to the doorframe and close my eyes as I lean against the wall.
I open my eyes. I'm still in the tub. And based on the wrinkled state of my hands, I've been in here for too long.
My breathing is heavy and a bit shuddery. I'd… forgotten that. It meant so much to me at the time that she would break rules and defy her mother, even secretly, just to play along with me. Now I can remember clearly how much I smiled that day. But I haven't thought about that ever since Maribelle and I were taken. Since Melinda and the others were killed.
No. It's not that I've forgotten. It's that I haven't been allowing myself to remember.
"I'm the parts of you that you won't let yourself look at."
"Why do you look like Mindy, then?"
"Because of what you did to her."
"What did I do to her?"
"And there it is. Finally you're asking the right questions."
And here, maybe I'm getting some answers. Try as I might, even now I can't think of what I might have done to her that would still be haunting me. But I think I need to know.
I'm tired of these half-slept nights.
I hoist myself out of the tub and pull on my new set of clothes: a comfy but dull-tinted blue tunic, white linen pants, and brown leather mid-calf length boots and matching belt. The outfit kind of makes me feel like a minstrel, but at least it's comfortable.
Alright, it's time to get to work. I want to get to the bottom of this, straight away if I can.
So it turns out, you can't exactly just go out and force your repressed memories to resurface. I walked down every hallway, did a few laps of the outside of the building, checked out the security depot in back, peeked into every unlocked room in the villa, and all of it yielded precisely jack squat. Maybe I just have to relax a bit, take it slower, and the truth of the matter will come to me in due course.
…God, that sounds like ass. I'm getting antsy. I'm still avoiding Aventine and Vasto for the time being, and I'm not super keen on seeing the others right now either. I want to get away from everything for a bit.
Meditation. I just need to find a place to do that. Even without Libra here, I'm confident I can get some peace out of it by myself.
I find myself a small walk-in pantry near the kitchen that no one is using at the moment. There's a large enough open space on the hardwood floor that I can sit comfortably. I enter the room and close the door behind me, then take a deep breath as I sit on the floor.
I focus on the faint smell of dust. The way the left side of my face is slightly warmer than the right because of the small ray of orange sunset coming through the tiny window in the back wall. The feel of these newer, decidedly nicer clothes on my body. Just let everything go for a little while. Just breathe, and focus on your physical presence.
Don't let yourself think about the war. Or how the Shepherds are doing. Or what they might do if they think the Plegians have you. Or what Robin might do without access to the respawning power. Or what'll happen to you here. Or how you're actively abetting enemies of the state with every service you will eventually perform for them. Or how now you're facing the legitimate moral-political conflict of whether a republic like Aventine says he wants could actually be better than the halidom system. Or how you seem to have a lot more repressed memories of this place than you thought, and now it feels like you don't even know the person you were when you were last here outside of little snippets here and there. Or how now that you know that you've been repressing memories, you just can't seem to make them come the fuck back. Or how you just want to punch a hole in something and scream like a baby, but you know that won't do you any good. Just don't think about that stuff. Think about something that relaxes you before you strain something, Jesus.
Think about your friends. Think about getting drunk with Gaius and Sumia to get over Maribelle blowing you off. Think about doing laundry with Stahl and having Sully throw you into a cool, clear oasis. Think about how good Emmeryn and Frederick have been doing since their injuries, and how you earned Frederick's trust. Think about Cordelia in general, actually, but especially think of how you saw to the core of her problem with Donny and gave her a healthy outlet to work through that frustration. Think about how you and Maribelle will finally be able to work things out and function like a pair of friends again. Think of how much she cares about you. Think about how Chrom confided his worries about filling his sister's shoes to you and, far as you're aware, you alone, and even decided to trust you when you actively held the whole truth about yourself at arm's length.
Hell, think about Robin accepting you even when you didn't hold that truth back anymore. Think of how relieved you were when you learned she remembers every timeline you've ever left behind. That you're not doing this alone. That maybe, at least with one person, you can allow yourself to remember the world you left behind.
That she hasn't lost yet. That none of the things that could go wrong for them have necessarily gone wrong yet, or will do so. That, cliché as Lucina makes it sound when she says it, hope will never die, and definitely not while you're still kicking. You're more than this respawning power, and so are the Shepherds.
That you made a promise to Libra. That you'd work with him to try and make this world a better place when this war finally comes to an end.
Just breathe. Jesus, that tension in your shoulders. All the way down your arms. Relax.
"Hoo," I blow air out my mouth, and let some of those biting, toxic thoughts loosen their hold on me for a moment, and replace them with thoughts of the things I want to protect most. The tightness in my back and in my limbs slowly begins to melt off, and I allow myself to breathe for real.
"Worrying about it won't make it go away," I half-whisper to myself.
I'm given a surprisingly nice dinner, considering I'm technically a prisoner here. Aventine offers to let me eat with everyone else in the east dining hall, but I don't think I'm quite ready to be part of the gang just yet. I'm taking my beef and potatoes outside on the front steps, wearing a dark brown wool coat over my tunic to chase off the mid-December (I think? I should ask about that, actually) chill. It's a clear night, and but for a few feathery clouds here and there, the stars dominate the sky.
The door opens behind me. I turn to see who's coming out, and I'm surprised to see Duke Hadrian strolling out in a thick, fur-lined cloak. Despite myself, I set my plate aside and stand to address him.
He waves a hand dismissively at my scramble to get to my feet. "Please, no need for that. You should sit and eat your meal while it's still hot."
After a moment's hesitation, I obey and sit back on my step and set my plate back on my lap.
"That said, if you spill beef grease on those white trousers, I shall be more than a little disappointed in you," he adds with a chuckle, earning a small, slightly nervous laugh from me as well. He walks past me and down a couple stairs before turning to face me. "I wanted to talk with you. Not as a representative of Lord Aventine and his revolution, but as Hadrian Osprey, a fellow man. And as the father of Maribelle Osprey."
I don't know how to reply. Is this just more two-facedness to try and win more of my favor? The good cop, bad cop routine, maybe? I don't want to think ill of Maribelle's dad, but he hasn't exactly won many points so far.
"I know what you must think of me, Randall. The absentee father, pompous in dress and overly careful in mannerism. The man who puts station and influence above everything, including his family. The perfect hypocrite, a remote nobleman who does not know the plight of the common man, up in his castle in the sky," he says, peering at me intently. "I see the lack of trust in your eyes, and indeed I have done nothing to earn your trust."
I swallow my bite of potato before replying. "Well, if you want the truth, I don't trust anyone here. That does include you, but it's nothing personal. I just tend on principle not to trust people who keep me prisoner, no matter how nice the clothes or the food they provide in the meantime."
He nods solemnly. "As well you should not. We aren't to be trusted, at least to outsiders. We are, after all, subversives of the highest order. Our goals include the supplanting of not one, but two divinely vested systems of power. We are defying even the will of the gods to accomplish our task."
I sit up a little straighter. "I do have a question for you about that. Why would you support a movement like this? Won't the creation of a republic mean your noble lineage will lose its significance?"
"If all there was to me was my noble heritage, you would be right to say I should fear the coming change. But I am a craftier man than many give me credit for. I can adapt to a new system, especially if I have a hand in making it myself. That's why I jumped at the opportunity to join this group when given the chance. There's something about that Lord Aventine… I know that his goals will succeed. I won't allow myself or my daughter to be swept aside in the approaching tide," he replies, puffing his chest out slightly.
"Is that what you wanted to make me understand? That this change is coming anyway, and I should hop on board while I've got the chance?" I ask.
"Yes, that's… wait, no. My apologies, I allowed myself to get off-track. All that politicking and scheming can wait for another day. For now, I feel I must express my appreciation to you. You see, my daughter has often kept journals throughout her life, and that includes the period during which you trained here. That journal was left behind when the two of you were kidnapped. She wrote a great deal about you. How you irritated and frustrated her at first, and how your learning was somewhat slow going for the first few weeks. But more importantly, how you came to grow in her esteem, and how constant you were in your kindness to her. Despite being a stranger in an unfamiliar land, she wrote that you were at all times seeking to adapt quickly and improve yourself. And if the fact that you were kidnapped alongside her is any indication, you did your best to protect her as well. So you see, I know more about you than you might expect."
I don't know what to say. I didn't even know that she was keeping notes on me, let alone that they were so… complimentary. "Well, that's very kind of her to say about me. In truth, I don't really know how much credit I deserve. I did try to learn, yeah, but in the end I couldn't even help her to escape danger. We survived because we were saved by the Shepherds. Nothing I could have done would have helped by then."
He shakes his head slightly. "I don't just mean protecting her physically. The truth is that I am not, and have not been, a good father. Whether I am a good duke is for my people to decide, but it is a fact that for far too much of my daughter's life, I have not been there. I have spent so much time preparing for her future that I have missed many, many presents. With my darling Maureen's death, I felt as though I must go above and beyond to secure a good life for my daughter by whatever means were necessary. And so I have relied on others to care for her in the interim. You met many of those others. Isadora was the saving grace my family needed in the wake of my wife's passing."
He gestures to the villa behind me with a sweeping hand motion. "Even so, the fact remains that they were staff. They were hired to be around, and were it not for the wage I paid them, they almost certainly would have left to find employment elsewhere. Maribelle knew this, I think. When I would have the chance to come home, she often complained to me that she wished she had friends like other children. Naturally, when Princess Lissa extended her friendship to my daughter, I was relieved. But as they grew, they each had their own duties to attend to. They saw one another less and less. That old hunger for friends was rekindled in my daughter's heart, and I had no idea how I could possibly help."
He looks at me. "But you have been that friend for her. You clearly care for my Maribelle. And so for your kindness and consideration, I wish to extend to you a father's heartfelt thanks." He bows his head to me.
I set aside my plate and stand up, now looking down on him from several stairs up. "Please, Duke Osprey, there's no need for that. I didn't do anything special for Maribelle, really."
"I believe that is for Maribelle and her father to decide. I know from her journal that her mind is made up. And so is mine. So whether you accept my thanks or not, I'm afraid I must insist that you keep them," he replies with the first genuine smile I've seen from the man.
I sigh. I'm not proving to be very good at verbally outmaneuvering any of these guys today. I really must be tired. "Alright, then. You win."
Despite my sentimental chat with the duke, it turns out the rest of the gang here still doesn't really trust me. This is evidenced by the fact that I'm not being allowed to have a room to myself in the villa, and am instead being made to share a room with Vasto. I suppose it's technically better than staying in the makeshift barracks that have been set up in the former training hall, but even so, the message is clear.
The best thing about this arrangement is of course that Vasto hates it too. Even though he gets to keep the bed and I'm demoted to (admittedly comfy) couch accommodation, he dislikes the idea of sharing his sleeping space with anyone, let alone me. I'm making the most of this.
"Hey Vasto, just a heads-up before we hit the sack. I have been told by some over the years that I have a tendency to snore. Just so you know."
"Trust me, I know already. I heard plenty when we stopped on the way here, remember?" he grumbles, lying in bed and very pointedly not looking at me. I notice his prosthetic arm and leg leaning up against his bed. They look like they're probably made of metal, but I feel kind of weird asking about something like that when it's my fault he needs them in the first place. "Oh, and by the way. I'm a very light sleeper, and I've got a hand-axe ready to throw at you the moment you try anything. So I recommend not trying anything."
"Is it comfortable sleeping with an axe in your bed?"
"More comfortable than sleeping without one."
I nestle further into the couch, curling into my blanket. "Fair enough. Good night, Vasto."
"...Night."
"I love you~"
"I have an axe, Randall."
With the morning comes an idea that I'm kicking myself for not coming up with sooner. Why haven't I checked out my room to see if anything comes up? The room I used to stay in, I mean, not the one I currently share with Vasto. I did spend a good deal of time there, if I'm remembering right (which God knows I might not be). I decide it's worth checking out regardless.
Distressingly, though, I find the door locked. I guess whoever's staying in here now is still in their room. I raise my hand to knock on the door, but as I do, someone clearing their throat to my right makes me pause. It's Vasto, leaning against the wall to give his leg a break.
"I wouldn't do that," he says, his voice quiet and flat.
"What? Why not? Who's staying here?"
"General Mustafa's wife, Lady Octavia. She's asked not to be disturbed."
Oh yeah, that's right. Mustafa did mention he has a wife and child. I guess they must have fled the country to come here in the aftermath of Emm's botched execution and Mustafa turning on the rest of Plegia.
"Why would she ask not to see anyone? Has Mustafa been caught or something?"
I'm caught by surprise when the door opens suddenly and the hallway is flooded with morning light from the bedroom windows. Contrasted against the bright light behind her is the figure of the woman I'm guessing is Octavia, standing in the doorway.
As my eyes adjust, I notice a few things about her. Firstly, and this normally isn't my thing, but she's basically a textbook milf. Despite being old enough to be Mustafa's wife, she's honestly gorgeous. Black, wavy hair falls in shining tendrils around her head, and her olive skin looks as young as any of the Shepherds'. She wears a black gown, which compliments her skin (and her figure) nicely. Her eyebrows are very dark and slightly thicker than average, but they add to the overall intensity of her expression.
Secondly, and less encouragingly, she looks both exhausted and miserable. She has some serious bags under her eyes, and she's sort of hunched in the shoulders as she leans out the door.
"Who are you?" she asks, her voice dry and cracked.
"O-oh, uh, sorry," I stammer, feeling in more than one way overwhelmed. This woman definitely has a presence. "My name is Randall. I'm, uh… I used to live here."
A moment of unbearable silence passes between us. In the meantime, I hear Vasto slowly clunk away as stealthily as he can.
"Here as in this room," I clarify, coughing a bit just to have a noise other than breathing between us.
"What, were you hoping I might clear out and give your bed back, or something?" she replies.
"Not exactly," I half-ask. "I guess I just wanted to see the room again. It's been a while."
She huffs. "Fine. If it will get you out of my hair. Just make it quick." She steps aside to let me in.
Wow. I'm amazed how little the room has changed. I remember long nights sitting in that chair in the corner, studying and poring over my materials that Maribelle gave me on the basics of staff magic. I would study by candlelight with the nearby window open to let some air in on the stuffy summer nights.
Thing is, though, I didn't really forget any of that. The room is exactly as I remembered it. I keep scanning the room for anything that might jog a memory loose.
It's only when Octavia shuts the door behind her as she comes back in that I remember that she's here at all.
"Can I help you with something?" she asks in an irritated tone.
"Not really, sorry. I'm just… hoping this place will help me remember something," I reply.
"Did you lose something?"
"In a way, yeah."
"Well hurry up and find it. I want to be left alone," she says, crossing to the chair in the corner and sitting impatiently.
"Did something happen?" I ask.
She stares at me for a moment. "You really don't know?"
"I guess not, apparently."
Her gaze moves to the floor, but her expression stays just as angry. "They killed him. That coward Gangrel had my husband executed."
My gut lurches forward. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I had no idea, I really didn't."
I was afraid she might start crying, but instead she stands so abruptly you could almost call it a jump. I inadvertently flinch as she storms over and gets in my face. "They killed him, just like that. No more than a week, a week and a half after his arrest was announced. We were sure that his arrest had been made public in an effort to draw us out, but it seems Gangrel just hadn't spilled enough blood this week and took it out on my husband. Do you know how much Mustafa did for that man? How much Mustafa and I sacrificed to keep that little whelp on the throne and the people in line? In the four or five years immediately following Gideon's War, I swear my husband aged twenty. And that little… shitstain has the nerve, the audacity, to put Mustafa to death?"
My breath catches. It seems I accidentally lit the fuse on an emotional powder keg that's been begging to go off for a while.
She starts storming around the room. "Where would he be today if it hadn't been for Mustafa? Dead in a ditch somewhere, long ago rotten to the point of unrecognizability! The one who negotiated for peace between our nations? The one who helped keep the people in order? The one who saved everyone? That wasn't Gangrel! That was Mustafa! And this is how his sacrifice is repaid?" She grabs one of the large, dense pillows off the bed and throws it furiously against the closet doors, making them rattle from the impact. "Oh, I hope peace doesn't come too quickly in this war. Not before I have a chance to see that gods-forsaken Gangrel burn for this. No wonder Mustafa wanted to do away with the king's position. He saw what treachery was in wait for him. He was just too good a man to throttle that little coward when he had the chance!" She throws another pillow, this time smacking the doors against the frame and swinging them open on the bounce.
She paces around wordlessly for a little while, breathing heavily while I watch in silent awe. Eventually, her breathing evens out a bit and she sits on her bedside. Her shoulders slump and she stares at the floor, her hair falling around her like a curtain.
"I'm sorry," she says, her voice raspy again. "I know it's nothing to do with you. I don't even remember your name, to be totally honest. And here I am shouting your ear off about something that doesn't concern you."
"I… I know it's not much consolation, but… I saw your husband, once. I'm a Shepherd. I was there when he gave the order to allow us to leave Plegia and get to safety. In a way, I owe him. And it wasn't lost on me how good a man he was. I really am sorry that this has happened," I say, not daring to move one step from where I was standing when she first went off.
She looks up at me, her face obscured by her hair. "You met him? He saved you?"
"He saved all of us. And his own men, too. He decided to shoulder the responsibility for both sides. He was braver than anyone I've met, Ylissean or Plegian."
She's silent for a long moment. "Thank you for telling me that. I'm glad to know that even in his last acts as a free man, he was helping people." She takes a deep breath, then straightens her back and brushes her hair out of her face with her fingers. "I'm sorry your first time meeting me, I had to be in such an… emotionally compromised state. I've ordinarily been called quite a charmer, if you can believe it." She laughs weakly.
"Actually, I have no trouble believing that," I say with an encouraging smile.
She gestures with a hand at the closet. "Could you be a dear and get me those pillows back? I think it's too early in the morning for me to be losing my temper this much. I'd like to see if I can't get some actual sleep this time around."
"Yeah, of course." I walk over to the closet, but as I pick up the pillows, a glint inside the closet catches my eye. Is that..? No fucking way.
I reach into the closet and pull the staff leaning against the back wall out. I examine the staff carefully. I didn't really know this when I first came to this world, because Christ knows I didn't ever pay attention to staff design when I played the actual game, but my initial staff actually doesn't look like the average Heal staff in this world. Where most Heal staves have a simple dark varnished shaft and a metal bottom base, with a bronze receiver for the orb up top arranged in a sort of looping plant-like pattern, and Mend staves are similar except the bronze is replaced with silver and the receiver is more ornately designed, mine is different for a few reasons. It's a good deal heavier, because the whole shaft is solid metal as opposed to a metal tang that runs the full length of the shaft but is surrounded by hardened wood. The metal is give or take the color of cast iron, maybe a shade or two brighter. The receiver is exceptionally minimalist; just a ridged semi-sphere of metal that holds the Heal orb in place without any carvings or other decorations. Down the length of the shaft there are some faint spiral carvings, sort of like a barber pole, but I think those are just to give a better grip.
The metal is cold and heavy in my hands.
"Hey Mindy, have you seen my staff anywhere? I can't find it," I call after her as she walks down the hallway past my bedroom.
She turns to look at me, her face reddening for some reason. "Oh, my apologies, Mister Randall. You left it in the training hall after your session with Lady Maribelle yesterday, so I decided to take it and clean some of the, um, blood off of it. Let me go get that for you."
"Oh, you can just tell me where it is, you don't have to get it! You already cleaned it for me and all," I protest, but she holds up a hand to silence me.
"Not a trouble at all. In the meantime, I suggest you return to your room. You've, um… forgotten something," she says, then hurries off down the stairs.
I look down and realize what she meant. Pants. I forgot pants. That explains the blush.
I hurry back to my room and yank my black pants on hastily, trying to will the excess blood in my cheeks to resume its prior duties. It's not having it.
Before too long, Mindy returns. "Here you are, Mister Randall."
"Aw, come on, Mindy. We still doing this? I'm Randy. I told the others I'm Randall, but the truth is I've gone by Randy basically my whole life. It's the name I'm more comfortable with my friends using."
"I just… I don't know, I can't! It's a breach of station, to get this… familiar with one of milady's guests," she replies, shifting around from foot to foot, holding the staff with both hands.
"Familiar? It's a nickname, Mindy. It's just something… friends do, you know?"
"You really want to be my… friend?" she asks, the redness from before returning to her face.
"We've talked about this before, Mindy. I definitely want to be friends with you."
"I know we have, it's just… I've never really been around girls my age aside from Lady Maribelle. Or boys for that matter. And she's kind, of course, but she's also, well, my employer. Not exactly my friend. So to have someone say that they like me enough to want to be my friend is honestly kind of new."
"Of course I do! I like you a lot! You've always been nice to me, but without… I dunno, making me feel like a kid. Maribelle treats me like the idiot student I am, which is fine, because I am, and your mom is supremely nice, but in a sort of pampering way. Captain Jackson makes me scared for my safety, which also makes me feel like a kid. You just treat me like… me. I'm more comfortable around you than anyone, I think," I say, heat returning to my cheeks as well. I'm having a difficult time meeting her eye, but then again, so is she.
"That's… good to know. I'm glad I can be a source of comfort to you," she says.
"Y-yeah."
We both stand silently for a moment.
"You've, uh, still got the staff."
"Ah! You're right! I'm sorry! Here!" She holds it out to me like it's a snake in her hands. I grab it just as hastily. "I should probably go. Lots to get done yet today, and all." She starts toward the door.
Without giving myself another moment to think, I grab the hand that's not reaching for the doorknob. "Mindy, hang on a second. I wanna say something."
She hesitates for a moment, then turns back around, still hanging onto my hand. "Yes?"
"I don't just like you enough to want to be your friend. I want to…" The words die in my throat, like I feared they might.
"Be more?" she finishes my thought.
"Yeah," I say.
I don't know who moves first. But the gap is closed, and our lips meet. It's only after a second or so that I realize the staff is still awkwardly sandwiched between our chests, but even when I let go of it to wrap my other arm around her waist, the closeness between us keeps it suspended. We're so focused on trying to tie a knot with our tongues that we don't pay it any mind until gravity finally wins and it falls with a thump to the floor between our feet.
The sound startles us into pulling apart. We both look at each other hungrily for a moment, but then she says something that surprises me.
"This isn't a good idea."
"What, afraid your mom will find us?"
She blinks. "Well, yes, now that you mention it. But I mean generally. We can't let ourselves do this."
"Why not?"
"It's not like I don't want to. I do. But you're a Shepherd. You won't be here for long."
"Well, maybe not. Maybe I don't want to leave." By now we've both more or less calmed down a bit from the moment of passion that overtook us there.
"What do you mean, don't want to leave? You have a job you're training for! You can't just leave that behind for… well, me," she says, exasperated.
"And why not? Why can't I get a job here and be just as useful here as I would out there? It's not like I'm exactly a prodigy at this, you know. Most of the time I think I started learning way too late to make a difference anyway. At this rate, I'll be a third-string Shepherd at best, warming up the coffee for the real healers while they do the real work," I say.
"Better there than here!"
"Why?"
"Because you're a healer! You're needed out there, with Lady Maribelle, fighting for our countrymen! Even if you think you might not be as skilled as Lady Maribelle or Princess Lissa, you stand a better chance of saving our people traveling with them than you do cooped up here. You'll be much more useful out there than you'd be… wasting away in this place." She looks down.
"Hey, come on. I don't want you denigrating the work you do here. It's plenty important as well, you know," I protest.
"Don't patronize me just because you fancy me, Randall. I know the work I do is less important than what you will go on to do. And I'm alright with that. I've never regretted my life here before, and I don't mean to start now."
I don't know what to say for a moment. Eventually I come to a decision. "I don't think you should regret it. And you're right. I do have important work to do too. But maybe, when all's said and done…"
She smiles. "If the Plegians are scared off by the Feroxi force the Shepherds are assembling, and you succeed in ending their threat, then when you come back here, we can revisit… this."
"When I come back here… yeah. I think I can wait that long," I say.
Of course I know I'm talking out of my ass. Or at least, I think I am. Maybe not, though. Maybe this world won't follow the game just because it has so far. Why shouldn't I be allowed to hope that Chrom and the others can end this threat before it begins? That I could have a normal life with this sweet girl, far away from the cares of an evil king and an apocalypse cult? I've seen battles, now. I've felt death. I've had my fill, I think.
"One more for the road, before we go back to pretending we're just a student and a maid?" I ask.
She giggles. "Fine. One more."
"Um, excuse me? Hello? Are you alright?"
But I'm not alright. I notice now that I'm on my knees in front of the closet, holding the staff close like it's a person, and my face is wet with tears.
"Is that… the thing you had lost?" Octavia asks cautiously.
I take a minute or so to pull myself together. "Yeah. I think it was," I eventually manage to say. "I think I'm gonna go. Sorry for disturbing you."
"Oh, it was… no trouble. Thank you. For letting me loose my anger on you, even for a moment," she says.
"Any time," I reply as I head for the door.
There's one more place I know I need to visit today.
It took some digging, because as it turns out, not a lot of people left around here actually knew Melinda, Isadora, or Jackson, let alone where they were buried. But eventually I was able to work out that they were allowed to be buried in the Osprey family plot as a reward for their outstanding service and as a repayment for death in the line of duty. While it is just barely southwest of the property, and therefore technically beyond the range of the 'Henry must blast my head off' zone, I'm being accompanied by… ugh… Vasto, so I'm allowed to venture out this far. Apparently they figure since he was able to kidnap me and transport me here without any incident, he's by default the best handler for me in general. Thankfully, he's agreed to keep his distance a bit.
When I find the cemetery, it's not difficult to locate the headstones of the security guys and the servants who died. Their stones are identical in shape and much newer than the others. Fifteen in all, three rows of five. The stone farthest to the right in the first row is Isadora's. I notice it's actually larger than the others, no doubt due to her long decades of service.
ISADORA BARNABY
LOVING WIFE
LOVING MOTHER
LEFT THE WORLD
BETTER THAN SHE FOUND IT
I look to its right, and notice that even though the stone is much older, there's another Barnaby here.
LINUS BARNABY
LOVING HUSBAND
LOVING FATHER
FAMILY ABOVE ALL
That must be Isadora's husband. I realize I never really got to hear about the guy much. I regret not asking about him when I had the chance.
And now, though I can barely bring myself to look at it, I turn to the stone to the left of Isadora's.
MELINDA BARNABY
BELOVED DAUGHTER
CHERISHED FRIEND
Looking at the stone feels like a punch to the stomach. To have memories that felt so fresh, so real, to know how earnestly I felt the desire to leave the war behind, and yet to have the reality of what became of her in front of me…
"Do you know now what you did to her?"
"Yes. I allowed myself to turn my back on the memory of her. Of everyone here. But especially her. And the dream I had. The promise I made her. I allowed myself to forget all these things. To turn this life into a game rather than face my own failure to save the ones I had come to care for. I retreated into the childish illusion that this was all a game, that none of it truly mattered. And even when I learned what a mistake it had been to do that, my memories still remained shuttered. I was holding myself back."
"And now?"
"Not anymore. I will never allow myself to forget this. The friends I made here. The love I felt. It's a part of me. And I will never give that up again."
I get no reply.
And now, facing the enormity of my loss for the first time, I fall to my knees onto the frosty grass in front of Mindy's stone. For the second time since I came to this world, I start sobbing.
A/N: So, we meet again. My streak of pumping out chapters at a decent clip continues, but no promises on this lasting forever. I've just been really excited to get some of this stuff out there, even more than usual. Also, first chapter in a loooong time that never breaks from Randall's POV, so do with that tidbit what you will.
My thanks as always to Mixed Valence, without whom a particularly heartwarming scene in this chapter would probably have come across as just being sorta creepy instead. It's a fine line, ladies and gents, but this time I was saved from treading it too carelessly. NotTheArchitect and Ezedric also have my thanks for giving me the green light on this chapter before I shipped it out! You'd best be reading Earthborne and The Divine Age, because they are both worthy of your time, you have my word (for whatever that's worth). AND HERE IS YOUR MIXED VALENCE OUT OF CONTEXT QUOTE OF THE WEEK THAT I DEFINITELY DIDN'T FORGET OR ANYTHING: "Shame on you, this mommy dresses appropriately for her age."
The Discord has seen a LOT of fresh faces since my last chapter went up, and everyone who's part of it has helped make it one of the most fun groups I've been part of in a long time. We talk, share memes, argue about petty nonsense, and do our best to make each other better writers, better readers, and better artists. It's been a seriously great time, and the doors are still open as long as you're cool (which, let's be real, if you've made it this far, you probably are :3)
As always, comments and critiques are welcome! See you next time!
The link provided here if you'd still like to join us: discord. gg /3mdunvc