Within Holy Walls

By Tenshi no Ai

(C) Square Enix

Four: A Friendly Outing (the thread tied around my finger)

-0-

And Six of Twelve shall rise, for Six is the cursed number, and Six and Six should equal to Twelve, a neutral number for while Six of Twelve is cursed, Six of Twelve shall be blessed by me, the son of our Lord God, and so the forces of Heaven and Hell shall be equal, for both Good and Evil lie unbidden in every man's heart.

...Right. Whatever you say, Saint Ajora. It's not so much what you're saying so much as the long-winded way you're saying it that really irritates me. And here I thought I was going blind from categorizing tomes dedicated to these preachings; I didn't realize that I should be blaming the source itself.

And really, 'for both Good and Evil lie unbidden in every man's heart'? You don't have to be a saint to realize something as obviously human as that.

Even I knew that.

Maybe I'm being bitter about this, but spending over a week on this is really starting to dig into me. I may have reached Ajora's prophecies, but that just means that there's a new contender for 'worst user of the Ivalician language'.

I bite my lip. Yes, definitely being bitter.

"Reis, you appear quite stressed."

Slowly I raise my head and look over at Verden, who's standing beside my table with a look of concern creasing his angelic face. "I'm sorry to worry you, Verden..." I lean back in my chair and stretch out. "It's just a chore to get through all this."

He looks at me strangely. "A chore to get through our savior's words?"

Well... "Actually, it's just the language...since ancient Ivalician is so dense and all..."

"Oh, I wish I knew what you meant." Verden looks away. "I wish I could assist you with the translation process."

"You've helped me a lot, more than enough," I say. I've been working from morning until evening every day since I've arrived. Verden has always been so kind to me, going as far as to bring me food from the kitchen and forcing me to take breaks every few hours.

With such a kind person as Verden Buremonda, it's no wonder that there are evil people. After all, there has to be a balance.

"That's not true," he says as he places an envelope on the table. I look at it. About the size of my hand, brown, unobtrusive. I look up at him. "Reis, you deserve it. Please, take it and don't worry about coming in for work tomorrow."

Well...

-0-

I love sewing.

When I hold a needle and thread in one hand, ready to mend, to create...I don't think. I just act.

That's a nice feeling.

Now, I need to fix my mantle. The tear in it isn't as bad as I first thought it was, but I'm not sure I have enough thread. Well, I can always go out and buy more thread if need be.

Armed with my needle in my right hand, I begin mending my falsely-advertised mantle.

--tck--

...Ah. The thread broke. Oh well.

I lay my mantle and needle to one side of my bed and stand up, heading over to my valise. Lots and lots of clothes, so many choices...

I don't know why, but that makes me smile.

I don't have work today...is it okay to be a little daring?

It...would be a shame to never wear anything that I've made, after all...

-0-

As I walk out of the church, the blueness of the sky, the brightness of the sun...they strike me as beautiful. The vastness, the clarity, unmarred by even swishes of cloud-material...

There's no way to absorb all this purity, even with glass in the ceilings and holes in the walls.

Only man's egotism would allow him to even consider it.

What a glorious April day.

I stroll into Lionel's shopping center. It looks utterly unchanged from when I arrived, only a little over a week ago. It's as bustling as ever, with all sorts of people swarming around the outside food stalls and entering brick-walled stores. The aroma of chicken stew wafts right under my nose, and my stomach growls in response. I pat my hips, where the pockets of my skirt are, feeling the tiny bulges of my money.

Do I have enough gil to buy an early lunch?

A child bumps into my leg, then scurries off, throwing back a rushed apology. He meets up with an older woman--probably his mother--who promptly scolds him for not looking at where he's going.

Mama never scolded us, not even when we ran around the house and disrupted her concentration. She'd look at us in exasperation and shake her head...

...Stop that.

Thread. I need thread.

Right.

I pat down my pockets again. Even though I'm not carrying a bag this time, who knows how brazen thieves are these days? I mean, someone's already tried to make off with my valise in broad daylight already, and this is the capital of a Church-owned province. This is the last place I would expect such behavior...or maybe it's easier to believe that because of Murond's absolute sanctity.

People are really desperate now...

Anyway, I can't just stay in one place. Looking around, I see nothing that resembles a clothing store or a cloth peddler. Alright, I'll just keep moving then.

I catch the eye of a man passing by, who nudges another man beside him and points at me.

A woman, just a bit older than me, looks at me disdainfully.

Two teenage girls glower at me.

I lower my gaze and just keep walking.

"That woman's no peasant..."

"Perhaps a noble?"

"A foreigner?"

"Look at her...pro'ly thinks she's better than us with those clothes..."

That's not true at all...

People...don't seem to realize how much errant words hurt.

Why is it human nature to tear at something until they're superior to it? From war down to petty insults...

Why?

We just wanted to live peacefully...we didn't want to get involved...but you...and you...

Human nature is to be cruel, isn't it?

I want no part of it!

Just leave me alone!

I feel gloved fingers on my shoulder.

Are you going to push me down again? Are you going to steal from me again? Are you going to hurt me again?

No!

Eyes clamped shut, I spin around and throw a punch at my assailant.

I won't let you hurt me again!

My fist makes contact with clothed hardness. Fingers pour over my closed hand.

No...

"Good morning, Reis."

Ah...that voice...

Dreading what I know I'm going to see, I slowly open my eyes. Looking resplendent in a black uniform with gold buttons and a white scarf with one end rippling past the collarbone area is a smiling Beowulf.

Oh, God.

"B-Beowulf..."

I just tried to hit...

I...I think I would've preferred to see another thief...

"Did I surprise you?" He smiles like the twins did that one time they...

Stop that.

Issue at hand: Did Beowulf surprise me?

"Surprise me? Of course you did! You shouldn't sneak up on people like that!" I haven't given in to anger in a long, long time, but...but...

I haven't needed to in such a long time.

"I apologize," he says with that smile still on his face. "I was calling your name and you didn't respond, so I thought I'd just...were you having a conversation with yourself?"

My flaring anger dwindles down to ash.

--We were just playing around, Reis, you don't have to be like a behemoth and bite off our heads...look, you even made Quain cry--

I sigh. "I'm sorry,

--Tyrei--

Beowulf, I was just thinking, that's all. I'm sorry for overreacting, that's just what

--a big sister does--

I do sometimes."

"Don't worry about it," he says easily. "I think I understand. But...are you training to be a monk or something?" My fist is squeezed a couple times, and I realize that he's still holding my hand.

He caught my fist before I was going to hit him. He must have great reflexes.

Well, of course he does. He's an elite knight, right?

But...does that really mean anything? Those people...all they know how to do is swing around a sword and make colorful explosions. Beowulf must be really good at defensive measures.

But...why didn't he let go of my hand earlier? "Um, Beowulf...could you please let go of my hand?"

It's not as if I mind, but...

"Sorry," he says, releasing my hand and looking away.

This is awkward...

Say something, Reis! You've been thinking about this man's words all week, and now he's in front of you. Ask him about fate. Ask him about beauty. Just...

"Um, so...what are you doing here?"

...Just don't ask stupid questions like that.

"I just got off patrol, actually. I'm on my way over to the barracks." He pauses. "And what about you?"

"I'm looking for a clothing store so I can buy some thread."

See, that wasn't so bad...

Beowulf looks at me blankly for a moment, then smiles at me in that friendly manner of his. "Would you like me to help you?"

I can spend some time with him... "That...would be really nice of you."

"Alright." He grins. "Do you mind if we go over to the barracks first? I should at least check in."

-0-

While the church is on one side of the 'castle', which isn't half as grand as the word implies, the barracks for the knights are on the other side. It's a plain building, which seems to be the theme in this town for everything other than the church, as well as utterly devoid of people.

Beowulf stops at the door of the barracks. "Reis, could you wait out here for a second?"

I nod. I wonder why he asked me that?

Hm...I suppose there are things in there that aren't meant for a female's eyes.

He smiles and opens the door, leaving it ajar as he walks inside. I study the tips of my black boots. I like boots, but they're so hard to make...

"Ah, Kadmus, you're a bit late."

Oh. I guess I made him late...

"Chiroseau, just the person I was looking for. I'm going out again."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, I'm helping a friend." A pause. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm just surprised. It only took you three years to make friends with people outside of the Order."

This Chiroseau...he sounds gruff. I think he's older than Beowulf...

I hear Beowulf chuckle. It's a nice sound. "Yeah, she's a cataloguer. You know, the one that Buremonda transferred over from Murond."

"Ah, I see." A rough laugh. "Buremonda's not going to like this, I'll bet."

...Why?

"Well, maybe it'll give him something new to complain about. He's been complaining about security measures enough as is. Reis would be a welcome topic."

I didn't need to know that...that's embarrassing...

"Right, right, go have fun. I can't finish my letters with you around."

Beowulf laughs. "Now you sound just like Buremonda, blaming me for everything. I'll be back later."

I'm getting the impression that Beowulf and Verden don't get along...although it seems that Beowulf doesn't seem to mind...or care.

Hm.

"Did I keep you waiting long?" I look up into Beowulf's easy-going expression, into those dark red eyes.

Red...

"No, not at all." And as we begin walking back to the shopping area, I try to open up a new discussion. "I'm surprised that you know where the clothing store is."

Just because he lives in Lionel...I mean, he's a man, and a knight at that. This isn't a stupid statement.

I hope.

"Actually..." He smiles sheepishly down at me. "I don't know where it is either."

"Please don't look at me like that," he says, still smiling.

"Like what?" I manage out. I'm starting to see red, and it's not his eyes...

"Like...like you're going to take my sword and run me through with it?" Oh, look, there's his sword, strapped across his back. How convenient that he would remind me, "It reminds me of Sis too much."

Who? "'Sis'?"

"Yeah, my big sister." He stops giving me that worried smile, dropping it in favor for a more fond expression. "When we were both kids, she'd give me that look...I'd always imagined that's how a demon would look at its prey."

With those red eyes, I can only imagine...

"But, you know, she always did look better with a smile on her face." The look that Beowulf is throwing at me feels like he's examining me. "You do, too."

Oh... "Really?"

"Well, most people do."

Oh. "I see."

"But I think that you look beautiful, even with a glare on your face." A grin spreads across his face. "You're really one of a kind."

My face feels hot...this man...

How can I trust my emotions around him when he can play them like a musical instrument?

I look away. "What kind of person are you, saying all these things so easily?"

Why can't I be more like you?

"An honest one, I suppose." He sounds proud.

Honest? More like brave.

I look around, trying not to initiate eye contact with him. God only knows what sort of embarrassing exchange will happen next. Ah, back in the shopping area already?

Mm...I can smell that chicken stew again...

"Reis, are you hungry?"

I look at him, startled. I didn't realize I looked so starved... "Um, a little."

He looks relieved. "Oh, good. I had to patrol in the early morning, so I didn't get any breakfast." He looks around, then his expression brightens. "Oh, that's a good restaurant over there."

Restaurant...? "What is...a restaurant?"

Beowulf looks at me with a stunned expression. "You don't...well, ah, they're places where you can buy and eat food. There's a lot of them where I'm from."

Okay, a restaurant is like a cafeteria, except that you purchase the food. "I see...I'm sorry, but in Murond there are no restaurants."

"Ah, I see," he says, walking over to this...store with tables outside...and inside, from what I can see. "Well, I go to this restaurant all the time."

Oh. It's a cozy-looking place. I can't imagine a group of men descending upon this place for a meal. Maybe to a bar, but not here. "So, do you often go to these 'restaurants' with women?"

Beowulf stares at me. It's a weird kind of stare that makes me feel that I shouldn't have gotten comfortable enough to just toss out random questions like that. What does it matter to me if Beowulf is often accompanied by women when he goes out to eat?

After a good minute or so of this staring, he begins to laugh.

God, I think I'd like to die now. Please.

He looks at me, completely open with his laughter, with the fact that he's...happy.

He...he's like a little boy...

--Okay, what are you two laughing about now?--

"Hahaha...wow, thanks for even asking." He smiles, straightening up and running a hand through his slicked-back hair. "Do I really seem like that type?"

By 'that type', I guess he means the type that is often with a girl. I've seen that sort at Murond. "Well...I don't know. I don't know you very well, you know."

Thoughtfully, Beowulf looks at me. "Believe me, Reis, the last time I talked to a woman was when I last saw Sis." Suddenly his serious look is overtaken by a grin. "But thanks, I needed that. Talk about a confidence boost...shall we eat?"

Confidence boost...?

He seems to be nothing but confident!

At least, on the outside. On the inside he could be someone completely different.

He could be just like me...

That almost makes me want to laugh. That just doesn't seem possible at all.

-0-

This restaurant has something called a 'menu' which displays what sort of foods and drinks they're serving. It's actually on two pieces of large paper, this menu, and it's a relief to be reading something in plain Ivalician.

Beowulf, sitting across from me at our outdoor table, is studying his menu, laid flat on the table, with an unusually intense expression. Well, as long as he keeps looking at his menu like that, I can look at him from behind my upraised menu.

Unlike Verden, Beowulf has a very masculine sort of face. It's not delicately beautiful like Verden's, but it is pleasing to look at. Handsome, I think the word is. Anyway, his face is more 'open' than Verden's. He doesn't look serene when he smiles, he looks...

Alive. Not like a glorious painting of an angel, but like an everyday living person.

Then there are his eyes. Those brandy eyes that are a shade within the color of a red dragon's hide, but just a little darker.

I remember that shade well...

I think that Beowulf has longish hair, but he always seems to have it slicked back. It's lighter than my own hair, which isn't even the gold it used to be.

I feel...I feel equal with Beowulf. He doesn't look like an unattainable angel like Verden, and I also think that Beowulf would listen and understand me more than Verden.

--So please, think about subjects with more value to them--

A lot more.

And his personality...it's so...so...lively. Being with him like this, it's hard to imagine that he's the leader of all the knights protecting this city...this province. He's impractical and will go out of his way to help someone, even if he doesn't know where to go.

But I really like him, all the same.

I wish I was as outgoing as he is.

If I stay with him like this...could I become more like that?

"Reis?"

"Yes?" I ask automatically. Beowulf points discreetly at this woman standing next to our table...she called herself our 'waitress'. Oh...oops. Looking down at my menu, the first thing I notice is

Selseta Salad: A salad with Selseta plants from Bariaus Hill, served with light dressings.

"I'll take this and a cup of tea." I show the waitress what I want and she nods and writes something down on a pad of paper, then collects our menus. Then she leaves, and it's just me and Beowulf again.

"So...why are you looking for a clothing shop, anyway?" he asks, looking at me with interest.

"Oh, I wanted to mend my mantle, but I ran out of thread."

He nods slightly, as if something suddenly made sense. "You must be really good with that sort of thing. You made that outfit you're wearing now, right?"

I stare at him. "Y-yes, I did."

If I was him, I don't think I would've connected a habit of sewing to my clothes. But, I guess my clothes must be strange enough for that sort of conjecture.

"I thought so. Your blouse looks exactly like a male squire's shirt...except for the color." He looks at me a little oddly. "And it doesn't have a neck and a hood."

He's absolutely right. I get most of my ideas from job class clothing. This blouse is a deep blue, and it has the large sleeves and tight, long torso. But instead of tights under it, I decided on a long, white skirt and a pair of traveling boots. I also put up my hair, which I normally have at shoulder-length and down, into a ponytail...well, except for those two pieces that fall beside my face.

I just didn't think that so many people would hate me because of my clothes.

Everything's different...

"To be honest, I like how you look." He looks so serious that I can't help but smile.

"Really?"

Please, tell me that again.

"Yes, really." He smirks. "You should buy a mirror so you can see just how pretty you are all the time."

Again.

"Why should I, when I can just go to you?"

Look at how you're influencing me already...

That small smirk on his face turns into a full-blown smile. "That's fine too."

Oh God, this is too much.

This man...is too much.

--That's fine too--

...Yes.

Yes, it kind of is.

-0-

I sit on my bed, holding a bag full of thread and sample cuttings from different cloth.

The sun sets at five. It's six-thirty right now.

I can't finish mending my mantle, but this was a good day anyway.

-End to Four-

Maybe not as deep as last chapter, or maybe deep in its own way? You decide!

Reviewers!

Black Griffin, I appreciate your comments, but...this is supposed to be a romance fic. What are you going to say once the story gets all sappy-ish? I'm a little pained just to think about it...
I'm happy you're liking the story so far, though. I hope you'll like it even when it starts fulfilling the 'romance' genre!

Mavina, thank you for the link. Yeah, your first review wasn't eaten up, so I erased the second one because I didn't want to 'balloon' my review count. I really appreciated the fact that you wrote it out again, though. I'm not terribly stressing on the religion stuff, but it is an important element of this story. Plus, I'm a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to making sure that everything's correct in the story. By the way...are you a writer as well?

If you have any questions, comments, or whatever about the story, I'd love to hear from you! And if you're reserving your judgment until later/not ever planning on reviewing, well...thank you for reading anyway!

Chapter 5: Paperweight (weighing down my soul): "Well, I don't know about you, but being on the battlefield for most of my life wasn't exactly conducive to finding a nice girl to bring home to meet my sister."