Within Holy Walls

A Final Fantasy Tactics fanfic

By Tenshi no Ai

I don't own the characters and locations in the game that are presented in this work, Square-Enix does.

Chapter 18: Magic Touch (Chantage Redux)

Reis darling, I've noticed that you're working especially hard lately.

Oh, Mama, I'm just trying my best.

For what?

To...to make sure everything is running smoothly. After all, I'm twelve now, and soon...

Ah. You've been thinking about that too? You're growing into such a fine young woman so quickly. Papa mentioned to me that he almost mistook you for me yesterday!

Papa? Hahaha...I don't believe that! I feel like I'm growing so slowly...sometimes I think that I'll never become an adult...

Oh, Reis darling...just enjoy yourself while you still can.

I'm trying, Mama, but it's that time of the year again.

Best not to think about that right now.

A sigh escapes from my lips while I slice the completed sandwiches diagonally. The last time I did this, Peppermint was here with me. I hope she's having fun traveling with her husband. It must be fun to travel, especially with a loved one. It seems that the farthest out of Lionel Beowulf and I are going to get to is Bariaus Valley.

The kitchen door swings open, surprising me. I'm always so stuck in my own mind that it's hard to focus on subtle going-ons like footsteps and such. Oh, you're here, ah, it's Scarlet. I better get out of here soon.

Good morning, Miss Scarlet, I place all my sandwich wedges into my basket, not bothering to turn around and face her, let me just clean up here and I'll leave.

She hmph's at this. I stifle another sigh. I still don't quite understand why the white mages in general--and Scarlet in particular--despise me. I haven't seen her for awhile, though. Carefully I collect all the spare crumbs off the counter, head bowed. She hasn't moved from the doorway. Is she staring at me? You're going on a picnic with yourself? Her question sounds more like a challenge than anything else, but I don't know why.

Yes, it's a nice day to be outside, I murmur. She said that she'd leave Peppermint alone

--Why should I? After all, no one can hide a relationship for very long in a church--

but I don't think she'd extend that same courtesy to me.

I hear her fingernails hollowly drumming a rhythm against the side of the doorway. That's a lot of sandwiches for just one person, she mutters. My eyes narrow. It seems that Verden isn't the only one prying into my personal life lately, especially for a little slip of a girl like you.

Closing the top of the basket, I pick up its handles and turn around, facing Scarlet. There's a strange look on her face. As much as I eat, I can't seem to gain any weight, why is she always so snide to me? someday, you should tell me the details of your diet so that I'll be sure to gain some.

I think it'd take more than food to fill out your figure, she says primly, moving her hands up to spread out her long dark brown hair, her ample chest rising accordingly. A flicker of annoyance sparks up in me as I remember something from last week...

I'm in the barracks--in Beowulf's office to be exact--talking to him as he fills out paperwork. I'm making more of an attempt to show him my true feelings verbally--although I haven't actually told him them yet--ever since we talked things through a few days ago. There seems to be a never-ending supply of paperwork for him, but he just smiles and goes through it all, reading each paper attentively. He has great work ethic. I really admire that since I usually just sit in the library, looking up at the skylight and wishing I was outside instead.

The office door is open, and a fair amount of knights are inside the barracks. Two of them are holding a conversation in harsh whispers, and I'm bored enough to listen in on them while Beowulf and I hold a stunted conversation.

She's got a nice figure, doesn't she?

Are they talking about me?

I guess, but it's not, you know, very curvy. Nice hips, but she doesn't look very soft to hold.

...What?



Y'know, she's beautiful to look at but she looks so delicate next to all the other women out there. You gotta wonder if Sir Kadmus feels like he's gonna break her every time they hug or something. I know I'd be worried about that.

...

Huh, I guess you're right. Well, all we can do is look.

I blink and focus on Beowulf, whose brandy eyes are staring at me with worry. I always seem to worry him... What's wrong? You look annoyed.

Lately, it seems that I'm doing a poorer job of hiding my feelings than usual. I've been trying not to hide my feelings around him, but I always shield the wrong ones. Do I?

His worried look turns into one I can't figure out. Did you hear something you didn't like? I stare at him, trying to damper down my shock. How did he know...can he hear them too? I figure if you can hear footsteps and tell whether it's me or not, you can probably listen in on other people too, he smiles like he usually does when he tries to coax me into letting my hair down, am I right?

... Beowulf, am I too thin?

He looks taken aback for a moment. I think you're perfect, frowning slightly, he looks past me, is that what you heard?

... I think', huh? ...I was just wondering, that's all, I smile, go back to work. We should go out to lunch soon.

He smiles. Fine, fine, and goes back to reading a document. And I...I'm not sure what to make of it.

Before I arrived in Lionel again, I never really spared a thought about my figure...or lack thereof. With all the women around wearing heavy cloaks and robes, it didn't occur to me that in normal life a woman's body type is much more focused on. In Ivalice, what with all the famines and such, the plumper a woman is, the healthier she's assumed to be. I've been called scrawny' and delicate' and such while at the shopping area so many times that I know what they really mean by now.

I'm less of a woman.'

Compared to Mama, this is true. But, what can I do about it?

You're probably right, I sigh. I have to meet Beowulf at the shopping area soon, and this is taking up my time, thank you for your advice, Miss Scarlet.

She glares at me. Did I say something wrong? For a little girl from Murond, you're awfully patronizing.

Patronizing'...?

Twisting my words around, giving me underhanded insults...I don't want to be treated like this anymore.

--Reis, as much as I like you, I think you should be more assertive. Don't let people push you around!--

My name is Reis, I say quietly.

I know what assertive' means, but that's not really me. At least, not this me.

Scarlet looks at me in a way I recognize instantly. It's the same look as a wary monster. And this matters to me because...? She stares at me out of narrowed eyes, so narrow that they remind me of a red panther's.

--On our end, we'll do whatever we can to make sure that Kadmus doesn't get into any trouble with Buremonda, but are the white mages as solidly on your side?--

Not like it mattered in the end for Peppermint. However... I'd appreciate it if you called me by the name my parents gave me, not one of your own creation.

There is a way that I can listen to both Peppermint and Chiroseau.

She tilts her head to side, arms now crossed in front of her chest. So, you do have some life in those eyes. Though, I'm surprised that such a tiny remark has such an affect on you.

I merely wish to be afforded the same respect I give to you, Miss Scarlet, I smile inwardly as her face goes completely neutral, my name is important to me.

Arms uncrossing, the look she gives me is one of bland indifference. If you want respect, then earn it first, the left corner of her lips rises, I'll be looking forward to that, little cataloger, she walks past me, the sleeve of her robe brushing against my bare right arm, and fully enters the kitchen.

Respect...that won't be my first priority.

Oh, I forgot the knife I used...I need to wash it outside. Turning around, I take a deep breath. Excuse me, I need to--

I'll take care of it, her voice is...less cold than it was before.

That's...kind of her. Thank you, I bow to her back out of habit. Walking out of the cafeteria, the basket swinging in my left hand, I do my best to hurry to the shopping area in the rather tight dress of one of my creations.

Mama...

--Reis darling, here is Mama's first important rule of hunting: if a monster is staring at you, unsure of whether to attack or not, make sure to do two things. One is to keep your posture steady. Don't blindly attack or run away, even if your body is screaming at you to do just that. If you're scared that's fine, but make sure the monster doesn't know that.

And, never back down--

It's easier to stand up to monsters than it is humans. After all, monsters can only hurt you physically.

I walk through the empty little streets, listening to the sounds of the people in the shopping area just ahead of me. It seems like there's more people than usual, which makes sense with Ajora's birthday coming up. Generally there is a week of prayer--this week--before the actual birthday comes up on the twenty-third. That day, there's all day church services filled with all sorts of rituals for everyone to get involved in.

At least after that things go back to normal. At least, that's true in Murond. Hopefully there won't be extensions to the prayer time after his birthday here.

As I reach the end of my little alley, I see that there seems to be literally a river of people along the street of the shopkeepers. It's like half the town had decided that today was the day they should use to prepare for the celebration of Ajora's birthday, leading to this catastrophic mess of people flooding the street. There are kids crying and squealing, with their mothers either conversing loudly with their friends or hollering at their children. Large men bellow out hoarse laughter, young women chatter animatedly in groups, and young men shout to friends standing right next to them.

Wow. This is a far cry from the solemnity of Murond at this time of the year...

Squishing myself against a wall adjacent to the alley I just exited, I try and look through the throng of people. Beowulf...ah! Oh, no, that man has hazel eyes and is a lot shorter. Where...can't see a thing with all these people...oh, God, and knowing Beowulf he's on the other side of the street, buying sweets...

Okay, deep breath. Exhale. Good.

If I have to walk through a living river to meet up with Beowulf, I'll do that.

I lift up my basket, cradling it protectively against my chest. I won't let my food get hurt or stolen, though maybe it'd be safer if I lifted it above my head as I cross the street...

Suddenly, I really dislike Ajora...moreso than usual. If he had a birthday in the winter, everybody would be too cold to run around without abandon like this. But since it's summer, everyone's good to crowd the streets until it becomes really sweltering, which won't happen for another few hours. If we hadn't agreed to meet at ten I'd gladly wait out everyone, but I suggested it because I knew he'd have to be in uniform so he could carry his sword, and his uniform consists of mostly black.

--Anyway, next time we have a picnic, I'll be carrying my sword--

I wish he didn't have to go through the extra effort just for me.

I hate this time of the year...



Beowulf? I look over to my right, where his voice sounded from, and I watch as he fluidly moves through the crowd towards me. It's like he's had practice with this. I guess that makes sense, considering he's been here for a while now. When he manages to dislodge himself from the mass of people as he reaches me, I smile up at him in welcome. Good morning, Beowulf.

Good morning, he says in his good-natured tone, smiling widely, crowded, isn't it?

Yes, and... Why is it so crowded? I mean, I know Ajora's birthday is coming up, but is everyone preparing for just that day? Wouldn't it have been more prudent to do the shopping for food and such the day before, not five days before?

He looks around before his eyes settle on the main gate across the street. Actually, the shops close tomorrow, right up until the day after, holding out his hand towards me, he grins, well, let's go.

I take his hand. We're going to cross straight through?

We can go around, if you like, he looks at me, that grin still on his face. I clutch at my basket, holding it tighter against my body with my left hand before shaking my head. Beowulf starts walking, tightly holding my hand as he moves through the mass of people with something that could almost be considered graceful. It's a bit surprising, considering the number of times he stepped on my feet--and vice-versa, I'll admit--when we danced weeks ago.

I enter the crowd, and instantly I feel lost.

Submerged among all these people, voices rising and falling at random in unplanned discordance, I can't help but feel sick. I'm taller than most of these people, but a few times there are men in front of me who are taller than I am. With my vision blocked, it's like I've completely gone under.

I can't stand this...

Then we emerge on the other side.

Thank God.

Loosely, I let my left arm dangle, swinging my hand up to deftly catch the handle of my basket as it falls. I'm trying to catch my breath, but...

I don't like being surrounded like that. All those voices, the people, it's...it's overwhelming.

I look up at Beowulf's kind tone. Concerned brandy eyes stay on my face for a moment before they light up, come on, some fresh air and water will help. I know the perfect place, I smile weakly at his suggestion.

That sounds wonderful.

-----

We walk for a fairly long time down the worn path until we reach a river. I don't remember crossing a river when I was traveling up from Warjilis, but then again the carriage had no windows. Still, considering the height of the cliffs surrounding the river, my driver must've decided to find a different route around. Curiously I walk over to the edge of the cliff and peer down into the clear water. It looks refreshing. Behind me, I can hear Beowulf settling down underneath a tree with my basket, which he took from me shortly after we left town.

Do you like this spot? Beowulf asks after a moment, usually there are monsters around, but since it's about the hottest time of day, I figured it'd be safe for us.

I look over my shoulder at him. It's a nice spot. We should've come here earlier.

I would've suggested it, but I wasn't sure if you could walk this far, I stare at him for a moment. Don't I have legs? He grins at me, if I didn't know you so well, I'd say you were glaring at me.

I smile. It's hard not to fall into a good mood when he's around. My attention is diverted to my basket...specifically the fact that one of his hands is in it. You wouldn't happen to be sneaking food, would you? I ask dryly.

A wide-eyed look of innocence instantly shines from his face. Of course not.

...We might as well eat anyway. I wouldn't mind knowing why one of your hands is in my basket, then, I walk over to him, sitting down on the other side of the basket uncomfortably before I decide to just stretch out my legs and lean against the tree.

I can't help it. I like your cooking too much. It's a reflex, my face heats up at this. He really knows the right things to say, except...

It's not cooking, I reach for the basket and open its top, to which Beowulf immediately takes a sandwich wedge, it's just sandwiches. No one needs skill for that.

He takes a bite of the wedge. I wouldn't know about that. It's food, he swallows, good food, at that. And I still remember the Riovanes Sweets you made, the smile on his face is intimidating in its level of bliss. I never realized that a person could look so happy, although, lately you have been making mostly sandwiches.

If I wasn't a magical incompetent, he'd know me for more than just sweets and sandwiches. I can't use the stove, I admit quietly, reaching for a sandwich and taking a bite. It's just berry preserves spread onto some bread I conveniently found in the kitchen; I don't get paid until the end of next week and my savings has been bare since before the ball.

Why not? He looks at me curiously, gulping down another wedge. I figured he would like it, considering the sweetness of the preserves.

I don't know any magic, although he should know this by now, what with how I had once attempted to start a fire with two stones.

--Er...I understand the pit, but what are you doing?--

Ah...so much for tradition. Papa must be sad, wherever he is.

Beowulf regards me for a long time, his smile barely there, while continuing to steadily eat all my sandwiches. Hm. I'm not hungry. I look over at the edge of the cliff, still feeling his eyes on me.

...

... Is something wrong? I glance over at him to find that he's still staring at me. I also notice that most of my sandwiches are gone. That was quick.

Is cooking fun for you? There's interest deep within his eyes, a bit much for such a simple question.

Cooking, hm?

--Reis darling, this is a technique that my mama taught me when baking bread...--

Well, I enjoy it...

--One day you'll definitely surpass me as a master cook, Reis darling--

But I was taught that cooking is...

--Look at all the hard work you've put into your training! Oh, I'm so proud of you. You'll be the perfect hunter's wife for sure!--

Cooking, sewing, hunting, raising children...I trained from birth in all these skills and at twenty-one I'm still not any closer to fulfilling my potential. Mama and Papa surely wouldn't like to see all their hard work being wasted away like this...

Deep breath, Reis. It's only because of the time of the year that I'm brooding like this.



I like cooking for other people, I smile softly. I don't want him to think that something's wrong, because there isn't, because I'm only willing to cook for people who deserve it.

His eyes widen, then he smiles, a tinge of red on his cheeks. He looks like how I feel after he starts piling compliments on me. Well...if you say so.

I think Beowulf deserves actual cooking, not these simple sandwiches. He deserves all the skills I have... Beowulf, I don't want to make sandwiches anymore.

Do you just want to eat at restaurants from now on, or do you want me to buy snacks? What? Why does he instantly think that the responsibility of food falls on him? Hm...he'd be a rather poor husband in a hunter's family, simply because he'd try to take on all the duties himself instead of letting me...ah, the wife handle her share of the chores.

Well, it's a moot point, all things considering.

I can't help but let a small smile appear on my face as he continues to look at me questioningly. I mean that I want to cook for us from now on.

Oh, well, you don't have to put yourself out like that, he says quickly, I mean, it's probably too much work and I said that I don't like it when you do things for my sake.

...I love him. I really do. But that just sounds...I mean, does he think that I only do things just for him? He wouldn't be wrong, but he would't be right either. Beowulf, I'd like you to teach me some magic.

There is a stunned expression on his face.

Because I can't use the stove unless I know basic black magic, I pause when I notice him close his eyes at black magic', I wouldn't ask unless I thought it was worth it, my voice is soft, mimicking that soothing quality that his voice sometimes assumes when a sensitive subject is brought up.

It's kind of strange. I was initially drawn to him because of his confidence, something I wanted to find in myself. I'm still looking for the confidence, but instead I learned how to relate to other people...a sort of empathy.

Or maybe I've always had that, I don't know.

Beowulf opens his eyes and gazes at me for a moment before he gives me a small smile. Well, if you like I'll teach you some magic, but I really don't mind eating sandwiches.

Really? Thank you, Beowulf, I smile widely and he shakes his head at this, running a hand through his slicked-black hair.

Only because I want to try your other meals, reaching out, he moves my basket aside, then holds out his hands to me, give me your hands, please.

Okay. I scoot up towards him a bit, holding out my hands upward like he is and laying them on his palms. It's uncomfortable to sit in this dress without stretching out my legs, but I make do with tucking them underneath me in a kneeling position. Like this?

He nods. I wish I had brought my gloves...I should've, since I brought my sword, he glances behind him, where his sword is laying unobtrusively in the summer grass, I don't want to risk you burning your hands or getting frostbite...I don't have to teach you Bolt, I hope, brandy eyes flicker up at my face. I shake my head. I've never seen Peppermint use anything like that on the stove, well, that's good. Now, I want you to close your eyes.

I do so, the sound of my heartbeat throbbing steadily in my ears.

So loud...

Focus on your magical strength...I think it'd be easier for you, since you're female, ah, it's nice that someone noticed that, just concentrate, and you should feel a sort of pressure building up, but...don't strain yourself.

I whisper. Being like this, I can feel Beowulf's hands underneath my own, his thumbs lightly stroking the curvature leading up to my thumbs. There is the scent of berries and daffodils fluttering past my nose, almost tantalizing in their freshness. The unnatural tightness of my dress squeezes my stomach and over my thighs.

Once, I thought it was a good idea to make a dress out of the design of a female lancer's dress, pale yellow with a beige, simplistic dragon rising up from the bottom hem, the only adjustment being the raising of the collar' so that it goes over my chest. Because of the rather revealing nature of the dress, I opted to make a vest in the design of a female mediator's jacket, except in indigo. The male lancer boots that I've only worn once before complete the outfit, and the straps that are supposed to wrap around the upper legs are sort of cutting into my bare thighs.

It's a case of it seemed like a good idea at the time'.

There is a twinge of something more odd than painful in my head. I wonder if this is what Beowulf meant about pressure? Let's concentrate on it, then...

A waterfall...Zirekile Falls. Papa took me there when I was seven. Crystalline blue water cascades down the steep cliff, crashing down past rocks thrust out of the cliff. We are at the bottom of the waterfall, and Papa kneels and collects some of the water in his cupped hands. I do the same, and the taste of the well-water at home could never compare.

Papa, do you think we could have water like this everyday?

Serving dinner--my dinner--for the first time. Nine years old. My family looks at the meal of braised behemoth and various vegetables, including the Selseta plants that are a staple at the family table. Mama smiles encouragingly at me as my small hands place the plate of meat on the table, and my brothers stare at the meal in awe. When they taste the food, it feels as if the sheer joy of a job well done is palpable in the air.

Everyone, please enjoy!

I walk to the table in the form I occupy now, nervously carrying a shank of bull demon beef. My family is seated at the table, but they don't face me when I approach. Everyone looks dully ahead. Frustrated, I place the plate on the table a little too hard, and their bodies shrivel into skeletons, dissolving into fine dust.

...This isn't my memory. This...it's a dream, right? Beowulf...is this...

There he is with his back to me. Imploringly I look at him, not going as far as to reach out and touch him. Slowly he turns, his face a complete blank. His eyes are redder than I remember them to be. His lips part, my name formed in shape but not in body.

His eyes are red. As I stare the red starts to drip, running down his nicely angled face like bloody tears.

N-no...!

Darkness. Darkness enveloping me, deeper than what I used to hide myself for so many years, the emptiness of that one hole in my memory...

(Little one...that promise I will keep. A darkness like the night sky untainted...)

Red. Red. I almost remember this red...like flames.

Yes.

Fire...fire...I can feel it, licking, teasing...



My eyes snap open, the sudden shock like a gulp of fresh air. I try to look at Beowulf, but my eyes don't seem to be focusing...wavering...fire? Looking down, there are flames engulfing my hands.

...!!?

The flames dissipate, vanishing even as they attempt to curl and flare.

...

Beowulf cautiously approaches me, staring at my hands in unbridled shock. I don't need to look down to see why he's so shocked, so I don't.

Nothing hurts.

I raise my hands to him, attempting a smile at the same time.

Don't say my name like that...like there's something wrong with me...

Nothing hurts, my voice sounds fairly calm to my own ears, even a little proud, I'm okay, Beowulf.

I feel numb.

Suddenly, I find myself squashed against his chest, his hands pressed fiercely into my hair, fingers clutching the back of my head. his voice is trembling and that scares me, it really does...

Those memories...images...they didn't scare me as much as he is right now.

Why am I always doing this to him?

Why am I always hurting the both of us?

I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm really okay... the assurances keep pouring out of my mouth and into his chest. My arms are around his waist, holding him as tightly as he's holding me, almost painfully and yet... I'm sorry, I'm really sorry...

Please forgive me...

He pulls away slightly, staring at me with pain-stricken eyes. These eyes are red, the same red I've always loved, and they're normal and not doing anything strange. Oh God, thank God... I'm never going to teach you black magic again, there is the barest silver of humor in his words, but he's also resolute.

Good. I don't ever want to learn magic again.

I'm sick of worrying him.

I'm sorry... the apology comes out through an exhalation, light and breezy and belying the true intent of my words.

Why do I keep doing this to him?

Slowly he loosens his grip, his hands moving to my face and cupping it gently. You must be a natural if you could cast a spell without my telling you specifically how to, I bite my lip at this. I don't know how I managed to do that either... though, magic's based a bit on moods too... there's a question in his eyes, but knowing him he won't push the subject.

But...I do want to tell him. I have to tell him.

Maybe...maybe then I can ease his mind a bit.

--Reis, if there's something you want to talk about, I'm right here. I'll always be here for you--

But I also feel a bit tired right now.

He looks at me attentively, thumbs softly stroking my cheekbones.

I...I want to tell you something, but I feel sleepy right now... I trail off, feeling odd. Heavy. I must be more tired than I thought I was.

Letting go of my face, he looks at me curiously. Do you want to go back? I shake my head, the movement languorous. Hm, you really do look tired. I was out of sorts too after I cast my first spell, roughened fingers touch my face and I lean into his hand, my eyes closing, should I get you some water?

I move up to him, tightening my hold. Stay with me, I yawn, and I can feel the reverberations in his chest as he chuckles. He lays back and I follow suit with my eyes still closed, cuddling up to him as he wraps his arms around me.

There is the familiar touch of his lips against my forehead. Sleep well, Reis. I love you.

Even as exhausted as I am, I still smile. I love you too.

I hear him say, but all I can do as I sink into sleep is to hold him just a bit more tightly.

It's the least I can do for him.

-------

Bright.

Warm.

...Two sets of breathing? Hm, wait, this isn't a , though. And, my legs can't stretch all the way in my bed...

Blearily I open my eyes, which immediately focus on...scarf. Scarf and a bit of neck and face. Ah, Beowulf. Craning my neck up, I can see that his...eye is closed. That would account for the slow, deep breathing. Hm. He looks cute like this. He also looks content. I lower my head back down to his shoulder, snuggling into his solid frame even more. Our arms are around each other, and in this moment I

Happy.

Beowulf mumbles something that I can't pick up, shifting around slightly for what seems to be no reason at all other than to move around, oh, hello there, chapped lips press firmly against my forehead. That's not one of his better opening lines.

I should tell him about what I was thinking about...except that he has his lips pressed just below my ear, right along the edge of my jawline. My ears pick up the sound of inhalation through the nose, then again...then again. Is he... Beowulf, do you have a cold?

You smell nice, his words sound like they're backed up with that familiar smile of his. My face feels hot...that's a bit obscure for a compliment, isn't it? you've always smelled like this...something deep, yet gentle. It fits you well, he kisses my neck, is it a perfume?

What's a perfume'? I...I don't know what that is.

It's a scented liquid that women put on themselves so they can smell better, there's amusement threading his words, Sis likes that stuff.

Why would I need that? But I bathe everyday. Isn't that good enough?

He laughs, lips caressing my neck. Yes it is, love.

...? You've never called me that before, I murmur, raising my head up--and away from the distracting touch of his lips, even if I do like it--to get a better look into his eyes.

the arm currently encircling my waist disengages, his hand moving up to caress my face. There is the barest flicker of hesitation in his eyes before it washes away in the normal warmth usually present in them, you've never told me that you loved me before.

Loved'? Present tense, I whisper. Confusion crosses his face, I love you, not

Ah, well, that's good, he grins, fingers entangling in the strand of hair closest to his hand, it'd be depressing if you loved me and I never knew until after the feeling passed.

I couldn't do that, the words rush out of my mouth. It was instinct to say that, but, um...what do I say now? Beowulf, you're really...you're... a word, I need a word, precious to me.

His eyes narrow as his smile stays, making for a very...interesting effect. You've become quite the sweet-talker. I'm impressed.

Not compared to him. I raise an eyebrow. I've learned from the best, my voice is little more than a murmur as his lips close in on my own, speaking of talking...

He pulls away. Oops. What is it? This is said with no small amount of interest.

It makes me feel comfortable knowing that he's interested in what I have to say.

I...I can do this.

About earlier... hm, no, that's not exactly true, well, actually, for the whole day there's been something on my mind, and I think... well, it's most likely, that's why I, ah, messed up that spell earlier.

You didn't mess it up, he says firmly, it was just unexpected, that's all.

I'm not sure about that, but... If you say so, how am I supposed to say this? I was thinking about my family.

Brandy eyes continue to exude encouragement. What about your family? His deep voice is soothing, so kind and gentle...

But it's hard to admit some things, even with this sort of support.

In two weeks, I'll have been separated from my family for eight years.

It's so hard to hear me say that. In my mind...it doesn't sound as real in my mind.

there is a myriad of emotions flashing in his dark eyes, and I can't...they're so complicated that I don't understand them, I remember you said you were an orphan once, so when you say separated', do you mean that they're de--

and it scares me a little to hear my voice that hard, that harsh, especially towards Beowulf, but... I'm sorry, I close my eyes, I just don't like to hear it that way.

I don't believe it.

There's a dominant emotion in his eyes now. Confusion. he says softly, calloused fingers back to moving along my face in rhythmic patterns, I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry.

I keep reacting like this.

--They're dead, aren't--

--Where is your family?--

Maybe we've all been living under the shadow of war for so long that it's hard to see anything other than the cloak of death thrown over us. But I can't...I can't let myself believe that!

As long as I don't know, there must be some hope...

Someone like me can cling to hope, right?

You know, it'd be a good idea to go to Bariaus Hill sometime soon, before autumn hits, he says in a thoughtful tone. I look at him curiously. Why home? I mean, there's bound to be some sort of hint there, I'd think.

Really? After eight years?

He shrugs. It's a start.

Well, that's good, but... You...you don't have to get involved. I should be fine on my own.

I mean, we're talking about my family here. I'm not going to drag him around when he's got so many other duties to attend to.

Hm...if you feel up to it we could go right after the birthday celebrations pass, my face goes blank. Was he even listening to me? but we probably shouldn't leave any later than the first week of September...

...Hn. If he feels strongly enough that he's going to ignore me, then fine. Anyway, I'd appreciate it if he were around. I...who knows what we'll find?

Thank you, Beowulf, I smile. His listening to me--for the most part--makes me feel a lot better about all of this.

--You're not alone--

I...he really was right about that, even though he said it months ago.

You're too polite sometimes, a grin appears on his face as the hand on my face slides through my hair to the back of my head, but if you really want to thank me...

As his lips press against mine, I can't help but wonder who exactly am I thanking: him, for being his kind, caring self? Or me, for finally going ahead on my promises to myself and talking to him about the important things before it's too late?

Politeness has quite a few benefits.

-End to chapter 18-

Wow, late chapter. Haven't had one of those since I started this schedule. Finals weren't so bad, but I'll admit to having problems with this chapter, which are probably still apparent with its lack of cohesiveness.

(12/26/03: Revised. Not terribly different from the original, although I felt that the only thing that screamed bad' was something Beowulf said after Reis' fire spell mishap.)

-Chantage: This chapter takes over the regen' part of the item, just for those who think I've gotten lazy with my subtitles.

- Ajora's birthday': He's a Virgo, right? August 23rd is the first day of Virgo.

-I'm basing Ivalician women's desirability off of those European pictures back in yonder centuries with all those women with voluptuous figures. Seems normal enough, although I'm having a hard time figuring out the overall basis for Ivalice as far as a comparable time (yes, the Rose War, I understand, but when you factor in the incredible liberal-ness--see the proposition Final Resistance' at Riovanes--my head starts hurting.)

-The concept art for the female dragoon/lancer is markedly different from the game sprite, which is a bit unusual for this game. I only use the concept art for the outfits.

-Yes, next week's chapter will come out on time, otherwise known as half an hour from Wednesday morning'. I'm looking forward to it.

Reviewers!

Luna, I'm glad you liked the interlude. Meh, you're so lucky you were able to see Mog's desperation attack; me, I've only seen Terra's, Celes' and Relm's, and that took forever. But I can see how you'd like Mog the best, he's always in my main party. I hope you were able to get all your projects and tests done well, my finals burned me out.
Here's a random question for you: what do you think about Algus?

Junketsuna kishi...that's an interesting name. However, my mind's drawing a blank. Care to fill me in on what it means? You've been reading for a fairly long time if you started all the way back in chapter 7 (September, right? All the weeks started piling together after a while...)! I appreciate the compliments, and I certainly hope I can improve too...what do you think I need to improve in, by the way? I need all the help I can get! And thanks about my pen name, although everybody that remarks on it seems to translate it wrong.
Another interlude, huh...I may have one or two more ideas in mind...

Thank you, Miss Ayanami! (Eva, huh?) I find it's more fun to develop the characters rather than the plot. And yeah, I've got to make sure this story connects with the game, even if it's just little things like the name of a guy that dies in the same scene you meet him in...

Thank you for reading! Please, if you have any questions or comments, I'd love to hear them!

Chapter 19: False Artemis (Who wins in the game of life?): (Childling, this is our boon. In return for your help, we can lift the darkness that blinds you from your true potential.)