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.
Beowulf Kadmus stopped and looked around when he heard this, a quizzical expression forming on his face. That sounded like Reis, but he remembered specifically telling her not to leave her room until he came for her. As it was, he was standing in front of the closed doors that led to the nave of the church. Then again, he admitted to himself, I can't expect her to do as I ask. She had the sometimes endearing, sometimes annoying habit of only doing the things she felt like doing.
At this thought, he smiled. That was one of the many reasons he loved her, after all. And so, mental equilibrium reestablished, he started walking again.
There was no mistaking that low, sedate voice. He turned, facing the doors to the library. One of them was open. Sighing inwardly at this, he stepped inside the library, looking around at the bookshelves. He called, something bothering him about the current situation. She wasn't one to play games, especially at such a serious time.
Then he saw her.
She was standing at the back of the library, her back to him. Although there was light in the room due to the extravagant skylight, it didn't seem to reach where she stood, casting her figure in shadows. For a moment he almost doubted it was her, but the spill of straight blond hair past her shoulders and her slender frame put that suspicion to rest.
Odd that she didn't at least turn around when I called her, Beowulf mused as he started walking towards her. You'd worried me for a moment there, love, he smiled automatically, frowning slightly only when she didn't respond or even favor him with a glance, is something wrong? Are you having second thoughts about thi--
Finely honed senses from the war alerted him to just how wrong this whole situation was just as a magical pulse strummed through his body. He tried to take a step forward, then move his arms, but nothing seemed to work.
He couldn't move. But, why?
The longtime knight could only watch as the form of his lover shifted, stretched, and finally fell away, leaving quite a different person in her stead...
-0-
Waking up hurt.Fortunately for Sir Beowulf Kadmus, leader of the Lionel Holy Knights and a veteran of the war that still raged through Ivalice, he was used to waking up in pain. Granted, this casual attitude to such a detrimental feeling was one of several reasons that caused him to accept the offer to become a Temple Knight, since he had never liked being in pain to begin with and because it often led to something he liked even less: death. However, that decision did not automatically exempt him from agony and the general feeling that things just weren't right with his body, as he was finding out right now.
It was a good thing, then, that this was only the second time he woke up this week.
The first coherent thought that came to him was that he hurt. His chest felt smashed in, which he then immediately decided couldn't really be true or else he wouldn't be alive. What was true was the fact that it hurt to breathe, because with each inhalation something felt as if it was poking rather insistently against his lungs. He would've liked to discount this as well, but he couldn't hold his breath long enough to pretend it was just his imagination. A steady throbbing began its rhythm in his head as well. An errant thought breezed through his clouded mind: I wish that had a better melody.
Well, he thought as a bolt of agony ripped through his chest at the resulting chuckle, at least my sense of humor isn't injured.
The second cluster of coherent thought came to him five minutes later, when he had attempted to get more comfortable in his bed and was immediately punished by another streak of pain from both his chest and head. This was when he realized that he was on his back. The thought itself wasn't earth shattering, it was just that he hadn't woken up while on his back in a long time. He'd gotten used to sleeping on his side ever since he'd started sharing Reis' bed.
Reis. Something happened involving her...so where was she? The last thing he could immediately recall was finding her in the church library, but it wasn't her...
Where was she?
This question needed to be answered as quickly as possible, so Beowulf opened his eyes. He didn't recognize this room by its ceiling, though it seemed similar to Reis' room, what with the cracks in the ceiling and all. Gritting his teeth, he braced himself with his arms and attempted to sit up. The pain that followed was equivalent to having a hammer smashed into the back of his head while two worked on his chest over and over again. Things ground together in the latter, stabbing into things that weren't used to being stabbed and so protested this flagrant abuse.
Showing a surprising display of fortitude, the bedridden knight did not immediately black out as the pain wracked through his much-abused body. Instead, he reflexively relaxed his arms, causing him to fall back onto the bed and eliciting a strangled cry from him as various ribs shifted and twisted. Dimly, he heard the sound of footsteps through the monotonous pounding in his head and wondered if that was Reis coming to check up on him. He liked the sound of that, as he didn't think he would survive trying to go to her. The footsteps grew louder and louder until he could feel another person's body near his. he weakly murmured, his voice strained.
I'm sorry Sir Kadmus, but I'm not her. He appreciated the confirmation, though he'd figured this out as soon as she leaned over him. Reis didn't smell like cinnamon.
He gritted his teeth as he felt hands on his chest, then relaxed as the cooling relief of a powerful cure spell washed through him like the waves of the low tide. Fighting the now overwhelming urge to sleep, he opened his eyes instead. A brunette in the robes of a white mage stood next to his bed, and as he continued to look at her she glanced at his face with tired mahogany eyes.
You're currently in the church, specifically a room put aside for major injuries, he tried to interrupt, for that wasn't what he asked about, but the woman was very adept at overriding her patients' questions. You've been in here a week, and to be honest, we were considering you a lost cause. Your ribcage has been... she seemed to search for a word, well, it's fairly inverted right now. While you were lucky enough to have your heart spared, we're very sure that one of your lungs have been punctured. With the medical knowledge that we have at this time, we're really just hoping that the regenerative abilities of your body, as well as our spells, will... now she looked slightly uncomfortable, pop out the rib from your lung and that everything will piece itself together.
Beowulf wasn't sure he liked the sound of that, but he motioned for her to continue anyway. What else...?
The white mage took in a deep breath, her normally harsh countenance softening. Although your ribcage is rather inverted right now, none of your ribs actually broke. Most of them are just fractured. Although you will be experiencing grinding sensations, we believed that if you woke up you will recover completely in time, her eyes narrowed, you've nearly died twice already, so that was something we were not expecting. You also have a concussion, but that really pales in comparison with your chest right now. Do you have any questions?
He closed his eyes, feeling the soft touch of her hands on his forehead. Reis...where is she?
Sir Kadmus, the voice sounded far away as an unusual drowsiness settled over him, worry about yourself first.
he tried to argue, but the world was slipping away from him and he couldn't help but to let everything drift away...
-0-
For a week and a half, there was a routine to Beowulf's life. He would wake up sometime before noon, accept a meal of broth and water--his head would ring if he dared exert the pressure necessary to chew--and a cure spell before falling asleep again. Then he would be roused from sleep just before supper time, where he would receive yet another bowl of broth and a stronger spell before dropping off for the night. To the once-greviously injured man's credit, he was usually wide awake right after every meal and healing session, certainly awake enough to ask where his fiancé was. However, the white mages at Lionel castle town were not only trained in the spells of their job, but also certain time spells, such as the sleep spell Beowulf was getting to be on very good terms with. They claimed that plenty of sleep would aid his recovery, but he only had to get out a Re' before he felt soft hands on his forehead.He was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't supposed to ask where Reis was.
What the first white mage--Miss Scarlet Barkosu, the one with the bad bedside demeanor, he catalogued--had told him was coming to pass. All the white mages who had treated him were as generous with their cure spells as they were with their sleep spells, and his chest was feeling much less compressed. It didn't even hurt to chew after a few days into his treatment. After a week, he could walk around his small room without getting winded, and after a week and a half his mind could focus enough to cast spells.
Twelve days after the first time Beowulf fully regained consciousness, he was visited by Miss Barkosu. It wasn't a healing session, but rather a friendly visit. This was not particularly odd, especially since the woman had lent him a book only days before, when he'd asked her for something to pass the time. It was a compilation of Saint Ajora's most well-known speeches, and was therefore a wonderful practice aid for float spells. What was probably the odd part was how often she came to check up on him, or stayed just to keep him company. If he didn't know any better, he would've thought she rather liked him.
Sir Kadmus? The straightforward white mage called just before she opened the door. May I come in?
Hastily, Beowulf dispelled the enchantment he had placed on the book, which, subjected to the laws of gravity, plopped onto his lap. Taking one, two deep breaths to center himself, he smiled. Come in, Miss Barkosu, he said, then wondered why he'd bothered when she was already stepping into the room.
Good afternoon, Sir Kadmus. She strode through the tiny room, pulling down the hood of her requisite robe and fluffing her long, dark hair out. How're you feeling? Any headaches, chest pains? Hm, still no sign of fever, she murmured as she placed her hand on his forehead. Beowulf tensed, having been subjected to one too many sleep spells from that action.
That wouldn't do at all. It'd ruin his plan before he could even begin.
Everything's fine, he said softly, smiling at her, thanks to you.
Scarlet's dark eyes widened for a second before she looked away from his face. Really, it was due to the combined effort of all of us. You should save your thanks for everybody else.
But you were the first one I saw when I first woke up, he countered gently, his eyes guileless as she glanced at them, I suppose that makes you the most important one...at least, in my mind, he hurriedly finished, noticing how her cheeks darkened just a little at his words.
I see, she fidgeted slightly before favoring him with a small smile, if that's how you wish to think about it, I won't be the one to dissuade you.
He smiled back, feeling sick about using the woman's emotions in such a way. Not only because he already had someone he loved, but it also reminded him too much of his old war buddy Coronada and the things that man would say just to get a woman into bed. But this manipulation was completely necessary for his plan, and if it worked he wouldn't even have to switch to the second phase of it.
But, you know, a small voice whispered deep within his mind, even if you think it's disgusting, you can't deny how good you are at it.
Scarlet...Miss Scarlet, he corrected as a look of surprise crossed her face at his familiarity, coolly calculating how keeping her off balance now would work for him in a minute, sorry, I'm bothering you. Here's your book, it was...enjoyable, watching it float around the room, he neglected to add.
No--no, you weren't bothering me at all, I'm just... the brunette paused, a flicker of suspicion in her eyes for just a moment before it was doused by embarrassment, surprised, that's all.
Beowulf allowed himself a small chuckle. Almost time... Because I liked the book?
She laughed at this, completely at ease now. That has to be it.
Now.
You're a very kind woman, Miss Scarlet, at least, once she loosened up a bit, he noted, I really appreciate your lending me this book. Perhaps you could lend me some information now?
Her eyes narrowed quickly, too quickly. I don't know what you're talking about, Sir Kadmus.
There was a tug on his consciousness as the first tendrils of her sleep spell grasped his mind, but it was weaker than usual. He supposed it was due to his natural resistance to magic, or perhaps she was holding back. I guess I'm not as charming as I thought I was, he commented to himself, oddly pleased about that. Buoyed by this sudden good feeling, he calmly reached in with his own magical strength and simply plucked off each tendril of her spell, dispelling it quickly. I believe you know exactly what I'm talking about, High Mage Barkosu. Her proper title, befitting of the secondary leader of a group of Glabados white mages, rolled off his tongue.
High Mage Barkosu, who only answered to one person in Lionel.
The spell was back, this time in full force, but with an ease he never could quite show off on the battlefield, the Temple Knight undid this attempt as well. I don't know anything, Scarlet muttered, glaring at him in what was proving to be impotent rage.
You work directly under Buremonda, you have to know something. Growing tired of both the subterfuge as well as her persistence with her sleep spell, he simply deflected her next spell and grabbed her wrist. Looking earnestly up at her, he mentally winced at the scowl that distorted her entire face. Please, Miss Barkosu, I just want to know where Reis is. Is she alright? At lea--
The spell that assaulted his senses was unlike any he had ever felt before. It didn't permeate through his mind so much as it simply shut everything down. Beowulf, in the condition he was in, was no match for it. Just before he pitched forward, unconscious, he caught a glimmer of a magical signature, one strikingly familiar...one that he had read in another spell he had been subjected to in the recent past.
Buremonda.
-0-
Finely honed senses from the war alerted him to just how wrong this whole situation was just as a magical pulse strummed through his body. He tried to take a step forward, then move his arms, but nothing seemed to work.He couldn't move. But, why?
The longtime knight could only watch as the form of his lover shifted, stretched, and finally fell away, leaving quite a different person in her stead.
Buremonda.
Dammit, Beowulf cursed to himself, how could I have walked into this so blindly?
It was a question that he already knew the answer to. Buremonda was a lot of things, but he was also cunning and always suspicious. The priest could read a person's weakness just as well as he could read his sermon at the pulpit, and behind his gentle features was a mind finely tuned to brutal, sadistic tactics. Beowulf knew this, and he couldn't believe that he had neglected to watch out for himself as well as Reis. But a small part of him was still shocked that Buremonda had the audacity to lure him using her voice, her likeness.
To lure him using his complete trust and love for her.
Apparently, Buremonda was just as surprised, but about something slightly different. How could you let yourself be so easily tricked?
As if he didn't know how effective she would be, Beowulf thought in a disgusted tone, allowing himself a moment of righteous anger before forcibly letting it pass and modulating his tone so that he appeared to be calm and in control. Perhaps it was because of what you tricked me with, he said, his mind scrambling through likely escape plans while ignoring why a trap of such magnitude was needed.
He'd fought for a decade in the war. He wasn't going to let himself die in the one place he thought he'd find peace in.
Distract him, Beowulf decided, keep that pompous fool talking and try to unlock each component of the web of spells he had set. Buremonda would talk. He was a priest. He was fond of hearing his own voice. To do all this...what are you planning? Letting a tiny bit of artificial fear into his tone, the Temple Knight could only smirk to himself when a small smile crossed that priest's face.
Now, to work...
-0-
It didn't hurt to wake up, and maybe that was the strangest thing of all.Oh, his head was still ringing ever so slightly and his ribs felt rearranged, but it didn't really hurt now. It could be worse, it had been worse, and that was enough to make him feel grateful for the condition he was in now. He hadn't felt this well even when he'd tried to get answers to some of the more pressing questions that had been simmering in his mind. Then Buremonda had magically sucker-punched him, and now he felt almost as good as new.
Questions on top of questions. Beowulf was getting very frustrated.
There was a knock on his door. Come in, he called, not bothering to avert his gaze from the ceiling. Only after the door was opened did he glance over at his new visitor, mentally wincing when he saw who it was. Miss Barkosu...hello.
She simply raised an eyebrow at his welcome. Cardinal Draclau wishes to speak with you at the castle. I'm here to escort you.
That's weird, the Temple Knight mused, and Buremonda was willing to let one of his white mages go like this? Especially after the incident earlier... I didn't realize the cardinal was back in town already, he said aloud, rising from the bed and walking over to her.
She stiffened as he approached, the action not escaping his notice. He only arrived a few days ago. He's been wanting an audience with you, but our collective opinion was that it should wait until you were feeling better, she paused as they left the room, making their way to the front of the church, you are feeling better, I believe?
he answered absently, something else on his mind, I want to apologize for my actions earlier. It's just--
I wasn't lying, the white mage interrupted, glancing over at him when he showed surprise at her words, I honestly don't know anything. When I was summoned over to the library, I only saw you there. That's as much as any of us white mages know, really.
Ah, so I'll have to go to the source, then... Beowulf sighed to himself before turning his attention to the woman beside him. Once again, I apologize, the sincerity of his words were strong enough that the usually dour healer softened her expression as she nodded. In an almost companionable silence, the two emigrants to Lionel walked out of the church and over to the plain-looking castle beside it. Almost by reflex, the leader of the Lionel Holy Knights glanced over at the barracks, just to the other side of the castle, wondering how his men were doing. Did they know what had happened to him? Of course, not even Beowulf knew what exactly had happened to him, just the extent of the injuries he had received.
What was going on here? He was very used to the secrets that the Church held. He was keeping a few of them himself, as per his position as one of the higher ranked Shrine Knights. These were secrets that he would carry with him to the grave, and he rather preferred it that way. Even if it meant that the people of Ivalice had to live in ignorance, it was still a comfortable bliss that even he, who'd never been a particularly religious person, was envious of. Then there were the secrets that only a few of the highest ranked priests knew, the secrets that he never wanted to be privy to. He'd inadvertently heard one of them years before, just before he received the job of a Temple Knight.
Ajora was not the Holy Son.
He didn't want to know any more than that, and at the time he had more important things to worry about, like what his job truly required of him. Besides, did it really matter anyway? The Glabados Church would survive, with or without a saint to venerate.
There were always secrets, but Beowulf didn't like that this one had to do with himself and his still-unheard from fiancé. Maybe...maybe the cardinal knew something. He wasn't so hopeful about that, though.
It was Buremonda he had to find if he wanted the truth.
...Sir Kadmus? At the mention of his name, Beowulf looked around, blinking in surprise. He and Scarlet were already inside the castle; indeed, they were just before the grand doors leading to Cardinal Draclau's office. I have something that I feel I should tell you, the second leader of the white mages stared at him with piercing dark eyes.
What is it? Beowulf asked politely, fervently hoping that it had nothing to do with any nascent feelings she may have held for him.
When Priest Buremonda asked me to help him take you to our infirmary, she started, and he had to bend his head down next to hers in order to hear her words, I had noticed that there had been a hole in the skylight. Glass littered the ground below it, she turned her head slightly, her pensive expression aimed away from him, I didn't care for the little cataloger, but I didn't wish her harm either. I hope you find her, or whatever had happened to her.
Beowulf smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. Thank you, Miss Barkosu, he said, turning towards the office doors, I'm sure Reis would appreciate hearing that.
What had happened that day?
He couldn't remember. The concussion he had received from...whatever had happened was doing a remarkable job of hiding away that useful tidbit of knowledge. Perturbed at his inability to remember, the fact that it was a very important thing to remember, and the knowledge that he couldn't do anything about it for the moment, he opened the door. Cardinal Draclau was at his desk perusing through some papers, but he raised his head at Beowulf's arrival. Ah, Kadmus, I've been expecting you.
That's a nice way of saying that I'm late. The thought was bitter as Beowulf's mind was still focused on his current failure. Forgive me, I've been...occupied, he managed to sound regretful about this, but at the moment he really couldn't care less. The older man raised an eyebrow at his subordinate's insincere tone.
So I hear. Step forward. It was not a suggestion, and now it was Beowulf's turn to raise an eyebrow as he obeyed the command. Lately, I've heard a lot of things.
Beowulf wasn't liking where this was going, and it had only just started. There have been a lot of things happening recently, Cardinal, he responded mildly.
It certainly seems so. I arrive back from a long and rather bothersome trip throughout Ivalice, hoping to hear reports from my head priest, my head knight, and for my new recorder to make the necessary reports and file them away, the cardinal steepled his hands on the top of his sturdy desk and looked straight into brandy-colored eyes, instead, I hear from Buremonda that you had been injured and that Miss Dular had died.
The last word shot straight into Beowulf's mind like a bullet, shattering all his thoughts save one. Dead? Reis can't possibly be dead!
Alphons Draclau narrowed his eyes at Beowulf's shout. That was exactly what I had thought when I first heard the news. Indeed, he has yet to produce her body. But this leads to another thing he had told me, that of your relationship with Miss Dular.
She's my fiancé, Beowulf said slowly, his mind still reeling from the news.
That may be so, but Buremonda informed me that you were partial to making nightly visits to Miss Dular's room. No matter what you think of the Glabados faith, our churches are not either an inn or a brothel.
The initial surprise melted into anger, and anger made the usually polite knight lacking in tact. And she's not a whore. What exactly is your point?
Draclau said in a warning tone, you're overstepping yourself here.
You'll forgive me if I don't care. The red of Beowulf's eyes seemed to darken, in tune with the pulse of indignation within him. You've just told me that Reis is dead, and now you're rebuking me for my actions when she was... His hands clenched painfully into fists at his sides. What's more important here, Cardinal? The reasons behind a young woman's death, one who was a ward of the Church at that, or some of the things she did when she was alive that don't agree with your morals?
The two men stared at each other for a long moment before Draclau sighed. You are right. Perhaps you can help with the former, then. What do you remember from that day?
Dammit. All I remember is going to the church that morning, around a quarter to seven or so, to meet with Reis. At his superior's questioning look, Beowulf inwardly sighed. This wasn't going to look good for him. I had a plan, which Reis had acquiesced to, where we would go to Zaland and get married.
Why Zaland?
Because Buremonda had planned to send Reis back to Murond, and I was hoping to take advantage of my good relationship with Head Diplomat Koizumi and house her there while I came back here. I was planning to quit and take her to Lesalia with me.
Ah, you planned to protect her by embroiling the Church in an international debacle if they tried to take her back. You always were a good tactician. So, what went wrong?
...As I approached the church, I heard Reis' voice. Exploring further, I encountered her in the library, but I was caught in an elaborate magical trap. She turned out to be an illusion, created by Buremonda... Beowulf paused, unable to go any further in his retelling. Draclau noticed the sudden stop in narration and motioned for the knight to go on. I'm sorry, Cardinal, I don't remember any more than that. I received a concussion, and...I can't remember, he finished lamely.
There was a thoughtful look on the elderly man's face. Buremonda wants me to declare you a heretic, he paused at the horrified look on Beowulf's face, do you want me to?
A heretic. The very thing Beowulf, and others like him, were sworn to extinguish from Ivalice. All the magic, the skills he had learned, the tactics he had employed...and if he said yes, he would be on the receiving end of it all. He would be hunted down and killed, so why was the cardinal asking this as if it were an...offer?
A heretic has no ties to the Church.
As soon as he realized that, Beowulf understood just what Draclau was offering him. A way out of the secrets and Church politics, a life as one neither bound by the amalgamation of troops at Bethla Garrison or the Shrine Knights. Freedom at its very basic for a person who had not experienced it since he was twelve years old.
If he chose this, he would have no right to accuse Buremonda for any crimes the priest might have committed that day.
If he ever remembered, it would be the word of a heretic against an esteemed priest of high rank. If he stayed with the Church and someday remembered, the resulting controversy would do much harm to both the relationship between the knights and the priests as well as the institution itself if it got out to the rest of Ivalice.
If he ever remembered.
If in his memories Buremonda had killed Reis, then he was the only voice of justice she had. He could do that much for her, couldn't he? He could stay in the Church long enough to bring her the justice she so deserved.
If he ever remembered.
Beowulf closed his eyes. Cardinal, if I agree, will a Temple Knight be hunting me down?
Concussions were strange creatures. Short term memory loss was expected for awhile, maybe even long term memory loss if it was a bad case. As for the memory of the incident...maybe it could be recalled someday, maybe not. Though even a simple cure spell could get rid of the resulting headache, it could never get the memory back if it was lost.
--Beowulf, you're a wonderful person--
He couldn't forget that. He wouldn't forget that.
He'd wanted to quit.
No, Kadmus, you won't be hunted.
Justice for her if he remembered. Continue murdering people for the Church if he didn't.
Not being able to do anything for her if he remembered. Living a life of peace if he didn't.
Where's my better option here, Reis? Where? You were always so realistic in your outlook...I would've done anything for you, so...
What would you like me to do, my love?
Out of all the memories of his relationship with Reis, one stood out clearly.
--That's what Sir Chiroseau told me: 'Even if you make a choice that no one can agree with, if you have a reason to make that choice, then the only judgment that holds any weight at all is God's.' I never really thought of that before, but I like the reasoning, that life is too short to really worry...--
Maybe it was a moment of cowardice that caused him to remember those words, the ones she'd said that inspired him to propose. Maybe it was a moment of mortality, that knowledge that he was just one person, and one person alone had a horrible record in history of actually getting anything done. Maybe it was a moment of faith in the Lord, that belief that God would always be there in the end, if not to intervene in the matters of humanity, then to punish the wicked in the afterlife.
Whatever it was, it caused Beowulf Kadmus to open his eyes and look directly into his superior's as he calmly made his decision. I'll become a heretic.
-0-
Reis was dead.Reis was...dead.
Somehow, this didn't sound right to Beowulf. This was Reis he was thinking of, after all. She was reserved and calm, but she'd always maintained a certain liveliness. Even while she slept, she certainly wasn't anything like the dead. She'd kicked him more times than he'd like to recall, but he wasn't going to tell her that. He smiled fondly when he thought of how she'd react to that. She'd probably look up at me with those large caramel eyes, a serious expression on her face, and she'll say something like, Really? I didn't know that... She worries too much about everything, but she looks so cute when she does...
His smile tapered off when he realized that he never would have the chance to tell her. There were so many things he wanted her to see, so many things he wanted them to experience, so much of their lives to live together, so much...
But Reis was dead.
He stopped walking. Scarlet had hurriedly told him to go back to the church by himself, since she had been summoned to an emergency at the south end of town. This left him to plod back to the church while the evening quickly approached, his only company his increasingly morose thoughts. Shaking his head, he continued into the church, heading back into the small room he had been staying in for over a week already. Tonight was his last night there, though, as Cardinal Draclau had promised that a chocobo would be ready for him tomorrow morning.
Heretics were unwelcome in Church-owned Lionel.
Wonderful, just wonderful, he groused, more than a trace of bitterness in his thoughts, I come here looking for a peaceful life from the war, and instead I'm turned into nothing more than a glorified assassin. Then, when I'm of no use, I'm all but thrown out of town. Wonderful, just bloody wonderful.
A figure in white robes bustled from the church cafeteria to another room down the hall, and Beowulf's eyes widened when he saw this.
Buremonda.
Quickly the embittered knight followed, a sudden anger and disgust rolling in the pit of his stomach. Even if he had forfeited his right to publicly accuse the priest of any crimes, he figured he deserved some long-overdue answers. He stormed into the room Buremonda had disappeared into, which appeared to be an office with lit candles hung along the walls, loudly slamming the door shut behind him. There was a desk at the back end of the room, and this was where the priest stood, his back to the doorway. Beowulf spat out, the name sounding like nothing more than a foul curse.
There was no reaction from the other man for a long moment, and Beowulf started to wonder if he had stepped into another trap. He took a step forward, but stopped as Buremonda turned around, slightly surprised at the older man's appearance. He looks...tired. Deep, dark circles gathered below bloodshot blue eyes, the face gaunt.
No...he looks broken.
Is there something you require? Buremonda inquired, his tone indicating that he had no patience to spare for wayward heretics.
It hadn't even been two minutes, and already Beowulf was more angry than he'd ever been in his life. Where's Reis? he demanded, taking another step forward.
The look that the priest bestowed upon the knight was filled with pity. She's gone.
Then, where's her body?
If Miss Dular is gone, don't you think that she would've taken her body with her?
That did it.
Beowulf lunged forward, catching Buremonda in a vicious right hook that rocked the older man's head back. A loud crack filled the air, though whether it was the sound of the priest's nose or one of the knight's fingers breaking that was louder was unknown. With a deceptive burst of speed that was surprising in the normally mild-mannered man, Beowulf grabbed Buremonda's right arm and jerked the priest around, slamming him face down against the solid cherry desk. Do you think this is funny? the enraged man growled, using his superior weight to pin Buremonda down. The older man began to struggle, to which Beowulf simply yanked up the arm he was holding dangerously close to the breaking point. I don't mind breaking your arm or anything else in order to get some answers, he said calmly over Buremonda's wail of agony.
To the highly-ranked priest's credit, he was still defiant, weaving together a spell with a mind clouded in pain. Of course you are, he mumbled into his desk, you knights are so fond of violence in order to get what you want!
Tell that to Reis, you sanctimonious bastard! If Beowulf didn't think he could ever become more enraged than he already was, he was proven wrong. Something brushed past him, a magical essence emanating from Buremonda. Is that how you want to do this? Fine. An idea from the war came to the knight then, and he set a small amount of ice essence deep within the priest's belly, causing the magical essence to ebb from the air somewhat. If you want to use magic, let's use magic. Try to kill me and you won't live to enjoy it.
...Is that so? Even with those haughty words, Buremonda knew he couldn't retaliate. He stopped weaving together the spell and glared at the top of his desk. Reis is gone. What more do you want?
I want her to be here with me!
I want to know what happened, Beowulf whispered.
Buremonda closed his eyes. I tried to kill you. She got in the way. Dark eyes narrowing, the knight pulled up on the arm in his grasp. It's the truth!
I...what do you remember?
Beowulf pulled again, eliciting another cry from the priest. Let's not play games here. We both know how much you like to lie when you can get away with it, or should I remind you of all the ones you've told about me in the past?
...I tricked you into entering the church library by enveloping myself in an illusion of Miss Dular. You were trapped in a multi-layered spell filled with almost every status effect I could think of...save poisoning and blinding your vision. I cast a spell that would've ensured your death...but then she jumped in the way! Buremonda paused, expecting another bolt of agony to run through his arm. When it didn't come, he sighed in barely hidden relief. That's the truth.
That doesn't make any sense, Beowulf said aloud. Yes, Reis would do something like that, but the timing seemed too perfect. His injuries didn't fit there as well, but he could only concentrate on what happened to Reis at the moment. Where was Reis?
I placed a barrier spell on the doors, one based on the Zodiac. Only air signs could pass. She had been beyond the barrier, but somehow...she managed to break through.
Maybe that's because she's partly a dragon, the knight considered, there are a lot of things we don't know about her abilities... What happened to her body?
Buremonda took in a deep breath. The spell I used was a Lucavi spell, one that would completely annihilate the human body.
Never had Beowulf so wanted to kill another human being before. His beautiful Reis, with her slender, graceful body, her delicate smile, her shining eyes...all that...destroyed? All that, everything...
Gone'. Annihilated'.
Nausea began to roll in lazy but powerful waves, but Beowulf, with difficulty, managed to hold it off. Tell me... he began shakily, before regaining some of his righteous anger, prove it. Lying's second nature to you, so prove it!
She was smiling.
Sometimes the ears can't be believed.
I saw her when I unleashed the spell, Buremonda choked out, his voice thick with unshed tears, she held up her arms over her eyes, but I could still see her lower face. I could see her lips twitch a bit, then she smiled. It was a wide smile. I saw this, his voice wavered, I still see it.
Beowulf's eyes widened as her voice called out to him, as clear as if she'd been standing right next to him.
--Because I have the ability to...because I want to help you--
It didn't mean you had to go that far, love. Not for my sake...I'm used to...I can take care of myself, so...why...
--I want to share your burden--
Ever since he had met her, Beowulf had slowly understood how it felt to love someone deeply and without reservation. He'd grown to cherish just how strongly he felt for her, and he was sure enough of how he felt that he could tell anyone that he'd do anything for her, no hesitation whatsoever.
At that moment, he understood what it meant for someone to feel exactly the same way towards him. Someone willing to sacrifice herself so that he could live on. She'd done it without hesitation, just like he would've claimed.
She'd done it with a smile on her face.
Slowly, Beowulf let go of Buremonda, still absorbing the shock of the priest's words. A word pulsed in his mind, in the rhythm of his growing headache. Hero. Hero. She was a hero, and she was the lucky one because of it.
She wasn't the one left behind.
The hot, heavy feeling of tears, of wanting to cry, surged through his throat, through his eyes. Taking several deep breaths, Beowulf turned around, facing the door. Are you happy now, Buremonda? he asked, his voice odd to his own ears. You thought you were in love with her, didn't you? That's why you tried to kill me. But now she's gone, and it's all your fault.
I hope you always see her smiling face. Death couldn't come soon enough for you.
Those words, Beowulf's curse, lingered in the air for three beats of the two men's hearts before the knight walked out of the room. Perhaps if he'd stayed for another heartbeat, he would've heard Buremonda whisper something louder than any mourning wail.
You really don't remember, do you? I said she was gone. I said her human body had been annihilated. I didn't mean she was dead.
Perhaps, but it was too late now.
-0-
It was a cold, barren December morning that saw Beowulf Kadmus, former Temple Knight and newly proclaimed heretic, at the north gate of Lionel castle town. It was just him and the promised chocobo. He'd briefly entertained the thought of seeing his men, of telling them of the recent events that had occurred, but something held him back. It wasn't just the fact that he was now a heretic and exiled from the town when he'd once been one of them, their cheerful and dedicated leader. Perhaps it had been because of the way many of them had talked about Reis near the end.He wasn't one to hold grudges, but with everything that had happened...
He tied his one bag of possessions onto the compliant yellow chocobo. A chilly wind from the sea blew past, and he tightened the speckled brown scarf around his neck even more, consciously trying not to remember how it had been a gift from Reis. A birthday gift, even though they hadn't celebrated his birthday. He had asked to be left alone. He regretted that now.
He regretted a lot of things now.
Sir Kadmus, called a woman's voice, and he glumly turned around. It was Scarlet Barkosu, the white mage he was on not-so-good, not-so-bad terms with. She was carrying a piece of luggage, though she seemed to be struggling a bit with it. I was told to deliver this to you.
He took the luggage from her, familiar with the medium-sized box but not quite so sure why. Turning away from her, he opened it and the first thing that hit upon his hazy memories was a blue stone.
His heirloom.
He closed the box. This is Reis' luggage. Why do I have to take it?
What was he going to do with her things, now that she was gone?
It was Priest Buremonda's orders, Sir Kadmus, said Scarlet, tugging at her hood as another wind swept by, he said that, as her fiancé, you gained ownership of her possessions.
Oh, so now I'm Reis' trustee. Shaking his head slightly, Beowulf hoisted himself onto the giant bird, placing the luggage in front of him. Thank you, Miss Barkosu, he said, not turning around. He heard her footsteps as she walked away. Staring out past the gates at the rest of Ivalice, he sighed.
Where should I go now?
--After you quit, let's go to Lesalia. I'm sure you'd like to return home, right?--
After a moment's consideration, Beowulf nodded. It was where they were originally going to go to, after they got married and he quit being a Temple Knight. Seeing as at least one of those things had occurred, he might as well go back to Lesalia. His sister would love to see him again, especially if he was planning on living there.
And so, the decision made, Beowulf Kadmus urged the chocobo forward and began the long journey home.
-End of Within Holy Walls-
Alright, before I get lots and lots of angry people on my case, this obviously isn't the end'. Remember, WHW is about Reis, down to the title itself. I'm planning three short stories that I'm attaching to this story, aptly titled the Those Left Behind series. So please, don't hurt me.
Um...wow. It's been nearly a year since this story first started--and believe me, by the time I finish the last story of the Those Left Behind series, it will be a year--and, well, I'm in shock about this story. Not counting my notes and replies to reviewers, this story takes up 793 pages according to my word processor. This is why I can't really blame anyone if they can't remember what happened in chapter 14 (Beowulf's past, and I did that by memory!) by chapter 19 (the invasion of Lionel castle town!). There are so many little things that I've put into this story, correlation of events in different chapters, things Reis or Beowulf said that they've changed about later on...man, did I really write this story?
This story exceeded my wildest expectations. Can I say that so bluntly? At the time I was initially conceiving the idea of the story, I was a displaced writer. I wanted to find a game that I could sink my writing claws into for a long, long time. I desperately wanted to improve my first-person, present-tense style. I wanted to see if I had the dedication to writing to become a novelist. I wanted to find a character with tons of potential for development.
I didn't want to write a romance story. That came later.
I had owned FFT for a year before I started seriously playing. I kept dying at the first battle, see. (The whole L1, R1 to get your other characters didn't occur to me for awhile. Then it was Dorter. Damn you, Dorter!) But once I started to get the hang of the game (read: job-leveled like a...well, a lot), I grew to enjoy the story, and the characters...ah, there are some great characters! I met Beowulf and thought to myself, Um...why is he so attached to that dragon? Um...' Then I met Reis as a dragoner and thought, Oh.' The reason I started writing this story is detailed in the note for the first chapter, and somehow I've strayed away from that reason. Ah, you can't win them all.
From the start, I knew that I'd have to focus on the relationship between Reis and Beowulf. I didn't want to write a complete love triangle with Buremonda as well, because...I don't care for romance in the first place, so why would I jump into something as melodramatic as a love triangle? Maybe the story failed for some people because of this inability of mine. Well, if it did, I'm sure they're not reading this note anyway. So, romance. I've done that before, but not to this degree. I'm disgusted with myself, but I'm really very happy that everyone's enjoyed that aspect of this story. Well, at least, the ones who reviewed. I'm even willing to write another one, to even this degree. Does this mean that I'm going to stray into the multitude--hah!--of fanon couples FFT has to offer?
...Well...depends on the couple. Takes a lot for a fanon couple to justify themselves in my mind.
I'm blathering now, so lemme just stop now. I want to thank everyone for reading WHW. I'm so happy that you've even considered this little story as something worth your time! I want to thank the reviewers for their time in writing out the often very long reviews that WHW has received. I appreciate the time spent in writing a review, considering that I'm often running around and reviewing stories myself. It's these reviews that make me want to try even harder to do my best, so thank you very much for them!
I hope you all have enjoyed reading Within Holy Walls as much as I've enjoyed writing it! Laters--!