In truth, this chapter only took me two hours to write, but indeed I was
writing this entire scene endlessly since I finished the other chapter.
It's been playing, in my mind, again, and again, and again until I think I
just really had to put it into words on paper, so here it is, chapter
three.
Vigil For A Hero
"Agrias, stop pacing around and just sit, relax, and be calm."
"How am I supposed to be calm?" Alright, soothing thoughts, soothing thoughts. I can't take much more of this. Being placated by anyone is hard, but to be spoken to from the Thundergod himself as though I were a little child is almost maddening. I try to stop, lean back against the doorway, but it feels weird, how am I supposed to relax? I mean really? The nervous edge hasn't left me yet.
The others found us, me barely conscious, I suppose it's been about a week now, I'm told I woke up after four days, but Ramza has come down with an earth shatteringly high fever, he hasn't woken up, only thrashed under the blankets and murmured incoherently. I can't make heads nor tails of it, but Alma and I haven't left his side. We supposedly arrived through a discreet transport at Warjilis while me and Ramza were out, furthest away from Delita I suppose we'll be safe for now.
A firm hand suddenly pushes me down, into a plush chair at the table, for a glimmer of a second; I almost lash out, snapping away at the hand, before my blue eyes are met with Meliadoul's hard brown ones. "Sit down, eat this, Mustadio slaved away to make a soup that isn't burnt, be thankful."
My mouth opens, but the words don't come out, instead my stomach betrays me by rumbling noisily. It has been a while since I last ate. Passing me the spoon, Meliadoul nods to Cid, and then quietly exits the room. For a second I study the polished steel, almost as though I can see my reflection through it, a foggy glimmer of a hard woman who couldn't live the life of a noble, who wasn't soft enough, or simple enough to be a court lady, but who instead wanted to be a knight.
"Dig in, it's good soup." Alma pipes up from the bedside, her hands haven't left Ramza's, and she clutches them almost in a death grip, so terrified he's going to leave her. It's been hard for her, she hardly trusts us, being locked away, she knows Cid and trusts him the most, but still, it must be hard.
For a second, I can't help but think how alike they are, brother and sister. Two people, who just wanted to help others. But where Ramza conceals his emotion, and lets it out on the battlefield, Alma doesn't, she let's everyone know what she's thinking, what she wants, and what she needs. She helps people not because she can, but because it's the right thing to do, but to watch her poised over her brother's ashen frame, is almost more than my heart can bare.
"Eat Agrias." Cid's rough baritone is the decisive knoll of a low bell in the silent room. Against the backdrop of the constant rain. He is something else, always the surprises. He hasn't moved from a plush chair in the corner of the room, studying the Germonik Scriptures and occasionally leaving for reasons unexplained. He watches them, as surely as I do, for he is there conceived 'uncle'. Even Alma turns to him, perhaps even as a father in some ways.
The spoon dips away into the creamy broth, and my reflection is gone. Taking a spoonful I realize it is good, and what Mustadio must have had to do in order to get it to taste this good, normally Rafa or Malak cook. So many people, all here, waiting for our valiant leader to rise from his death bed and command us. But to where? Our cause is over, the country is safe for now, and Lucavi has given up.or has he? Is this St. Ajora's final damnation?
I sit there, for a long time, drinking the soup until it's all gone, and then stare. Losing track of the minutes, as they meld into hours, and as the hours slowly meld into a day, and then another, the slow drumming of the rain giving way to flashes of lightning, and a darkened sky. Cid rises slowly, lighting a handful of candles before making his nightly exit, wrapped in the brown cloaks, we don't ask where he goes, it's really none of our business, but presumably he has more than enough gil to cover our extended stay here, not to mention the immense medicine we've used and all the food.
Alma kneels there, chanting her brother's name like a mantra, one that will bring him out of his torpor and back into the world of the living. But the faint tugging of failure pulls at my brain. I wish desperately I could trade my life for his, for his means more to these people than mine ever will.
"Agrias." Mustadio and the others enter slowly, baring blankets pillows and other things. It's almost like a ceremony, maybe we're worshipping our dead god. Or maybe we all keep our vigil for a friend. Taking the candles we kneel. Alma and Rafa sniff back tears, Mustadio in his grave silence. Beowulf and Reis kneel together, Worker 8 and Byblos stand next to the door solemnly, Meliadoul, Malak and Cloud all crouch silently. There is no prayer, nothing to pray to, St. Ajora is the reason for our friend's pain, for ours as well.
Ramza's brow furrows, his frown deepens, his entire body tenses like a wound spring. "Why?" he gasps, his frail voice seeming to fill the room. The silence after that stretches ever more, before Ramza's own eyes flash open, their clear blue seemingly tainted in the candle light, tears glimmer at the corners, and a grave pain rips at him.
"Ramza." I whisper, not entirely trusting my own voice. I want so much to touch him, to gaze into his eyes when they were full of life.
"I'm sorry." His voice is faint, but the tears dribble down, his mouth is open and in adjunct horror. "I'M SORRY!" The scream rents the air, like a thousand blades that tear into my body. I didn't want to hear that. What is he sorry for, what has he done. Alma takes his hand in her two smaller ones, trying to do something, anything to comfort her only living kin.
"No, Please. Nede, we'll come for you. Ryudo, we'll save you, just wait." His voice is slurred, his speech is slow and strange, but it is like crystal to my ears, so quite are we all as we listen. Never before has he said this much, ranting and raving in feverish pitch. Alma bows her head, tears racing down her face as she weeps openly. Even Mustadio breaks down and sniffs audibly, Reis can only stare.
"Agrias." I flinch, as if touched by a live coal. Why did he say my name? What is he seeing? The fear at the bottom of my heart is almost like a stopping force, it tears and devours, breaking away my resolution slowly by slowly.
"I can't. I won't. Don't ask me to." He goes on, at length, again, and again. The words, the same words, but never before has he put my name with them. "I can't. I won't. Don't ask me to." Even though now, he has stopped saying them, I can hear them, ringing in the shadows of my mind.
"No, Please?" His voice is quiet then, pleading like a little child. Beowulf turns away his head in shame, the flicker of moisture on his eyes evident even through the candlelight. Reis puts her head on his shoulder, and yet still they watch. "No, please. Agrias." I almost flinch again, so strange is it all. "Don't. Please, don't leave me. I can't, please." I reach out my hand from the bedside, and run the back of my hand down his forehead, his fever burns at my touch, the skin is hot and clammy, but the weariness is what almost throws me off of him, the sheer sorrow emanating from his body. "Agrias, please."
"Ramza." My voice is not my own, littered with a rasp, and the emotion which chokes at my throat, constricting my voice, trying to rob me of my ability, of my speech. "I'm here Ramza. I'll be here forever."
I wrap his hands in mine, and stare at those vacant blue eyes that mean so much. Where is the youthful boy so long ago, where is the integrity, the vision, the brilliance I know is somewhere, hidden deep within the pain.
"Agrias," His voice begins to wane, a scratchy whisper, his lips are dry and his throat constricts for a glimmer of a second. "Don't leave me, please. I love you." His eyes flutter closed, and his grip slowly slackens, his breathing gently resumes its normal pace, and his mouth closes. The tears continue to run, staining the bed sheets and blanket, before I can see no more.
Letting my head down slowly, I let the tears, finally come.
It tears at me to write this fic, but damn, I have to keep going. I am really loving the development of the characters, I was sleeping when the entire scene just played itself out in my head, I still think this is one of the, bar none, best scenes I've written so far, but some people think it's entirely too boring. Anyway, read and I'll post more later (.
Vigil For A Hero
"Agrias, stop pacing around and just sit, relax, and be calm."
"How am I supposed to be calm?" Alright, soothing thoughts, soothing thoughts. I can't take much more of this. Being placated by anyone is hard, but to be spoken to from the Thundergod himself as though I were a little child is almost maddening. I try to stop, lean back against the doorway, but it feels weird, how am I supposed to relax? I mean really? The nervous edge hasn't left me yet.
The others found us, me barely conscious, I suppose it's been about a week now, I'm told I woke up after four days, but Ramza has come down with an earth shatteringly high fever, he hasn't woken up, only thrashed under the blankets and murmured incoherently. I can't make heads nor tails of it, but Alma and I haven't left his side. We supposedly arrived through a discreet transport at Warjilis while me and Ramza were out, furthest away from Delita I suppose we'll be safe for now.
A firm hand suddenly pushes me down, into a plush chair at the table, for a glimmer of a second; I almost lash out, snapping away at the hand, before my blue eyes are met with Meliadoul's hard brown ones. "Sit down, eat this, Mustadio slaved away to make a soup that isn't burnt, be thankful."
My mouth opens, but the words don't come out, instead my stomach betrays me by rumbling noisily. It has been a while since I last ate. Passing me the spoon, Meliadoul nods to Cid, and then quietly exits the room. For a second I study the polished steel, almost as though I can see my reflection through it, a foggy glimmer of a hard woman who couldn't live the life of a noble, who wasn't soft enough, or simple enough to be a court lady, but who instead wanted to be a knight.
"Dig in, it's good soup." Alma pipes up from the bedside, her hands haven't left Ramza's, and she clutches them almost in a death grip, so terrified he's going to leave her. It's been hard for her, she hardly trusts us, being locked away, she knows Cid and trusts him the most, but still, it must be hard.
For a second, I can't help but think how alike they are, brother and sister. Two people, who just wanted to help others. But where Ramza conceals his emotion, and lets it out on the battlefield, Alma doesn't, she let's everyone know what she's thinking, what she wants, and what she needs. She helps people not because she can, but because it's the right thing to do, but to watch her poised over her brother's ashen frame, is almost more than my heart can bare.
"Eat Agrias." Cid's rough baritone is the decisive knoll of a low bell in the silent room. Against the backdrop of the constant rain. He is something else, always the surprises. He hasn't moved from a plush chair in the corner of the room, studying the Germonik Scriptures and occasionally leaving for reasons unexplained. He watches them, as surely as I do, for he is there conceived 'uncle'. Even Alma turns to him, perhaps even as a father in some ways.
The spoon dips away into the creamy broth, and my reflection is gone. Taking a spoonful I realize it is good, and what Mustadio must have had to do in order to get it to taste this good, normally Rafa or Malak cook. So many people, all here, waiting for our valiant leader to rise from his death bed and command us. But to where? Our cause is over, the country is safe for now, and Lucavi has given up.or has he? Is this St. Ajora's final damnation?
I sit there, for a long time, drinking the soup until it's all gone, and then stare. Losing track of the minutes, as they meld into hours, and as the hours slowly meld into a day, and then another, the slow drumming of the rain giving way to flashes of lightning, and a darkened sky. Cid rises slowly, lighting a handful of candles before making his nightly exit, wrapped in the brown cloaks, we don't ask where he goes, it's really none of our business, but presumably he has more than enough gil to cover our extended stay here, not to mention the immense medicine we've used and all the food.
Alma kneels there, chanting her brother's name like a mantra, one that will bring him out of his torpor and back into the world of the living. But the faint tugging of failure pulls at my brain. I wish desperately I could trade my life for his, for his means more to these people than mine ever will.
"Agrias." Mustadio and the others enter slowly, baring blankets pillows and other things. It's almost like a ceremony, maybe we're worshipping our dead god. Or maybe we all keep our vigil for a friend. Taking the candles we kneel. Alma and Rafa sniff back tears, Mustadio in his grave silence. Beowulf and Reis kneel together, Worker 8 and Byblos stand next to the door solemnly, Meliadoul, Malak and Cloud all crouch silently. There is no prayer, nothing to pray to, St. Ajora is the reason for our friend's pain, for ours as well.
Ramza's brow furrows, his frown deepens, his entire body tenses like a wound spring. "Why?" he gasps, his frail voice seeming to fill the room. The silence after that stretches ever more, before Ramza's own eyes flash open, their clear blue seemingly tainted in the candle light, tears glimmer at the corners, and a grave pain rips at him.
"Ramza." I whisper, not entirely trusting my own voice. I want so much to touch him, to gaze into his eyes when they were full of life.
"I'm sorry." His voice is faint, but the tears dribble down, his mouth is open and in adjunct horror. "I'M SORRY!" The scream rents the air, like a thousand blades that tear into my body. I didn't want to hear that. What is he sorry for, what has he done. Alma takes his hand in her two smaller ones, trying to do something, anything to comfort her only living kin.
"No, Please. Nede, we'll come for you. Ryudo, we'll save you, just wait." His voice is slurred, his speech is slow and strange, but it is like crystal to my ears, so quite are we all as we listen. Never before has he said this much, ranting and raving in feverish pitch. Alma bows her head, tears racing down her face as she weeps openly. Even Mustadio breaks down and sniffs audibly, Reis can only stare.
"Agrias." I flinch, as if touched by a live coal. Why did he say my name? What is he seeing? The fear at the bottom of my heart is almost like a stopping force, it tears and devours, breaking away my resolution slowly by slowly.
"I can't. I won't. Don't ask me to." He goes on, at length, again, and again. The words, the same words, but never before has he put my name with them. "I can't. I won't. Don't ask me to." Even though now, he has stopped saying them, I can hear them, ringing in the shadows of my mind.
"No, Please?" His voice is quiet then, pleading like a little child. Beowulf turns away his head in shame, the flicker of moisture on his eyes evident even through the candlelight. Reis puts her head on his shoulder, and yet still they watch. "No, please. Agrias." I almost flinch again, so strange is it all. "Don't. Please, don't leave me. I can't, please." I reach out my hand from the bedside, and run the back of my hand down his forehead, his fever burns at my touch, the skin is hot and clammy, but the weariness is what almost throws me off of him, the sheer sorrow emanating from his body. "Agrias, please."
"Ramza." My voice is not my own, littered with a rasp, and the emotion which chokes at my throat, constricting my voice, trying to rob me of my ability, of my speech. "I'm here Ramza. I'll be here forever."
I wrap his hands in mine, and stare at those vacant blue eyes that mean so much. Where is the youthful boy so long ago, where is the integrity, the vision, the brilliance I know is somewhere, hidden deep within the pain.
"Agrias," His voice begins to wane, a scratchy whisper, his lips are dry and his throat constricts for a glimmer of a second. "Don't leave me, please. I love you." His eyes flutter closed, and his grip slowly slackens, his breathing gently resumes its normal pace, and his mouth closes. The tears continue to run, staining the bed sheets and blanket, before I can see no more.
Letting my head down slowly, I let the tears, finally come.
It tears at me to write this fic, but damn, I have to keep going. I am really loving the development of the characters, I was sleeping when the entire scene just played itself out in my head, I still think this is one of the, bar none, best scenes I've written so far, but some people think it's entirely too boring. Anyway, read and I'll post more later (.