Une Fleuraison Constante
(A Constant Blossoming)

By Tenshi no Ai

All French translations by Hawk of Death

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

Chapter Five: Tension

The sky was an oppressive midnight blue when he departed from the castle, tiny glittering stars outdone by a round, full milky-white moon. It was a couple hours before the sun would begin its trek across the vast sky, vanquishing the lunar hold and casting its rays upon the fair land. But instead of journeying on what would be another beautiful day, this man preferred to go about on this trip cloaked by the night. What he was about to do seemed more appropriate to be carried out while in the embrace of the night, rather than to be scruntized by the harsh glare of the sunlight.

On top of his loyal steed--a flame-red chocobo--the man traversed across the moonlit plains. There were no monsters traipsing about, no beasts of the night hunting for an unsuspecting morsel of human delicacy. Though the man was happy enough about that, he would not have been afraid even if his journey was wrought with danger. Perhaps it was the large, gleaming sword strapped on his back that assured him of his safety, or maybe it was his natural confidence in his own abilities; whatever the cause, he was well suited for whatever may come.

When he stepped down from his ride an hour later, his steps seemed heavy with disappointment at his safe journey. He tied the reins of the monster to a nearby willow tree, noting a rare black chocobo similarly tied to another willow relatively close by. The man smiled; he had never managed to arrive early. He walked ahead, his heavy boots encountering dry earth, his sharp eyes scanning the rows of stone markers. There was a figure kneeling among the ivory headstones, this one in armor that shone unnaturally with the cold light, a dark surcoat over much of the gleaming armor but with the hood pulled down behind a head full of gray. The recent arrival walked respectfully through the stones until he stood directly behind the kneeling figure.

"You are late, Cid. Whatever happened to being 'as fast as thunder'?"

The great Thundergod Cid merely smiled as he clasped his hands in the proper prayer format. "An old man needs all the sleep he can get, Vormav."

Vormav Tingel did not reply, lowering his head more for the sake of the deceased he was paying his respects to than his friend. After a moment he stood, favoring the other man with a glance. "Shall we?"

Cidolfas nodded. Together, the men made their way to the Gallionne area of the castle cemetery, where a large section was cordoned off. Inside that section was a grand ivory marker that glowed with the same ethereal purity of the moon. They stood just beyond this plaque, gloved hands twisting in the same graceful motion to simulate the prayer of the honorable Ajora. A full minute passed before they lifted their heads, the Divine Knight reaching forward to touch the runic letters that were carved along the length of the stone.

'Blanc Chevalier Bénit Balbanes Beoulve, Que Votre Chemin Mène Ivalice Vers Un Nouvel Age d'Honeur, de Pureté, et de Sainte Ardeur'

"'Blessed White Knight Balbanes Beoulve, Let Your Way Take Ivalice Into A New Age Of Honor, Purity, And Holy Ardor'," Vormav read from memory, just as he had every time he and Cidolfas stood before the grave of their good friend. It was tradition for the two men to travel to the castle cemetery once a month and pay their respects. Even during the ferocious winter they had done this; possible frostbite meant nothing compared to honor. Vormav pulled his hand away from the stone, exhaling a deep breath that sounded suspiciously like a tired sigh. "Do you know if his sons visit his monument?" he asked, his tone subdued and grave in the night.

"Zalbag comes when they let him out. Ramza and his friend do so occasionally," the Swordmaster shrugged, smoothing out his long brown cloak, "who knows about Dycedarg."

After giving his friend a side glance, Vormav deigned to let a small smile show from his ordinarily dour face. "Is that what we call 'reconnaissance'?"

"It would be what we call 'curiosity'."

"Everyone has moved on."

"Except for us, it seems."

The younger of the two elite knights shook his head, a bland expression now on his face. "The days where we played at being rivals and tried our damnedest to keep honor and glory alive have wilted away. 'Une fleur s'épanouit, une fleur fanne', one could say."

"'A flower blossoms, a flower wilts'? Then, we are in the process of wilting?" Orlandu shook his head in disbelief. "I may have told Orlan that my time is passing, but has it really been so long since we three were the exalted trinity of the castle? Whatever happened to the unity between our halls?"

"The king died. Balbanes died. The good Lord Larg considers himself the regent of his sister's son, and Gallionne seems to think themselves blessed by royal favor," Vormav gave his friend a curious look. "Were you not awake during these last two years, my friend?"

Cidolfas said nothing, a look of weariness crumbling his once handsome face. Finally, he sighed. "There seems to be a loss of unity these days. From Gallionne it is to be expected, but what of yourself and Murond? I hear Gallionne is angry at your actions?"

Vormav turned away, something of amusement playing in his dark eyes. "I merely let the Pillars take a vote, while keeping myself and all those with a special interest in the matter out of it."

"So then, only one person voted?"

"It would have been unanimous either way. Zalbag does not need to know the particulars."

The Swordmaster held back a chuckle as he looked to the east. "Cruel as ever, Vormav. The sun is starting to rise. Shall we return?"

"Not yet," Vormav answered, walking away from Balbanes' memorial and out of the Gallionne section of the cemetery. Cidolfas followed until they returned to the area set aside for those of Murond. There, the commander of the Shrine Knights returned to the grave he had been kneeling at, pulling out of his surcoat a sprig of lavender and placing it against the stone. The other man stood off to the side, battle-worn eyes reading the tiny inscription of the headstone for what felt like the hundredth time since it had been erected. It was not in the ancient script or language, as the creator of the epithet had been more concerned with praising the deceased than obscuring the meaning of the words for the sake of beauty.

'Rachènne Tingel, Devoted Wife and Proud Mother
May Ajora Light Your Way To Our Eternal Father
'

After a moment the widower stood, touching the top of the stone with a caress that belied the strength of his hands. Cidolfas waited before he moved his hand away before asking, "And how are your children doing these days? Blooming well?"

"...Meliadoul is a true prodigy of the sword. I am very pleased with her."

"I seem to remember that you had a son as well, my friend."

Vormav began to walk away. "Rachènne was so happy to bear a son, especially after all those..." he paused, then shook his head and continued, saying, "He is alive. I do not know what to do with him. No hand-eye coordination, as well as a lack of magical skill to fall back on..." he grunted in displeasure.

"Perhaps you are being too harsh?" Orlandu suggested, keeping a steady pace behind the younger man. "Not everyone is a prodigy."

"How is your son?"

"Very well. He leads the magic squadrons with capable hands, as well the Nanten intelligence."

"I rest my case."

"Vormav..." Cidolfas' protest was stopped by one hand and the look of barely held in annoyance on Vormav's gruff-looking face.

"My children have to stand on their own feet. You may think that I am being harsh, but Izlude is nearly seventeen, more than old enough to find a path to excel in. My wife did not bear these children so that they may just drift through life like so much flotsam. All I ask from my children is that they do well in whatever venture they choose. If he cannot do that much, then we are both disgraced."

Cidolfas simply shook his head. This wasn't the first time they had discussed this; when Vormav was stressed he was liable to pick apart anything that displeased him. "You are quite the kind father," the Nanten commander said in a droll tone.

There was nothing more to be said on either end, and the men departed from the field of ivory stones as the day began to break.

-0-

It was just as the sun was beginning to descend that the weary group of royalty, Hokuten cadets, Orbonne acolytes, former Death Knights and one very disgruntled bodyguard found a proper resting place. It was a nice glen, with a river nearby with water so pure and refreshing that it might have been bottled and sold for quite a pretty gil in a different time. As it was, this diverse group was too tired to think of such materialistic ventures, instead partaking in the time-honored tradition of preparing to sleep underneath the stars with nothing but the comfort of their chocobos' soft down against their heads...at least, for four of them. The avian monsters did not seem to mind; lowering themselves onto the ground and being used as pillows was more relaxing than carrying their humans since dawn. They cooed, kweh'ed and wark'ed amongst each other as the girls cuddled up to them, for the spring nights still carried some of the chill of the preceding winter.

One chocobo was without a human as Agrias Oaks, Holy Knight and self-named leader of the group, leaned against a tree just behind her charge and warily looked around for any sign of danger. Her hand was near the hilt of her sword, a nonverbal hint towards the duo in green who, to her immense annoyance, did not even acknowledge her distrust in them and kept quietly talking to each other. Ramza and Delita had noticed, but they were too busy creating a fire using twigs and the former's skill in magic. There was a sort of comfortable tension in this scene, an innocent camp out between enemies.

Once the fire began to blaze, Delita looked around, avoiding eye contact with Teta as he did so. With the way this group was, the siblings had not been able to talk of their actions towards each other during the battle a day ago. "Um...we seem to need some food." He did not notice Alma glowering at her brother when he said this; Ramza had unwittingly told her that their mother had wanted to see her and cook a sizable dinner for the Beoulve and Hyral siblings. No one had dared bring up that idea after the attack.

Cadmus stood. "I will hunt, then."

Agrias stiffened at this. A Death Knight, former or not, going out into the wilderness alone? That was just asking for a possible ambush.

--Because there was a plan by the Death Knights to assassinate the princess--

No one else had even looked remotely worried, annoying the lady knight further. "Would you mind being accompanied?"

To his credit, not even a flicker of surprise crossed his face. "No, of course not."

"Good. Ramza, Delita, go with him."

The friends glanced at each other from across the flames, eyebrows raised at the order. Before this trip, they were used to only receiving orders from the Hokuten instructors. Even Zalbag had been a surprise to them. But, it was a little different to be commanded around by a royal bodyguard, even if she did outrank them. "Yes ma'am," Ramza nodded, and the two cadets joined the former Death Knight in his departure.

Agrias kept an eye on the other knight in green. For her part, Lenneth was contentedly nibbling on something she had picked from one of the trees, her mask obscuring her face like usual. She looked as if she hadn't a care in the world, an attitude which only served to pluck at the Holy Knight's taut nerves.

The cleric trainees watched the tension between the two lady knights rise, much more affected by the feelings in the air. Teta hadn't spoken in a day, sensitive as she was to the emotional current. Alma was unsure of what to do, her innate cheerfulness dampened by worry and hunger. Ovelia, in observing her friends, came to a conclusion and sat up from her choco-pillow, stroking the bird's neck when it glanced at her in confusion. She cleared her throat. "Ah, Lady Lenneth, may I ask what you are eating?"

The woman paused in mid-bite to look at the princess, the firelight and the dying sun glinting off of her strange mask. "It's an edible nut, sweet to roast but fine as is."

"Oh. May I have one?"

"Princess!" Agrias exclaimed sternly. "As your guard, I suggest you do not accept anything unless it can be verified that it is, indeed, edible for your consumption."

Ovelia, properly chastened, bowed her head in repentance for the foolishness of her request. Lenneth, however, had turned her attention away from the princess to the bodyguard. "...Okay then," she said before plopping an entire nut into her mouth, crunching it loudly before swallowing. "Tastes fine to me."

Agrias merely narrowed her eyes, and the tension went up another notch.

What could the princess do? Though she was supposed to be the key to unity between her people, she could not do anything more than to irritate her loyal knight. But something had to be done, if only to alleviate the tension for the remainder of the journey.Gathering some of her courage, she tried again. "Lady Lenneth, that mask you wear...what does it represent?"

The woman smiled at this question, though the image of the swooping dragon covering much of her face gave a much colder glint to it. "Well, my princess would know that the Church teaches that our ancestors arrived here from many countries; immigrants, in other words. In one such country, Archadia if my memory is right, there were such beings known as 'valkyries'. These valkyries were blood-thirsty women who loved nothing more than to incite war after war in order to sate their blood lust, though they claimed that they were angels of the battlefield who saved the souls of the bravest warriors," she sighed dreamily. "If I could, I would like to become something like that."

While Ovelia wondered if it was just better to leave everything at that, Teta and Alma were too busy staring at the armored woman in pure, unadulterated fear. Agrias had her hand on the hilt of her sword, prepared and just waiting for a twitch on the other woman's part. The princess finally clasped her hands in her lap and ventured to continue the conversation with, "For you admired the strength of these women and wished to have such a presence yourself?"

"Naturally," Lenneth nodded, "I don't care for war--though I've never been a part of it myself, what with the way Ivalice is--but I do admire a woman who can be just as feared as her male counterparts."

"Oh, I think I can understand. So, the mask represents that ideal?"

"Well, it's quite intimidating, don't you think?"

"Quite," Ovelia answered truthfully. "Would it be rude to ask you to take it off?"

The female knight shrugged and reached to pull it off, lowering her head slightly to better assist in this act. When she lifted her head, she smiled slightly. "Is this alright with my princess?"

The three girls stared with equally blank looks. Before their very eyes, a fearsome looking warrior was transformed into quite an attractive woman. Her face was clear and light-colored, though somewhat darker than Ovelia's alabaster skin. But, what was even more astonishing was her eyes, an indescribable color between blue and green unknown to the collective Ivalician people. The ordinary Ivalician was granted some shade of brown, with a few blessed with blue or green eyes. Of course, there was a certain case of crimson appearing every couple of generations in a few noble houses, so Lenneth was not particularly gifted with the rarest of colors. However, other than Ovelia's own clear blue eyes and Cadmus' hazel-green eyes, the rest of the group had to deal with some dark shade of brown.

"Your eyes...are quite lovely," Ovelia said once she found her voice.

Lenneth smirked. "That's why I wear the mask."

To anyone else, this might have been an odd statement to make. What matters beauty if it is forevermore hidden? But to the cloistered princess who had spent years inside Orbonne Monastery, there was a different meaning she gathered from the knight's words. There were things to be flaunted, necessary masks to hide behind, princes to use, and then there were the hidden things. Beautiful eyes and princesses, useless things one and the same.

Ovelia could empathize with the woman who had been a Death Knight, despite her bodyguard's obvious distrust. She couldn't help it, just like she couldn't help but wonder if her position was really that much more different than that of the villagers who were ignored by the castle nobility. She leaned back against her chocobo, a pensive look on her face that Agrias couldn't help but notice. The Holy Knight frowned at this, her earlier suspicions about the former Death Knights they had to travel with not at all dampened by Lenneth's seemingly friendly behavior. Something was still off, still wrong about the whole situation.

But in the end, only one of them would be right.

-0-

It was nighttime in Ivalice, at such an hour when lanterns and candles would be extinguished in favor of rest. Certainly this was true of most of the castle, where much of the work was not of a solitary nature but rather with one's neighbors and associates. Only the odd merchant would be burning the proverbial midnight oil, checking on the state of his shipments and investments around the country. There were knights stationed around the castle, fervently guarding their posts, though they were doing this with a distinct lack of light. There was nothing to be on the lookout for, and thus the image of the noble knights standing around in the proper uniform and peering into the darkness was exactly that: an image. Always on defense from invisible enemies, the illustrious castle fairly radiated an impeccable confidence as it glowed holy white from the moon.

Murond was no different from the rest of the castle in regards to the night patrol, even though its inhabitants consisted of clergy and knights, acolytes to the priesthood and mages, and nothing in the way of noble or merchant families. Most of the people who dwelt under the banner of crimson and black could not claim noble blood, or any sort of pretensions to the aristocracy; they followed their hearts, and their hearts led them to follow God's supreme will.

Sir Rofel Wodring, the Pillar of Knowledge and second-in-command of the Shrine Knights, was one such person who had followed his heart to the Glabados faith. He was a commoner from Riovanes village, a town to the northwest second in size to Dorter, yet what dwelt in his mind was nothing that could be considered common. Voracious for knowledge, he learned both swordplay and magic from a young age; now, in his thirty-eighth year he was immensely respected for his nearly limitless knowledge in all things wide and sundry.

He was awake at this time, leisurely walking out of Murond's vast bookrooms, which to many people was a second home to the Divine Knight. He nodded as he passed the patrols, and the only thing that struck them as strange about him was the fact that his protégé, the young mage Kletian, was not with him. However, it could be reasoned that the sorcerer was either sleeping or committing those rumored acts of indescretion that had nearly cost him his upcoming title as a Pillar. Not that it would matter; secrets were notoriously hard to keep in Murond.

Rofel kept a few secrets.

He made his way to Vormav Tingel's room, knowing that the commander would be presently awake. Knocking once before opening the door, he was struck, as he always was, by the bareness of the room. A bed shoved in the corner, a desk and a chair. Once the place had been absolutely cluttered with items, but once the room had held a decidedly feminine touch as well.

Vormav himself was at his desk, scowling at something with the help of a small lantern. "Report," he snapped.

"Gallionne is up to something," Rofel answered serenely, walking forward to stand at his leader's side.

"Why, when Larg is already going to be named the regent to the prince?"

"I hear the Death Knights have been forming around Orbonne while stocking up in Dorter."

Vormav looked up at this bit of information, the fire from the lantern reflecting in his eyes. "Are they fools? Orbonne cannot be breached by anyone but the worthy."

"That would be the problem," Rofel said, lowering his head so that the hood of his surcoat hid his eyes. "Priest Buremonda has sent a messenger. The Princess is returning to the castle."

"And who is her escort?"

"...Hokuten cadets."

There was a black fury churning within the Shrine Knight commander's dark eyes, and his hands clenched into metal covered fists. "So," he enunciated very carefully, lest he lose control of his renowned fiery temper, "is this a case of gross negligence, or should we now assume that Zalbag is lost to us?"

"The former," Rofel responded, raising his head to look at his commander in the eye, "one of the cadets is Ramza Beoulve."

Vormav grunted at this. "So, we are allied with idiots then. Give me some good news."

"'They' are still out there."

"...Hn. Talk to Zalbag. Bring him over here, and keep him away from Beowulf."

"That should be easy enough. Lately he has been hunting almost every day."

"Should I be worried?"

"No," Rofel answered decisively. He glanced at the notice on Vormav's desk, reading it quickly before sighing in disgust. "The High Priest has become quite impatient as of late, I see. Have you made any progress?"

"No, but it does not matter. If the princess does not live, that will be the end of it all."

-End to Chapter Five-

This chapter is a little shorter than usual because I'm writing three fics in one week, and because I really need to redo my summaries for this story. It's going to be a long story. After Zodiac Signal is completed, I'm thinking of making this a weekly serial, since it's a pretty slow story that would benefit from a better release schedule. If you have any comments about that, I'd like to hear them!

Reviewers!

Hawk of Death, who did you think the two people in green were? I'm curious.
Yep, the Death Knight squire was indeed Rad. I was thinking about having Alicia and Lavian, Agrias' hanger-ons, be at Orbonne, but then they were going to get slaughtered during the fight anyway. Bah, I hate writing too many characters in one scene.
Sarai is a nice name...don't know why, but it has a 'country girl' feel about it.
Thanks so much for your help. I'm sorry you have to put up with my inane questions.

Hey Luna, you're stuck with all those college apps, huh? Can I ask what your first choice is?
Thanks for telling me how you felt about the battle scene. I don't know...I can picture them just fine, but actually writing it out is annoying. Meh.
As for Ramza and Alma's mother...you know, does anyone in FFT other than Orinas have a living mother? Seems like less of these people would be so screwed up if they had caring mothers or fathers who taught compassion instead of the best ways to kill people.
Gackt has good songs under his belt--I'm listening to Vanilla as I type this out--but it's not like I knew him from his MM days or anything like that. There's an Otakon live DVD of that Laruku concert? Thanks for telling me, I'll try to pick it up!

Hi, The Burning Misery, I don't know why, but it feels really weird to be writing on a regular basis--or scrambling to finish self-imposed deadlines.
The fic is gaining a pulse. Not much of one, all things considering, but I'll try my best not to bore you!
Damn, I can't really respond to most of your review. Sorry--