Une Fleuraison Constante
(A Constant Blossoming)

By Tenshi no Ai

All French translations by Hawk of Death

(C) Square Enix

Chapter Twelve: Drained Blood

Springtime in Ivalice had always been more than just a season; it was the pulse of the land, the reason for its very name. An especially fecund land, Ivalice did not falter in this year's bounty of plump fruits of all kinds as well as fields of light grasses as far as the eye could see. With the news that the Death Knights had been eradicated from the fair land, travelers began to roam the fields in earnest for a variety of reasons-everything from hunting to visiting faraway villages to exploring for the sake of exploring. The warmth of May had set in, dissuading the chilly winds originating from Larner Channel. The streets of the villages were filled with people while the sun made its daily trek across the sky, and while precious few were able to stop and enjoy the day for more than a few minutes at a time, everyone would agree that the late springtime weather simply made life sweeter to live.

The castle, a brilliant white that stood out from the green and blue that sandwiched it, picked up little of the vivacious quality that had given a spring to the step of the villagers; most of the people who called the castle home were saddled with enough duties that just going outside for a break was unfathomable to them. Only the knights of the halls had been granted the fortune of being able to wander the grounds, albeit for guard duty. Many of the less disciplined knights snuck out rolls of fresh bread and meandered around the perimeter of the castle until they could find an alcove in which to hide themselves while they ate; although many of them were eventually found by their superiors and punished for disregarding their duties to their hall and country, it was not a routine that was going to end anytime soon. After all, there was still summer and fall to contend with, excellent times to pluck off a juicy plum or to steal away a warm apple strudel while protecting a castle that had never been attacked.

Not everyone could contemplate falling into such capricious behavior, especially not the maids of Gallionne and Zeltennia. Bending over to change bedsheets, carrying heavy loads of laundry and jars of water for washing said laundry, dusting carefully over and around precious antiques, and chasing their lords and ladies' mischievous children had long since burned out any spark of playful fun in these young ladies. They carried with them a sort of sardonic humor towards their common situation, that as commoners sold to ease the debts of starving families. Working for fairly decent wages, most of their hard-earned gil was sent back to those same families; natural resentment aside, the maids understood that it was only in necessity that they had been separated from their families in such a way.

One of the easiest noble families to work for had always been the Beoulve house. When Balbanes had been alive he would dazzle the young maids with his courteous behavior, kindness they had never expected from the lord of the house. Most of the maids who worked at the Beoulve home today remembered well his second wife, Sarai, for her reasonable and thoughtful nature. After all, she was one of them, and she knew of the hardships they had had to suffer in their short lives. Now, there wasn't much of a family to clean up after; the elder brothers from the first marriage worked, ate and slept in their offices, while the younger siblings from the second marriage were too young to affect the household very much. The Beoulves were leaves scattered by the wind, and that suited the maids just fine.

Like clockwork-seven in the morning, noon, and five in the afternoon-a maid would stop by Alma's room. She would call out, "Lady Alma? I have your meal here. You should eat something, my lady." In the maid's arms would be a platter of food consisting of bread, fruits and a glass of water, which the maid would leave it at the door. The next hour another maid would stop by and check to see if the platter had been taken, and if not then how much food was left, before going over to Zalbag's office to give a report on Lady Alma's eating habits. There were good days, when a small portion of the bread and fruit would appear to be missing, and then there were bad days, when the platter was left untouched.

Sometimes Zalbag himself would approach his sister's room and attempt to cajole her into coming out. Her only reply were questions: "Have you found Ramza yet? Or Delita?" The answer to that question was always no, and she would never respond.

Worn down by his sister's refusal to leave her room, his own inability to find even a trace of his younger brother, and his elder brother's colder than usual demeanor, Zalbag kept to his usual schedule on little more than reflex. There was little he could do for anybody and less he could do for himself. He was finding more gray hairs, and his twenty-ninth birthday was a little more than a month away.

For the maids, their new routine of serving food to their Lady Alma and reporting to Master Zalbag lasted for two weeks. Each day seemed to try and outdo the last in the spectrum of utter gorgeousness, but every maid of the Beoulve family agreed that there was nothing but bleak, gray weather within the noble family's home.

-0-

When it came to interesting news to shuttle around the rumor channels that connected the halls, the last two weeks had been more eventful than usual. Gallionne's Hokuten was praised for their work in ending the threat of the Death Knights. Those of the blue-and-white-shrouded hall who had had a relative or friend killed during the battle were only proud to know that their beloved fallen's sacrifice had not been in vain. This victory bothered Zeltennia, who prided themselves on being the most battle-ready warriors of the land. There was an old adage about this: Zeltennia liked to stab a man wherever they could hack into him, while Gallionne preferred to make that man fold himself over his own sword. It certainly proved true when word got around about how Zalbag had coordinated a brilliant baiting plan, though many of the nobles who had seen the 'princess' off were quite annoyed to find that they had been tricked as well.

Murond had quite a bit of attention directed towards itself as well, though it was aimed more at the residents of the religious hall. There were the former leaders of the Death Knights, though word about them was practically nonexistent. Many conflicting reports about the survival of one or both of them emerged, but the Pillars had been unusually tight-lipped about it. There was good reason for that; some of the Limberry Aegis Knights temporarily residing in Zeltennia had been vocal about their desire to destroy the Death Knights entirely, just as the rogue Death Knights had attempted to destroy their beloved village. The other renowned resident of Murond happened to be Princess Ovelia herself, and information on that surprising revelation was even more difficult to find than it was for the sibling leaders of the Death Knights. Duke Larg and his advisors would only say that it was for the princess' education.

Not like Vormav Tingel cared. He didn't have to make excuses about anything, not even about his current indulgence at the top of one of Murond's turrets. Gray smoke lazily curled from his cigarette, imported from Romanda. Tobacco was not a plant that could be introduced to Ivalice; the land did not have the right soil or temperature. His wife had hated his smoking, systematically destroying every stick anytime he had received the goods. He had finally quit when she became sick, but now when the stress became too much he fell right back into his old habit. It was a hateful thing and he disdained his weakness, but he couldn't help himself.

"I thought I would find you here," a voice called out. Vormav didn't bother to turn around, keeping his eyes on the vast field below.

"Rofel. You seem to be the only person I can count on these days."

"Why, thank you. I have to admit, it was quite difficult to wrest the lovely princess away."

Vormav chuckled humorlessly before taking another drag. Damned things were drawing him in. "Oh? Did she not want to leave?"

"Well, to be honest, she seemed most grateful to leave. Perhaps she caught wind of their plan?"

"Did you find out with what?"

"Certainly not with mosfungus," Rofel said wryly. "I think it was going to be with the main ingredient for ethers. It would induce psychic shock while burning out her magic reserves, which would force her entire body to shut down rather quickly. Then, it would be easy for Gallionne to point fingers at Orbonne and claim that they had never properly taught our princess how to control her magic."

"Which hurts us." Grinding the burning end of the stick into the smooth stone of the turret, Vormav tossed it away before he turned to his second-in-command. "Dycedarg is too smart for his own good."

"If he were smarter, he would realize that his list of enemies is growing steadily."

"In Zeltennia?"

"No, his brother. I talked to Zalbag recently. It would appear that Lord Beoulve is quite the insensitive brother, what with his determined ignorance of the situation with his family. Usually one has to draw the complaint at hand from our esteemed Holy Knight, but now he seems to be quite irritated."

"If Balbanes were alive today, that family would not have become so fragmented." Vormav took a deep breath of the cleansing air before he shook his head. "One day that matter will be settled."

Rofel lowered his head, his ever-present hood shielding much of his face. "I still feel that would be inadvisable."

"Your thoughts on the matter are of none of my concern," the Pillar of Strength blandly responded. Turning away, he introduced a new topic. "What of the High Priest?"

Concern shone in the other man's eyes at his leader's first comment, but at the question veiled annoyance quickly replaced it. "Cranky and irritable, his usual state. He demands that you complete the rest of the assignment before he dies."

"Why has he not by now? I should hope to live to seventy, not to talk of his age."

"Perhaps he will survive as long as God's will is still unfulfilled."

"Then I will find a black knight today. God can have him."

Only the smallest hint of a grin broke through the Pillar of Knowledge's lips, sunlight through a crack between clouds. This conversation had been played a hundred times before, all with little variation between any two of them. Their mutual dislike for the undisputed leader of Murond and the Order of Glabados emerged during their latest mission, one that had gone on ever since King Omdolia passed away. "If only," he remarked, causing Vormav to respond with a bark of laughter.

They resented their mission, but they understood why it had to be carried out.

"They were really going to kill the princess, were they not?" There was something of disgust entwined with a real, aching regret.

"Yes."

A long pause occurred before Vormav shook his head again. "My son turns seventeen in two days. He is only a year older than her, is that not correct?"

"Yes."

"Sickening."

Rofel pursed his lips. "Yes."

-0-

She remembered the room the best. It was a nice sitting room in a grand manor. The couches had been a bit stiff even with their padding, but it wasn't as if her home was any better in that regard. The sitting room was very nicely decorated, with a definite woman's touch gracing each selected painting. Looking directly in front of her, Miluda could see why. On either side of Marquis Mesdoram Elmdor was a lovely lady, both of them dressed in comfortable foreign robes closed with ornately decorated ties. The Marquis had introduced them as his most trusted vassals, Mademoiselles Celia and Lede, women without family names and with the bulges of daggers underneath their clothes. It was easy to guess what their former jobs had been, and what their current jobs were now. They moved easily, precisely, a hint of danger in every step. Their lord moved in the same way, his silver-blond hair flowing over his shoulders as he turned and gestured and introduced with a kinetic energy like water tumbling majestically down Zirekile Falls. Miluda was quite impressed, although she hid it well. Beside her, Wiegraf was equally inscrutable, although that was admittedly normal for him.

Time flashed forward through the pleasantries and into the business part of the meeting. Her brother talked and talked, his words plainly impressing the lord of Limberry. She was bored and wished that her best friend had been here as well, but Salia had wanted to see the shops and the architecture of the houses. Being the assistant leader of the Death Knights has some drawbacks after all, she remembered thinking, her eyes lingering over the details of the mahogany mantle behind the marquis and his entourage. God, Wie, can't you finish it up anytime before supper. On and on, I swear-

A piercing scream sounded from the front of the manor, and continued as the occupants of the sitting room dashed towards the spacious atrium. A serving girl was there, pointing wildly at the open door. "The Death Knights are attacking, my lord! They've killed Clara at the market, and I..." She showed her arm, where a large gash steadily bled out over her simple clothes.

Miluda could feel the gazes of the three very dangerous people, even though they had barely turned to acknowledge her and her brother. Wiegraf was already trying to convince them that he had no clue as to this plot, and it was during his torrent of words that a young Death Knight archer limped towards them. The elder of the two vassals, the baby-faced Celia, was already pulling out a naked blade from her robe while Wiegraf hurried to the young boy's side. "What's going on?" he demanded. The boy stumbled and fell into her brother's arms.

"Sir Wiegraf...Gafgarion...he's betraying us. Most of them are..." the archer wheezed out. He was a mess, with the many cuts on his arms and chest bleeding profusely. "They want...destruction of this place. The rest of us are fighting..." Even as he said that, Miluda could see the boy's breathing slow as if he was under that namesake spell. He died a moment later, and Wiegraf softly laid him onto the ground.

"May the poor child find his way to Heaven," Marquis Elmdor murmured, his hands quickly forming the four gestures of the Order of Glabados. "Celia, alert and aid the Aegis Knights. The first priority is to save the villagers. Lede, with me," he paused, "Sir Wiegraf, would you assist us?"

"Of course." Miluda watched her brother stand stiffly before turning to face her. The golden flecks in his hazel eyes seemed to be alit with inner fire, and from that she knew that he was more than just furious, he was also devastated. "Miluda, find Salia, then join up with us."

Miluda said nothing, her mind dulled by the events of the last few minutes. She sprinted off. Time sped up, twisted around for her until she noticed a bulky leather and wood gauntlet on the ground. She picked it up and stared into it, immediately finding the imprinted message she had once been shown to prove the veracity of her friend's claim: 'Monk of Yardow, Salia Lekoran'. She dropped it and began screaming, "Sally! Sally, where are you?"

Ten more steps and five more calls later was the spot for the other gauntlet. The lady knight looked around, disoriented, her throat grating and raw. The area she was in was obviously not why people of the village claimed Limberry as the most pleasant place to live; there were row houses made of knotted lumber on either side of her, the street in-between made of hard dirt and only as wide as an alley. She stumbled forward, calling for her friend.

Two houses ahead, a door creaked open. Time was moving a flicker too fast, a hop, jump and skip forward so that what stood before her was Gustav, who was holding Salia in front of him by her strawberry-blond locks. The monk was barely standing by her own power. Much of the front of her uniform had been torn away, and there were deep indigo bruises marring the fair skin around her wrists. There seemed to be a huge dark blotch masking Gustav's face, the memory doing its best to protect Miluda even now, months after the event had taken place.

Miluda took a step forward, shock preventing her from drawing her sword. "Sally...?"

Salia came to life then, pulling herself away from her captor's body. "Milly! You gotta escape! Tell Wiegraf Gafgarion and Gustav betrayed us! Someone from the castle's pulling all the strings! They wanna implicate -us- when they kill the princess!" Her head was yanked back and any other words she had to fling out were overpowered by an inarticulate cry.

"You women never seem to know when to shut up," Gustav was saying as he drew his sword. Here, great gouges were torn out of the next moments, trying to protect Miluda even though she knew what was happening, what was going to happen, what had happened. The next clear picture was Salia's body sprawled face-first on the ground, blood gushing out of her slit throat. Suddenly, Miluda was holding her sword, ready to kill, tears streaming from her wide eyes.

There were screams in the distance, pleas for mercy rending the air.

Gustav heard them too, by the way he slowly shook his head. "They're calling for you, Miluda. Are you going to ignore them?"

She grit her teeth. The cries were getting louder. She was a knight. She swore to protect the people of Ivalice.

She couldn't protect her best friend.

"Damn you," she choked out, rage and grief playing over her attractive features. "I swear to God, I'm going to find you. I'm going to kill you!"

He was smiling even as his blade dripped crimson. "I believe you."

Miluda ran, telling herself that this was for the best. She had to place the lives of innocents above her own wishes. She was a knight to protect people!

But the tears wouldn't stop.

Miluda gasped and sat up, the wound on her back protesting weakly at the sudden movement. Damn memories, she thought irritably as she brought her hands up to her temples and began to rub vigorously. I killed the bastard already, isn't that enough? Stop making me remember!

There was a knock at the door. "Go away," she called, covering her face with her hands. She could hear the door open and she rolled her eyes. There was only one person she knew who would walk over whatever she wanted without a thought.

"Are you alright?" she heard her brother say, a touch of concern in his voice.

"Fine."

"You don't look it."

She flung her hands down and glared at Wiegraf. "I was feeling better before you barged in," she said through clenched teeth. For his part, Wiegraf was now slightly amused.

"Then, you're not really feeling fine, are you?"

Turning away, she crossed her arms over the thin cotton frock she had been forced to wear during her stay in Murond. During her first week there had been an enchantment placed on her bed so that she would float over it, something that had been done so that she wouldn't aggravate either the large wound on her back or the one on her arm. That had been dispelled once her cure treatments began to work in earnest. She found the white mages to be invasive, particularly once she had discovered that they had cut off some of her hair because the blood wouldn't wash out.

She couldn't wait to get out of this place.

"Is there something you came here for," she spoke to the wall, "or are you attempting to sharpen your wit? Thirty's too late for that."

"We'll be leaving tomorrow morning."

When she turned her head back at this statement, she noted with some irritation that her brother had already made himself comfortable in the chair beside her bed. She hadn't even heard his footsteps. "Where to?" she couldn't help but ask. It seemed unlikely that Lionel would have them back after all the black marks they had garnered in the last six months.

He tilted his head, one eyebrow arched. "Home. Beowulf will be going with us to deliver a letter from the High Priest to the Cardinal, exonerating us from our 'crimes'."

"That's too easy," she whispered. "After everything that's happen, from being betrayed and framed to skulking around Orbonne to fighting against our own...and then we just go back home like nothing's happened?"

"Is it really such a bad thing?" He was watching her, his eyes tinged with mild curiosity. "At least we're able to do that much. We'll just settle back for a while and try to catch up on our daily lives."

"What?" That didn't sound like her brother, who always kept going with his ideas no matter the setback. "You're giving up on your dreams?"

Frowning at this, Wiegraf crossed his arms. "Not at all. Just taking a well deserved break, as it were."

"Are you really my brother?" she demanded. "You want to, to...relax? That's it?" She looked away, muttering, "That's so anticlimactic."

"I suppose," he responded slowly. "But...it'd be good for you."

"You're that worried for me? Don't bother. I'll be in top fighting condition in two more weeks." A wary smile started to spread on her face as she turned to him again. "Are you sure you're not trying to say that you've stopped dreaming?"

"Like I said, not at all."

She shook her head at this, finally understanding. Her brother looked the same as always, stoic to a fault, but she had always been able to figure out the things he wanted to say but couldn't for whatever reason. "Fine, fine. The house probably needs a lot of work anyway. That thing you call a chocobo probably pecked all sorts of holes into the fences."

"Boco is not a woodpecker," he stated before he stood up. "I'll let you get some rest. Beowulf mentioned that he'd like to visit you later."

"Great. I feel popular." She grinned as Wiegraf made his way to the door. "Hey, Wie." He turned at this, the diminutive she had used in her childhood. "Cheer up a bit. I'm not going to die on you. I know you'd just go crazy without me, and I wouldn't dare inflict that on the world."

There was a small smile on his face at this assumption. "Sure. Whatever you'd like to believe." He left as she laughed, feeling better than she had in weeks. She laid back down on the narrow bed, but she didn't close her eyes.

No more remembering. Not while she felt almost free from the guilt for once.

-0-

Night had fallen for an hour by the time Zalbag had finished reviewing the paperwork for the day. All was going well with the Hokuten, especially when it came to their reputation, and he had been burdened with less of the faction's problems than usual. He had also received a letter from Marquis Elmdor and, judging by the country lord's good spirits, he would be able to pull the Hokuten he had sent to Limberry to help with the village. His duties had never been so well ordered since he had first accepted the leadership as per his father's wishes. His family, however, seemed to be doing exponentially worse.

Inwardly, he sighed as he left his office. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. He strode over to the Beoulve quarters, wanting nothing more than to sleep in his own bed. But before he could do that, he would try to get his sister to say something substantial to him. He could understand the need for mourning, but he felt that two weeks was overdoing it. He was trying his best to find Ramza and Delita, couldn't she see that?

Reaching Alma's room, he knocked on her door. "Alma? Are you asleep?" he called. He was the only one who ever approached her room these days to try and talk to her. Disgust bloomed in his mind when he recalled Dycedarg's flippant attitude regarding the events that had shaken up their family.

-Do not worry so much. She will talk when she is ready. If you would excuse me, I have work to do-

His elder brother hadn't even said a word about the fate of Ramza, and he seriously doubted Dycedarg remembered the Hyral siblings. No, there were too many other things more important to the eldest Beoulve than family. Zalbag felt as if he were a court jester struggling to juggle his many responsibilities, aching to keep them forever aloft lest they end up shattered at his feet. There was no option to stop, or to let one fall in order to save the others. There was just him, slipping little by little.

"Brother Zalbag?" Alma answered weakly. He braced himself for her questions, the ones he couldn't answer. "Come in."

This was a new development, but Zalbag had learned long ago never to keep his hopes up. He entered her room. Other than a small lantern on her pine desk, there was no light. His sister was sitting in her bed, her blankets scattered around her legs. A plain white nightgown covered her from the neck down, and her long hair hung over her shoulders, unfettered by the ribbons and ties she so loved. Her pallor disturbed him, even after he allowed for the small amount of light her lantern was able to cast.

"You should eat more. You look unwell," he started. Then he realized that probably wasn't the best way to start a conversation with her. She only looked away from him, her mouth just one thin line of disapproval. "What would you like to talk about?" he tried again. This was a better avenue of discussion, judging by the way she turned back to face him.

"I have been thinking that...perhaps Ramza and Delita will not come home."

He leaned against her door, surprised that her hope had dwindled away so quickly. "Why would you think that?"

"If you cannot find them, maybe they do not want to be found. At least, I would think this is so with Delita." She lowered her head. "And Ramza would stay with him in the meanwhile."

"Are you telling me that searching for them is futile?"

"I...do not know. What good would it do to drag them back? Delita hates..." She brought her hands up to her face, struggling to hold back her tears.

Zalbag couldn't understand. He had heard Alma's account of the incident, but he had figured that Delita's words were those of a grieving man-certainly justifiable considering the circumstances. He figured he would keep a search party out, just in case. Delita had taken Teta's body with him, and Zalbag guessed that the brunet's first plan had been centered around burying her body. By now, he would've done so and would probably be in the vicinity of Teta's grave. Alma was right that Ramza would've stayed with Delita. Find one, find the other.

"I want to leave."

Zalbag was jerked out of his thoughts. "I beg your pardon?"

"I...there is nothing I can do here. I cannot be useful to your investigation. Should I just wait here until you and Dycedarg marry me off?" Alma asked, some of her old fire in her voice. "Please, do not give me up to such a sad life just yet."

"Then, what would you like?" Zalbag questioned. Privately, he would've been open to anything, just as long as she left her room and became herself again.

Her eyes were wide with a hidden plea as she looked up at him. "I was told by Bishop Simon that I would be a worthy cleric with my potential. I would like to live in Murond and maybe..." she faltered slightly, then shook her head, "maybe I can become useful to others. I could heal them. I could save lives..."

Murond? That is more than fine with me, but... "You could just stay here and be escorted there for your lessons," he suggested.

She shook her head. "No, I want to live there. This place is not much of a home without Ramza and my friends. Not anymore."

"I see," Zalbag replied, his face not betraying that he had been stung by the comment. Well, he reasoned, Dycedarg and I are always busy. She would have no one except for the maids to converse with. It would be for the best. "I will set up all the necessary arrangements tomorrow, if that is your wish."

"Thank you, Brother," she said, smiling up at him. The shadows thrown by the meager light of the lanterns fractured her face, making her look far more older than her round cheeks would suggest. "I am sorry for my selfishness"

"Alma, lying is not your forte." He shook his head at her gaping face. "I trust you will sleep well?"

"Yes. Goodnight, Zalbag."

"Goodnight," he murmured, stepping out of her room. Once outside and with the door safely shut behind him, he sighed. Had his family always been destined to break away, crumbling apart like so much dried mud?

There was nothing he could do about if it were true, and that knowledge hurt.

-End of Chapter Twelve-

So, this is the end of the first arc and a gentle transition into the meat of the story. I'm a little stressed and I actually do have classes to contend with, so I'm currently exploring my options. It's not quite so easy to bang out 12 to 24 pages (4,000 to 9,000 words) every week while doing all my required reading and studying, not to talk of other miscellaneous things. I have my spring break on the week of the 21st, so I'll come up with a solution by then. Oh, and to all Penitentes readers: the first chapter is being moved back to the end of the month.

Reviewers!

Trueborn Chaos, I thank you for your view regarding villains. I don't agree with most of it, probably because most FF villains are so over the top compared to actual 'human' villains. Well, I don't think the FF numbered series really has 'good' villains compared to other RPGs...they seem to be all flash and very little substance. I'd say the same about the games too, even though I like them.
Hm...I can't really respond to all those bits and pieces, but... 'And what about Miluda then?' What about Miluda?

Hey, Luna. I remember when I said that about plot twists. I don't know why, but I always feel as if everyone's already guessed what's going to happen next. But hey, I'm glad you're surprised! You know, I hadn't even thought that I was using the crossbow incident to get the same results in a different way. Shows how observant I am.
Argh, Dycedarg. That's all I really have to say.
Thanks for your thoughts regarding Gustav. I agree, villains are very hard to get right...or is that wrong? (Yeah, puns suck. I'm tired.)

It's great to see you again, TobyKikami! I really liked how you had to specify which swords our 'Three Musketeers' would be holding. The fact that you did made it worse, thanks. :)
As to the second part of your review, it was deliberate to have Gaffy ambushed by using a fake Ovelia. He deserved it, the jerk.
I noticed that you're writing a BoFIV fic. I can't read it because it's the only BoF I've never played, but could you tell me how good the game itself is? I've been playing the hell out of BoFIII, which might be one of the reasons why I'm so stressed.

Hello, Evil Mina! I'm glad to see you were following this story. It's totally understandable that you'd be ambivalent about this fic, but I'm really happy that you went on reading instead of rushing for the back button. I think, regarding the rest of that paragraph, it's a lot easier to write whatever I want since this is an AU.
I never really cared about sympathetic villains. Half the villains in RPGs today seem like they needed to be held by their mommy more, or could use the number of a really good therapist. The same goes for the heroes. I can't feel good about beating up that kind of enemy. So yeah, I'm getting off track. Algus is an idiot, but I find that, if there really is a God, He likes idiots the most.
I can't agree with your statement that Teta died for nothing. I would argue that she died so that her best friend could live, and that is decidedly not 'for nothing'. I think I see your point about martyr-charas, and you're right that it sets up a lot of story possibilities.
Whew, it's really easy to respond to your reviews. I remember you saying in ZS that you didn't like to review the same story twice, but I'd be more than happy if you dropped a comment or two every once in a while. The more the merrier, right?
Oh, and I saw your poll about Delita. In a nutshell, I neither like nor loathe him, because I don't find him very interesting.