BU - RE - SU

By Tenshi no Ai

(C) Square Enix

VIII. -Pure-

-0-

It was said that Zarghidas Trade City's true beauty came out during the night. The cynical would say that it was because the cloak of darkness helped mask the crumbling exterior of what was once one of the grandest land-based trade posts on the continent. Those naysayers would be right. Zarghidas was a dump filled with broken, yellowing buildings and petty crime. Yet, there was still something of pride in the honest people of the town, pride in both their roots in their city as well as the dignity of being Zeltennians and therefore supporters of the true heir to the throne, the lovely Queen Ovelia Atkascha. Restoration was no longer a dream, they were sure of it. This belief enabled them to wake each morning, to do their jobs with the efficiency needed in a bustling trade center, and to stand strong against the corruption and the dredges of humanity that lurked within the shadows of the slums. They had survived two wars and invasion; they could handle anything.

Beowulf admired that mindset, so different from his own. It was said that Zeltennians were forged through war, and Lesalians like himself were molded through peace. Seeing the beauty inherent in the cracks weaving through a wall that was still as sturdy and resilient as the day it was made, he could believe it. After setting down their meager possessions at the inn in the wake of rescuing and recruiting the otherworldly foreigner, he and Reis took a long walk through the narrow alleys. They studied the aging buildings, watched the townspeople go on their daily business, and visited the many shops the city had to offer. When the night descended upon them, tiny white dots persistently twinkling despite the engulfing blackness, she turned to him. With one step she closed the distance between them, staring up at him with those eyes he swore could keep him entranced for a lifetime with all the subtle shifting emotions they expressed.

He would like that.

Leaning into him, she wrapped her arms around his waist, her eyes holding him with that special brand of magic that had always commanded him. With the barest silver of conscious thought he returned her gesture, reveling in how it felt to simply hold her. He should've been able to experience those feelings every day for the last six years, but that sobering thought didn't dampen his elation now.

She smiled, an upturning of her lips touched by the moonlight. "This place...there's a purity to it. To keep struggling on...there's something truly beautiful about that."

Yes, he could definitely agree with that. A smile touched his own lips at her words--she's incredible--and her smile widened. "I thought the same thing the first time I came here," he replied.

At these words, her smile shrunk until she looked almost perturbed. "Was it...when you were looking for me?"

Ah. He shook his head as he adjusted his hold on her. "No, it was during the war...the Fifty Year War, as they're calling it now. I had the opportunity to come here during a reconnaissance mission."

By the way she was staring at him now, with wide eyes and interest lightening night-obscured eyes, he knew he had her full attention. "It must've been dangerous, what with all the Ordalians here," she murmured.

He almost laughed at the concern now wrinkling her brow, expressed over a decade after the fact. Leaning in, he kissed her on the forehead. "Well, I'm still here, aren't I?" he teased, grinning as she gave him a withering look. It was always so cute how she worried about him when he told his stories of his years in the war. "Fine, fine. Yes love, it was dangerous, but it had to be done."

"I see." But her expression did not change. "How was this town during the occupation?"

He had to think about that; his memory had never been very good. "Ah...well, it was sad. Trade cities are supposed to have a certain amount of immunity to war, but the Ordalians completely disregarded it. They brutally oppressed the townspeople and impressed a number of civilians into their army." Shrugging, he attempted to smile. "But Zeltennians are a sturdy people. They always kept their head up and continued on as if nothing was there to disrupt their lives." This was not exactly true, not necessarily what his own bits and snatches of memory was telling him, but it would suffice. Reis did not need to hear about the public executions designed to control the rebellious populace, nor did she need to know about the Ivalicians who betrayed their own countrymen for the sake of placating the 'winning side'. There was no need to burden her with the knowledge of the evils both sides committed, not when the scars of it all now shone with the moon's caress.

At the time, he was sure there was nothing worse than war.

"How sad," she breathed, resting her head just under his chin. "But they've kept struggling up to this point, haven't they?"

"Of course. They couldn't have just given up."

"'Give up'?" She rolled the words in her mouth as if she didn't like the way they tasted. "What kind of world would this be if everyone could just quit whenever they wanted?"

He held her tighter and did not respond. That was the way he had lived life for a long time, bouncing around from one arena to another, disliking every life he had thrown himself into. How many more would he have thrown himself into, if not for Reis? Or, would a life as a Temple Knight be his magnum opus as far as sad choices went? But he had struggled on, and they were reunited. They fought to reach this point, and together they would fight on to stay together.

There was no giving up for either of them.

He pulled away to get a better look at her face, only to see that she was gazing up at him once again. The night covered her features like a veil slashed several times by a blunt dagger, the effect of chiaroscuro lending a stark quality that highlighted the curves of her cheekbones, her eyes and the not-unfamiliar emotion they now expressed. Only the night could cast a tranquil beauty upon cracked walls, and only the night would dare make clear the need lazily flickering within her eyes.

Without a word, he led her back to the inn.

-End to Pure-

Hm, I always like having clear ideas of what to write for a story, and then completely redoing it in the course of actually writing it. Bah. Anyway, I feel sorry for Zarghidas, because their slums look so boring compared to Dorter's towering shanties (it's like Zozo, only without the rain and the liars). Actually, I feel sorry for the towns; they're so underrepresented in FFT fanfiction. Hm...

Reviewers!

You're absolutely right, TruebornChaos. Misinterpretations are the biggest cause for problems, and if the divorce trends and potential for wars are any indication, no one wants to understand anyone else either.
Dude, your name for your PC is the same as everyone else's. This is why I don't own one. :) Thanks for the name suggestions.
Read Evil Mina's review to see exactly why the whole Tifa thing is really freaky. Meh, FF only has male sex symbols for teenage girls.
Have you seen my planned works list lately? Too many ideas, not enough time...

Hey, raitei. Glad you liked the last story; we'll be in happy-story mode for a bit.

Well, Evil Mina, according to Penitentes Reis still hasn't come clean about her draconic nature by the DD, so, uh, don't hold your breath or anything.
I fixed both the anticlimactic and the broken metaphor (I meant a flower blooming on haste), but I'm standing my ground on your last issue. The rule you're referring to is a new paragraph for a new speaker. As for intensity, that's sort of the point. Unless Reis has an outburst, their arguments tend to be pretty controlled because Beowulf hates arguing with anybody. I'm just trying to keep them in line with their WHW personalities. But, I do agree that the flow could be better.
I think I'll set up a nomination thing. I'll call it the 'If you nominate Sephiroth for this contest, I'm going to come to your house and beat you with a game controller, so stop it already.' Don't you think it's catchy?

Er, yeah, TobyKikami. My opinion hasn't really changed.
That line was me badly using dramatic irony. She can't control the intensity of her breaths, only how long she breathes. I guess.