Chapter Seventeen: Reunion

Grog Hill.

The harvesting season nearly at its end as autumn gave way to winter, the fields that were usually covered in wheat were now nearly barren, the crops taken to the capital for storage.

The day was coming to a close, the setting sun coloring the distant horizon a fiery red as Ramia and Galvin rode their way through the fields, politely nodding in greeting to passing carts hauling the harvest.

Both had been riding the whole day, Ramia intent on reaching Bethla Garrison as soon as possible, Galvin obediently following behind. He did not question this unexpected trip, believing that it had something to do with her mother, seeing that she kept on touching the hilt of her sword as if seeking strength from it.

They reached a crossroads as the sun finally disappeared, the moon rising in the east, narrowed to almost disappearing. "Ramia, we should make camp soon," Galvin suggested, seeing a large party gathered around a fire to their left.

Ramia, too, noticed the party and nodded in agreement to Galvin's suggestion. She was indeed tired and hungry. They had ridden nonstop since leaving the keep in the morning. The chocobos needed to rest and regain their strength if they were to reach Bethla as soon as they were able. With that thought, she turned right at the intersection, opposite the camping group, leaving them behind, both riders unaware of a certain flaxen-haired man staring after them…


Ramza stared after the two riders until they were swallowed by the darkness and still, he continued to stare down that road, his expression troubled. He was so focused in that direction that he did not notice his sister's approach until she spoke: "Is something wrong, brother? What are you looking at?"

He did not reply immediately, only staring out into the darkness, the campfire flickering shadows across his haunted face. "Nothing…" he finally spoke in a whisper, more to himself than in answer to his sister. "It's nothing…"

Later that night, as the others slept, Ramza sat looking up to the sky, wondering if his friends that were in hiding saw the same stars. Without averting his gaze from the heavens, he placed a hand on the ground, pulling on a blade of grass besides him, and began to blow on it, a soft whistling disturbing the stillness of the hill.

"You saw her, didn't you?"

The whistle shrilled in surprise, Ramza turning to see Cloud sitting on a boulder across from him, staring, his eerily glowing eyes seeming to shine as bright as the stars above, waiting patiently for an answer.

Ramza sighed as he again looked up at the stars. "Was that her?"

"Ramia," Cloud stated as he nodded, joining Ramza as he too gazed up at the stars, wondering which one was his world, "Agrias' daughter."

"So, it was her," whispered Ramza, bringing the blade of grass to his lips, a lonely note humming along the gentle breeze. He sighed again as the note faded away, the breeze strengthening a bit as if that one note summoned it.

Cloud looked at Ramza inquisitively. "Do you want to see her?" he asked, jabbing a finger towards the opposite road adding, "They've made camp a little ways there. If we stay hidden, we can watch unnoticed."

Ramza pondered the idea a moment. It's true that he wanted to see her, probably even meet her, but by doing so he may be endangering Agrias' life and perhaps his friends' as well. As Cloud had told him and Delita in Zarghidas, Ramia grew up not knowing that Agrias was her mother and, therefore, grew up with the knowledge that he and his friends was the enemy. She would not hesitate to arrest them and bring them to 'justice' or perhaps kill them on sight.

"No, not yet," Ramza shook his head. "I will not risk being seen until we meet with the others. Until then…" His voice trailed away as he shook his head once again. Then, hoping to change the subject, asked, "How many more days will it take us to reach the others, Cloud? I'm anxious to meet them."

But I'm not sure they're eager to see me, he thought darkly.

"Three to four days," replied the SOLDIER and, as if he read Ramza's thought, added, "They've been waiting for you."

Ramza stared at him skeptically, hoping to see that Cloud spoke more in comfort than in truth, but what he saw in those glowing eyes was the latter. They had indeed been waiting for him. He suddenly felt guilty at that thought, the same as he had felt when he had heard the news from Kyshon.

"I'm sorry," he whispered apologetically.

"For what?" Cloud slightly tilted his head to the side, staring at him curiously.

"For taking this long to come," answered Ramza.

The corners of Cloud's mouth curved slightly in a comforting smile. "There's nothing to be sorry about, Ramza. They knew that you would come one day and though you're fifteen years late, your being here is a testament to your selflessness."

"You flatter me." Ramza rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.

"I only speak what's true." Cloud then hopped off the boulder and yawned. "Now I bid you good-night, Ramza. Your relief approaches."

Ramza turned to see that, indeed, Raizen was coming. As with the previous nights, the group always set up the watch with him taking the first turn, Raizen the middle watch, and Delita the last. He then turned back to give his thanks to Cloud, but stopped himself when he saw that the SOLDIER was missing. He looked around and soon spotted Cloud stretched out along the others near the fire.

When Raizen finally arrived to relieve him, he gave a small nod to the prince before following Cloud's example, joining the others around the fire, adding more wood to the dying flames before he found his bed and stretched out. For the first time ever since entering Ivalice, he felt calmed. Since he had arrived, he could not think of anything else but the impending reunion with his lost friends and how they would respond with his return. But Cloud's words soothed the turmoil in his heart and he was truly eager now to see them. He did not linger on that thought for long as he drifted down into welcome sleep, the stars seeming to glow brighter above.

They left Grog Hill early the next day. It was a high, clear day, the sun burning bright out of a steely sky. Crows rode the air currents above, and a lonely steel hawk. They passed the rest of the hill's fields, soon leaving Grog Hill and Lesalia behind and entering Fovoham territory.

The road stretched before them, a vast path of dirt and gravel extending towards the western horizon like a river snaking its way through the plains as far as the eye could see, disappearing just beyond a small grove of spruce trees.

Somewhere beyond those plains, beyond those hills, Ramza thought, are my friends. He then looked at Delita and Raizen and wondered what the others would make of them, wondered if they would blame Delita for the current events happening in Ivalice.

He raised his eyes to a sky that offered him no answers and followed Cloud down the road that, unknown to him or his companions, Agrias Oaks had taken to rebuild Fort Zeakden.


"We're almost there."

Cloud indicated the skeletal remains of a ruined village they just recently entered. The stone buildings were bleach white, windows shutterless and doors gaping, giving the impression of huge skulls.

It's been three and a half days since they left Lesalia to enter Fovoham, traveling through two cities and a forest to arrive later at a destroyed village in the midst of a forest that was a precursor to the mountains that surrounded them.

"We'll rest here a moment," Cloud announced as he sat down on the remnants of a low stonewall surrounding one of the houses, "before I take you deeper into the woods."

Ramza was about to protest saying that they should move on, his eagerness getting the better of him. He did not voice it out, however, seeing that the SOLDIER was right in suggesting to rest. There were some in their party that were not accustomed to long travels especially when they left their chocobos behind at Zarghidas with the exception of his own Boco, Delita's Crest, and Raizen's Valor.

He gave a nod, dismounting Boco, helping his sister down after. Delita and his son followed suit, tethering their mounts to a wooden pole, allowing them to forage for a while. They joined the others gathered around what was once the village well.

Aeris and her mother—Elmyra she was called—looked grateful for the brief stop as they sat besides Cloud who offered them water and a little something to eat.

"How close are we to the others, Cloud?" Ramza asked, unknowingly voicing the question on everyone's mind. He then studied his surroundings, seeing ravens perched on roofs of the houses, reminding him of vultures picking dead bones in the desert. "And where are we?" he added as an afterthought.

"We're in Malak and Rafa's home village," replied the SOLDIER, "the one that was destroyed during the Fifty Year War. They've rebuilt their village, but deeper into the woods, close to the mountains. That's where I'm taking you."

"Have you seen it?" questioned Ramza and when Cloud shook his head, asked, "Then how would you know about it?"

"I've been keeping in touch," Cloud explained. "Surprisingly, someone of the village was well-versed in the animal tongue and asked a bird to find me and give me a letter saying that the others were safe and in hiding. That bird managed to find me in Zarghidas and deliver the message. Ever since, I've been able to keep in contact with them, using the bird as the medium."

"An effective way of communication, I must admit," commented Delita, rubbing his beard thoughtfully.

"Indeed," agreed Ramza.

Soon after their little conversation, Aeris informed Cloud that she and her mother were well-rested and ready to go on. As Ramza was about to mount Boco, he was stopped by his sister.

"We should let Elmyra and Aeris ride the chocobo," she suggested, gesturing towards the two women standing behind Cloud. "They need Boco more than we do."

Ramza looked to where the two women stood next to Cloud, noticing their weary countenance despite their short rest, especially Elmyra who was clearly exhausted just by the way she leaned on her daughter. Feeling sympathy for them, he led his chocobo by the reins towards the two women and offered them to ride Boco. Both smiled their acceptance, glad for the respite from walking. Cloud nodded his thanks to Ramza before helping Elmyra then Aeris mount the great bird.

When both were settled and the rest prepared, Cloud began to lead the group along a trail just beyond the ruined village's boundary, which wound its way into the bountiful forest, reminding Ramza and his Ordallian friends of those forests in the neighboring country. The trail was wide enough to accommodate three in a row, but there were times that they would travel in single line where the trail narrowed. The path twisted through trees alive with birdsong and streams filled with tiny fish darting between the rocks.

Having never been this close to nature, the two women from Zarghidas could not help but be fascinated by their surroundings, Aeris marveling at a squirrel as it crossed their path carrying an acorn in its mouth where as her mother gasped in surprise at the sound of rustling branches when a bird took flight from tree to tree. She nearly fell off her seat, but Cloud quickly steadied her as Ramza calmed his chocobo who was startled by the sudden movement. Despite that small mishap, the two women took joy in their little ride, pointing and talking in lively tones when something caught their interest. Even Cloud joined in their conversations, picking a blossom from a passing bush at one moment to give to Aeris, who smiled as she accepted it.

Then Ramza saw something that he hadn't seen in Cloud before: a genuine smile. To Ramza, Cloud had always been a battle-hardened SOLDIER, always obeying orders without question, unhesitant when killing his foes. Rarely did he smile and when he did, it always seemed strained, as if smiling was a hard thing for him to do. But now, it came naturally so that it seemed it wasn't Cloud at all but another person.

Ramza smiled softly to himself at this small change in his friend. At least his absence produced one positive effect even though there were perhaps one hundred negative effects to outweigh that one. That thought saddened him somewhat, but he hoped that in the end, the good will outweigh the bad, that everything will turn out right.


The group did not see the figure that had watched them from the branches of a nearby tree, nor did they mark it as unusual when it jumped from one branch to another, the leaves rustling in sign of its passing. It continued to keep watch, taking note of their path, observing that they follow the trail. Certain that they would not stray from the path, it returned to its companion who waited in a clearing a few yards ahead of the approaching group.

A young man clad in buckskins, his fair hair tied in long braids, sat against a tree, rubbing the head of a dragon sleeping at his side. He then looked up when someone jumped down from the branches of a neighboring tree.

It was a youth of about thirteen, dressed in breeches and shirt, his russet hair wild, sticking up in odd directions. His weapon of choice, the crossbow, hung on his belt, but he rarely used it, preferring to utilize his magical skills, which was quite strong for a boy his age. He had his mother to thank for that.

He frowned at that thought. His mother seemed to have been losing her mind ever since a message arrived at the village stating that visitors would be coming soon, and if the group he had just seen were those visitors…

"Any sign of them yet, Randall?"

At that question, the youth's mind quickly returned to the present. "They're a few yards away and should be passing through here in a moment," he replied to the young man, who was now leaning against his spear, the dragon sitting on its haunches besides him, oddly reminding Randall of a loyal dog who would not leave his master's side. But that's who this young man was.

Draco Kadmus, Dragon Knight, master lancer and of dragons. The blood of a Dragoner and a Temple Knight ran through his veins, though it seemed he inherited more of the Dragoner side than the knight much to the disappointment of his father.

Draco nodded, satisfied with Randall's answer. "Then let's try to look presentable before our guests arrive," he suggested, tossing a comb of fishbone to Randall, adding, "We'll start with that hair of yours. It needs a grooming."

The boy scowled, but did not object as he began to run the comb through his hair that refused to stay down no matter how hard he tried. Even Draco tried a hand in taming his wild hair, but after a few failed attempts, gave up. Just as well, for at that moment, their guests arrived.

Draco studied them as they gathered at the entrance to the clearing, counting twelve in all, which was the number of visitors that was written in the message. He then looked at Randall for verification, who nodded in answer.

Draco turned towards them and smiled, touching his hand to his chest and extending it palm outward in greeting. "Welcome," he hailed. "We've been expecting you. I am Draco Kadmus and this," he gestured towards the boy next to him, "is Randall Rashere, your guides to the village."

"Kadmus? Rashere?" one of the visitors gasped, staring at the two men, his eyes wide with shock. "As in Beowulf Kadmus and Rad Rashere?"

Draco and Randall looked at each other, certain now that these were the strangers expected at the village. Who else could know the names of their fathers? Randall then looked at the stranger and replied, "Yes, they're our fathers, respectively."

"Who are expecting you at the village," Draco added, "along with their friends. Now come," he indicated that they follow them down the trail. "We don't want to keep them waiting."

He motioned for Randall to lead the way then called to his missing dragon, "Punyalis!" who had disappeared as they were combing Randall's hair. A moment later, it emerged from the brush, much to the surprise of their visitors, bounding towards Draco, who patted its crested head before sending it to follow Randall.

"Your mother is Reis, yes?"

Draco looked again to the man that had earlier exclaimed his father's name. "Yes," he answered, and when the man opened his mouth to speak again, interrupted saying, "All shall be revealed once we reach the village. Please hold your questions until then. Now if you will," he turned and began walking away, "we've lingered here long enough. Randall and Punyalis must be already near the village."

Having no other choice, the rest followed as Ramza wondered what other revelations awaited him at this village.


Draco had heard stories from his parents of how people beyond the forests and mountains lived in walled cities made of stone and timber, most never roaming as if they were afraid of the open country. He could not comprehend that way of living, to not feel the fresh breeze on your face or to enjoy the blue skies in a clear day. Having been raised in Tenaktwa, he did not understand any of the strange customs of the outside world whereas the rest of the village, save for those born and raised in the valley, knew.

He was glad to have been raised in the valley and as he led the visitors down the valley's entrance, he smiled as the lodges of his home spread before them. He glanced back to observe the expressions of the newcomers.

They looked amazed, as if they stared at some great marvel beyond their comprehension. It was surely a marvelous sight, the lodges spread numerous over the grass. "So, what do you think of Tenaktwa?" he asked them.

"By God, it's a city of tents!" one of the group—a dark-skinned man—exclaimed in answer. "Like a camping ground of some sort, except that I've never seen so many campers."

"It's not your walled city or town," Draco nodded, "but it's home. Randall," he called to the boy who had been waiting impatiently at the valley's entrance along with the dragon, Punyalis, for them to arrive, "notify the village of our coming."

The boy nodded, taking out a bugle of bull demon horn from his pouch. He stood on a boulder and blew, a clear shrill note echoing through the valley.

As they came down the valley's ingress, Ramza saw that the people halted their tasks in answer to the horn's call, running across the grass, so that when they finally reached the floor of the valley and halted amongst the tents, they were greeted by the whole of the village.

"Are they always like this with visitors?"

Draco shook his head in answer to Ramza's question. "Not with visitors, no. But friends of Chief Malak are always welcomed."

"Malak is chief?" Ramza grinned at the thought, amazed to know that his friend possessed the strength to guide this village to prosperity.

Draco began to say, "Yes," but then the crowd suddenly fell silent and parted as a party of five arrived and made their way to greet the visitors.

Ramza studied the group closely as they approached, knowing for who they were, marveling at how much they had change in twenty years much like himself.

He recognized Reis first, who still looked as lovely as the day he first saw her at Nelveska Temple, when the spell that bound her into a dragon's body was broken. Her hair shone softly in the setting sun's light as she glanced at the visitors, her gray eyes finally falling upon him, her lips spreading into a soft smile. She then turned to the man besides her and spoke to him.

Ramza knew it to be Beowulf by the fact that his green eyes swooped lovingly on his wife. The years have finally caught up with the former Temple Knight with silver in the gold of his hair and lines on his cheeks and about his eyes that fell upon him, thoughtful.

Then there was Mustadio, who Ramza nearly had mistaken for Besrodio except for the fact that this man didn't limp. He was almost a replica of the older mechanic with his long, thin mustache and harsh face, but when he smiled, Ramza knew that it was indeed the Engineer. Mustadio had always been cheerful despite the rough times and it seemed that this was no different.

A beautiful woman walked next to him, her raven hair swaying loosely about slender shoulders, softly caressing unblemished cheeks, her dark, doe eyes scanning the group until, like the others, it fell upon the man that stepped forward as her brother greeted:

"Ramza."

Malak Galthana looked to be the strong leader Draco had claimed; the red panther fur about his broad shoulders a symbol of his authority. He stood tall, seeming to tower over the people despite his short stature, leaning on a staff made of steel. His figure was imposing, his chest broad, his face looked to be carved from the surrounding mountains where sun and wind shaped it. His hair had grown long, tied into a couple of plaits decorated with bright feathers and brooches that glinted in the setting sun's rays. His dark eyes studied Ramza, like a cuar, and Ramza wondered if the fur he wore had given him some sort of power to see what man could not, feeling like a trapped rabbit under that intense gaze, so that he answered tentatively:

"Malak, it's good to see you. It seems that you've been doing well these past twenty years," he looked at the others behind the chief, "all of you."

Malak's features suddenly softened as he smiled broadly. "Ramza, it is good to see you again my friend!" he greeted again, this time cheerfully, as he and the others gathered around the flaxen-haired man, overwhelming him with cries of welcome.

The villagers joined in their joy as they gathered round the visitors once more in a great milling throng that threatened to overwhelm them with offers of hospitality and acceptance into the village—though that was unnecessary for already fires were lit in preparation of the celebratory feast that would commemorate their arrival.

"Orlandu wishes to see you and your sister," Malak told Ramza when they were alone. He then looked to where the others were still gathered among the villagers. "Cloud, Delita, and the Prince as well."

"Orlandu…" Ramza repeated softly. "I had thought…" His eyes hooded with worry as he shook his head.

"The old man is still alive and obstinate as ever!" Malak grinned. "Why, it was only a few days ago that he went hunting with the other warriors of my village despite his old age! He insisted on going saying that he needed to keep his skills sharp. When they returned, however, he was wounded, suffering a huge gash on his leg, but he was smiling nonetheless of his kill: a cuar! Fierce beasts those cuars."

"Is that why he hasn't come to greet us personally?" Ramza inquired, chuckling softly at the story. That sounded just like Orlandu. "Because of his wound?"

Malak nodded and Ramza smiled. "Then we shouldn't keep him waiting!"

The Chief nodded once more and turned, calling to the others.

The villagers continued to entertain their other guests as Rafa led her friends to where Malak and Ramza waited. "Come," the Chief beckoned them with a wave of his rod. "I promised Orlandu that I would bring you to him once you arrived. He wishes to speak with all of you."

All nodded, understanding the importance of this meeting. For the first time in twenty years, they were finally gathered together, the 'army' that had gone against the ambitions of the Church to be later branded heretics and be forced into hiding. The people of Ivalice would refuse to believe that they had actually saved them, not only from the Church, but also from a greater evil called Lucavi. Now it was time to save the people once again from the Church that had realized their dream of ruling Ivalice these past fifteen years.

Ramza realized then that there was more to this reunion than it seemed. More so when there came a shout: "There he is, Alicia! Ramza Beoulve! The one who abandoned us!"

He turned to see two familiar faces, and yet, not familiar as he soon found out. Two women knights that he had met in Orbonne Monastery that he found to be pleasant company though strict in their duty, now seemed to be filled with bitterness and a contained sadness—as if they had suffered more than degradation and perhaps it was this that embittered them.

The one he had known as Alicia looked to be a shadow of her former self, her auburn hair long, tied into a thick tail that swayed in a wind that suddenly blew from the mountains. She stood rigid, a sheathed sword held in her hand as she stared blankly at the group.

But the other stared at Ramza with such…

He was not sure; anger was the word that came to mind, or even hatred. He smiled tentatively and saw the other's lips thin furiously, the gray eyes smolder.

Lavian appeared to have changed little during the past years, save for her demeanor, which has become unfriendly. She was dressed in trousers and tunic, and her brunette hair swung loose about her vexed face, backdrop to the anger there.

"Lavian, what is the meaning of this?" Malak demanded, moving to stand in front of Ramza. "Are you not glad that he has returned to us, has returned with the King who is the rightful ruler of Ivalice? Perhaps now we stand a chance against the Church. Do you not see that? We can help return peace to this country now that we are all gathered."

Lavian spat. "All gathered?" she sneered, her eyes flashing dangerously. "You forget that Meliadoul is dead and Lady Agrias is imprisoned and it's all his fault!" She stabbed a dark finger at Ramza's chest. "Alicia," she turned to her companion, "that's the man who's responsible for all of our suffering! That's the man you have to kill!"

"Lavian!" Malak gasped, holding his rod in a defensive position while the others drew their weapons. "How could you?" If Alicia were to attack, it would take all of their might to stop her murderous rage.

Randall knew this and so pleaded with Lavian, saying, "Mother, please! Don't do this!"

"Stay out of this, boy!" his mother returned harshly, not taking her eyes from Ramza's face. "Or you'll end up just like your father!"

"Rad! What have you done to him?" inquired Beowulf, his sword held at the ready.

"I'm fine."

A man appeared dressed in leathers like most of the villagers, wincing as he rubbed his head of short brown hair. "That was some blow…" he muttered, still rubbing his sore head where Lavian had struck him from behind with a metal pot.

"Father, you're all right!" Randall exclaimed relieved as he rushed to his side.

"Yes, I am," Rad nodded, "but I don't know about your mother." He looked towards Ramza and said, "It's good to see you again, leader," smiling. "Perhaps you can calm my wife with that charisma of yours. I was always drawn to her gentleness and I very much miss that quality in her."

"I'll try," Ramza replied comfortingly to his friend, but he doubted that he could calm the enraged woman. She had twenty years to fester this hate and it seemed it had reached its boiling point. He stepped forward to confront the knight, but Delita grabbed his arm, halting him.

"Be careful," he warned. "I ran into a similar situation in Zeltennia that would have ended in bloodshed if it were not for Raizen's timely intervention. This woman is ready to kill you. Also, if you haven't noticed, Alicia has the look of a berserker. If she attacks, we're in trouble."

Ramza nodded, taking heed to his friend's words. It explained much on why Lavian was ordering Alicia to attack and why the others had drawn their weapons. The situation would get worse if he didn't put a stop to all this madness.

He walked forward slowly as not to provoke the two women. "I know it's too late for apologies," he began as he stood in their midst, Malak and the others on one side and the two women on the other. "And I know it's too late to change certain events that could have saved you much suffering. Yes, I have left you, I do not deny that, but I left believing that you will all be safe if I simply disappeared." He then shook his head and sighed. "It seems that I have thought wrong." He then looked at each of their faces, his eyes burning bright as in the days he had led them through countless battles. "This is why I have returned. To undo all the wrongs the Church have committed against the people of this country, to ease all of your suffering, to deliver peace to all in this time of turmoil, and though no one would thank me for it, I do it because it is the right thing to do. We do it because it is the right thing to do. This is what Meliadoul would have wanted," he gazed at Malak, Beowulf, Reis, Mustadio, "this is what Ovelia would have wanted," then at Delita and Raizen, "and yes, even Agrias." He looked at Lavian and Alicia.

Ramza paused for a moment to let his words sink into his friends' minds and hearts before continuing: "Killing me would not solve anything save perhaps your need for revenge. What would you do once you've killed me, Lavian? My death would not bring back Meliadoul nor would it help free Agrias. But if we work together, we could save Agrias and help the people of Ivalice. Isn't that what you swore to do when you picked up your sword? To protect and serve the people?"

"That is our sworn duty," Rad agreed, looking at Lavian who seemed less confident now. "We swore an oath to protect the people from all forms of evil. This is our responsibility as knights or have you forgotten?"

"I…" began Lavian in a soft voice, then shook her head furiously, shouting, "No! You weave clever words, deserter, but I will not be fooled. Meliadoul trusted you. Lady Agrias trusted you. I trusted you. But look what happened! I will not fall for your promises again! Alicia, kill him!"

Ramza sighed as he drew his sword, disappointed that his words did not calm the woman down, only adding fuel to her hatred. Lavian was determined to have him killed. Perhaps this would end in bloodshed.

But the unexpected happened.

Alicia placed a hand on the hilt of her sword, but did not draw, as if considering the action.

Promise me that whatever happens from now on, you will not blame Ramza for it, but follow him as we had during the war.

Words from a past left behind echoed in her mind, searing her heart like a brand, and her hand withdrew. "No," she said, her voice coarse, rusty as an unused blade.

Ever since their return from Lesalia after the successful rescue of Meliadoul's friends, Alicia had not spoken a word. Hearing her voice again startled the others even Lavian, who stared at Alicia, her eyes wide with surprise.

"No break vow," Alicia said haltingly, reminding Ramza of how Worker 8 spoke. He saw a spark in her eyes, like a tiny flame flickering to life, and wondered if the old Alicia was returning.

"Vow?" Lavian asked incredulously, recovering quickly from the shock. "What vow?" she demanded, almost in hysterics.

"Gave word to follow Ramza," the redhead explained in her stumbling voice. "Promised Lady Agrias."

Lavian growled in frustration. "That vow doesn't matter now! Lady Agrias is in prison and it's all because of Ramza! Don't you see that?"

"No break vow," repeated the redhead sternly.

"Fine!" Lavian whispered sharply as she drew her own sword. "I'll kill him myself!" With a feral cry, she charged at Ramza, who stood ready, motioning to the others not to interfere.

Promise me that whatever happens from now on, you will not blame Ramza for it, but follow him as we had during the war.

Lavian faltered, but she continued to run, wondering why her vision had suddenly become blurry.

I'll have your word, Lavian.

She growled as she angrily wiped away the tears that came unbidden, still blindly charging.

You have my word, Lady Agrias.

She suddenly dropped her sword as she fell to her knees, weeping openly. "Why?" she sobbed softly. "Why did this have to happen? It's not supposed to be this way."

Ramza slowly walked up to her, his sword sheathed, and knelt by her quivering frame. "Lavian," he called to her gently, placing a hand on her shoulder, "everything will be all right. Believe in that, I pray you." He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before standing up as Rad and Randall approached. "Take good care of her," he told them.

"I will," Rad nodded. "I always did. Besides Randall, she is all I have left. Thank you, Ramza. You are truly a great man."

Ramza watched as his friend lifted Lavian to her feet and led her away, a comforting arm about her shoulders. Randall walked next to them, looking as worried as his father, and as equally relieved now that his mother was calmed. Ramza then looked to where Alicia stood aloof and smiled. "Thank you, Alicia. If it weren't for your words, Lavian would have gone through with her threat."

Alicia merely nodded, seeming to have reverted to her taciturn self, before walking away to follow Rad and his family.

Ramza took a deep breath and sighed, looking up at the sky, watching as a flock of birds flew back to their nests as the sun sank to the west. For an instant, he remembered the time he had bid his friends farewell and left with his sister to a destination unknown. It was a day as beautiful as this, he and his sister riding into the sunset. He had felt afraid and at the same time excited. He found it ironic to be reunited with his friends on a day similar to the day he had left them.

"Ramza?"

He turned at the call of his name and saw that the others waited on him expectantly, just as they had when going into battle. He smiled and said, "I think we've kept Orlandu waiting long enough."


Orlandu lay impatiently in the warmth of his lodge as two women tended to the gash on his leg. "Ladies, ladies!" he protested. "I'm fine! Really! It's nothing but a scratch!" They ignored him, however, applying womanly wisdom to damage and protests alike. The wound would be dressed and he had no choice but to comply, even when he heard the shouting and attempted to rise.

"Easy, easy." The one he vaguely remembered called Lynn set a hand against his chest and pushed him gently back. "Your leg has not properly healed yet for you to be out and about. Chief Malak promised to bring the visitors to you. Let them come to you, all right?"

"I'm…" Orlandu began to say, and then shrugged, sinking back. Might as well argue as tackle a behemoth head-on.

Even so, it was difficult to lie supine and impatient as all around the village exploded tumultuous. But wait he must until Lynn was satisfied and declared that the wound was well bandaged. The other woman, Flor, added her consent.

Besrodio, who had watched all that transpired, laughed at Orlandu's flushed features when the two women finally left. "Really, Orlandu!" he chortled, his gray mustache quivering in amusement. "I thought you would be delighted to be tended by two women, especially if they're as beautiful as Flor and Lynn."

"Perhaps you would be delighted, Besrodio," Orlandu retorted, rising slowly with the help of a cane Mustadio had crafted for him. "But all this attention serves only to annoy me."

"They're just worried about you," the old mechanic replied. "A man of your age normally does not go hunting; a man of my age normally does not go hunting. I know you were a master swordsman before, but that was years ago when you were still strong and—"

"You needn't remind me," Orlandu interjected curtly and Besrodio immediately became silent, knowing he had found the crux of the old man's frustration.

"I'm sorry, Orlandu," Besrodio apologized. "Forgive me. I shouldn't have—"

"No," Orlandu shook his head and sighed. "You're right. I am old and I'm surprised that I have lived this long." He then laughed softly in spite of himself. "Maybe the reason I have lived this long is that I'm still needed in this world, or more importantly, my sword." He sighed again and Besrodio saw the weariness in his eyes, noting that he looked suddenly very ancient, his features haggard. "To tell you the truth, I'm tired of fighting. I've fought in too many battles, killed too many people… Sometimes I wonder if that is what I'll be remembered for when I depart this life, as 'Thunder God Cid' instead of Cidolfas Orlandu."

"You are Cidolfas Orlandu," Besrodio stated firmly, "and you will always be Cidolfas Orlandu, or more affectionately known as 'Landu among the children of this village. They'll remember you as a caring and funny old man. The others will remember you as a man who fought to bring peace to this country. They'll honor you as that man, Orlandu, the man who fought for peace."

"Peace…" Orlandu looked at Besrodio and asked, "Can there be such a thing?"

Besrodio nodded. "I believe so and I'm sure the others believe this as well." He stared at the old man peculiarly as he asked, "Why such doubt?"

"Perhaps because I've fought in wars that were to bring peace, but only caused more bloodshed," Orlandu murmured darkly. "And now I sense another war is about to begin. Will this war lead to another war or will Ivalice finally see peace in its days?"

"I cannot answer that question for you, my friend," Besrodio looked apologetically at Orlandu as he shrugged.

"I never asked if you could, but thank you for listening." Orlandu then began to slowly make his way to the lodgeflap. "Enough of this prattle. It's best we save this discussion for another day, lest it dampens the festive air tonight."

Besrodio entirely agreed and both soon emerged from the lodge to find Mustadio and Rafa outside, Beowulf and Reis there. Orlandu wondered where the others could be.

"As I told you, obstinate as ever!"

That remark came from Malak who was escorting their visitors across the grass to the lodge along with Draco. Orlandu smiled then when he saw them and shouted in greeting: "It's good to see you again, my friends!"

"And to you as well, Orlandu!"

One of the visitors—a flaxen-haired man—grinned as he halted, staring at Orlandu with a mixture of relief and happiness. "It is as Malak says, you are obstinate as ever, walking around on that injured leg of yours. Still full of that knight's pride, I see!"

Orlandu had no doubt that the man he spoke to was their missing leader, Ramza Beoulve. He said, quickly lest any other—especially Malak with his quick tongue—answer on his behalf, "And you, Ramza, are as sharp as a dull sword!"

Ramza laughed then as he clasped hands with Orlandu, surprised to find the old knight's grip firm. It seemed age did nothing to weaken his spirit. "It's been twenty years and you're still the same!"

"Is it better if I have changed?" Orlandu asked.

"No." Ramza shook his head, then studied the old man and the others in turn. "Though time has changed us physically, our spirits will forever remain the same."

"Ach!" Orlandu made a dismissive fist. "Leave the pretty speech for the battlefield. Only celebrate for tonight we welcome the return of our leader!"

Another of the visitors frowned at the declaration, his brows furrowing in disapproval. "How could you celebrate at a time like this?" he questioned darkly.

"I am aware of the situation, your majesty." Orlandu turned to regard the man, studying him as if appraising a likely sword. "But it's best we save such matters for the morrow. All of you must be tired from your journey. Rest, eat, drink, and enjoy the hospitality of these people. Tonight is a night of celebration. Let's not spoil it with talk of battles and politics."

Delita's frown grew deeper, silently opposing the suggestion.

Raizen grabbed his shoulder and said, "Father, patience. We are not long come to Ivalice. Let's do as the old man," Orlandu slightly winced at those words, "says and rest, settle down. Then we can think of strategies to win back our people."

"Your son shows wisdom," remarked Orlandu as he stared at the young man thoughtfully, "a trait, no doubt, from his mother."

Delita grunted, giving a sidelong glance at Raizen. "Sometimes I wonder if she haunts me through him." He then looked at Orlandu and said, "It sits ill with me to wait. It seems the more we delay, the more suffering my people must endure."

"Wait," Orlandu urged. "All of us like none of this any better than you, but we are few yet. It's better we seek allies before declaring war against the Church."

Delita sighed, grudgingly agreeing with the old knight. "Very well," he muttered.

Orlandu nodded his approval. "Good. The first step into being a wise ruler is to know your strengths and weaknesses."

"And the first step into being a good leader is to know when to rest and relax," Ramza added cheerfully. "So, let us eat and drink to good company and to good fortune!"

"Is that an order, Ramza?" Beowulf asked mischievously.

Ramza caught the jest and grinned, answering, "Yes, Beowulf." He then looked at the group as a whole, his expression feigning seriousness, his eyes twinkling teasingly. "That is my first order," he continued in a somewhat solemn, yet impish tone. "See that you carry it out to the best of your abilities!"


Ramza and the others had no trouble joining in the festivities as they sat and mingled with the villagers, eating slabs of various meats including chocobo and panther, and drinking a special brew called paqwan. Mustadio had grown a liking for the drink, as Ramza observed, the Engineer gulping mouthfuls from the flask as Besrodio looked on disapprovingly while Rafa tried to take the flask away from him, reprimanding him in the process.

Across the huge bonfire, Alma sat with Aeris' mother and a few of the women villagers, talking animatedly among themselves and Ramza laughed when he saw Reis dragging Beowulf near the fire where other villagers danced to the beating drums and whistling pipes, forcing him to join in their dance.

Cloud looked quite at home as he sat next to Aeris, gesturing towards the lodges and the stars above. Then Aeris pointed towards the dancing villagers and Ramza assumed that she was asking if they could join them. The SOLDIER seemed hesitant, but nodded, and they soon joined Beowulf and Reis, who began teaching them the steps to this particular dance.

Ramza then looked for Rad or Lavian, hoping they would be joining them in their party despite the little mishap, but was disappointed when he saw no sign of them. Nor did he see Alicia among the people and wondered if they decided to stay away lest another incident occurred.

Randall's presence, however, compensated for their absence, seeing the boy scurrying about the camp as Draco chased after him, shouting something about a letter. Ramza gazed thoughtfully at the boy as he waved a piece of parchment in the air mockingly, sending Draco to another fit of frustration.

Ramza knew that Rad had fancied one of the women knights when they first met them at Orbonne, but he never thought that he was brave enough to act on those feelings, being that he was but a lowly squire at the time. Who would have thought that they would end up together? But it was true, Randall the living proof of that truth, and he could not help but smile at that.

Save for Delita, everyone seemed content, Orlandu talking with the children, Malak smiling as he overlooked the celebration, even Raizen showed to be enjoying himself as he helped Draco catch Randall. If this one night of merriment brought joy to all his friends, he was content as well.

And did any think of the strategic council, they set the thought aside: plans would be made, and were allies to be found surely they would side with Delita and Raizen. But that was for the morrow: this night was for celebration.

But little did Ramza know that out in the east, a more somber reunion was about to take place…


Bethla Garrison.

Called the impregnable fortress surrounded by steep cliffs on three sides and used as a front-line base during the Fifty Year War. It had also been used as the base for the Nanten during the Lion War where Prince Goltana would hold many war councils with various advisors. It was here that he commanded the Nanten and it was here that he died, betrayed by one of his own. The walls that protected him from the enemy without could not protect him from the enemy within.

The fort seemed to merge with the cliffs, appearing less like a man-made edifice than some natural protrusion of walls from the living rock, each having a special purpose in their design. The southern wall served as the gate into the fortress, a sentry stationed at the office there, whereas the northern wall led to where food and weapons were stored for those stationed at the garrison.

It is said that the fortress will never fall as long as those that defended it stood as strong as the walls that surrounded it. And so it remained today, a hulking bastion, a symbol of Ivalice's strength, housing a garrison of some five-hundred soldiers.

Bethla Garrison was not only known as a fort, but a prison as well, confining notable captives such as the former queen, Ruvelia, and former commander of the Nanten Knights, Count Orlandu.

Escape was nigh impossible. Even if one pass the numerous guards patrolling the corridors and walls, they would need to climb down the treacherous cliffs, which proved disastrous to many who tried, falling to their deaths seven thousand dorma below.

Ramia and Galvin had visited the fortress several times, unaware that deep within its bowels was a prison, a dungeon where none of the prisoners could see the light of day, where most have lost their sanity in its darkest corners.

Ramia felt stifled as she and Galvin followed the warden down the narrow corridor. The walls were rugged, having been cut from the cliffs themselves, the stairs no less uneven. It seemed that they've been walking down forever, the darkness endless until they saw a faint glimmer of light at the bottom of the stairs.

Here there were few torches on the walls, all three blinking at the sudden light as they waited for their eyes to adjust. The warden then shouted for the jailer, who came to meet them. He wore a black hood over his head, in the style of an executioner, and was a grim and ghostly figure in the shadows, disturbingly reminding Ramia of Death himself.

"The heretic," the warden said.

The jailer nodded and led them to a cell that was nothing more than a barred door set into a rock wall. He pointed silently inside.

Ramia peered in and saw a figure crouched on the floor of the cell hidden in shadow because of lack of light. She turned to the jailer, commanding him to open the door.

The jailer seemed uncertain, looking to the warden, who nodded in answer. "Do you need anything, Lady Ramia?" the warden asked as the jailer unlocked the door and swung it open. "Ink and parchment perhaps for the prisoner? She doesn't speak, you know."

Before Ramia could reply, Galvin spoke: "Why not?" It was an innocent question, but Ramia wished that he had not asked it, a painful reminder of the other 'punishment' Jaren had placed upon Agrias.

She closed her eyes in reflective thought as the warden answered, "Her tongue was cut as a precaution. She's a heretic, after all. We can't have her blabbering lies about now, can't we?"

Ramia found the warden's tone offensive. Her eyes snapped open and she glared at the man from the corner of her eye. "You're dismissed, warden," she said in a rigid voice. "Galvin, escort him back upstairs. Keep him company while I tend to things here."

Galvin nodded and waited on the warden as he gave instructions to the jailer to assist Ramia if she needed anything. When they finally left, Ramia entered the cell; the jailer closing the door behind, shutting out most of the light, making it difficult for Ramia to see the figure crouched in the darkness. She turned to the door and shouted, "Lantern, now!"

The jailer nodded silently and left only to return moments later with a lit lamp, opening and closing the cell door as he handed it to Ramia. The light was still dim, but it was enough to illuminate the whole of the cell.

She found her mother sitting on the floor, huddled at the corner, and as she approached, her mother flinched as if she was afraid of the light. Ramia placed the lamp down, away from her as not to frighten her, and moved slowly towards her, unsure of how the woman would react. When she finally reached her, she knelt down, looking intently at her, searching for any signs of the mother she once knew.

But what she saw pained her.

This person did not look like the Holy Knight that had fought in many battles, who had used her sword to protect others. The golden hair that had at one time shone gloriously now lacked that luster, hanging in scraggly strands about a much thinned face, the once proud features gone, all jutting bones and sharp angles. Eyes that used to mirror the sky on a clear day were now dulled, no longer sparking with life, but with despair. Even when Ramia called to her, those eyes remained empty, staring at nothing in particular.

But something stirred deep within Agrias' mind, the voice a faint light in her darkness…

Who was it that called her?

"Mother…" Ramia called softly again, determined to reach her.

Mother? Yes, she once was a mother so long ago…

"Mother? Mama?"

Mama…

Suddenly the light flared, becoming brighter, beckoning her to reach for it and once she did, a memory came to her. Someone was calling for her, crying for her…

A child.

Her child.

Ramia saw her mother's eyes slightly flicker in recognition and called out to her again, "Mama."

A daughter she left behind, a daughter forced to be separated from her, a daughter named…

"Mama, it's me, Ramia…"

…Ramia.

Ramia watched in earnest as those eyes suddenly focused on her, seeming to look at her for the first time. "Mama, I'm here…" She reached out to grab her hand gently, saddened to see that, like her face, it was thin and frail, incapable of holding a sword or of lifting a shield.

Agrias looked down at the gloved hand and began to remove the leather glove that covered Ramia's hand. When she was done, she studied her daughter's hand, feeling how rough her skin was, knowing it to be the result from years of wielding a blade. She was pleased to see that her daughter had taken the way of the sword, as she had hoped. She then looked up, her frail hands reaching out to touch her face, staring into her hazel eyes—so much like her father's!—reassuring herself that she was indeed real and not some phantom come to taunt her. Then, for the first time in fifteen years, she smiled as she embraced her daughter fiercely despite her weakened appearance, afraid that she would lose her again if she let go.

"Mama…" Ramia returned the hug as equally fierce, shedding silent tears, wishing for time to stop, for this moment to never end for when it did, it would mean risking losing her mother once again. She made a vow then that she would do anything in her power to liberate her from this prison even if it meant suffering on her behalf. Her grandfather had suffered the ridicule from the nobles and her mother was suffering now in this depressing prison. It would only be appropriate if she were to suffer as well.

But she could not entertain such troubling thoughts for long for she was too happy to finally be reunited with her mother.