***Pre-Story Notes***
Yes, this section still covers Dorter Trade City. Still, its original stuff once more.
I added some more to this, so sorry if you've already read the previous version, there is a new segment however.
Oopsies, this will be a repost seeing as FanFiction.Net interpreted my thought bubbles which used chevrons as HTML and deleted them. Now expect parentheses instead to border thoughts. Originally it was because FanFiction.Net did not preserve my italic and bold text.
***Pre-Story Notes***
Chapter 02-03 "Pointless, Yet Significant" (Chapter Two: The Manipulator and the Subservient, Scene 03)
***January 1st, Year 2 The Slums of Dorter Trade City***
The discomfort at the table had increased. Not in the mood for idle chatter, Agrias kept quiet, eating her meal. Ramza had finished ahead of her, and patiently waited. The way he looked around the room unsettled Agrias. He did not gawk at her, to ogle her body. But he didn't look past her either, to pretend to ignore that she was there, that there was no conflict. The fact that he maintained direct eye contact with her further made her wary as she finished her strips of meat and downed it down with a meager amount of 'juice' that Ramza was having, which was partially fermented, as it had some bite, and Agrias knew a spirit when she tasted it. The oily texture, and the salty taste of the bread was mixed by the viscous run of the juice with its bittersweet tang.
Normally, direct eye contact was shared by either people in an intimate fashion, or in a state of challenge. Agrias did not think either one was appropriate. Purposely raising her right eyebrow, Agrias asked in a voice that was far too casual, "I understand that you are hiding things from us. Not all of it may be relevant to the one who kidnapped Princess Ovelia, but the lack of faith is critical."
She wasn't surprised to see Ramza nod and accept her statement. Yes, it was truth as she saw it, but she did wish for the boy to at least defend himself. He deserved enough respect in her eyes to at least refuse that accusation, and to bring up his own points. The boy either seemed to regard her declaration as insignificant, or he did not want to confront the situation.
"I became a mercenary," he told her, "to run away from my past. I didn't want to abandon it and begin anew though." Gently, he stood up, seeing that Agrias had finished dining. He glanced over at the bar and gave the barmaid / ex-squire a friendly nod. She waved the used steins in her hands, gesturing that she would take care of it.
The Holy Knight almost groaned as he held his hand out to her. She accepted, allowing Ramza's ungloved palm envelope her equally unclothed fingers. (His skin is smoother than mine . . ). Agrias thought, (the bastard!) She felt his palm had less calluses than hers, and none of the blistered scars hers had. To make it worse, her skin still felt raw from the fire spell she had been struck with. "You expect to return," she told him. "That, or you cannot even let go of who you were to change the way you act."
"Both. Deep down, I do hope to return, but I do not want to be accepted into what I have run away from," Ramza confessed, as he lead her upstairs, taking the straps on the scabbards of their swords into his left hand.
Agrias shook her head, allowing herself to be lead back upstairs. She didn't need to look back to know that all the other eyes in the bar below were following her ascent. (Like a little boy . . .) Agrias pondered, feeling patronized, but tightening her grip on his hand. Ramza looked ahead, upstairs as they continued, while Agrias walked her right hand along the banister.
"You've gone so far," she told him. Agrias could see that much. "But, why have you not gone further?" she asked him. "The decision to return to what you once were is not even in your hands . . ." She raised her voice slightly from the low tone she had been using. "Did you, do you, are you different from what you once were? Truly changed . . ."
"I know what I once was is wrong. My ignorance was burned out of me," he told her, his pale tan eyes clear, as if allowing her in, begging her inside. "I have slain and regretted it . . ." he let out. "Not because I killed, but because later on I realized . . . had I the knowledge . . . if I knew how it truly was, I would have fought alongside them, or at least found a way to spare their lives."
Agrias was tempted to let the boy go on as they reached the second floor and went up another flight of stairs. She knew the destination was not her room, but he was still male, and that fact alone was enough for her to harbor doubt against him in that form. But, to let him go on would lead to him spilling out his heart to her, what little of it he would share, and she did not want to be cried on. So . . . she told him what she had guessed. (He's too young to have fought in the war, and its obvious he's spent time in Gallione . . .) "The Knights of Death."
Instinctively, he replied. "The Death Corps," he corrected her. Agrias was disappointed that the boy willingly gave up that information.
(Are you toying with me too? Showing only certain portions of yourself, selecting which bits of truth to give me . . . to gain my sympathy, my support, my care? All of what you show me is the truth Ramza, but the presentation is the deception.) Agrias pondered in her mind.
"That was not the name I knew them by," Agrias told him. She could also not stand their walking any longer. "Where are you taking me by the way," she continued, interrupting her own line of discussion.
"The roof," Ramza replied. "Its private enough," he continued.
Agrias counted for a few moments, remembering what she did in childhood to keep from lashing out physically against a momentary annoyance. You fought the Knights of Death?" she asked him, her interest rising in the boy.
Ramza nodded. "What was left of them, at least. Without any nobles supporting them, they no longer were knights." Ramza's statement, bordering on the offensive, was honest, if not blunt, blunt in the sense of a sledgehammer being dropped onto a chocobo's egg, which was an apt analogy for Agrias' temper.
"Those people were 'just' enough in my eyes . . ." Agrias let out even as Ramza opened the door leading to the roof. The air was not as stale as the bar's, with a hint of a slight tang that accompanied the wetlands.
"I know that, we knew of what they did," Ramza told her, and Agrias wondered if she was being appeased. "When we faced them, the other cadets and I took on their remnants." He led her over to the lipless edge of the tavern. The material they were on was a flat expanse of plastered wood, not thatch or earthen shingles. Agrias sat down first, taking his cue.
The fact that Ramza wouldn't lie about such a trivial detail bothered Agrias. (Melodrama beyond description . . . why couldn't he simply have an over-inflated ego?) "At the time," he told her, "their leadership had dissolved, and the individual factions were fighting each other for the best course of action."
"I knew some of them," Agrias pointed out, confirming what she had already given away. She regretted saying that as she saw Ramza nod, taking in her words, and she felt a momentary echo of compassion from her at the pain he emanated.
"We had been sent to retrieve a spy who had infiltrated their ranks, but he was already dead."
"Retrieval usually doesn't include sending out armed men, even if you were fresh cadets."
Ramza shrugged. "It was almost an excursion for us. Others could've done it, but the Hokuten Knights were short of ready soldiers."
"You weren't expecting peace, but bloodshed," Agrias concluded.
"The Hokuten wanted the Death Corps annihilated to the last man and woman who carried their badge," Ramza agreed. "The end began for them when their revolt was marked as a wave of banditry and murderers, stripping them of their martial legitimacy."
"Oh, 'Mitigating Circumstances'," Agrias bitterly quipped. "A year ago, there was trouble in Gallione," she recalled. "It never escalated to the point where intervention was required from the other provinces," (so I wasn't involved,) Agrias didn't add. "But the idea of a peasant revolt, especially one by a coherent military unit of peasants, was frightening."
"When they revolted," Ramza told her, "it was in vain if it was for their lives."
"For their lives it was in vain?"
"They opened the door," Ramza told her. "They had no noble support: no base, no logistics, no comrades but themselves. A quick death or imprisonment was inevitable for them, but they proved that revolt could be possible, with those elements."
Agrias shook her head. "The same could be said of the Fifty Years War. Ivalice entered in with initial success but was unable to account for Romanda across the channel and the ability to maintain the invasion, and it fell in on us." She leaned back where she sat, sliding her legs out from under her to let them dangle over the edge. It was dusk, and twilight had arrived, the sky a deep blue, and a pale crescent of the moon an argent slice, the rest of the sphere dimmed in the deep blue of the night sky. "I fought to keep the same peoples our country invaded fifty years before from claiming our own lands. Ivalice may have learned from its mistakes, but I think not. Those that could have died from other mistakes made before their lessons could be taught."
"Even now, we hover on the brink . . ." Ramza murmured, referring to Ivalice's current state of turmoil, from within not without.
"Don't talk like that!" Agrias rebuked him, growing nervous as she remembered where they were on the third floor -aka the roof- of the tavern. Her exclamation served as a creator of brevity. Ramza chuckled after that statement.
Consciously, Agrias waved her dangling legs about, realizing how cool the draft was as she pressed her linen robe down, sealing the openings as best she could.
She realized that their talking was not focusing on what really bothered her, so she changed tracks. "I want to ask why you act the way you do, but I only know I'm going to get an answer I wouldn't want at all."
". . ." Ramza kept quiet. "I would like to ask you this as a man . . ."
Agrias was taken aback, and her guard went up. Unconsciously, her left hand, the one away from Ramza crept towards their swords while her right hand tensed up in preparation to strike. Fear, distrust of the three- legged race began to bubble up in anticipation of what may be unless she prevented it.
"Why do you ask us questions we can't possibly answer?" Ramza inquired, simply, with a tremor of fear in his voice.
Agrias blinked, before she interpreted what he was saying. She bit back her urge to laugh, feeling the tension that had built up within her be released. She felt some shame along with her amusement; she had overreacted and nearly gone to the point where she would have drawn on the boy. As it was, her pride decided to salvage the situation by taking her sheathed sword onto her lap.
"Ramza?" She began in a voice that was all too sweet and soft. The alarm in his eyes was gratifying to her. She gave him a slight smile, one that did not reach her eyes, which now held his in turn. The calmness in her stoic features emphasizes this as she took a deep breath. For effect, she caressed the hilt of her own mithril sword. "Do you think I'm fat?"
***
Sitting together on the roof, the two warriors reclined, continuing to watch the stars. They kept each other company in the silence between them, listening to the sounds on the street below, as well as the other denizens of the surrounding rooftops. Agrias spent most of her life either in the capital of Lesalia, in a monastery, and a year on the battlefields that Zeltennia had been turned into.
The noises of the people, talking, arguing, and laughing, was as chaotic as the orders and cries were at the front. The sound of the constant loading and unloading was also reminiscent of the chaos she had been through. Most of the people wore drab gray and browns that almost made them blend in against the buildings and the packed-dirt streets.
The Holy Knight became very conscious of her status. She wasn't a noble, but she still came from a family with a history of service beginning with her parents. Not only because of her innate skill and ability was she able to become who she was today. She wondered, had she been born as one of the children of the people below, would she still be the same? Not simply Agrias the Holy Knight of the Order of St. Konoe, but Agrias the person, with all the attributes -and even some flaws- she held dear.
Deep down, she knew she wasn't as pious as she should be. Almost none were, and those who were true to who they are and what they believe in never resemble the righteous.
"Losing your religion?" Ramza murmured, snapping Agrias out of her reverie, startling the Holy Knight.
(Is he really like this?) Agrias asked herself once more. "Excuse me?" Ramza had probed a very volatile topic, and Agrias found herself tempted to snap back.
"Believing in a God that would allow all this."
Agrias was tempted to tell him that it may be a test of his faith, but she too realized, how wrong that sounded. It trivialized the troubles of the other person, dismissing the issues they faced and giving them an ideal, while not false, was all too ethereal. Faith was something best left to oneself, not dictated by another.
"There have been times for me as well," she said back, probing the subject in her mind, and finding herself recoiling. Whether it was from true refusal or the fear of finding out the truth, Agrias didn't know. It was both, but to what degree was each severe? Agrias turned to another path of thought. "Ramza, even if those who were your masters claim the righteousness of God as justification for what they do, you know what is just according to St. Ajora in your mind."
Softly, the boy shook his head, blinking in confusion. "That wasn't what I meant Agrias. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have tried to make a comparison."
Shaking her head, Agrias allowed herself to lie back on the tavern's roof, staring up into Ramza's lowered gaze. She should have felt nervous that someone was above her while she lay prone, exposed, yet she only felt concern mixed with annoyance and her wisdom screaming at her to both be wary of, and to welcome the boy. "Don't apologize, just tell me what it was you were trying to get across. Be blunt, be harsh, just tell me the truth." she said tiredly, finding her current position, setting, and company a very soothing combination. Idly, she sidled her sheathed sword over her stomach, caressing the hilt's guard.
"Is your religion to you what my nobility was to me?" Ramza asked her. Tilting her head slightly, Agrias bade him to continue. "My stature was something I always took for granted, something I ignored. Because it was a part of me, a constant."
"Something that was always there," Agrias finished for him. She graced him with a confused look of her own. "I can't answer that question Ramza. For one, it came from nowhere."
"Go on." Ramza urged.
Agrias raised her voice almost playfully. "Second, we don't know each other well enough so none of us know enough about ourselves. Third. I don't know at all, and I'm not sure that I want to discover how."
"I didn't mean to make light of your faith."
"You didn't, unless you made light of which you are, or were." Agrias told him. "Do you just want to hear me say nice things about you to make you feel better?" she put bluntly.
"I wouldn't mind," Ramza replied just as jovially.
Agrias made a face, and Ramza blinked in surprise, before laughing. Taking the hint that it was inane to go on, he gently pulled himself back from the rooftop's edge and came to rest on his knees.
Once more, Agrias accepted his hand as she took both of their swords in her right hand. After giving Ramza back one of the sheathed blades, Agrias walked on ahead of him. "Ramza," she called back to him. "Ask me again soon."
"After I am able to tell you just who I am." Ramza replied.
"Its all I ask."
The two walked back inside the building and down to the second story where Agrias' room was. Comically, Ramza strode ahead and opened the door to the room Agrias was sharing with the other women. It would've been a sweet scene had not Alicia and Lavian been on the other side of the door, giving the two curious looks. Lavian pretended to go back into her reading of the scriptures while Alicia resumed her maintenance on the knights' equipment.
Feeling embarrassed, Agrias sidestepped into her room and shut the door almost immediately. As Ramza stood there dumbfounded when the door slammed in his face, the portal opened up again in the same capricious manner. "Thank you for cheering me up tonight. though I wonder why I should feel so carefree at a time like this."
"You have a strange idea of 'cheer'. Noble, peasant, or somewhere in between," Ramza replied happily, "we're all human."
"Tempter," Agrias jokingly accused as she shut the door in on him.
Wisely, Alicia and Lavian opted to stay quiet, pretending to ignore the exchange for the sake of their commander's dignity, or stuck-up, stubborn pride as they would have called it.
***
***Author's Notes***
There's the official end to tonight's scene. I'm tempted to go off and make another scene that compliments this. It'll deal with two different settings: La Suite Des Femmes Fatales or the Drunk Tank on the first floor dealing with the Mercs. Somehow, it seems too complicated, and I simply want to move the story along though until I reach the end of Chapter Two. Augmentations like those will just slow me down, though they are relevant. but a bit too much in terms of content and lacking in subtlety.
Don't expect those bonus sections, though they are nice ideas to entertain.
Both segments of the scene ended differently than I thought they would (the original planned endings were darker). Somehow, though unlikely, I opted for the brighter outcomes. No need for over- dramatization yet. Plus, its more realistic to end it on a happy note. The plot moodswings are something that will come along soon enough.
What really sucks is Ramza' and Agrias' speech patterns are identical.
Seriously, their arguments might as well be a person debating with themselves. The more you read, the more this feature (perk, flaw, its what you make of it) will become apparent.
I still cannot write a female perspective properly, but then again, is that just me trying to milk sympathy?
Ah, rhetorical questions!
Still, if you have any feedback, be it compliment, criticism, or question, just drop me a line.
***Author's Notes***
***Readers' Response Corner***
Hn, thank you for your feedback, I appreciate it. The support is welcomed, and pardon me for being too lazy to e-mail you in response.
Erm, yeah, the focus on Agrias being angry is something that you shouldn't worry about.
She IS pissed.
Agrias FAILED in her duty to protect the princess. If anything, I failed to display the rage and desperation she must be feeling. She's disregarding Gafgarion as support outside of brute force, so she's taken it upon herself pretty much to right her wrongs.
Plus, people like Ramza WILL piss you off. Its too good to be true, yet, that's how he is. Even if he's not acting out, its still aggravating to meet someone who is such a contradiction. His attitudes are far too contradicting, as has been pointed out repeatedly by Agrias in the story.
The woman is stressed, but her anger isn't in malice. Keep that in mind. She's not lashing out in malice, but she IS letting Ramza know that he is yanking her chain.
***Readers' Response Corner***
Yes, this section still covers Dorter Trade City. Still, its original stuff once more.
I added some more to this, so sorry if you've already read the previous version, there is a new segment however.
Oopsies, this will be a repost seeing as FanFiction.Net interpreted my thought bubbles which used chevrons as HTML and deleted them. Now expect parentheses instead to border thoughts. Originally it was because FanFiction.Net did not preserve my italic and bold text.
***Pre-Story Notes***
Chapter 02-03 "Pointless, Yet Significant" (Chapter Two: The Manipulator and the Subservient, Scene 03)
***January 1st, Year 2 The Slums of Dorter Trade City***
The discomfort at the table had increased. Not in the mood for idle chatter, Agrias kept quiet, eating her meal. Ramza had finished ahead of her, and patiently waited. The way he looked around the room unsettled Agrias. He did not gawk at her, to ogle her body. But he didn't look past her either, to pretend to ignore that she was there, that there was no conflict. The fact that he maintained direct eye contact with her further made her wary as she finished her strips of meat and downed it down with a meager amount of 'juice' that Ramza was having, which was partially fermented, as it had some bite, and Agrias knew a spirit when she tasted it. The oily texture, and the salty taste of the bread was mixed by the viscous run of the juice with its bittersweet tang.
Normally, direct eye contact was shared by either people in an intimate fashion, or in a state of challenge. Agrias did not think either one was appropriate. Purposely raising her right eyebrow, Agrias asked in a voice that was far too casual, "I understand that you are hiding things from us. Not all of it may be relevant to the one who kidnapped Princess Ovelia, but the lack of faith is critical."
She wasn't surprised to see Ramza nod and accept her statement. Yes, it was truth as she saw it, but she did wish for the boy to at least defend himself. He deserved enough respect in her eyes to at least refuse that accusation, and to bring up his own points. The boy either seemed to regard her declaration as insignificant, or he did not want to confront the situation.
"I became a mercenary," he told her, "to run away from my past. I didn't want to abandon it and begin anew though." Gently, he stood up, seeing that Agrias had finished dining. He glanced over at the bar and gave the barmaid / ex-squire a friendly nod. She waved the used steins in her hands, gesturing that she would take care of it.
The Holy Knight almost groaned as he held his hand out to her. She accepted, allowing Ramza's ungloved palm envelope her equally unclothed fingers. (His skin is smoother than mine . . ). Agrias thought, (the bastard!) She felt his palm had less calluses than hers, and none of the blistered scars hers had. To make it worse, her skin still felt raw from the fire spell she had been struck with. "You expect to return," she told him. "That, or you cannot even let go of who you were to change the way you act."
"Both. Deep down, I do hope to return, but I do not want to be accepted into what I have run away from," Ramza confessed, as he lead her upstairs, taking the straps on the scabbards of their swords into his left hand.
Agrias shook her head, allowing herself to be lead back upstairs. She didn't need to look back to know that all the other eyes in the bar below were following her ascent. (Like a little boy . . .) Agrias pondered, feeling patronized, but tightening her grip on his hand. Ramza looked ahead, upstairs as they continued, while Agrias walked her right hand along the banister.
"You've gone so far," she told him. Agrias could see that much. "But, why have you not gone further?" she asked him. "The decision to return to what you once were is not even in your hands . . ." She raised her voice slightly from the low tone she had been using. "Did you, do you, are you different from what you once were? Truly changed . . ."
"I know what I once was is wrong. My ignorance was burned out of me," he told her, his pale tan eyes clear, as if allowing her in, begging her inside. "I have slain and regretted it . . ." he let out. "Not because I killed, but because later on I realized . . . had I the knowledge . . . if I knew how it truly was, I would have fought alongside them, or at least found a way to spare their lives."
Agrias was tempted to let the boy go on as they reached the second floor and went up another flight of stairs. She knew the destination was not her room, but he was still male, and that fact alone was enough for her to harbor doubt against him in that form. But, to let him go on would lead to him spilling out his heart to her, what little of it he would share, and she did not want to be cried on. So . . . she told him what she had guessed. (He's too young to have fought in the war, and its obvious he's spent time in Gallione . . .) "The Knights of Death."
Instinctively, he replied. "The Death Corps," he corrected her. Agrias was disappointed that the boy willingly gave up that information.
(Are you toying with me too? Showing only certain portions of yourself, selecting which bits of truth to give me . . . to gain my sympathy, my support, my care? All of what you show me is the truth Ramza, but the presentation is the deception.) Agrias pondered in her mind.
"That was not the name I knew them by," Agrias told him. She could also not stand their walking any longer. "Where are you taking me by the way," she continued, interrupting her own line of discussion.
"The roof," Ramza replied. "Its private enough," he continued.
Agrias counted for a few moments, remembering what she did in childhood to keep from lashing out physically against a momentary annoyance. You fought the Knights of Death?" she asked him, her interest rising in the boy.
Ramza nodded. "What was left of them, at least. Without any nobles supporting them, they no longer were knights." Ramza's statement, bordering on the offensive, was honest, if not blunt, blunt in the sense of a sledgehammer being dropped onto a chocobo's egg, which was an apt analogy for Agrias' temper.
"Those people were 'just' enough in my eyes . . ." Agrias let out even as Ramza opened the door leading to the roof. The air was not as stale as the bar's, with a hint of a slight tang that accompanied the wetlands.
"I know that, we knew of what they did," Ramza told her, and Agrias wondered if she was being appeased. "When we faced them, the other cadets and I took on their remnants." He led her over to the lipless edge of the tavern. The material they were on was a flat expanse of plastered wood, not thatch or earthen shingles. Agrias sat down first, taking his cue.
The fact that Ramza wouldn't lie about such a trivial detail bothered Agrias. (Melodrama beyond description . . . why couldn't he simply have an over-inflated ego?) "At the time," he told her, "their leadership had dissolved, and the individual factions were fighting each other for the best course of action."
"I knew some of them," Agrias pointed out, confirming what she had already given away. She regretted saying that as she saw Ramza nod, taking in her words, and she felt a momentary echo of compassion from her at the pain he emanated.
"We had been sent to retrieve a spy who had infiltrated their ranks, but he was already dead."
"Retrieval usually doesn't include sending out armed men, even if you were fresh cadets."
Ramza shrugged. "It was almost an excursion for us. Others could've done it, but the Hokuten Knights were short of ready soldiers."
"You weren't expecting peace, but bloodshed," Agrias concluded.
"The Hokuten wanted the Death Corps annihilated to the last man and woman who carried their badge," Ramza agreed. "The end began for them when their revolt was marked as a wave of banditry and murderers, stripping them of their martial legitimacy."
"Oh, 'Mitigating Circumstances'," Agrias bitterly quipped. "A year ago, there was trouble in Gallione," she recalled. "It never escalated to the point where intervention was required from the other provinces," (so I wasn't involved,) Agrias didn't add. "But the idea of a peasant revolt, especially one by a coherent military unit of peasants, was frightening."
"When they revolted," Ramza told her, "it was in vain if it was for their lives."
"For their lives it was in vain?"
"They opened the door," Ramza told her. "They had no noble support: no base, no logistics, no comrades but themselves. A quick death or imprisonment was inevitable for them, but they proved that revolt could be possible, with those elements."
Agrias shook her head. "The same could be said of the Fifty Years War. Ivalice entered in with initial success but was unable to account for Romanda across the channel and the ability to maintain the invasion, and it fell in on us." She leaned back where she sat, sliding her legs out from under her to let them dangle over the edge. It was dusk, and twilight had arrived, the sky a deep blue, and a pale crescent of the moon an argent slice, the rest of the sphere dimmed in the deep blue of the night sky. "I fought to keep the same peoples our country invaded fifty years before from claiming our own lands. Ivalice may have learned from its mistakes, but I think not. Those that could have died from other mistakes made before their lessons could be taught."
"Even now, we hover on the brink . . ." Ramza murmured, referring to Ivalice's current state of turmoil, from within not without.
"Don't talk like that!" Agrias rebuked him, growing nervous as she remembered where they were on the third floor -aka the roof- of the tavern. Her exclamation served as a creator of brevity. Ramza chuckled after that statement.
Consciously, Agrias waved her dangling legs about, realizing how cool the draft was as she pressed her linen robe down, sealing the openings as best she could.
She realized that their talking was not focusing on what really bothered her, so she changed tracks. "I want to ask why you act the way you do, but I only know I'm going to get an answer I wouldn't want at all."
". . ." Ramza kept quiet. "I would like to ask you this as a man . . ."
Agrias was taken aback, and her guard went up. Unconsciously, her left hand, the one away from Ramza crept towards their swords while her right hand tensed up in preparation to strike. Fear, distrust of the three- legged race began to bubble up in anticipation of what may be unless she prevented it.
"Why do you ask us questions we can't possibly answer?" Ramza inquired, simply, with a tremor of fear in his voice.
Agrias blinked, before she interpreted what he was saying. She bit back her urge to laugh, feeling the tension that had built up within her be released. She felt some shame along with her amusement; she had overreacted and nearly gone to the point where she would have drawn on the boy. As it was, her pride decided to salvage the situation by taking her sheathed sword onto her lap.
"Ramza?" She began in a voice that was all too sweet and soft. The alarm in his eyes was gratifying to her. She gave him a slight smile, one that did not reach her eyes, which now held his in turn. The calmness in her stoic features emphasizes this as she took a deep breath. For effect, she caressed the hilt of her own mithril sword. "Do you think I'm fat?"
***
Sitting together on the roof, the two warriors reclined, continuing to watch the stars. They kept each other company in the silence between them, listening to the sounds on the street below, as well as the other denizens of the surrounding rooftops. Agrias spent most of her life either in the capital of Lesalia, in a monastery, and a year on the battlefields that Zeltennia had been turned into.
The noises of the people, talking, arguing, and laughing, was as chaotic as the orders and cries were at the front. The sound of the constant loading and unloading was also reminiscent of the chaos she had been through. Most of the people wore drab gray and browns that almost made them blend in against the buildings and the packed-dirt streets.
The Holy Knight became very conscious of her status. She wasn't a noble, but she still came from a family with a history of service beginning with her parents. Not only because of her innate skill and ability was she able to become who she was today. She wondered, had she been born as one of the children of the people below, would she still be the same? Not simply Agrias the Holy Knight of the Order of St. Konoe, but Agrias the person, with all the attributes -and even some flaws- she held dear.
Deep down, she knew she wasn't as pious as she should be. Almost none were, and those who were true to who they are and what they believe in never resemble the righteous.
"Losing your religion?" Ramza murmured, snapping Agrias out of her reverie, startling the Holy Knight.
(Is he really like this?) Agrias asked herself once more. "Excuse me?" Ramza had probed a very volatile topic, and Agrias found herself tempted to snap back.
"Believing in a God that would allow all this."
Agrias was tempted to tell him that it may be a test of his faith, but she too realized, how wrong that sounded. It trivialized the troubles of the other person, dismissing the issues they faced and giving them an ideal, while not false, was all too ethereal. Faith was something best left to oneself, not dictated by another.
"There have been times for me as well," she said back, probing the subject in her mind, and finding herself recoiling. Whether it was from true refusal or the fear of finding out the truth, Agrias didn't know. It was both, but to what degree was each severe? Agrias turned to another path of thought. "Ramza, even if those who were your masters claim the righteousness of God as justification for what they do, you know what is just according to St. Ajora in your mind."
Softly, the boy shook his head, blinking in confusion. "That wasn't what I meant Agrias. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have tried to make a comparison."
Shaking her head, Agrias allowed herself to lie back on the tavern's roof, staring up into Ramza's lowered gaze. She should have felt nervous that someone was above her while she lay prone, exposed, yet she only felt concern mixed with annoyance and her wisdom screaming at her to both be wary of, and to welcome the boy. "Don't apologize, just tell me what it was you were trying to get across. Be blunt, be harsh, just tell me the truth." she said tiredly, finding her current position, setting, and company a very soothing combination. Idly, she sidled her sheathed sword over her stomach, caressing the hilt's guard.
"Is your religion to you what my nobility was to me?" Ramza asked her. Tilting her head slightly, Agrias bade him to continue. "My stature was something I always took for granted, something I ignored. Because it was a part of me, a constant."
"Something that was always there," Agrias finished for him. She graced him with a confused look of her own. "I can't answer that question Ramza. For one, it came from nowhere."
"Go on." Ramza urged.
Agrias raised her voice almost playfully. "Second, we don't know each other well enough so none of us know enough about ourselves. Third. I don't know at all, and I'm not sure that I want to discover how."
"I didn't mean to make light of your faith."
"You didn't, unless you made light of which you are, or were." Agrias told him. "Do you just want to hear me say nice things about you to make you feel better?" she put bluntly.
"I wouldn't mind," Ramza replied just as jovially.
Agrias made a face, and Ramza blinked in surprise, before laughing. Taking the hint that it was inane to go on, he gently pulled himself back from the rooftop's edge and came to rest on his knees.
Once more, Agrias accepted his hand as she took both of their swords in her right hand. After giving Ramza back one of the sheathed blades, Agrias walked on ahead of him. "Ramza," she called back to him. "Ask me again soon."
"After I am able to tell you just who I am." Ramza replied.
"Its all I ask."
The two walked back inside the building and down to the second story where Agrias' room was. Comically, Ramza strode ahead and opened the door to the room Agrias was sharing with the other women. It would've been a sweet scene had not Alicia and Lavian been on the other side of the door, giving the two curious looks. Lavian pretended to go back into her reading of the scriptures while Alicia resumed her maintenance on the knights' equipment.
Feeling embarrassed, Agrias sidestepped into her room and shut the door almost immediately. As Ramza stood there dumbfounded when the door slammed in his face, the portal opened up again in the same capricious manner. "Thank you for cheering me up tonight. though I wonder why I should feel so carefree at a time like this."
"You have a strange idea of 'cheer'. Noble, peasant, or somewhere in between," Ramza replied happily, "we're all human."
"Tempter," Agrias jokingly accused as she shut the door in on him.
Wisely, Alicia and Lavian opted to stay quiet, pretending to ignore the exchange for the sake of their commander's dignity, or stuck-up, stubborn pride as they would have called it.
***
***Author's Notes***
There's the official end to tonight's scene. I'm tempted to go off and make another scene that compliments this. It'll deal with two different settings: La Suite Des Femmes Fatales or the Drunk Tank on the first floor dealing with the Mercs. Somehow, it seems too complicated, and I simply want to move the story along though until I reach the end of Chapter Two. Augmentations like those will just slow me down, though they are relevant. but a bit too much in terms of content and lacking in subtlety.
Don't expect those bonus sections, though they are nice ideas to entertain.
Both segments of the scene ended differently than I thought they would (the original planned endings were darker). Somehow, though unlikely, I opted for the brighter outcomes. No need for over- dramatization yet. Plus, its more realistic to end it on a happy note. The plot moodswings are something that will come along soon enough.
What really sucks is Ramza' and Agrias' speech patterns are identical.
Seriously, their arguments might as well be a person debating with themselves. The more you read, the more this feature (perk, flaw, its what you make of it) will become apparent.
I still cannot write a female perspective properly, but then again, is that just me trying to milk sympathy?
Ah, rhetorical questions!
Still, if you have any feedback, be it compliment, criticism, or question, just drop me a line.
***Author's Notes***
***Readers' Response Corner***
Hn, thank you for your feedback, I appreciate it. The support is welcomed, and pardon me for being too lazy to e-mail you in response.
Erm, yeah, the focus on Agrias being angry is something that you shouldn't worry about.
She IS pissed.
Agrias FAILED in her duty to protect the princess. If anything, I failed to display the rage and desperation she must be feeling. She's disregarding Gafgarion as support outside of brute force, so she's taken it upon herself pretty much to right her wrongs.
Plus, people like Ramza WILL piss you off. Its too good to be true, yet, that's how he is. Even if he's not acting out, its still aggravating to meet someone who is such a contradiction. His attitudes are far too contradicting, as has been pointed out repeatedly by Agrias in the story.
The woman is stressed, but her anger isn't in malice. Keep that in mind. She's not lashing out in malice, but she IS letting Ramza know that he is yanking her chain.
***Readers' Response Corner***