Chapter Fourteen
They had all heard Adramelk mutter something about the Angel of Blood, as he died with Alicia's lance impaled through the top of his skull. They were not sure what the 'Angel of Blood' was supposed to be, but the words were ominous enough to give everyone pause.
Ramza was rather disturbingly driven, now. They were all treating the youngest Beoulve son with caution, after the fight with Dycedarg.
It was a truly awful situation. Ramza had learned that his eldest brother had secretly murdered his father, he had seen hapless Zalbag stolen by a demon, and he had seen his friends kill what was left of Dycedarg in the form of the goat-like demon Adramelk.
Even after they escaped Igros proper, Ramza had marched the team too fast, considering that the majority of them had just recovered from injuries by using potions and white magic. The body healed physically, certainly, but there was a general exhaustion left over, after such a procedure. It was not ideal to exert oneself heavily right after a potion-healed injury.
Once they reached a relatively safe place to set up camp, hours later, Cid and Agrias had to shout Ramza down to get him to agree to stop.
They all understood that Ramza was upset. Ajora, anybody would be, given the circumstances. One traitorous sibling dead, and the other stolen to the gods knew where… possibly even to some hell where the demons resided. Not to mention that Alma was still missing. There had been no trace of her at Igros castle.
In their tent that night, Ramza was uncharacteristically buzzed and alert. Meliadoul assured him several times that she would not judge him at all if he needed to weep, or even just talkabout it all.
Ramza wanted none of that. He did want to talk, only not about what had happened to his brothers. All his words were for the future, for their trek to Mullonde Cathedral in their continued search for Alma and the rest of the zodiac stones.
When Meliadoul wrapped her arms around him, it was almost as if there was a tense vibration just under his skin. He tossed and fidgeted, spastically threw out random thoughts and ideas as they came to him throughout the night. Meliadoul got the impression that he was focusing strictly on action, so that he wouldn't have to think too hard about his family.
She very much remembered that feeling, from the horrid day she had learned of Izlude's death. Except, at that time, she had turned all that pain and rage toward hunting Ramza, the supposed killer of Izlude.
It hadn't been a permanent cure. She hadn't managed to start feeling even slightly better until she had let herself face the grief head-on. She hoped Ramza would get to that point before they met with their next battle. She didn't think he would fight very well in his current mindset.
But she couldn't exactly force him to grieve. At her last attempt to mention Zalbag, Ramza had brusquely insisted that he didn't want to talk about it.
Come morning, the dark circles under his eyes looked practically painted on. Meliadoul was pretty sure he had not slept at all. She had only managed about one hour of sleep herself, what with Ramza's thrashing and murmuring. She didn't mind the sacrifice of sleep, though. It would have been worse to leave him alone with his mind so manic.
"We need to rest here for the day," Agrias insisted, when Ramza half-heartedly tried to get the team to pack up. She held up a hand against his sputtered complaints. "Some of us are still recovering! We need rest! And warm meals. I've already sent Alicia and Rad into town to buy us more food and more potions."
"All right. All right," Ramza relented, looking absolutely haggard. Giving up his attempt to pack up his supplies, he shuffled over to sit next to Construct 8 and have some dried rations for breakfast. At least the damn robot wouldn't give him the pitying looks he was getting from all of the humans.
Mustadio approached him a few moments later. "Ramza, if we're taking a day off marching, I think I should use this time to open up Construct 8."
"I… I told you I do not think that is a good idea… what if you break him? We do not know the limits of—of the stone's power to sustain him."
"Oh, for Ajora's sake, I won't break him! I told you, I just want to get familiar with his parts, in case he ever does break down! I'll be able to fix him faster if I already know what to expect in there," he thumped a palm a few times on Construct 8's metal shoulder.
Ramza heaved a sigh. He really did not feel good about letting Mustadio tinker with the robot. Construct 8 had turned out to be quite a useful weapon, and it would be a great loss if Mustadio's fiddling caused him to stop working entirely. They had argued about this a couple times already, on the trip from Goug to Igros. Ramza had strictly refused to let Mustadio open up Construct 8 for examination. He would rather trust the zodiac stone to keep the robot functioning, as it had so far.
Today, however, Ramza already felt his resolve weakening. He was exhausted and hurt and angry and sad, and he didn't think he could win a day-long argument with Mustadio right now.
"I… fine, let us ask him… Construct 8, will it damage you if Mustadio removes your back panel?"
"NO, MASTER." Construct 8 bellowed.
Ramza shrugged. "Then, go ahead."
Mustadio grinned, rubbing his palms together. "All right! But can you order him to go to sleep while I work? And, uh, hmm, maybe, um, order him not to attack me while I'm in there, either?"
Ramza listlessly gave the commands, as Mustadio happily grabbed his tools.
Most of Construct 8's back was comprised of one large, smooth sheet of metal that was attached to the rest of his torso with multiple small screws. Mustadio got to work unscrewing each of the tiny screws, until he was able to remove the panel.
"Huh! Well, shit!" Mustadio said.
"What is it, Mustadio?" Cid asked, walking closer to them.
"We should have done this sooner!" the machinist exclaimed, "There's a whole set of control knobs inside here!"
At this, even Ramza perked up a little. "Truly?" he asked.
"By the gods! We've had to listen to this stupid tin can shouting everything he says for the whole damn trip, when there was a fucking noise level control in here! It's been turned up to the highest setting this whole time." Mustadio said, as he turned the volume knob down to 'low'.
Cid chuckled. "What else is in there?" he asked, standing just behind Mustadio to take a peek.
"Hmm…" Mustadio said, "Looks like there's also a power level knob. And that's—that's been set on 'low' this whole time!"
"Whoa! We have to try him on 'high,' then," Ramza said.
"Just what I was thinking," Mustadio replied, cranking that knob up.
"Construct 8, wake up," Ramza said. He pointed at a thick tree standing perhaps thirty yards away. "Dispose of that tree!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, Master," Construct 8 replied, in a soft, melodious voice.
Then the unfortunate tree was blasted into oblivion. Construct 8's beam blew all the way through the large trunk, as what was left of the branches were thrown violently into the air, crashing into other trees on their way down.
Everyone had stopped what they were doing. "What in…" Wulfhilda breathed.
Agrias was stomping over. "Oh for—" she let out a few choice expletives. "Are you trying to let all of Gallione know where we're hiding?! Like as not, they heard that explosion all the way back at Igros Castle!"
Mustadio blushed. "I—I'm sorry, Agrias! W-we didn't know it would be like that!"
"Did you see that, though!" Cid exclaimed, "This machine could blast down a castle! That was incredible!"
Even Ramza was smiling a little.
Mustadio suddenly looked rather pale. "By the gods… Ramza… if he had been set to his high power setting when you ordered him to dispose of me…"
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"You know, I do not believe Cid was wrong. Construct 8 truly could knock down a castle… I must admit that is some comfort to me. Wherever the Templarate is hiding Alma, they will not keep us out, now," Ramza said.
Meliadoul winked out the little magicked ball of light she had been using to illuminate their tent for the evening. "They never could have kept you out, anyway," she said, honestly. "You would have found a way around them."
Ramza smiled in the dark. "…Thank you. Though you give me too much credit, as always."
"No. I do not." Meliadoul ran a hand lazily over his bare arm.
Ramza rolled closer, groping and finding her chin with his hand, and then kissed her heatedly. She returned his kiss, but she felt a little strange about it. He should be grieving, after all he had just been through. It had only been a day and a half since he lost his brothers.
This didn't really feel like grief.
Meliadoul wanted to get him to open up a little bit, but he had already made it abundantly clear that he did not want to talk about Zalbag or Dycedarg. So, breaking away from him eventually, she instead asked, "Ramza… have you ever thought about what will happen after we rescue your sister?"
After a long moment, he replied, "Well, yes. I think about it a lot… I think I will have to leave Ivalice. I cannot safely make a life here, as a heretic. I would put Alma in danger, if I tried."
"So…" she drawled, "where do you wish to go?"
He replied hesitantly, "I have occasionally thought about Ordallia, as a new home. I know we fought with them for decades, but the Ordallians I have met have been friendly people… And it would give me a safe haven from the Church, at least.
Meliadoul smiled. "My mother was from Ordallia."
"I know," Ramza said. His arm squeezed tight around her back. "Do you want to come with me, mayhap, if I go there? You could see your mother's homeland?"
Meliadoul was so pleased with the question.
Ramza went on to stammer, "I—I mean, I know you might rather try to reconcile with the Templarate once—"
"No!" Meliadoul said, "I definitely want to go with you! I would follow you anywhere, Ramza. Do you not know that, by now?"
They were kissing again, and the urgency was so much greater now. She welcomed his tongue inside her mouth, and Ramza's hand was quickly inside her nightgown.
This wasn't entirely new for them. Despite their best intentions to keep things chaste, he may have occasionally fondled her breasts, and Meliadoul may have also occasionally explored his body. But quite unexpectedly, Ramza slid his fingers down inside the front of her underwear.
She moaned quietly. She had been wanting him so badly… yes, just like that, wanting him…
Only, not really like this, her dizzy mind finally reminded her. She didn't want to be used, yet again, no matter what it felt like. She wouldn't let him use sex with her as an escape from facing his problems.
Meliadoul grabbed his thick forearm. "Stop, please, Ramza," she gasped.
"Just let me…" he groaned.
She grabbed his arm more forcefully and pulled his hand away.
"Did that not feel good?" he asked, sounding frustrated.
Meliadoul clenched her eyes shut. "Of course, it felt good! But… this is not the time! I— ugh, I do not want to remember that our first time together was in a sweaty tent, for one thing. I think you could do a bit better than that, Ramza! And secondly, you have just been through…" she struggled for words, "quite a lot. Really, quite a lot. And you will not even talk about it! I am worried for you!"
"I told you, I do not want to talk about it. Truly."
Meliadoul stared at his dark outline for a long minute. She looped an arm around him, moving closer again.
"He…" she gulped, hesitated, "He killed your father."
After a long moment, Ramza replied solemnly, "My father died a long time ago."
"You lost Zalbag, too."
Ramza's tone became angry. "I have lost many people!" he snapped. "I cannot dwell on it any longer! If I— if I sat here thinking about how much we have all lost, then I would never stand up again!" He was quiet for a moment, before he added, "There is still a chance for Alma. That is what I need to remember, right now. Please just… just do not keep pushing me to cry, or whatever it is you want from me, right now… I know you mean well, but… you could—could try to have some faith in me, I think."
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Alma realized she had been reading the same chapter of her book over and over again, but not actually registering any of the words. She gave up and set the book down on the lush carpet that covered the cold floor.
She was so bored. She thought probably not many people would ever understand the sheer boredom that came along with captivity, after the original fear and panic faded out. Some days she thought there was not much she wouldn't give for the chance to simply spend five minutes wandering freely outdoors.
After pacing Lord Vormav Tingel's spacious chamber a few times, she pushed at the door. She knew it would be locked from the outside (and even if it were not locked there would still be a knight posted right there to stop her from escaping), but she still tried to open the door a few times a day, even if from nothing more than idle curiosity.
Alma jiggled at the handle again. "Are you out there?" she called.
The sound of boots scraping a bit, nearby. So, yes, the guard was there. But Vormav had forbidden any knight guarding her door to speak a word to her. He didn't want to risk anyone getting to know her, getting fond of her… maybe deciding to help her escape. Alma had tried to speak through the door to the guards on many occasions, but she had never received any verbal replies, so far.
The only person she ever got to speak to these days was Vormav himself. And that was only a little bit better than being completely isolated.
Not that he treated her very badly, other than keeping her trapped in this room. Actually, he was rather eerily considerate of her needs. Always reminding her to eat enough, asking whether she had slept well the previous night, asking what he could do to make her more comfortable. When Alma complained that she needed more exercise, he had begun taking her for long walks through the hallways, after everyone else had gone to bed for the night.
If she tried, very hard, not to consider his motives, then she could almost pretend to appreciate his concern for her.
"You must endeavor to remain in good health, my Angel," Vormav often told her.
Gods, how she hated that nickname, coming from his demon mouth. She had never gotten a straight answer from him, when she occasionally demanded to know why he insisted on calling her that. He just gave her his empty smile and went on with whatever he had been saying. He sure did love to monologue when they were alone together.
How long had it been since he took her away from Riovanes? She was beginning to feel that her whole life had been spent trapped in this room, catered to by a man old enough to be her father, whose polite smile was belied by the most wicked, dreadful eyes.
She had learned that there were nearly no limits to what Vormav was willing to do, in order to keep her comfortable. She made ridiculous demands at times, simply to see if he would comply. And he usually did. She had once complained that she could only sleep well if she had a top cover made of minotaur hide. And not just any minotaur, oh no. It must of course specifically be a purple-gray sekhret hide, to suit her noble tastes.
Her jaw had nearly dropped when a couple days ago, Vormav had casually provided her with a sekhret-hide blanket. In truth, she had never even seen one before. She had only said it because she had once heard that queen Ruvelia owned such a blanket. The thing surely cost more than most families earned in a year.
Any food she wanted, even if it was out of season, Vormav would do his best to see that her desires were met. Because his Angel had to stay healthy, of course. The same went for books, or any other amusements she might require, to while away the endless days of imprisonment.
He only refused to provide her with anything that might be used as a weapon, or to open the locked door.
The windows of the chamber were only narrow slits that she would never in a million years be able to squeeze through to escape. Through them, she could see that the sun was now setting.
Vormav would be here soon. She felt the usual mixture of dread and excitement for his arrival. He was a Lucavi, and he was her captor, but… at least he was someone. He helped her stave off insanity each evening, with a bit of conversation and their walk together.
Vormav eventually brought in her dinner tray, and then he removed her used chamber pot, handing it to the guard in the hall to empty and bring back clean. Alma still found it odd that Vormav chose to handle such menial chores himself, rather than let a maid service her room.
Apparently, he was just that determined to keep her isolated from literally everyone else.
After their nightly exercise through the dark hallways, they came back to the room. She didn't have to order Vormav to turn and face the wall while she changed into her nightgown anymore; he just automatically did so. They had a routine, now.
Alma realized that he was a demon, not a man, anymore, and there was probably no reason to feel any sense of modesty in front of him. But still. She also looked away when it was his turn to change into his night clothes.
The large, lavish four-poster bed in the center of the room was hers. Vormav always slept on a small cot a few feet to the left, without complaint. He liked sharing the room with her at night. He liked being close to his Angel when he wasn't busy running the Templarate and plotting the destruction of the world.
Alma used her chamber pot again, then settled herself comfortably in her pillows and blankets, while Vormav left to empty the pot, since the guard on the door had already been dismissed for the night. Unfortunately, Vormav never forgot to lock her door behind him.
Alma idly surveyed her treasures, which were organized prettily throughout the room. Her gold-plated and pearl-encrusted hairbrushes and combs sat next to a similarly decorated hand mirror atop her wardrobe, which was full of expensive gowns she never bothered to wear. On the floor to the left of the dresser sat her neat rows of fourteen pairs of elegant shoes, each more beautiful than the last. Three of the pairs were made of real dragon scale. She had racked those up while she was still curiously testing the limits of Vormav's generosity.
She remembered the first time she had ever seen dragon scale shoes; she had been at a traveling market with Teta and Dycedarg. A shimmering violet-colored pair had caught Alma's heart at first glance. However, they were priced much, much higher than was practical for a pair of shoes, and Dycedarg flatly refused to buy them for her.
Teta had been so creative, and such a very sweet friend. After seeing Alma's disappointment, the girl had used her own small amount of pocket money to buy varying shades of purple and metallic thread, and she had embroidered an image of the dragon scale shoes onto a small pillow cover as a present for Alma, who had proudly kept the pillow displayed on her bed for years afterward.
And now, Alma owned not one, but three pairs of those shoes. She had originally told Vormav that she would be happier wearing dragon scale shoes, and particularly in the color purple. Shortly after, Vormav had provided her with said shoes. When she tried them on, she told him they were 'not quite right', and this time to buy her a pair in green scale, just a smidge smaller in size. She gave similar complaints about the green pair when it arrived, and demanded another pair in red scales… Vormav took it all in stride. He was not a materialistic person himself, content to wear his same two faded outfits over and over again, but he treated Alma's greed as if it were simply to be expected.
The dragon scale shoes were as beautiful as Alma had remembered them from that day at the market. But honestly, she would trade all three pairs just to have back the pillow Teta had made for her. She longed for anything connected to her old life, to her friends and family.
Upon his return, Vormav walked over, grabbing the edge of her minotaur blanket, where it was carelessly bunched at the foot of her bed. He exclaimed, "You have forgotten your sekhret cover! Shall I place it over you?"
"No. It is too heavy. I do not like it," Alma said. She had to fight back a laugh at the look of dismay on Vormav's face.
"But you are comfortable now?" he demanded anxiously.
She briefly considered telling him she was not comfortable, or that she felt ill, simply to watch him scurry around in a panic. But she had played that game too many times already, and it had gotten boring, as well. Everything was boring these days. She sighed.
"Yes. I am comfortable," Alma replied.
As always, before he blew out the last candle, Vormav pressed the Virgo zodiac stone into her waiting palm, watching it gleam brightly, with a look on his face that might be described as both worshipful and lustful.
In the beginning, she had tried to fight this ritual. She didn't want to hold the stupid auracite, especially knowing what it could do to her; what he seemed to hope it would do to her. She had once thrown the stone all the way across the room, after Vormav put it in her hand.
It had been the only time he had shown her a flash of rage. Clearly, he would not tolerate mistreatment of the stone. He did not care if she threw tantrums, otherwise, and he never lost his equilibrium when she tried to rebel. She had attacked him once, weeks ago. Startled him, jumped at him from behind, clawed, punched, and bit at him, thinking maybe she could steal the key to her room from his pocket and run away.
Vormav had hardly seemed to notice what small injuries she managed to inflict on him. It had seemed that his only concern was restraining her without harming her. He had even fetched potions to heal the swelling in her knuckles after she punched him!
Alma had had no more luck the night she tried to strangle him to death. She struck swiftly as he slept, pouncing right onto his chest as her hands locked around his throat, pressing as much of her weight down as she could, her thumbs trying to squeeze until they practically met her fingers on the backside of his neck.
She hadn't been strong enough. He had managed to pull her hands off of him without even grabbing her very roughly. At that point, he had warned her that he would have to shackle one of her wrists to the bedpost at night if she ever tried to attack him in his sleep again.
She hadn't tried again.
Now, Vormav looked longingly down at the Virgo stone flaring in her hand. "So soon, my Angel of Blood. I will provide whatever you need, I swear it. I am always yours," he crooned. He took the stone back when the flaring light eventually died down. "Sleep well," he whispered, blowing out the last candle.
Alma doubted she would actually sleep well, despite Vormav's earnest wishes. Angel of Blood. The words had terrified her the first time Vormav spoke them to her, with the stone in her hand.
What sometimes unsettled her lately, though, was the fact that the words felt… right. It was not strange to hear her pathetically devoted Hash… no?… Vormav, call her by that title. He existed to do her bidding, after all. He dared not call her by her true name. He occasionally called her Virgo, or High Seraph. Mostly, his Angel. But never… None of her lowly servants dared speak her true name aloud…
You don't have any servants, Alma blearily reminded herself. Such strange thoughts sometimes passed through her head as she tried to fall asleep each night. She wanted to picture Ramza's face, or her mother's, or Zalbag's, or Ovelia's, but their features kept getting mixed with those of a lion with the body of an enormous man, half drenched in blood. Her servants were working, though never fast enough…
Alma made herself conjure up the memory of Izlude's face, laughing even while in chains, and the overwhelming grief that slammed down upon her cut through all of the strange visions. He helped her stay strong even now, even from beyond the grave. She thought he would have liked to know that. In life, he had wanted so badly to help others.
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"Tell me, what did you mean when you said I could 'do better'?" Ramza asked during the next evening, as they were setting up their tent.
"Hmm?" Meliadoul said.
"Last night, you told me I could 'do better' than a sweaty tent. So, what qualifies as better? It is not as if I can take you to one of my old bedrooms in Igros, you know, even if we had stayed in the city."
At moments like this, Meliadoul understood why Agrias might have gotten tired of being with Ramza. He was not exactly long on charm. However, Meliadoul was only too aware that charming men often hid foul secrets behind said demeanor. She would choose Ramza's plain honesty, any day. She smiled at him. "How about a room in an inn, then? Would it not be wonderful to spend a night in an actual bed?" She added, "Gods, it is sad that that sounds like such a luxury these days."
Ramza raised his eyebrows mischievously. "And… you are feeling ready to do more than sleep, in this luxurious bed?"
She shoved his arm, grinning a little.
"I suppose… if I wear a hat and common garb, then it might be safe for us to hire a room at an inn," Ramza said. "If you definitely want to— I-I mean, we could hire the room even if you do not want to—you know. I… sorry. I hope you understand what I mean; we do not have to have—"
"Hush!" Meliadoul hissed, wrapping a hand over Ramza's mouth. She added, in a quiet voice close to his ear, "You were talking too loudly. I should rather not advertise the fact that we are talking about having sex for the first time with each other!" She gestured at the rest of the group, scattered about their campsite. "They all assume that we have already done it! You know they will make fun of us all the way to the inn, if they hear this conversation!"
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*****Author's Note: So, I'm trying to keep things fairly canon so far, but I'm actually going to be taking Alma in a rather odd (but I think also fun) direction in future chapters. I had a ton of inspiration for this story hit me, finally, over this past week. I actually wrote the majority of the next few chapters, but it may be awhile before they're ready to post, since I need to fill in some gaps here and there, and edit. Hopefully it won't take me another two months to get another chapter ready! Thanks for reading this story, if you've gotten this far!
