A/N: Giving a head's up that there is sex in this chapter… although considering that even Chapter One of this story is pretty raunchy, I'm not sure why anyone would need the warning at this point, haha. And later in this chapter, we take a dive into Alma's memories. I hadn't originally planned to write very much from Alma's point of view… but lord knows I have very little control over where this story takes itself. We'll be spending as much time with Alma as we spend with Ramza and his crew, for the next few chapters, at least. Hope it's fun to read!

Chapter Fifteen

The group responded very enthusiastically when Ramza announced that he was willing to pay for rooms at the next inn they passed, on their travels through the outskirts of Gariland Magick City. A hot bath and a real mattress would be most welcomed by everyone.

They were still doing their best to be careful, and avoid detection by the Church's various groups. They decided they would bunk two people per room, and each pair was sent to the inn to purchase their room at different times throughout the day, so that they did not appear to be part of the same large group. Room renters were also entitled to use the bath houses attached to the building, and some of the team happily spent the larger part of their day simply soaking in the warm water.

They were doing their evening drinking at a tavern three blocks away from the inn. This tavern also had a dartboard, and it seemed that Rafa had developed a taste for the game. She had even purchased her own set of nicely weighted darts at one of the Outfitters they passed on their travels.

Rafa had asked Meliadoul to be her partner again, only this time they were playing against Rad and Luso. Rad was surprisingly bad at darts, while Luso was surprisingly good.

Meliadoul was only taking the occasional sip out of her ale. She didn't want to get anywhere near drunk tonight. Her mind was occupied with thoughts of the room she and Ramza had booked at the inn, and what would happen in it later.

Some of the others were not being so cautious with their drinking. Alicia had just very tipsily perched herself on Cid's lap, giving him a bawdy kiss on his bearded cheek. Ramza, Mustadio, and Balthier were sitting across the table from them, laughing.

Ajora, he is old enough to be her grandfather, Meliadoul thought, with a grimace. Agrias had just yanked Alicia off of Cid, and half-heartedly scolded her. Truthfully, Agrias had been laughing at the spectacle, too.

Alicia was whining that Lavian shouldn't get to have all the fun. But where was Lavian…? Oh. Meliadoul spotted the freckled blonde mage making out with the wiry dark Netherseer, Malak, over in a corner.

"Huh. Rafa, it looks like your brother has a girlfriend," Meliadoul commented.

"Oh, Lavian? Yes, I know about that. They've been sneaking off together some evenings," Rafa said.

"I did not even notice!"

"That's because you've been doing your own sneaking off," Rafa smirked.

Meliadoul sighed. "We really do not set very good examples for you, do we?"

"I'm not a child, I do not need 'examples' from any of you," Rafa said, marking her point by hitting the bullseye with a dart.

"Damn, Rafa!" Luso exclaimed. "You're doing better than I am!"

"Why don't any of you worry about setting examples for him?" Rafa complained, "He's only two years older than I am!"

Meliadoul laughed. She really was not on her best game tonight; if she didn't focus, then all of Rafa's skill would not be enough to spare them from losing at darts to Luso and Rad.

In the end, they won two games and lost once. Ramza walked over and slid an arm around Meliadoul's waist, and she agreed that she was definitely ready to leave the tavern.

After making sure that Agrias would keep a protective eye on Rafa until the girl joined Wulfhilda in their shared bedroom, Meliadoul and Ramza made their way back over to the inn.

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Room Eighteen was quite nice, although simple in its furnishings. Meliadoul exclaimed over the novelty of having an actual bed to sleep in, as she and Ramza took off their boots and cloaks.

Out of force of habit from her younger years, she began to wash her hands and face at the water basin provided in the room. Ramza walked up behind her, but he wasn't waiting for his turn to wash. His arms slid around her from behind, and he pressed his lips to the side of her neck.

Meliadoul sighed, leaning back against him. She tried to let her mind clear itself, after the chaos of the tavern partying. She was here now, with just Ramza, in a very quiet, comfortable room.

His tunic had come off before he even started kissing her. Meliadoul always thought that was rather cute, how Ramza ripped his tunic off the very moment it was socially appropriate to do so, each evening. He seemed to truly hate being confined in clothing, like he was some sort of wild animal who was only pretending at being a man.

The silvery-red ghosts of old wounds marked his body here and there, especially on his arms, as potions and white magic never managed to fully erase scarring. His pale skin tended toward being dry and rough, and his scars did not heal very neatly, leaving raised ridges. Meliadoul had a few bad scars herself, though on her smooth skin they mostly healed flat, and ended up only a faded pink color.

Scars and all, she thought he looked perfect in the glow of the room's candlelight. His bare muscles felt so strong beneath her fingers, and his shadowed dark eyes were so very intense as they slid clothing off of each other.

Sprawled together on the bed, a small moan of appreciation leaked from Meliadoul's mouth at the sight of Ramza's rigid cock being allowed to spring out of his laces, as he worked his tight trousers down his thighs.

It was something new for Meliadoul, to undress in front of a man with the candles still lit. But for once, she wanted to be seen, appreciated. Her belt and dress were already scattered on the floor beside the bed. Now, she slid her shift up her slender torso, over her head.

Her complexion was darker than Ramza's palest white, thanks to her Ordallian blood. Her body was sleek and strong, and her skin was so very soft as Ramza's fingers trailed over her left thigh, which bore a long scar and a dusting of downy blonde hair. Meliadoul wondered if he recognized that she had gained that scar on the day they first met.

She reached to pull him closer, fingers eagerly grasping Ramza's hair and the back of his neck while he slid his hand between her legs, parting her and finding her warm and wet inside. She arched against the touch, sighing in pleasure.

Meliadoul's own hand slid down his stomach, then wrapped around his hard length.

"I want you," she whispered, already feeling desperate for him.

Ramza moved to get up on his knees, to get atop her. He moved slowly, but his mind wasn't moving slowly enough to suit the occasion.

There had been so much build up to this moment, and now he felt so much pressure for everything to be perfect… So much, that it was turning out to be… well… sort of frightening.

For all his earlier confidence in his abilities, Ramza was suddenly afraid that he would not be satisfactory to her.

He felt so attached to Meliadoul already, and she was so beautiful, and he could always be himself around her, and that was frightening, as well. Another valuable thing he could lose. He suddenly wished they had just gone ahead and had sex in the tent, when he had been too wired on grief to allow worry to creep in.

Ramza froze, and then he lay down on the bed, moving onto his side so that his back was to Meliadoul.

"Ramza, what is wrong?" she asked quietly, her hand on his back.

"I… I do not know," he replied.

She thought that his voice sounded shaky, and higher than normal.

"Are you… feeling nervous?" she asked.

"Yes… I—I truly am," he replied.

She hadn't anticipated Ramza being nervous. He just always seemed so sure of himself, in everything.

"I am nervous, as well," Meliadoul admitted. It was the truth. She rubbed her fingers along his spine, stroking up and down in a comforting gesture.

Eventually, Ramza sat up and moved so that he was seated with his back against the headboard. He felt like he didn't even deserve her touch, right now. He pulled his knees up to his chest, defensively.

"I am sorry. I think… I just—just wish this night to be perfect for you, and now I cannot stop feeling that I shall…" he shrugged, "ruin everything."

Meliadoul remained lying on the bed, although she did pull the blanket up to cover her body. She craned her head back so that she could look up at Ramza, and placed her hand on his shin.

"I do not think you could 'ruin' anything… But it is all right. Even if we do not even touch each other again tonight! I have already had more fun in this bed with you than… well, than I have ever had in a bed before," she said, with a grin.

Ramza gave her a strained smile in return. He reached down and stroked some of her hair off her forehead. "I love you so much, Meliadoul," he said.

It meant a lot to her, coming from someone she knew to be so very honest.

"I love you, Ramza," Meliadoul said. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of his fingers slowly stroking through her hair, again and again. "I think I love everything about you," she sighed.

"Even my bald patch?" Ramza asked, trying to keep a straight face.

Meliadoul burst out laughing. She climbed out from under her blanket and sat up on her knees, leaning over Ramza. She pushed his blond hair to the side until she found the patch of shiny pink skin on his head, and she pressed a kiss to it. "Yes, you fool, even your bald patch," she replied.

Ramza was quite entranced by the sight of her pillowy naked breasts swaying in front of his face, as she messed with his hair. Making a low growling sound, he grabbed hold of her tiny waist and pulled her closer, opening his mouth to take her nipple into it.

Meliadoul gasped, bracing her arms on Ramza's shoulders as she straddled his lap. She kept her back arched, kept her chest pressed to his face, so that he would not stop what he was doing with his mouth. He nuzzled and sucked on her until both of her nipples were hard and aching.

She was grinding against his lap without even consciously realizing she was doing it. She just… wanted. She wanted to feel him inside her so badly.

Ramza grabbed hold of her hips and rolled until she was on her back. As he moved over her, she could see that his cock was, once more, big and thick and urgently at attention.

She spread her legs wide, and they both moaned as he drove himself home. It was all heat for her, all sparkling, tingling pressure. Ramza's well-muscled haunches rolled powerfully, as he rocked his way through each stroke, each moan and gasp from her. She raked his back with her short fingernails, and his eyes clenched shut as he groaned, before he asked her to do it again.

Meliadoul felt hardly coherent by the time Ramza spoke next. He rolled her over onto her stomach, and then he took hold of her round hips and lifted them up, his knees between her knees. She sighed contentedly when she felt the blunt head of his cock behind her, pressing against her opening again from that position.

When he slid inside, she cried out loudly.

"Does that feel good?" Ramza asked, his tone serious.

"I—yes! Oh, gods…" she was whimpering with pleasure, well past caring what she sounded like. Him filling her pussy like that, especially from this angle, was just more than she had ever imagined. There was such a tender need, deep inside, as he thrust into her again and again, gripping her ass firmly with his hands. He was doing something… touching her in a sweet spot she had not even known existed within her, so different from any pleasure she had ever felt at her own touch. She grabbed handfuls of the blanket in her fists, moaning his name now.

When she climaxed, she pressed her face hard into the mattress, muffling her voice so that she could yell out wordlessly, as loud as she pleased.

Ramza felt her squeezing him, rhythmically, so tightly that she was nearly shoving him out of her. He held on tighter to her hips, pulling her flush against his body. He moaned at the sensation.

"So good, Meliadoul," he said, when her muffled noises had subsided.

Meliadoul found she could feel it, too, as Ramza was getting close to finishing. It was as if his cock had grown even larger and harder inside her pussy, to the point that the bliss edged almost into pain. But her body loved it, and she wanted so much to feel what came next, what it would be like when he had his own pleasure.

Ramza gave a very hard thrust, holding her hips tight, keeping her sheathed all the way down his shaft, and Meliadoul was ecstatic, perfectly overwhelmed by the feeling of him so deep, taking her so completely, spilling himself inside her body.

She thought, even with everything they had faced lately, life really could be so damn good, sometimes.

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Alma Beoulve, along with the Templar squad that held her captive, had been ambushed by Lord Barinten's men not long after Izlude took Alma away from the monastery. What terrible luck, she had thought, at the time, to be kidnapped twice in one day!

And yet, she remembered it all fondly, now. The cold rain beating on her hair and face. Outdoors, feeling the elements, gods!

Izlude had obviously been out of his league, and bewildered to find himself also taken captive. Barinten had ordered Alma and Izlude placed in private cells, suitable for holding members of the nobility. They could not be left to rot in the common area of the dungeon with the rest of the riff raff, after all. Alma was one of the mighty Beoulves, and Izlude was the only son of the leader of the Templarate.

They were prisoners, but they were, nonetheless, esteemed prisoners.

Barinten, that asshole, hadn't even known that there was only one private cell left unoccupied in his dungeon. The knight and the two squires in charge of imprisoning Alma and Izlude had to mutter amongst themselves for a moment.

"Just chain him to the left wall and chain her to the right. They'll not be able to touch each other; I'd say it's as good as having two separate cells," one of the squires declared.

Izlude, already long-since stripped of his weapons and armor, was shoved over toward the left wall of the cell. Alma was rather more gently led toward the right.

The kidnappings, plus the stench and filth of this dungeon, were already bad, Alma thought. But the sight of the dirty chain attached to the wall greatly unnerved her. They wanted to attach that cuff to her! It was one thing to be kidnapped, but quite another to be chained!

Panic was welling up in her so fast that she felt light on her feet. "Please, do not chain me!" she exclaimed, to the knight who was guiding her by the elbow.

He seemed to feel a bit of pity for her situation. "I do not like it, Lady Beoulve, but it is for your own safety. The chains will keep him away from you," he said gently.

"You need only chain him!" Alma insisted frantically. "Sir, he abducted me! That fiend stole me away from my brother! Only chain him to that side of the cell, and I will gladly stay on this side, far away from him! No chain need keep me here!"

He looked uncertain.

"Please!" Alma begged, gesturing at the rusty cuff. "I cannot bear it!"

There were a few more minutes of discussion, in which he repeatedly made sure she would never, under any circumstances, step so much as a toe close enough to where Izlude could reach her.

Finally, it was agreed that they would not chain Alma, as long as she behaved during her stay in the dungeon. Alma hyperventilated with relief, as a few more arrangements were made, a spare cot brought from one of the upstairs rooms of the castle, a second chamber pot added to the room. The kindly knight did his best to see that she would not be as uncomfortable as the rest of the prisoners, before he took his leave.

So, now what? Alma wondered, a couple of hours later. After the adrenaline of two abductions and being hauled onto chocobos, ridden long distances, then thrown into a prison cell, it was kind of weird that now literally nothing was happening.

She supposed she ought to try to get some sleep.

When she awoke, her former kidnapper was still huddled in a ball on the floor, facing the wall away from her. He had not spoken since being chained, and that was for the best, in her opinion. It was his damn fault she was here in a dungeon, instead of safe with Ramza. If Izlude dared to speak to her, then she thought she might start ranting in rage at him.

Unfortunately, she really had to pee, which meant she had to break their silence toward each other.

"Do not turn around," she ordered haughtily, "I need to… I need privacy for a moment."

"All right," Izlude muttered listlessly.

Another couple of hours later, and Izlude still had not moved. The guards had brought them bowls of very plain food for dinner, and water to drink, but Izlude's servings sat untouched still. Eventually, Alma noticed that his shoulders were shaking.

"Are you crying?" she demanded. Her tone was cruel.

He did not reply, though he seemed to be trying to make his shoulders stop moving so much.

"What right have you to cry right now, Sir?" she spat angrily, "You are the reason I am trapped in a dungeon! If anyone ought to be weeping like a babe, it is me!"

Izlude let out a pathetic sound of misery. "It is only… th-they killed Thrydwulf and J-Johannes… my friends… they just l-left them… th-their bodies… in the mud…"

Now that he wasn't trying to hide his weeping, he sobbed quite a bit louder.

It had all happened so quickly when they were ambushed by Lord Barinten's men, but Alma did recall that Izlude's two companions were no longer present after the skirmish, when she was passed from Izlude's chocobo over to Barinten's soldiers.

She had huddled under her cloak, praying she wouldn't feel a sword biting into her flesh at any point during the fighting between the two groups. She hadn't really noticed or cared about the absence of Izlude's two henchmen, after the fight was over.

For that matter, why should she care if wicked men who had helped to abduct her were slaughtered? They were no better than the assholes who had kidnapped her best friend, Teta, and gotten her killed, four years ago. They deserved to die! If Izlude thought he was going to get pity out of her, then he could—

Izlude spoke again, his voice thick with snot and tears, but his words a bit steadier. "I know you have no reason to care about them… I am sorry you are here. I failed them, and now you are suffering for it, as well!"

Alma closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the stone wall. What in hell did he expect her to say to that? She supposed she at least appreciated that he was acknowledging fault in getting her stuck in a dungeon… but she wasn't going to say anything to comfort him. He didn't deserve comfort from her.

"Well," Alma dryly pointed out, "my suffering actually began around the time you kidnapped me, not just when you failed to defeat Barinten's men."

Izlude sniffled. "I never wished to kidnap anyone… Wiegraf was yelling at me to go, and take you, and I—I … there was no time to think! I did not want to fail Wiegraf, or my father… so I just did what he said… I wish I had not."

He sounded so young. In the short time since Alma had been stolen by this Templar who called himself a Nightblade, his face and hair had been so spattered with grime and the caked-on blood of his foes (or maybe even of his friends) that she really had no concept of his age or appearance.

"How old are you, anyway?" she asked.

"Seventeen," he mumbled.

Two years younger than she was. Gods, she had been kidnapped by a boy, not even a man. Kidnapped by a bumbling idiot who had gotten them both imprisoned here.

"Ajora," Alma muttered. "I wonder how long we will languish in here before we are ransomed? Ramza is nearby, of course, but I doubt Lord Barinten will bargain with him, since he has been named a heretic… my other brothers are halfway across the country! If they will even travel here to see me freed…"

"My father will certainly be here with all haste," Izlude assured her. "I swear, I will see that you are ransomed at the same time as me… I suppose I owe you that much, at least," he said sheepishly.

"Oh… well… thank you," Alma said, after a long moment's hesitation. She didn't want to say anything as polite as even a 'thank you' to this boy, but she was not about to reject an offer of help to escape a dungeon, either.

Izlude still had not touched any of his food, by midday the next day.

"You need to eat something," Alma eventually prodded him. "Your father will not ransom us if you have died of starvation."

Izlude shook his head miserably. "How can I eat?" he said, in a low moan. "When my friends' bodies have been left to rot by a roadside? I was supposed to protect them… This was our first big mission together!" His face, still covered in dried blood and mud, with random tear-tracks running through it, was scrunched up in misery. His fist furiously dug into the straw beneath him.

Alma shrugged. "All leaders lose soldiers in war."

"They were not just soldiers!" Izlude burst out angrily. "They were my friends! No, they were—were more, they were my—my family! They—they were—"

He looked like he was going to start crying again. Alma still refused to let herself feel pity for this stranger who had ruined her life, but that didn't mean that she wanted to see him cry.

"Would it help if we talked about them?" she asked quietly. "You know, there is truly nothing you can do about them being left by the road. You cannot escape this cell, Izlude… But if you like, we could talk about them. Have a funeral of sorts, right in here."

Izlude's clenched fists were shaking, but he nodded his head jerkily several times. "Yes. Yes, can we do that? Truly?"

Alma shrugged again. "I see no reason why not… So, their names were Johannes and…?"

"Thrydwulf."

"All right. Well… Tell me about them. The dead should always be remembered fondly, at a funeral. Then I will say the funeral prayers… I think I remember the words to all of them."

Izlude looked a little lost. "I… am not sure what to say about them?"

Alma sighed. The boy wasn't making it easy for her to help him. "Oh, I do not know… how about… when did you first meet them?"

Izlude took a deep breath. "I met them during our first year of squiring, when we were twelve. Thrydwulf and I, we got close right away." He gave a trembly smile, and the expression looked positively grotesque, through the dried blood on his face. "Most of the squires were homesick, and not much fun at first, but Thrydwulf was happy to be in the barracks. He did not have a mother back home to miss, just like me! Both of our mothers died birthing us."

"Oh. I am sorry to hear that," Alma said.

"Do not feel bad for me, Lady Alma!" Izlude insisted, "I have an older sister, too, and she looked after me, along with my nanny. I do not need your pity! But anyway, Thrydwulf was an asshole sometimes, but he was my best friend, too."

"Ah. All right. And what about Johannes, then?"

"Johannes, uh, we did not know too well until a couple months later. Some of the older squires started beating up on him. You see, he was really small when we were twelve, I guess they thought he was an easy target… But Thrydwulf and I, we liked him… I guess we sort of took him under our wing. We got in a lot of fights with the older squires until they stopped picking on Johannes. And it was funny, a couple years later, Johannes just started growing and growing. Then he didn't need anyone to defend him anymore, he got so huge. Did you notice how tall he was?"

Alma did remember that one of Izlude's henchmen had been an entire head taller and quite a bit broader than both Izlude and the other henchman, who was an archer. "Oh, so Johannes was the very big knight?" Alma said.

"Yes, that was him… He kind of hated being that big, too. He really was shy, he just did not like people looking at him. He never could talk to girls. Not like Thrydwulf. The girls always liked him, even more than they liked me! I guess I can admit that, now that he is de—" Izlude practically choked on the word. "Gods, I cannot… I truly cannot believe they killed Johannes," Izlude looked up at Alma, his eyes shining. "All those times we defended him, back then, and all our years of training so hard, for it to just be over, now… and Thrydwulf. By the gods… I never thought… this was not supposed to be like this! I chose them to come with me on this mission… Why did that fat fuck have to do this?!" he wept. "We were fighting to—to make Ivalice better for everyone… what monster would ambush us like that? Kill good men, who were doing the gods' work…"

Alma gave Izlude a moment to collect himself. She was rather surprised by his depth of emotion, as well as his naivete. He spoke as though it had truly never before occurred to him that his comrades might die in battle.

Perhaps the Templarate gave its squires a sugar-coated story, regarding what war was really like. Alma knew that Gariland military academy did no such thing. Ramza and Delita had certainly been made to understand that they generally wouldn't all make it out of a battle alive. Ramza's friend, a chemist called Reyner, had, in fact, died during Ramza's first battle with the Death Corps. He and Delita had been saddened to lose a friend, but Alma recalled they had not been weeping messes, like Izlude was now. The Gariland academy had a reputation for beating that sort of behavior out of its cadets early.

Of course, in Ramza's case, their father had probably completed that job before Ramza ever attended Gariland. Balbanes never saw fit to leave any room for what he considered mental weakness in his children. He had greatly disapproved of weeping, even from Alma. From one of his sons, it was utterly unacceptable.

Izlude's open shedding of tears made Alma soften a bit toward him, even though she did not really want to feel anything but disgust for him, as her kidnapper. It was only that it was hard to stay angry with someone who was so terribly honest and vulnerable and sad.

"Well…" Alma eventually said, "All right. Just tell me their last names, and I will start the prayers for Thrydwulf and Johannes, now."

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