Chapter Six
Doubt on both sides
"The enemy is camped out beyond the northern river." Clive said as the war council started convening. A few days march from the north of Castle Zofia, and the shocked Rigellians and rebel Zofians finally stood their ground near the northern part of that region. "A focused armored core and a cavalry battalion, but my concern is their witches."
"Witches, huh?" Alm said, slightly nervous. Having desired to learn more of their enemy, he dived deep into what they knew of them, and of all their might, the one that worried him the most were the enigmatic witches. Powerful magi that sacrificed lives to Duma, they were both effective combatants and can teleport to any location, making them a troubling thing to account for.
Still, he was a leader, and he has to show no fear. "Tell the men to be wary, they can pop up at any moment to ambush us, so we simply have to prepare for that inevitability. Tell me the terrain, Clive."
"Clear open plains, with a river wide river parting our forces." Clive elaborated. "The bridge is being held by their armors, too entrenched to be removed by our fliers. If we decide to ford, more than likely their witches would pick us off from afar."
"What if we try to go around it?" Tobin suggested. "No need to fight when we can simply move around them."
"Except for the fact that their cavalry will most likely get there first, kiddo." Python said wryly, leaving Tobin dejected. "Like it or not, we'll have to fight on their terms. Doesn't mean we can't win though, even witches fall to a good shot between the eyes."
"Indeed." Alm concurred. "We may be playing into their hands, but we will show them that we're not to be underestimated. Zofia will take back her kingdom with our own two hands."
This rallied the council, who nodded in agreement. Alm was getting used to raising the morale of his fellow soldiers, perhaps he was finally getting used to leadership. "Now then, let us discuss our plans further; I'm sure we can reach an agreeable solution."
"Are you daft? The enemy is right beyond us. Let us go and crush them." Fernand fumed, raising his fist.
The man beyond him, dressed in full silver armor, was not amused. Zackson tucked a lock of black hair behind him and looked him in the eye, disdain hidden in his expression. "Orders are orders, we were asked to hold this point, and we will. No one's going anywhere."
"Grrr…" Fernand gritted his teeth at the man who defied him. "True knights do not hide like cowards, we fight, knave!"
"Listen, Zofian, the only reason you're hear is because Lord Berkut wants you here." Zackson said, finally tired of his accusations. "If he wanted you beaten and broken, I wouldn't mind using my spear to teach you a lesson in humility." The threat made the former Deliverance member flinch internally. "So shut your mouth and follow my orders, or you'll wish you had."
Fernand said nothing, gritting his teeth at frustration. This was the first time he was going to fight for Rigel, and he was more than eager to prove himself. And now this man Zackson was commanding him, telling him not to engage the enemy. The powerlessness he felt made him feel uneasy, and more importantly, unimportant.
"Now if there's nothing else, go back to your post." Zackson said with a slight sneer towards this new upstart defector.
Storming out of the main tent, Fernand was seething with rage. He wanted to shout and vent his frustrations to the sky, but his image as a noble prevented him from doing so in front of so many soldiers. So he simply paced back and forth from camp, wondering what to do.
"That damnable Zackson" He thought. "He hides like a coward while our enemies continue to build up their forces. If I were in charge I would crush them like ants!"
Then an idea hit him, it was a very dangerous idea, one that could very well end him but nevertheless still tempted the edges of his mind. He wanted to show Rigel that he was on their side, and that he would, without a doubt, fight with them to take Zofia was their right by strength.
Smirking, he walked towards the cavalry quarters, and barged in the tent of the captain of the cavalry brigade, whose name he knew but forgot. When he was a knight in Zofia, he would remember the names of his subordinates and those under his command, no matter who they were.
Pushing that time out of his mind, he addressed the captain. "You lot are coming with me, we're heading out to engage the enemy."
The captain, an unassuming man dressed in dark armor, stood immediately straight at the sight of him. Hearing his command, he immediately interjected. "B-but Commander Zackson said-"
"I know what he said, you fool." Fernand barked out, intimidating the captain. "I was sent here personally by Lord Berkut, and you WILL follow my orders."
Properly cowed, the captain bowed down. "Y-yes sir, should I…inform Commander Zackson?"
Fernand glared at the mention of that name again, and the already frightened captain immediately ran out, presumably to assemble the rest of the cavalry troops.
Sighing once again, Fernand found himself overall disappointed at what he saw. The Rigellians here comprised of nobles and commons, but it was the nobility that had full command as it should. But the nobility he saw so far, excluding Lord Berkut himself, were either cowards or schemers, possessing none of the traits of honor that he expected.
Leaving the tent, he simply waited until the mewling captain rounded up the soldiers. Once he did he rode on his own beautiful white stallion, with a shining mane and a graceful, almost angelic demeanor, one of the few things he kept from his Deliverance days.
Looking back and assessing his, no…the men, he saw that some of them were confused, some of them were ambivalent, and some were even resentful that they were being led by a former Zofian, nothing like the warm looks of the Zofian knights. It didn't matter. Victory was the only true judge of war.
"Hear me well, men of Rigel." He began speaking. "We are here to claim Zofia under the rightful rule of Rigel. The Zofians have sullied their own name for too long, and now it's our time to show them the right way to lead."
As he spoke, memories flashed in his mind. It was a similar sight to the one he's seeing now, except he wasn't the one speaking. It was Clive, with Mathilda by his side. He spoke with such fervor and passion that the men cheered on for him, not a one withholding their praise. And then, as though those memories were what he saw instead of the reality around him, Clive looked at him and smiled, and the men cheered for him as well.
Pushing those thoughts out of his mind, he realized that he finished his speech without thinking. He had forgotten what he had said, but he found that the men before him did not cheer for him as in his memory. And that only increased the feeling in his chest that made him so angry.
Pushing those thoughts of what once was aside; he turned around and charged, hoping that the men behind him followed.
"Sir!" A tired scout charged in the war room, surprising everyone present. "The Rigellians are charging towards are position."
"What?" Clive said immediately, gripping the table. "But why would the Rigellians give up such an important defensive advantage. It makes no sense."
"Perhaps they got sick of biding their time." Alm suggested. "Or maybe they mean to catch us unawares."
"No, they aren't usually this reckless…" The season general thought, wondering why they were attacking when as they are. Alas, an answer didn't come to him, save that he felt that he wasn't going to enjoy this battle in particular. "I think it's best if we send a splinter force to engage them, while the rest of the army holds back and await any further surprises from them."
"I agree." Alm said, and the rest of the war council nodded. "Clive, take Tobin and the rest of our cavaliers. We'll be right behind you in case anything else happens. Faye and Clair, cover them in case they need to retreat."
The general simply nodded and headed out, Tobin accompanying him. The rest of the meeting was simple contingency plans should anything unexpected happen, and then a quick and rushed exit to prepare for the looming enemy.
Clive was not a little bit anxious when he finally rode upon his horse, prepared to leave camp. His gripped his spear tightly, and wonder why he felt this unease. Was he scared that they finally decided to kill Mathilda, his one and only love? Or something else…
"Make sure you stay safe, alright?"
Turning around, Clive saw that Faye was seeing Tobin off. The two nodded at each other before Tobin readying his new mount, a normal brown buck. After making final preparations, the group of cavaliers marched forward, ready to face the enemy.
"WHAT?!" Shouted Zackson, who slammed his metallic fist onto the table, a visible hole forming on its wooden surface. The soldier who reported was unused to his commander's sudden outrage, but he nevertheless stood firm.
"Lord Fernand has taken the cavalry to charge at the enemy." Said the soldier, who showed neither admiration nor disdain. "They haven't gotten far, but they're most likely approaching the banks of the river."
"DAMN HIM." Zackson said, slamming his fist down again. He questioned bringing that arrogant traitor here from the beginning, only silencing due to lord Berkut's glimmering recommendation of him. But now he's charging headfirst to the enemy, compromising their defensive advantage in the process.
Reeling in his anger, he sat back down on his seat and pondered his decisions. He could, of course, let him charge into the enemy and die. That would remove him and make him all the happier for it, but he'd lose a significant part of his men while doing so. On the other hand, supporting him would mean defense would be unsustainable if he lost.
Muttering over this decision for what seemed like a long time for him, he gritted his teeth. On his honor as a Rigellian, he's going to fight to protect his men. They may have disobeyed his command, but he put that blame solely on the Zofian that led them to such foolishness.
"Ready the men." He said, solemnly. If this was his last battle, so be it. "We're going to help that damn fool."
His soldiers saluted before leaving. Sighing, Zackson sat back down and took out a parchment. He wasn't arrogant enough to think that victory was guaranteed. His numbers were few, and more would be thinned by Frenand's reckless assault. But at the very least, if he died, he would die with honor.
With not much time left to spare, he began writing his possible final letters, to send to his family and spouse back in Rigel.
Clive's forces arrived at the riverbank first, their horses trotting about. Clive eyed the other side of the river's edge. He could see them in the distance, charging towards him. The images were getting clearer with each passing second.
Rigellians, with mounts of brown and black, their armor as dark as their expressions. Except one was suspiciously out of place among them. It looked like…
His heart sank immediately as he saw who it was. The silver haired knight seemed to notice him too, and only offered a glare of contempt in response. The forces were ever closer to clashing, yet Clive felt sick, as though he could throw his spear at any moment.
"Sir, what do we do?" A fellow soldier asked, apparently he wasn't the only one shocked at the betrayal. The men behind him were gasping and muttering as well.
"Hold formation." Clive motioned, hoping there wasn't any cracks in his voice. He can't be wavering, not now. "We'll repel them here."
Despite the confusion, the knights did as they were told, maintaining a defensive position. The enemy was almost upon them, their gallops thundering. One of them began to shout, then the other, and now all of them of shouting out, trying to intimidate their foe.
All hell broke loose as the two groups finally clashed, horses crashing against one another in a tide of steel and flesh. The Zofian cavalry held strong, but the Rigellians simply intensified their charged, shouting and screaming as steel clashed on steel.
Clive speared a foe off his horse, as he and all the other bodies began to be trampled by hooves, crushed into a bloody pulp. Another foe tried to unhorse him, but he simply ordered his horse to sidestep the blow, and retaliated even faster, downing him.
CLANG!
He barely raised his spear in time to block that fast blow, before swatting it away from him. He eyed his new foe…and his old friend, Fernand.
No words were exchanged as chaos and death was around them, there was just an empty silence. Fernand didn't look remorseful; he merely raised his spear and went for another thrust. It was met with a skillful parry, as the two met in a stalemate once more.
"Why?" Clive asked, not wanting to say anything more, for he'd be threatened to break if he did.
Fernand simply scoffed as he landed another blow, which was met with a block. Both knew the moves of the other, their offense, defenses, and skills. It was truly a battle of people who once knew each other fully.
"You very well know why." Fernand said at last, his voice laced with hatred. "You took the country I once held dear and brought it low, old friend. You allowed commoners and upstart serfs stand on equal ground with their betters."
"I did what I had to free Zofia." Clive said, his voice getting louder. Suddenly the battle became lost to him. There was only him and the man in front of him, the man he trusted so much, the man who once meant as much to him as his sister. "And for that you willingly turn to the one who started this conflict in the first place?"
"Rigel still has ideals worth holding on to." Another clash, another stalemate. Fernand's mouth suddenly grew into a knowing smile. "Shall I entertain you with a secret? The boy you claim as leader was never Mycen's grandson."
"What?" Clive said, aghast. "Lies, Fernand! That's untrue."
His answer was merely a chuckle from Fernand. "Ah, but the doubt in your voice gave you away. You always were too earnest for your own good. But ask yourself truly, why you haven't heard of this supposed grandson until now."
Clive beat back another vicious assault, but his mind still reeled from the sudden realization. Recalling the old man back in Castle Zofia, who claimed Mycen never had a family of his own. Was he wrong in entrusting Alm with command of the Deliverance? Was Fernand…right?
Farther away, Tobin loosed another arrow into the fray, landing square into a Rigellian's chest. Smirking, he quickly loosened another one and another one. The line was holding firm against the brutal onslaught, two Rigellians lost for every Zofian. He was having a good feeling about this…
…which was quickly ended as a blast of fire was launched right into the allied cavalry, utterly blasting several units at once. The blast came from behind, and turning around revealed the elusive and dangerous culprit.
They were wearing an elegant robe of dark red and black, with purple skin. Beautiful yet revolting, their purple skin and glowing eyes gave it all away. Witches…
Turning his attention to the now assault flank of the cavaliers, Tobin quickly loosened an arrow at the witch. However the arrow did not land, instead hitting purple mist as they disappeared, presumably to cause havoc from another direction.
"Damn it." Tobin grunted, already seeing the effects of those damned souls first hand. The Rigellians gained more of a foothold thanks to that attack, pushing the Zofians ever so slightly back. If any more of those attacks happened, it won't be long until they'll be forced to retreat altogether.
"Tobin!" A voiced called out as Faye swooped down in a flash and slashed her spear at a witch, leaving a deep cut into her side. Afterwards flying near where Tobin was. "The rest of the army is marching down the centre bridge!"
"Just what we need, more bad news" Tobin thought. "Does Alm know?"
"Yeah…he's marching the rest of the army down to meet them." Faye said, with a hint of worry in her voice. "We're ordered to go there, so you guys need to hold them off here."
At first he thought about complaining, or even asking if they could help, but then he saw the worry in her face. She wasn't worried about Alm, she was worried about him. Sighing, he simply said. "Got it, we'll manage."
"Tobin…"
"Go." The archer said, cracking a dour smile. "I'll be fine. He needs you."
Returning the smile with one of her own, Faye flew far away, leaving Tobin and Clive's men alone to fend for themselves. Another blast of fire struck. Not even bothering to look at the damage, Tobin immediately loosed an arrow at the witch, landing square in the chest and killing her.
"Good, that's one more down." He thought grimly.
Now the simple battle that once raged throughout the eastern bank has become more complicated. It all depends on whether the witches can be killed before they do too much damage. Succeed, and the changes of holding them off here would be more than enough.
Fail in the attempt and the cavalry will push through, giving them another flank to attack the main force with, and potentially cost them everything.
Tobin notched another arrow, the consequences firm in his mind.
"We can't lose. WE CAN'T"
Gray was anxious to see battle after the brief respite, and once the enemy was upon them he wasted no time letting loose. Wielding a simple steel sword, his previous blade lost or shattered, he danced around the armored knight's thrust and landed a clean slice into the slit of the steel pauldron. The foe hissed in pain and it lashed out with a swing of his lance, but he simply dodged out of the way, looking for another opportunity to strike.
Being comprised of mostly armored knights locking each other's sides, the enemy was proving more than tough to take down, in no small part due to their tough exterior shells. The enemy wasn't fools either, as their archers kept harassing down Kliff and Silque, ensuring no magic would come to turn the fight in the Zofian's favor, while a select few patrolled the skies in case any fliers decided to interfere, ready to shoot them down should they even attempt to descend.
Still, what they have in strength and skill they lacked in speed, and their archers too busy harrying the mages to pay the agile sword wielders any heed. Gray leapt in the air to make a downward strike towards the helmet of his foe, slitting his eyes through his visor and sending him to the ground, followed by an easy stab to the slit on the neck.
Alm, as ever, was less subtle but far more brutal, simply letting his broadsword crash down on the enemy helm, ripping into metal and flesh. As he yanked it out of his dead foe, ready for the next line of armored that inevitable stepped forward, the enemy formation instead locked shields in a phalanx and pushed, finally adapting to the Zofian's stratagems.
"Uh oh, looks like they've wisened up, Alm." Gray remarked with a spat. "What should we do?"
"Damn, we can't get to their archers unless we try to ford the river." The leader responded as the Zofians were pushed back by the phalanx, losing their side of the bridge ever so slightly. If the battle took to open land, the casualties would be even more severe.
Another step forward, another step back for the Zofians, another step towards disaster. The pegasi riders were above wondering what to do, as crashing into such a tight formation would mean fear of getting shot by the archers.
Another step forward from the phalanx, and Alm felt his confidence cracking. His mind is reeling on what to do. And then it hit him.
"Faye, Clair, go to the riverbank." He shouted out to the skies. The two heard him and immediately flew towards the skies, trusting in his decision. He then turned to his trusted friend. "Alright, we need to slow down their push. You ready, Gray?"
Gray's response was a simple smirk and a flourish of his blade. The plan was set in motion, the goals simple, now all that's left was the execution.
It was a game of cat and mouse, but who was the cat, and who was the mouse?
Alm and Gray charged towards the wall of shields.
Clive wasn't faring much better, as he was still being ruthlessly assaulted by his former friend, barely able to defend himself against the tide of swings and thrusts. His defensive lines were slowly thinning due to the constant witch attacks, which despite sustaining some losses still disable a large portion of their army.
More than that, doubt still plagued his mind about his leader's lineage. If he truly was not the grandson of Mycen, that would make him a common-born boy without a trace of doubt. Despite not being as fervent about it as Fernand, he still advocated the nobility ruling over the commons, simply on the principle of needing to be a centralized order lest chaos and inefficiency take a hold on the kingdom.
If what Fernand accused him of was true, that would be a betrayal of the very principles he stood for, and that fact was like a knife through his heart, even as he was being pushed to the brink of defeat.
Losing focus, his lance was swatted aside by Fernand, who intended to land the killing blow, with his opponent barely raising any resistance…
However, something swooped in between the cavaliers as he swung down. Steel clashed against steel as Fernand found himself staring down another familiar face.
"Clair…" He said rather grimly.
The pegasus rider spared no words, instead flying above him and landed a downwards jab. Fernand barely dodged the quickly executed blow, leaving a slight cut on his cheek. Irritated, Fernand swung his spear upwards, intending to kill his other former friend…
And then a sudden force blasted him backwards, almost off his horse. Clive found his nerve again and struck him with the shaft of his spear. The blow landed and hit him in the chest. Growling, he readied his lance again, and saw…
And saw Clive and Clair, fighting side by side. Suddenly, a tide of emotions flooded him at once, memories of days gone by. He could almost see two others with him, Mathilda and…himself, fighting proudly together. And for once, he hesitated...
Gripping his spear tightly, he wheeled his horse away. His interest in this battle was waning, and despite inflicting losses on the enemy, his own smaller force was vastly depleting as well. He did not come all this way to die.
"Next time we meet, I'll hold nothing back." He vowed, though he couldn't say to whom. With those parting, bitter words, he charged his horse, leaving the men under his care behind.
"You have my thanks, Clair." Clive said, though his formal tone was laced with doubt. "Come, let us finish off the rest of the enemy."
"Indeed, my dear brother." Clair replied, clearly just as troubled as him over the sudden realization about Fernand, although Clive kept quiet that that wasn't the only thing. "I'll deal with the witches; you coordinate with the men and then march and flank the enemies at the bridge."
"Right…" Clive said, marching back to organize his cavaliers while Clair flew above, presumably to surprise the witches with an aerial assault.
Taking a deep breath, he cleared his mind. There will be time to answer those questions later, right now all that matters is winning this battle.
"Come on, you Zofian dogs." Zackson barked aloud, skewering a fallen Zofian, more out of mercy for his suffering foe than anything else. "I'll put the fear into you right before you died."
His men shouted similar chants alongside him, even as they held their wall and pushed back the Zofians even further. They were almost on open ground now. Despite the efforts of two of their best warriors trying to break the line, Rigellian discipline made them hold and push, and soon the enemy will break.
Perhaps Fernand was right in attacking after, perhaps he would live to see his family again, his beloved wife.
Suddenly a cry rang out behind them, and for a seasoned commander like Zackson, there was no mistake what they cry was. Soon, white and brown horses were soon sighted, their blood-soaked riders charging forward and taking the archer lines by surprise.
All hell broke loose, with the archers gone, the mages finally came out and blasted fire upon their front line, killing several and tearing a hole in their defenses. The Zofians took the opportunity and charged straight into the front line, taking advantage of the confusion.
"Surrounded with no way out and no way to win…Damn you, traitor." Zackson mused bitterly. If he somehow appeared before him he would have split him in half.
"S-sir, what do we do?" A fellow knight asked him. Their numbers were thinning, and men were surrendering outright. "W-we can't win this."
Taking a deep breath, Zackson calmed himself, and felt some semblance of peace. A warrior always prepares for death, he was taught, but it was only now where he truly understood the value of that teaching.
"We fight." He said at last, thrusting up his spear so that everyone, friend or foe can hear him. "LISTEN TO ME, MEN OF RIGEL! We have no hope of victory, but we carry the hope of Rigel's victory within us. Fight on for you brothers, your sisters, and fight on in the name of honor."
The speech spurred the men into action, who began retaliating in frenzy, fully embracing their inevitable defeat yet trying to defy it all the same. Clasping a hand on the knight's shoulder, he smiled. "I'll hold our flank against the cavaliers, you instruct the knights to charge forward. No mercy, no quarter."
The knight, inspired, saluted him on his final orders. "Yes, sir." He said before heading off. The commander went his own way and charged the cavalry line head on.
Slamming into a horse full force, he knocked off the rider above before quickly landing a spear to his throat, silencing his screams. Swinging around, he swung his lance against another foe, but he dodged in time and landed a strike onto his armor. It did little as Zackson landed another strike, landing this time on his chest.
His leg suddenly felt a surge of pain as he saw an arrow had pierced through it, looking up at the one who shot it, a brown haired boy, youth still fresh in his eyes; he glared at him before trying to charge him.
It was ineffective as another arrow landed into his arm, pushing him back. Around him his men were being slaughtered, and he was getting surrounded. And yet he did not yield, his pride pushing him to fight, to kill, in the name of a cause he would not live to see fulfilled.
Another strike as his chest armored was battered, this time an axe managed to cleave through and pierce the flesh beneath, but he simply gritted his teeth at the pain as he swung his lance at the foe, felling him. His vision was getting clouded, as was his head. He took another step…
…Only to find himself kneeling, his body finally giving in. He could see the ground was soaked with blood. Was it only his, or was it filled with his men as well?
His body finally dropped to the floor with a thud, the sounds of battle dying down, or perhaps his ability to hear was fading as well. He tried to groan, to shout, to stand, but his body has stopped responding to his will.
As he laid there motionless, the life slowly slipping from him, his last thoughts were of the home he will never see, the meaningful life that he'll never come back to.
Mother, father, beloved, please forgive this fool, for I couldn't come home…
"All in all, our casualties weren't too heavy." Clive said to Alm. "Our units are being reorganized to make up for the ones who fell, and the injured are going back to Zofia to recover. We should be able to push into Desaix's castle."
"Good, good." Alm said, sitting down on a nearby rock, overseeing his army. Bodies were being lifted and transported home, the Rigellians and the ones who were too mutilated to be identified simply buried out of common decency. Though it was a victory, it was neither decisive nor cathartic.
For the leader of the Deliverance, his blood coated armor and solemn face spoke more than words could say. Clive looked at him for a good long while. He looked and sounded every inch a noble, despite living in squalor, and yet he neither carried himself with the same aura of awe or arrogance as most of Clive's peers.
Yet if what Fernand and the old man said were true…
"I'll see how I can help. The leader shouldn't let his men do all the work." Alm said, standing up and looking at him. "Um, is something wrong, Clive?"
Clive wanted to scream his woes for all to hear, but necessity kept his mouth shut. If he exposed Alm now, or even question him, the blow to the army's morale would be more devastating than any blow the enemy could have made.
"It's…nothing." He said at last, standing up. He turned around so as to not show his face, for he knew it would have given his thoughts away. "I'll go take another look at our supplies. May Mila guide you, Alm."
"Listen, I'm…sorry about Fernand. I didn't know it would have come to this between you two." The young leader said nervously before heading off, leaving Clive to ruminate in peace.
"You don't have to." Clive said softly, though he wasn't sure if he heard it or not.
Gray was dragging another body, this time a Rigellian to a nearby hole. Despite being courteous enough to bury their enemies, they didn't have the time to make proper graves for them, so they simply dug a giant hole and neatly laid their bodies, or what's left of them.
"Man, you guys weigh a ton. Is everyone in Rigel like that?" Gray asked the corpse, not expecting an answer.
"Indeed, the lady was hoping their bodies would be lighter." groaned a voice behind him. Gray turned and saw that Clair was dragging a body as well, a witch.
"Heh, didn't expect you here." Gray said as he placed his body beside another. Did they fight together, or even know each other? Gray figured it didn't matter. "Isn't this an "improper job" for a lady?"
"Hmph, it is also unladylike to ignore a task because it isn't what is expected of me." Clair said with a reproachful tone, though all that did was make Gray smile wider. They had a few conversations here and there since their talk at Zofia Castle, most of them like this. But that was fine for the both of them, oddly enough.
"I see." Gray said as he started shoveling dirt on top of the body. "Anyways, I was thinking…"
"Oh, the boy is able to think? This is certainly a development." Clair said teasingly, unable to hide a playful smirk.
"Ha ha ha." Gray said, deadpan, though he wasn't entirely unamused either. "Anyways, I was always wondering, why do you never eat with anyone? I mean, when we're gathering you always eat with others, but most of the time you always eat alone."
"Oh…" Clair said. "Well, apart from Clive and lady Mathilda, most of my peers either never joined the military or have-"
"Or what?" Gray said as she stood silent.
"…or have defected." Clair said at last, obviously hurt.
"Oh, you mean…" Gray said in realization, not wanting to finish that sentence. While he wasn't part of the unit that engaged him, the news that Fernand has turned over to the Rigellians spread quickly among the army.
Clair looked away uncomfortably, her outgoing banter growing silent. Gray internally smacked himself by touching such a sensitive subject. "S-sorry, I didn't mean it like that."
"It is alright. He may be my friend, but what he did was unforgivable." Clair said, not wanting to mention his name, lest the wound deepen. "Regardless, I hope that answer was satisfactory."
"Yeah, well…" Gray said, nervously questioning whether to follow through on this conversation. They were on much better terms than before, and to ruin that would have broken him. "I was wondering if…you'd like to eat with us."
"Us?" Clair said, slightly bewildered by the offer. "As in, you and your fellow villagers?"
"Yeah, we always eat together, though Alm doesn't always show up." He said the last part with a bit of a depressing tone. Despite understanding his new responsibilities, he still wishes his friend could spend more time with them. "We figured, since we'll be fighting together; why not eat together as well."
"Is this another one of your japes? How come you're the one informing me of this." She said with a suspicious glint.
"Hey, hey I swear this isn't my idea." Gray lifted his hands in defense.
"Hmmm…" Clair pondered, his suspicion lowering only slightly, before finally giving an answer. "Well, I suppose I can grace your presence for some time. Besides, I've always been curious about how peasants live, so this will be a learning opportunity."
The villager raised his eyebrow at that last remark, but kept it to himself. Instead, he smiled and said. "It'll be nice to have you."
The two continued to talk even as they continued to bury the dead, lightening the mood despite the morbidity of their job, and for Clair, the tragedy of the battle. Clair silently thanked him for the levity.
I know, I know, anticlimactic way to end it, but this was getting long enough, and I didn't want my followers, few they may be, to wait for another week. Next chapter, we'll (maybe) deal with Desaix. Until then… -ArcanaHermit