Chapter 9: Letting Things Go
As dusk started to settle in, Clive brushed his hand on the table of his room, as if to support him. The man sitting before him, bound to his chair by rope. Fernand didn't speak a word, not even an angry look brushed over his face, even as his former friend was expecting him to scream at the humility of being tied up like a thief.
"Why…" Clive said, his voice hollow, his expression grim.
"I believe I made my reasons for leaving you and yours quite clear." Fernand replied, though without the usual arrogance and anger that he expressed. This conversation was starting out unexpectedly from both men, as they expected shouting and accusations aplenty, as they had in their last days together as friends.
And yet…there was nothing. No anger, no debate. Those roads were crossed a long time ago, and now…what became of them, a man supporting a supposed commoner, and a man who turned his back on his allies, his principles, twice.
"That's not what I meant." He said. "Why did you help us now? After all that you said, why would you aid us in so dire a moment?"
"Hah." Fernand spat out, his temper coming to the forefront once again. "I didn't do it for you, old friend. And I certainly didn't do it for your blasted Deliverance. I did it…for her."
The two stared in silence. Mathilda and Clive's reunion was nothing short of something from a fairy tale, with the two in passionate embrace in front of the entire army. But however sweet that memory was, he refused to let her or Clair see Fernand. This wasn't a matter for the soft-hearted, and while he would not call either woman that on the battlefield, he couldn't trust them around such a personal issue.
Truth be told, he wasn't sure he should be passing judgment on such a personal issue either.
"What will you do if I release you?" Clive asked, though it was more a hypothetical question than a realistic one.
"Hmph, I am now a traitor to Rigel. I'll be executed on sight if I were to go back." He said bluntly, looking to the side. "And I am still a traitor to Zofia, so I'd imagine my welcome to my former lands would be just as inviting. I am dead no matter what road I go, so you might as well execute me and be done with it."
There was an emotion that Clive had not felt from his friend in a long time. Hopelessness. The last time he felt it was when his parents died, and only for an instant before it was replaced by smoldering anger. Now, however…he fully expects to die, almost eager for it.
"Is that what you wish?" Clive asked. "To die so dishonorably, without any hope of redemption. Is that how your legacy wishes to end?"
Fernand stayed silent, not speaking a word as he contemplated what he said.
"Is what you say during our clash true?" Clive said. "Is Alm really unrelated to Mycen? Do not lie to me on this, old friend."
"Hah, why would I?" Fernand said. "I assure you, he is not of Mycen's blood. He is just a normal common village boy. Is that who you wish to rule Zofia, Clive? Is that going to be her legacy?"
"I…" Clive trailed off before sitting back down on his chair, looking at him straight in the eye. The two stared at each other, as they ponder the questions the other presented to them.
"Heya Faye, what's for dinner?" Tobin asked Faye as she dropped several vegetables into a pot, the thick broth. Faye greeted him with a smile, and poured white liquid from a bottle down towards it, smiling happily.
"You guys in for a real treat." Faye said as she smelled the broth, making a satisfied noise as she did. "I'm adding yogurt to the broth this time, as well as a few other spices I managed to pick up."
"Whoa, no kidding." He replied as he took a whiff of the broth, its faint smell bringing his sense to bliss. "It's been ages since we've had a meal smell this good. Where you get the yogurt?"
"From Desaix's pantry same as the rest of the spices, silly. For once, I'm actually glad there's a greedy noble out there, since we're getting his stuff." Faye said as he put more wood into the fire, stoking it further. "Reminds me of the time we would have leftover yogurt just before it was spoilt back at the village, huh?"
"Yeah, the good ol days before our lives weren't in peril every other day." He said dryly. "Anyways, I'm still exhausted from all the fighting. I could sleep for a week if I could."
Faye simply rolled her eyes and poured him the first bowl. The both of them smiled at each other as the rest of the villagers started grabbing their bowls. In wake of the victory, the chat was lively and the tone inviting, save for a noticeable absence.
"Clair's not here, huh?" Gray said, dejected. "Must still be hung up over that Fernand business, I hear he's still at Clive's tent."
"Of course." Kliff said as he took a silent bite of his stew, contrasting Tobin's eager and loud ravaging. "They both go way back, and he's noble on top of that, of course he's being held prisoner."
"You said it." An embittered voice said, coming from another fire. It was another Deliverance soldier, his bright yellow hair standing out. He was sharing a meal with two others, Python being one of them. "I guarantee you, if he had been commoner, he'd be executed already. But he just so happened to be born under the right people, damned nobles.
The Ram Villagers met them with silence, until Gray spoke up. "Well, not all the nobles are bad, right? You wouldn't follow Clive otherwise."
"There are some good nobles, but that doesn't excuse the bad apples." Python said bluntly as he leaned back further, acting lazily as ever. "Clive's just the exception, not the rule. Truth is, most of the nobility don't give a damn about people like us. It's just the way the world works. Think how many of us died just because a guy we never met said so."
Again, more silence, and the two groups decided to attend to their own, wishing to discuss no further. Not out of disagreement, the fact that nobles didn't care for commoners and thought them superior was readily apparent; rather they didn't want to dim a night of celebration with cynicism over how the world was.
Still, the absence of Clair was more and more apparent by the second, as her loud presence and even louder banter left a shadow among the group, who sometimes found it awkward when they expected her to speak.
"H-hey, mind if we join with you lot?" A weak voice croaked out, and the Deliverance turned around once again to see a group, though a much newer one than most.
Gray couldn't name any specific names, but the group as a whole was the prisoners that were freed by Mathilda. Though their numbers were reduced to only a handful, each and every one of them decided to join the Deliverance, and was dubbed into the new retinue under Mathilda's command.
"Sure." Gray said without consulting the others, though they didn't seem to mind. "You guys have had a rough day, so relax as much as you want."
The group gratefully sat down and mingled with the Deliverance. Talk was light, mostly about their pasts. Most were farmers, the rest thieves, but there was one noble among them, but he didn't sound like it, treating the commoners beside him as brothers at arms rather than someone beneath them. It was a refreshing sight to see.
As the moon continued to shine down on the courtyard, Gray saw at the corner of his eye Clair. She was at one of the courtyard entrances, shade covering most of her. He felt someone nudge him and saw that Tobin also noticed, and was prodding him to go to her.
Obliging, Gray made some excuse to go out and walked calmly across the courtyard, looking around. The men here were all commoners save for the noble at their fire. The rest of the nobility were having a feast at the fortress's hall, which Gray fought in earlier. The very idea that people could have a lavish meal so soon after such a massacre, even if it was rid of corpses and blood, made him sick.
"Then again, I'm not a "noble"." Gray thought morosely. "They probably valued their dinner over what happened there. Bah!"
His thought souring his mood, Gray nearly forgot that he was in the dark courtyard entrance, where he was mere feet away from Clair. The two stared at each other, before Gray gave an awkward wave.
Clair flashed a smile. "That's not how you address a lady properly." She said wittily.
Gray made a deep bow, causing her to smile a little. That alone was worth it for Gray, who was grinning ear to ear. "Heh, I hope that's enough. What are you doing here, tricks? Shouldn't you be at the noble's feast or something?"
"Lady Mathilda's presence is enough, so Clive and I excused early." She said, unusually hesitant. "Um, Gray. Would you mind…walking with me for a while? I need to clear my mind of things."
"U-uh, sure…" The boy replied, nearly sputtering over his words. Clair walked into the fortress, Gray sheepishly following her. The two stayed in silence as they passed a few soldiers giving them curious glances, though none seem to mind them.
Finally, they stopped at one of the gardens, empty save for a few patrols. It reminded Gray of Zofia, and the archery competition he had with Kliff and Tobin. The two look different, this garden neatly trimmed and ordered while the other was left to its natural growth, but it was enough to evoke the memory.
Deciding that there has been enough silence, Gray spoke. "So, what do you wanna talk about? I'm honestly surprised you asked me of all people."
"Is it not normal to ask a friend?" Clair said, perplexed.
"No, it's just…I don't know, you probably want someone more refined than me, is all."
"Well, you ARE rather unrefined." Clair said, smiling slyly. "But you're also rather charming when you're not trying too hard, and you're a good listener, surprisingly."
"Wow, uh…thanks." Gray said, flattered by the compliments despite the slight sense of condescension to them. "Well, I'm listening. What's wrong?"
Clair looked away a bit, slightly embarrassed. She didn't actually plan on doing this. She simply wanted to get away from the banquet, too troubled to put up any sort of façade that she was enjoying it, but she wanted someone to speak to.
"It's Fernand, as you might have guessed." Clair said. "The people at the feast were rather…blunt regarding their feelings towards him, and what should be done with him."
"Well, glad to know we agree on something…" Gray muttered out before thinking, and immediately noticed Clair looking forlorn, immediately reprimanding himself for his idiocy. "Oh, I'm sorry. That's probably not what you wanted to hear…"
"Indeed, but better the harmful truth than a pleasing lie, especially from you Gray." She said firmly. "I know he's committed terrible crimes against us, but the fact that he was, and perhaps is, a close friend, still makes this hard for me."
"I can imagine." Gray could only say those words, for nothing else he thought of would suffice. "Look, I know he's your friend, and you two were close. But…damn it; I don't know what to say."
At that statement, Clair smiled, if only briefly. "Good, it wouldn't be you if you had the faintest idea of what you're saying."
"Hey, I know what to say…sometimes." Gray said, flustered. "It's just that I wasn't born a noble, so I don't know use fancy words like..."eloquent" or whatever."
"A true gentleman is measured by the value of his words, not the words themselves." Clair chided, but also started to laugh a little. Her problems were fading, if only for the moment. She found herself rather appreciative of Gray lately, and could easily consider him a close ally, despite the rough start the two had. Of course, she would never be completely comfortable with his lack of tact.
"Gray…" Clair said softly. "I've heard that you rescued Lady Mathilda during the battle with Desaix. In fact, she commended your bravery and courage, amongst other compliments."
"Really?" Gray replied, brushing his own hair nervously. The memories of the battle were growing more distant to him, and he could barely recall what he did. Or rather, he didn't want to know. He was tired of fighting. "I just did what I felt like, same as everyone else."
"You undervalue yourself. You performed exceptionally, and those who are exceptional deserve a reward." She said with a hint of pride, and walked back in to the castle.
He followed her, stunned by what she said. To him, her voice was reward for any task that was set his way. And now for him to be getting one from her personally was, in his mind, the best possible thing to have happened since he joined.
As they walked inside the castle, his mind raced as to what it could be. A lot of possibilities race through his head. So much so that when she finally stopped, he almost bumped into her. They were outside her room, which made his mind race even further. Silently, he was glad no one else was here, for they surely would have commented on the goofy look on his face.
"Wait here." Clair said before entering, shutting the door behind her.
As the seconds flew by, Gray grew ever more anxious, tapping his feet rapidly. Finally, Clair came out, a sheathed blade in her hands.
"Before I studied the spear and the pegasus, I studied the sword." Clair explained. "When I asked Clive to train me in the arts of war, he had a sword specifically made for me."
"Wait, you're giving me…this?" Gray said as she handed the sword to him. Even sheathed, he could see the craftsmanship that went into it. The hilt was elegantly carved and wrapped with high quality leather; the pommel made of brass and craved into the shape of vines. "Clair, I can't accept something like this. It's too important to you."
"I haven't used it in a long time, and I feel bad if all the effort that went into it simply amounted to rusting in a corner, never to be held." Clair said, taking off the sheath, revealing the intricate carvings done to the blade. "More importantly, as one of our most promising swordsman, it's only fitting that you wield a weapon as worthy as your skills."
Gray, feeling a sudden wave of pride, decided to take a few practice swings. The sword felt light, slicing through the air with little resistance, yet still powerful and balanced. Sheathing the sword and placing it on his hip, he felt happy at getting such a gift, and more importantly, who it was given by.
"Thank you, Clair." Gray said sincerely, bowing deeply in respect. "I'll make sure to use it the best I can, that's a promise."
"Good." Clair said, satisfied. They looked at each other and shared an odd, fond smile. "You know, a few months ago and I would never even consider letting you touch the sword, let alone hold it."
"Yeah…" Gray said. "Thank you. I'll make it up to you somehow, I promise."
As the moon shone directly overhead, signaling the beginning of midnight, Clive took another sip of his tea before setting it down. They've been at it for hours, him and Fernand. Arguing, accusing, but more often than not staying in silence.
"This is pointless." Fernand said. "Our ideals have been driven too far away, old friend. No matter how much you wish to dream, it seems we can never come into an accord."
The truth of the words stung, but Clive disregarded it. "Why do you choose death, even when I offer you a second chance? I never took you for a coward."
"Hah, the cowardly thing would be to accept your offer, not denying it." Fernand said. He was just as tired as Clive, red lines forming on the corner of his eye.
Clive, in frustration simply said back and rubbed his eyes. "Do you think Clair would approve of your decision? Or Mathilda? Or your parents? I tolerated your anger because of the injustice done to your family, and because I understood that deep down, you still valued what was true and just and you wanted to honor them. Is that all a lie?"
At that, Fernand said nothing. Instead leaning his head down like a child berated by his parent. The subject of his family was a touchy one, and the words cut deep. He recalled their memories for strength once, but more and more he had begun to forget them. Only the death, only the rage.
Without knowing, a tear former in his eye and rolled down his cheek. His visibly trembled, and could only whispered. "Mother, Father…"
"You've fought for your parents, killed and betrayed your country because of them." Clive began, feeling that he's finally made progress. "But I think that you haven't done the one thing that will heal that wound, old friend. Have you grieved for them?"
Another tear rolled down, and another, and another. Sobs started to form as memories began to flood his mind, memories that he tried to suppress, but whom he truly wished he didn't. Memories of happiness, of compassion, of love, as one by one they played in his mind.
He felt a shoulder grasp his hand, and saw that Clive was looking at him, a pained expression on his face. Despite all the trouble they've been through, he would not abandon his friend at his most vulnerable.
His silent encouragement, coupled with the memories, utterly broke Fernand. He burst into tears and openly wept; discarding any former resentment or hatred he carried. They would return, he knew. Hatred is a mark not washed away with ease, but for now he wanted nothing more than to remember better times, where he didn't needed or wanted to hate.
And as time continued to pass, the two friends stayed together in silence. But for once, it wasn't as enemies or different sides of an argument.
It was as friends, as what they were and possibly could still be.
Tobin dreamt a pleasant dream, that he has returned to Ram a hero, his family granted wealth to live the rest of their lives comfortably, but most of all that he'd earned the affections of-
A knocking sound dragged him away from his euphoric experience, much to his aggravation. He knew who it would be at this hour, and he simply sighed and took his practice sword. Opening the door, he saw Gray standing there, a bright smile washed on his face.
"You must really like waking me up if you're smiling that much." He said dryly. "Oh, and by the way, I was having an amazing dream until you took it away from me."
"Sorry, man. I just couldn't sleep." He said, his smile as bright as ever. "So, you up for training?"
"If only to beat you up for waking me, sure." Tobin replied, and the two friends immediately went out. Guards were lax in the fortress, most of it being focused on preventing any external threats from breaching the castle. So the two had little problem sneaking into the gardens.
Upon setting foot in the garden floor, Tobin immediately unsheathed his sword and swung at Gray, who immediately drew and blocked it.
"Hey, I wasn't ready." Gray complained as he blocked another blow.
"Don't care." Tobin replied, adding more and more swings. He was determined to make him work for the victory tonight. "Besides, how else are you going to explain that fancy sword on your hip? Been stealing from the armory again?"
"Oh this?" Gray said cheekily, a toothed smirk on his face as he parried and countered, effortlessly shifting one stance to the other. "It's a gift."
"A gift, that sword?" Tobin said, utterly confused. "I don't know who in their right mind would give you a sword that's as well made as…wait."
As realization started to dawn on him, the two continued their duel. Gray immediately felt at home with his new blade, slashing faster and more accurately than before without losing any power. Tobin found it hard to withstand his barrage, as he was forced completely onto defense.
Deciding to break the losing stalemate, Tobin charged recklessly into him, only to be hit in the back by the butt of his opponent's sword, falling to the ground with a thud. Gray, feeling flush with the victory, simply sat down and laugh with all the mirth he could muster.
"Damn, you've gotten better." Tobin said, rising up and groaning, rubbing his back to ease the pain.
"Maybe, but this sword is amazing." He said cheekily. "Just holding it makes me feel like I can take on a million soldiers at once."
"So, she really gave you that sword, huh?" He asked, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.
"Yeah, I can't believe it either." Gray said, staring at the sword as if it were made of gold.
"Lucky you." Tobin replied dryly, sighing at his friend's gawking. "Anyways, we'll be marching tomorrow. Wonder what Clive will do to Fernand."
"Yeah…" Gray said, not focusing. Today was already an amazing day, he did not want it to me tainted by any difficult memories or questions.
"Speaking of new swords," Tobin remarked. "You heard Alm got one, right?"
Gray nodded his head. The details weren't particularly clear as he wasn't present at the time, but word spread fast that Alm had picked up the Royal Sword that Desaix stole, a sword enchanted to only be of use to those of royal bloodline.
"What do you think that means?" Tobin asked with a curious gaze as he watched the sky. "Apparently, whenever anyone else tries to wield it, it becomes as heavy as a boulder."
"I don't know. I mean, Alm does strike me as the royal type." Gray replied half jokingly. "All I know is that you're the only one among us without a fancy weapon."
"Hey, you wanna go another round?" Tobin said defensively. "I can beat you at archery no matter what bow I'm using."
"Oh, it's on." Gray said, and the two stood up and began to duel under the moonlight once more.
It was morning when Clive and Alm called the army to assemble in the courtyard. Already the atmosphere in the air was tense, even moreso when Fernand was brought out, unbound. He looked ragged, and there was a blank expression on his face.
Reactions to his appearance were mixed, though most cursed under their breath. The rest that didn't looked on with slight curiosity and not a small amount of anxiousness. A smaller few looked on with sympathy, though they made sure to hide it well amongst the once that expressed distaste.
"As you are well aware," Clive began the speech, his voice earnest and loud. "Fernand has betrayed Zofia and sided with the enemy. The punishment for high treason is either a life of imprisonment or immediate execution."
Several nodded their head in agreement.
"However, Fernand proved crucial effort in the battle against Desaix." Clive said. "He was sent to execute Lady Mathilda, but instead rescued and started an insurrection amongst the prisoners within the fortress. That insurrection, along with the strike force the Deliverance sent, was ultimately what led to Desaix's defeat and death."
Several others nodded in agreement as well, though some began to have dissatisfied faces among them. Mathilda began to testify about the truth of the matter, and while most found it genuine, some still remained unsatisfied.
"However, I will not let this one good deed wash away the betrayal that he has wrought upon us." Clive said, ending all discussion. His voice was firm but without malice. "He has both saved and condemned us, and thus he must be both punished and rewarded for his actions."
"As such, Fernand will be reinstated into the Deliverance, but will hold the lowest rank for the foreseeable future."
At that, the crowd erupted into chaos. One half shouted that it was unfair for a traitor to be pardoned, let alone reinstated. They accused Clive of biasness, and that he was being pardoned simply for being a noble and an old friend.
Yet another group pleaded mercy, that he was simply grief stricken and that being the lowest rank was a fair enough punishment. The two sides continued to argue, and it seemed that everything was beginning to fall apart.
A loud thud silenced the crowd. Turning around, they saw that Alm had slammed his gauntlet against the podium that Clive once stood on. He looked determined, and immediately all eyes went to him for judgment.
"Men of the Deliverance," he began earnestly. "I know that some of you condemn this sentence, and I will not argue against you. Instead, I ask you all. Do you see simply in terms of noble or commoner?"
"As you know, I was Sir Mycen's grandson. Yet I grew up all my life in a small village, without the formal education of most noble boys. Instead, I was raised with friends, villagers who have no claim to some powerful bloodline. I stole, climbed trees, and did the work of a farmhand. Tell me, does that expunge my right to be nobility? Does the fact that my grandfather is the great Sir Mycen expunge my childhood?"
Silence followed as the crowd.
"I know that the line between common and noble is a large one, and has bore much hatred on both ends." He continued. "But I ask, for the sake of the country you all were born and raised in, to lay down your hatred of each other. Think not of each other as peasant or lord, but as fellow soldiers fighting to defend your homes, your families."
Clive couldn't help but compare that with his speech when he just formed the Deliverance, where he preached of similar equality. But unlike before, he saw the men were actually listening, and he couldn't but feel a mixture of relief, pride, and jealousy.
"What we're offering Fernand isn't forgiveness, but a chance for redemption." He stressed. "And if he proves to be worthy of it, I hope you all can find it in your heart to accept him, regardless of standing."
At that, the men around them nodded, though a few begrudgingly so. Everyone started to disperse, mostly to gather their thoughts on the situation.
Alm let out a heavy sigh. He wasn't meant to speak, but the arguing was getting to him. He started to turn around and saw a set of eyes fix upon him. Fernand's eyes pierced into his, and his expression was one of disbelief.
"Why…" He said. "Why would you of all people defend me, after all I've done, after all I've said?"
Alm simply shook his head. "I trust Clive's judgment. If he says you deserve a second chance, then I believe him."
All Fernand could do was stay silent, awestruck at the generosity he'd been shown.
It was slightly past noon as the Deliverance marched out, leaving a small but capable force to defend Desaix' Fortress. The Ram Villagers save for Faye, who scouted ahead, was riding just behind Alm as well as Clive, Mathilda, and Fernand.
Fernand's look was sullen. Despite not having any confrontations since his release, he has since kept to himself, only rarely speaking to Clive, Mathilda, or Clair. Gray looked at him and couldn't help but feel a sense of pity for the man who simply looked…lost.
"Erm, hello." A voice called out to him. He turned around to see Luthier, book clutched tightly to his chest.
"Oh, uh…yes?" Gray asked.
"It's nothing" Luthier said bluntly. "I just felt like watching over Alm. He's…a very odd man, wouldn't you say? So charismatic yet humble, a rare combination indeed."
"That's Alm for you." Gray said as they rode. "I heard you did a lot during the last battle. Thanks."
"It's nothing." The mage said as he opened the book to read, his legs still walking at a brisk pace. "I only did what was assigned of me, in return for the safety of my sister."
"Oh yeah, that's what you're here for. Don't worry, we'll save her, I promise." The man said, showing his usual toothed smile.
"Indeed." Was all Luthier could have said, as they marched the long road to battle.
And that's it. Mostly a filler chapter to establish what will happen to Fernand from here on out. Expect him to get some focus, though not as much as the Ram crew. Next up, more battles and some Tobin time, till then –ArcanaHermit.