Chapter 6: Of Eavesdropping and War
"Vanille, are you coming?"
"I'll catch up. I just have to fix myself."
Fang sighed, "Women, always vain in the mirror."
Vanille stuck her tongue out playfully and laughed. "Right, and you're not a woman? I'll be there, I promise. You go on ahead."
"All right missy," Fang said before leaving their room.
Vanille counted a dozen deep breaths and concentrated hard on her friend's footsteps. After it completely faded, she stopped brushing her hair and put it back at the table. Her eyes lingered at the smooth wood and fine bristles. Vanille never asked for a brush here at Imladris. She doubted they had one like this she possessed. It was handcrafted by her mother when she first set out on her focus with Fang. That was centuries and a world away ago. Her hand drifted down her body until it reached her hips. Soft white linen covered her, not her usual battle gear. She doubted she could sprint as freely as her old clothes, let alone outrun a Behemoth King at Gran Pulse. It reached down to the floor. She stood up and raised the skirt. It reached her thighs and maneuvering, she exposed her whole left leg.
She held her breath.
Until now, she never checked her brand ever since she arrived at this world. It felt a whole history and definitely decaying along with her precious memories. The idea of fighting and war felt distant now. She never expected forgetting such a big thing in her life was this… easy?
And now, it glowed like she had just got a new Fal'Cie. Since last night, she could feel her magic pulsating again, like it was awakened and ready to be used. But that's ok right? Fang… yes, Fang did show a spectacle of herself and her power. Though strength is definitely her power even before becoming a L'Cie, Slow and Daze certainly isn't. But Fang's not the one who keeps her mark discreetly [it's in her arm after all], nor a new mission. No, Fang is not branded, only her.
"And that's good," Vanille smiled sadly. "Because then, I'll be the only one changing, not her." Vanille wasn't sure if her focus is something good or bad. She just knew the Fal'Cie's are always selfish. This focus would only benefit its master, not her kind, humanity. No, fate will not have her way.
She let go of her skirt and headed to join the others.
She's running away again. But this time, she'll make sure fate would not catch up.
A week passed after the Council was held; and as a new company entered the homely house, so is the regular company changed Vanille and Fang usually spend time to. The elves, if they were not on scouts with Aragorn, were with Bilbo singing hymns and recounting tales. Vanille spent less time with Erestor as the elf lord went into more meetings with Elrond and Gandalf concerning the fellowship. She then spent the opportunity digging in the archives more about this 'Valars'. It didn't take much time when she encountered the tales of war, the Maia, the Ainur, the Numenoreans, and the elven kingdom. She remembered Erestor once mentioned it briefly but she never expected it to be this huge.
As she spent more time getting to know this world, her resolve grew all the more to surrender her life. The struggles humankind took there were a thousand-long years old of ordeal, generations suffering and lost, all for the end of this 'Enemy'. With more readings, she finally discovered a name, Sauron, an Ainur and Maia [and what Vanille presumed a Fal'Cie is called here], and the dark lord's malicious desire to command all free people. From Sauron's name, Vanille delved deeper, and learned about the One Ring, the one painfully likened in her dream, and its legend and rumors.
And she's going to protect it? Vanille trembled at the knowledge: should she complete her focus, every struggle the people made would be all in vain. What was she to hinder the ultimatum? No, she's going to play her part, partake in the sacrifice so Arda is safe. "And Fang will have a new home who won't need much defending," she consoled herself.
Meanwhile, Fang's sparring sessions completely stopped. And it wasn't because of the dispersing of numerous scouts, but she didn't have the energy to begin with. As much as Fang loved the adrenaline rush she feels on the heat of battle, the once calm and peaceful Oerba she loved most swept her back in the being of Imladris. Her days were wasted simply watching the flowers and leaves fall one by one. At times, she's accompanied by Bilbo but never Arwen, by Boromir but never Legolas.
Fang never quite comprehended it how it exactly happened. But next thing she knew, the elf prince company was replaced by a counterpart of a human royalty. She wasn't sure how to react at how fate went to her. Fortunately, this man wasn't all too prying to reveal her identity. They only talked of nothing in particular. Gondor was the usual topic, along with Osgiliath and the occasional Ithilien. Of course Fang never visited these places but it was all right as long as Boromir was doing all the talking. She enjoyed his company, sort of, and it always felt good when you're occasionally treated like a lady. It was always short talks though, since he would enthusiastically accept the invitation whenever his presence was asked in the short meetings. But Fang was always there, becoming a background herself to the nature of Imladris.
She might not realize it now, but she was truly healing… hopefully for good.
"I hope you would get to see Gondor when the war is over, when the land is finally peaceful and the trades are good. I would be honored to escort you within the city's grand halls."
Fang looked thoughtful. This was the first time she heard of a war. All she concluded at her stay were the regular scouts to protect this land's borders. "I never heard any war going until now."
Boromir stared at her in surprise. "Truly? Where do you hail my lady?"
She held her gaze at him, decisive and sure. "Not here, that's for sure." She stood up and planted her spear lightly on the ground. She never got over her habit of leaving it when she goes out. "You don't need to know that," she smiled and added, "but you can be sure fighting is as common as it gets from where I come from."
Boromir studied her curiously but remained silent. He believed her, since he saw her sparring with exceptional strength against an elf.
He stood up as well and the two silently strolled around the outside hall. They circled the garden and went around the workshops. Boromir interacted with the elves, occasionally comparing their beautiful work with his own Gondorian art. The elves would smile politely and showed the lord the machinations and mechanics of their work. Fang watched them carefully and let a smile slip between her lips; not the cocky nor the confident type she mostly put on but the genuine variety she rarely let out.
On all the times she spent with him, Fang concluded Boromir is as proud as a man could get. Not only that, but the lord had his experience in war. It's a rarity to see him talk about something other than his beloved land and the skirmishes he held, let alone about glass figures.
Boromir's eyes widened at the silent interest that piqued him as the elves started glazing the works. The very sight made Fang laugh.
"You don't let it burn too long or it'll explode!"
"Really? Then let's try it!"
"Wait, Fang no–"
A loud crash followed…
"My lady?"
Fang left the distant memory and focused once more at her company. She realized she was smiling widely and Boromir was looking at her confused. She smirked. "Nothing. Are you done?"
They proceeded with their walk. They went inside this time and tried to pass most of the corridors with murals. They stopped often and examine the paintings etched in the halls of Imladris. To Boromir, it was history. But to her, it was a distant calling. With all the glory and beauty the elves made to the art, all she could see was war, a distant thing now that she's here.
They went outside and edged near the forest. They lingered there a bit longer until the sun was finally setting.
"You are a good company, my lady, but we should be heading back," Boromir said. He reached out his hand to her as if to escort her back. He learned way before she never accepted any gesture but he never really grew out of the habit. It was probably because the repeated practice of Gondorian etiquette ever since he could remember.
Fang turned to him and started heading back as well, but stopped at her third step. Boromir was in high alert as well and drew out his weapon. The air became suddenly quiet. Then a loud cry broke the silence. It belonged to Aragorn.
"Take speed! They're heading to Imladris!"
On cue, orcs appeared and started ambushing head on the gate. They were a score or more and tightly knit. Boromir swung his sword and started attacking the nearest offender. One got away on his grasp and shot straight to Fang. He let it go, knowing from his first sighting with the woman, Fang is more than capable of fighting.
Only she didn't budge. Fang raised her hand and attempted to cast slow and daze. No power came out. "Wha–" she was pummeled and sent a few feet away. 'Boy that stings,' she thought. But another thought came to her. How come it didn't work? She knew some monsters are immune to certain magic but she always felt the power surging through her hand whenever she cast something.
She didn't have time to think any reason because more of the same creatures ran to her again. She got up and this time stuck to her sheer strength, something she possessed way before she became a L'Cie. She thrust her spear forward and swung it around. Two blades surge dangerously forward and Fang barely managed to block it. She staggered but not before dodging another incoming attack. She immediately retaliated and jumped upward. She brandished her spear and did Highwind. It pierced and instantly killed one.
The company finally caught up. Many orcs were fended off mostly because by the horsemen. Legolas was by Aragorn and started shooting most that got too near at Aragorn, who got off and joined Boromir at the heat of battle.
The enemies were outnumbered by then and were quickly disposed. The fight ended.
"What were those? You guys never bothered to tell what those little monsters are." Fang said, her voice almost faltering. Her mind was way elsewhere. She had seen them before and they're certainly no match to her. No, her mind was completely on the fact she can't assume her Saboteur role. She was breathing unevenly. She can't understand the panicked feeling she's in now.
Why was she panicking? It's all very normal if she rationalize about it. Now that she's not a L'Cie anymore, the powers granted to her would eventually fade. The curse, her focus, after all is finally over, along probably with her inhuman skill.
She suddenly wondered if she could still call on Bahamut. Her hand went instantly to her arm. She looked at it. Blood smeared messily just at her shoulders.
"You're hurt," Boromir said as he and the other rushed to her and regrouped. Although he saw the changes in Fang's expression as she inspected herself, he didn't comment further.
Fang looked at him and smiled lightly. "Just a scratch. No worries." She lifted her arm to prove it and got about moving it around to test any muscles dislocated. Fortunately, the cut wasn't deep enough to penetrate her whole shoulder. But it did raise question why it bled furiously.
Fang pinched her arm hard to stop the bleeding and joined the others. She remained silent during the whole trip.
"How things go?" Boromir asked. Aragorn was already dismounted and walked alongside him.
"The orcs have multiplied but we were diligent to suppress them. This band though, they got away and we were in their track for the last two days," Aragorn said.
"It is a curious thing how such creatures knew where to find Imladris," Elladan said. "My father casted his will upon these walls to ensure no evil or darkness will fall upon the homely house."
"To find it with such ease and swiftness proves troubling," Elrohir said gravely. Then he added in a whisper. "I fear the knowledge is passed."
"You mean a traitor is within us?" Boromir couldn't think of any soul in the vicinity who would share any knowledge to the Enemy. His glance caught Fang as he looked back. She was leaning lightly at Aragorn's horse. The wound wasn't so deep, as she claims, but there is something wrong on how she walks. Is she limping?
"Boromir?" Aragorn called back as he saw his companion walked back. Fang was barely on her knees and seemed to throw up anytime soon.
Fang didn't know what's happening. It was just a stupid cut, nothing compared to what Long Gui's are capable of inflicting, yet she staggered every step. Her whole vision was going fuzzy. She attempted to cast Esuna on herself but the power didn't come. She held hard on the saddle for support before going limp and giving away.
Boromir was immediately on her side and helped her stand up. "Fang!" he repeated calling her name.
She focused entirely on him. She was blacking out but she refuse to go down that easily. What would Michael think if he saw her now?
The Rangers were with her now and helped her inside Imladris. The healers were there and took hold of Fang. Vanille was with them. "What happened?" Vanille asked as she checked for any signs of life from Fang. Her friend was dangerously cold. "She's poisoned."
"I suspect as much," Halbarad replied gravely. "She needs to be treated immediately. But worry not, my lady," he smiled comfortingly at Vanille. "Master Elrond's hands heal all."
"I'll come," Vanille said as she joined the healers. No one stopped her, thinking she wanted to be at her friend's side.
Vanille was thinking otherwise. She's going to help; a chain of Esuna and Curasa's will fix Fang in no time.
Vanille followed Elrond's swift trail and his group of healers. They went to the healing room. Vanille already knew the place since this was where Frodo rested and where she left her own stitched dress for Fang. She made it whenever she would head to the dressmaker room. Arwen showed her one time and was delighted to see the young woman very fascinated at the place.
Vanille was immediately excited at the sight of cotton and silk. Back at Oerba, clothes are considered a luxury. Not only materials are hard to get by, but the process involved to create one is hard and beyond mass production. To own two pairs of dresses was unheard of. You often get one, and it's for your wedding day. Vanille never had one while Fang did…
They set the tall woman in a vacant bed and quickly get to work. They examined the wound. It was turning an unbecoming shade of purple and red. They cleaned it until the cut was finally visible. It was already scabbed, which Vanille watched in disbelief as one incised it open again. More purplish fluid flowed out. Someone was pinching Fang's wounded arm to stop the poison. They washed it once more until bright red blood replaced the disgusting fluid. This they stopped the bleeding and bandaged it tight. Vanille sighed in relief. They didn't stitch her friend up, thank goodness. She doubted Fang would get hurt at the needle, though she equally doubted her friend would be enthusiastic at the thought a measly thread was holding her skin.
"It is not so troubling," Elrond said, joining Vanille from where she sat. "Though her wound presented itself fatal, it is not so serious. That is fortunate, for there are wounds who disguise themselves to be superficial in the eyes of an untrained healer but in truth prove to be the worst." He smiled and laid his hand on her head. "Worry not child, Lady Fang will wake up."
"I know," Vanille barely managed a whisper. Elrond read it that Vanille was still worried and won't be leaving anytime soon. He left along with his people. They left her alone.
Vanille listened carefully for their footsteps until it faded away. She turned her attention to Fang. She placed her hand just a little over Fang's body. She didn't even need to concentrate. Her hand glowed green.
Esuna. Curasa. Curasa. Cure. Cure.
Cure. Cure. Cure. Cure. Cure. Cure.
Fang stirred. Vanille managed a smile and held her friend's hand until she would regain complete consciousness.
Boromir couldn't keep the nagging feeling away. A part of him said he was at fault for letting himself and Fang linger too long outside the borders. It was stupid to think of it, since it was pure accident, but Gondorian honor tells otherwise. Besides, why did he let the orc go? Fang is a woman, not a man. No matter how she looks she's capable of fighting, a real warrior would not pass his responsibility to a woman. A woman! Boromir frowned.
So when he saw Elrond and the other healers at the main hall, he immediately asked for Fang.
"She will be well. A good rest and regular medicine intake for a few days will completely heal all poison," Ishay, one of the healers, comforted.
Elrond examined closely the man in front of him. Boromir seemed not convinced but was trying hard not to look too concerned. He nodded lightly.
"She will be taking a dose later after dinner," Elrond handed a medicine to him. "Why don't you leave this to her side?"
Boromir hurriedly accepted it, glad to help in any way. He left immediately.
"My lord, that is the ointment for rashes," Ishay finally said when Boromir was out of earshot.
Elrond smiled. "I know. But I learned from experience both Men and Elves feel healed when they believe they in turn heal another."
Boromir came to the room but halted as he noticed he had company. He peered at the doorway and saw Vanille at Fang's side. He should have thought as much. Vanille was Fang's friend. No matter, he would wait for her until she would go out.
Boromir watched as Vanille placed her hand on top of Fang. What was she doing? Suddenly, her hand glow a light green. Wait, did he just imagine that? He couldn't believe it. He stood petrified as Vanille's hand stayed its shade. Soft side to side gesture occupied his sight. What was she doing? A single thought came battling to his mind.
Witch! An ally of the Enemy!
But that couldn't be. If Vanille was with the Enemy, so too should Fang. Yet the orcs attacked her without much thought.
Everything didn't make any sense. Then Fang's chest moved normally. She was completely healed.
All thoughts of medicine disappeared. He watched silently at the unfolding event.
Fang felt a familiar surge of power coursing back to her system. A faint tint of malice of L'Cie power, but on the whole, a faint memory of her past. She concentrated hard. Someone was healing her. It didn't take a second for her to realize it was Vanille. The rhythm was less even than Hope's but smoother and definitely more powerful than Lightning's. Besides, Hope and Lightning aren't with her.
Vanille haven't lost her touch yet as a Medic, which proved to be mixed feelings of relief and alarm. Relieved she was healed immediately and alarmed Vanille still has L'Cie powers. Her head still wasn't fully awake so she couldn't conclude anymore suspicions.
"Vanille?" Fang opened her mouth and a croaking sound followed.
"Fang, you're all right. Thank goodness," Vanille smiled.
Fang sat up and brought her hand to her neatly bandaged arm. Is her mark still there? She looked at Vanille in confusion. "How come your powers are still with you?"
Vanille cocked her head. If she's going to lie to Fang, she better do it smooth this time. "Yours aren't? I don't know. This is the first time I used it," that was true. She smiled, "maybe mine's still brimming and will probably fade eventually."
Fang seemed to buy the explanation, "yeah, maybe." She touched her arm. A faint power remained but a different kind. It was Bahamut's raw power still pulsating. This is probably a farewell gift, which made Fang smile. She could still call him.
"Fang? Is your mark…?"
Fang removed the bandaged carefully. She winced. The cut and skinned flesh was still fresh. She had forgotten what it's like to be a normal human again. Back when she's a L'Cie, a crushing blow from Behemoth King is no big deal. But now…?
She fingered her wound and tried to make out the brand. She was expecting the scorched mark she sported ever since they first turned to crystal.
The mark wasn't bleached, but it didn't have any arrows or a sign of the eye. It was the dormant brand, when people turned to crystal and waiting for a new focus. Fang wasn't sure what to make of that. 'So I'm an available L'Cie waiting for orders, only I'm not pleasantly petrified?' she thought sarcastically. Vanille put the bandage back on and did more healing. However, Fang immediately stopped her.
"We might need that on the future," she warned. "I used mine on the stupidest things; best not to waste yours too."
Vanille mutely nodded. Yes, let Fang believe she'll also be drained with the power.
They lingered for a while to ease the tension in the air. Finally, Fang stretched her limbs and made a face, "no use hanging around here then, huh?"
"Yes," she replied and made to stand up. Fang followed, getting up, but stopped halfway. Her attention went by the door. She tilted her head. She thought she heard someone descending. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Someone overheard their conversation. She made her way to the exit. "Fang?"
"Someone's out there," Fang said, already by the floor. "Damn those elves and their overlarge ears," Fang seethed.
Vanille looked worried. "They probably saw me heal."
Fang cocked her head in confusion. "What's wrong with that? They saw me cast Ruinga and call Bahamut. Yours is nothing compared to mine… no offense," she added, smirking slightly.
"Ruinga?" Vanille asked.
Fang looked sheepish. "Well, not the elves in Imladris. I cast it first on Mirkwood then the second time on Legolas so I could go with the Rangers on patrol." Fang turned curious. "Why are you so surprised?"
"Well, I've been reading a lot…"
"So that's why I spent so much time with Boromir–"
"You don't look so upset though," Vanille grinned.
"What?"
"Uh, nothing. Anyway, in this place, magic is something only the Enemy is capable of doing. Well, besides Gandalf."
"The Enemy?" Fang had other thoughts though. 'What kind of name is that?'
"The big bad about to take dominion over the free people."
Fang rolled her eyes. "Right, and Orphan is nothing short of evil?"
Vanille lightly glared at her friend. "They don't know Orphan or any of our story! Now, will you let me finish?" she huffed. She knew Fang never really got scared of her antics but it did make her look apologetic.
"Go on."
"Powers beyond ordinary will then immediately brand you an ally of the Enemy."
"What about the elves?" Fang didn't look convinced. "I don't see any reason besides magic how they managed the garden perfect and ethereal."
"They call it Art."
"What?"
Vanille shrugged. "Art."
Fang sighed, defeated. "Fine… well, no wonder now why the nut King wanted me out of his hands. He doesn't trust me." She shook her head. "But never mind that now. I don't have any more L'Cie magic in me to call a decent Saboteur magic. It's you that should keep on the low."
Vanille had to agree on that. Not that she'll do any more spectacle of herself. She had been trying not to. Ever since she caught the gist of Sindarin, something she learned pretty quickly [Erestor's teaching skills do wonders] in the span of a month or so [Vanille forgot keeping tab of days], she finally figured out what the stares meant whenever she caught one.
Both she and Fang were complete strangers, with matching looks to add the exotic feeling. Fang looked like a tower compared to the other human woman Vanille met, which is quite a feat since the women we're talking about were the Dunedains. She could have passed for an elf, only no one would think of her as that. Fang's skin was a bronze hue and her hair messily cropped too short for elvish sensibilities. But of all things, her clothes were the dead giveaway. Vanille had to admit, the Rangers weren't all subtle compared to the elves of ignoring her friend's garment.
And Vanille… well, she never saw another living being here with a mane as bright as her red hair. It was nothing compared to the dwarves, hers was pinkish and stood up in the crowd of deep black haired elves. And with her first day, it was a ruckus. Not only did she heard a whisper of the word Nerdanel [which she later learned who], but a couple of stares made her pull her skirt a little more down to cover more of her skin. These people apparently never saw a mini skirt before. She smiled inwardly back then when she pictured the expression they would do when they saw Fang. The latter thought was an epic memory Vanille would never forget. Fang may not have noticed but Vanille was paying attention how the whispers improved.
She tried to fit in ever since, which she assumed was working so far. Nobody questioned her nor mentioned any hint of interest where she came from. She looked at her friend. Was she asked then?
However, Vanille didn't have time to ask Fang since the older woman decided to head down all the same. It was dinner and she was hungry from all the walking and fighting she had done.
Dinner was rather uneventful. Although more food were served because of Aragorn's company were present, most retired quickly to their rooms. Elrond and the others lingered of course, to further discuss about the council. Legolas and Boromir joined. Fang looked suspiciously at the elf prince. She had a hunch he was the one eavesdropping a moment ago. The two women were about to go when an elf stopped them. Vanille recognized him as the one who bandaged Fang.
"My lady, it is good to see you well so swiftly. I am Revilo, one of the healers," Revilo bowed low. When he was back on standing, his expression was a mix of wonder, confusion, and alarm. "You should rest for your wound, though not deep, is poison nonetheless."
Vanille's thoughts were running wildly. He must be the one who overheard their conversation.
However, Fang merely smiled smugly. "No measly poison can really break this warrior, love," she winked. "We L'Cie encounter them every time."
"And collapse stone cold?" Revilo asked, unconvinced.
Fang seemed a little put out. "That one is probably foreign so my system never had the gist of it since. But it was poison all the same and I'm used to it. Swords, spears, arrows," she shrugged, "the works."
"That is fortunate to hear, my lady, but I would be most at ease if you would not participate in any extreme activities for the next week for full recovery. After all," he smiled, "it is probably foreign."
Fang would have loved to tell this elf off to mind his own business before realizing health is his business. So she kept silent and simply nodded.
That night, Vanille had another vivid dream. This time it was about Frodo walking towards a volcano with Sam right behind him. The scene made her cold and withered. She had to stop them from doing such a terrible thing. They will be incinerated for sure. Wait, was that really her reason? She saw the moment pause and at her disposal to approach the hobbits. She went inside the dream and walked toward the front. Frodo was holding something.
"What's that?" Vanille asked nothing in particular.
"The Ring."
Vanille's vision changed into a blank white space. Frodo was behind her back but she made no move to face him. "Why?"
"I have to throw it into the fire."
"But why this volcano?"
"No other fire could unmake the Ring."
The scene changed again and she was back watching the pilgrimage of the two. She followed quickly. They were at the entrance and Sam was shouting at Frodo to throw it now. Vanille shouted as well. Frodo looked back and said something. Vanille didn't hear it but then he saw Frodo disappear out of thin air.
Did he throw it? Was he successful?
Then everything went dark and evil. Vanille knelt to the floor in disbelief. Had they failed?
Another vision entered. The ring, glowing and perfect in shape and fashion, levitated a few feet away. Suddenly, fire consumed the object. Vanille screamed. Unimaginable pain raged inside her. She was burning, not only in the heat, but with rage, regret, sorrow, helplessness and hopelessness.
She turned into a C'ieth.
"Vanille!" a chorus called her back to waking.
Fang was shaking her furiously. Elladan and a healer were there. She was shaking violently. She felt her lips dry as well as her throat. Tears flowed uncontrollably.
"It was just a dream," Fang soothed, rubbing Vanille's back.
"I'm awake," she sobered and calmed a bit. "I'm… fine." Her grip on her friend didn't relax though.
"What happened?" Elladan asked gently.
Vanille shook her head. "Everything's… pretty fuzzy," she glanced at Fang. Her friend was frowning. Vanille knew Fang remembered the last time she said that. "The feeling won't go away though. Death was there."
"Drink this," the healer offered. "It soothes the spirit."
Vanille obediently drank the fill. It burned warmly inside, like a good fire on a good night. She smiled gratefully. "Thanks. That helped a lot." She smiled apologetically. "I'm very sorry for the trouble. I think I could go back to sleep again."
Elladan smiled. "Do not hesitate to call us. Sweet dream, friend." He beckoned the healer and the two left.
Fang waited until they were completely out of earshot. Then she finally turned to Vanille. "Okay, no secrets to me. What was that?"
Vanille drew a deep breath. "Ragnarok. It was the time when you turned to it during the War of Transgression."
Fang's eyes immediately softened. "I see. It's hard isn't it?"
Vanille wanted to cry, reasons way different from the one she wanted Fang to think. "I'm sorry. It was stupid–"
Fang hushed her. "No. Go to sleep Vanille. It's over."
Vanille nodded and went back. Fang left as well. But she couldn't go to sleep.
Did Frodo have the Ring?
A/N: I had to cut the chapter, as this was supposedly should end when the fellowship finally leaves, because it's already running on 13 pages. For the loose ends, please contact me for anything that I miss to explain. On the sidenote, I just read the 'FFXIII episode zero: Promise' and so far, I'm doing a good job showing what Oerba might have looked like. Fang and Vanille, according to the novella, witnessed Lindzei (that's Barthendalus) create Cocoon, and ruined the other towns on the process. Oh and anybody who are curious who is Michael, he's one of the kids Fang and Vanille grew up with, an OC thrown in. Read and review!
-eris-
