Chapter II: Grima's Court

The snow didn't let up once during the night. It was the conclusion Basilio came to when, upon opening the front door, came upon a wall of snow leveling well with his kneecaps. Staring up at the grey sky of early morning, he watched the fluffy particles from above continue their relentless descent to earth, adding to the already formidable pile. "Damn…" He muttered, his breath fogging up before him. It was routine of him to wake up just before the break of dawn and head into town. It didn't matter whether there was rain, sleet, snow, or hail; the weather wasn't going to be stopping any travelers from stopping by his tavern and it was his obligation to feed them. Looking over his shoulder at his wife who was currently getting the oven and fireplace heated up, he asked, "Olivia still asleep?"

"Mm." Flavia responded with little enthusiasm as she concentrated on loading the firewood into the oven. "The light sleeper as she is, I wouldn't doubt if the wind had kept her up all night." Once her pile of wood had disappeared into the masonry, she dusted her hands off and, for the first time since waking up, took note of the snow. She plucked Basilio's fur coat, handcrafted by none other than her, off the coat rack and handed it to him at the doorway. "Will you be alright heading into town alone?"

Oddly enough, one of the biggest difficulties of being married to Flavia, outside of their bickering and arguing, was responding to her when she was concerned. She hid it well, but having known her for over two decades, and being married to her for a little more than half of that, her emotions were an open book. And he could detect the slightest anxiety in her even during their current instance when she spoke with a calm smile and an even calmer tone.

He slipped on the coat she had offered him and planted a lazy kiss to the top of her head. Contrary to what all of Ferox may say, there were plenty of moments, albeit outside of the public's eye, where they got along like a civilized couple. If they quarreled and fought as much as they let on, they doubted their marriage would have survived for so long. "I'll be fine," he mumbled when he pulled away. "Just keep the fort down, won't ya'?"

"Will do," she chuckled, helping him with a few buttons on his coat.

When he was all buttoned up, Basilio took the first steps out into the snow, quickly adjusting to the temperature drop. Raising a hand into the air, he called back, "See you in a few hours."

When he reached town after a little more than an hour of trekking through the snowfall, Basilio realized, upon seeing all the people up and about despite the storm, that Feroxis didn't spare a single day for rest and relaxation. Even the children, all bundled up in their winter gear and whose heads barely reached the surface of the white fluff, were plowing through to get to school. Basilio chuckled at their doggedness as they didn't show any signs of surrendering.

It wasn't until the majority of the children had marched by that Basilio noticed the last child who lagged behind the others. He held his school books above his head as he treaded through the blasted snow, careful not to get them soaking wet. He was a lot shorter than the others but so his vision must have been clouded as the path he was creating sent him crashing headlong into Basilio's legs.

Peeking up at the brute with big green eyes, he said in an unperturbed tone, "'Scuse me mister. I gots to get to school. Can you point me in the right direction?"

As the young boy gazed up at him waiting for an answer, Basilio couldn't help but to guffaw. As the supposed runt of the litter, the child was just as dogged as the others. "You ain't gonna' get to school on time with those short legs," he said scooping the child out of the snow and placing him onto a broad shoulder. "Let ol' Basilio help you."

Forgetting all about his morning chores, Basilio carried the boy all the way to the school building, the other children he had spotted on the way following in his footsteps as he carved out a path for them. Dropping the boy down, he patted his head with a big hand and said, "There ya' go kiddo. And right on time."

The lad was digging into his coat pockets as the other children headed into the building. With a tongue hanging out, a sign of his concentration, he managed to retrieve a little wrapped chocolate which he presented to Basilio. "Thanks again mister."

Basilio stared at the offered chocolate for a few seconds before laughing once again. "I'll take it," he said just before the lad ushered inside to join his friends. With a small smile on his lips, Basilio opened up the wrapper and dropped the chocolate onto his tongue.

"I never took you for having a sweet tooth, Basilio," a deep voice spoke out.

After chewing and swallowing the sugar-loaded candy, Basilio faced the bearded man and responded, "Not exactly, but it does seem to taste just a little better when it's been warmed in a child's hand." He began walking towards the general direction of the shops, aware that the armored man was only a few steps behind him.

They appeared to be like brothers, sporting the same tan skin, gruff features and Feroxi berserker build. It seemed the only major difference in appearance was the black hair Basilio lacked from the other. "So what brings you down here to the city, Largo?" Basilio asked as he hauled a sack of potatoes onto his shoulders, "The kingdom walls becoming too suffocating?"

The man furrowed his bushy brows as he frowned at Basilio's back. "Unlike someone I know, I don't sneak out of my duties to enjoy in some mead with the village folk." At this, Largo received a snicker from the other man, making him shake his head. "Honestly, Basilio, even after all these years, tales of your tomfoolery are still just as popular among the boys as they were all those years ago."

"Is that right?" Basilio laughed.

Largo nodded. "You were always the troublemaker among us; rowdy and rambunctious… Maybe that's why it was such a surprise when you announced your marriage to Flavia. We had thought if the time ever came when Ol' Basilio would give up his womanizing ways, it would be with a sweet, pleasant lass. But then again, you never did like taking the easy route and I doubt the quiet ones would be able to keep up with your frustrating ways. Thinking back on it now, Flavia was just right for you."

Basilio scoffed. "She's nothing more than a pain in my arse if you ask me…" Frankly speaking, that was half of the truth. He settled down on a post and stared up at the grey clouds that darkened the town. "To think it's been that long since that day. I could go on and on about what's transpired since. Ah, but I'm sure you don't have the leisure time to listen to an old man talk about his life."

Reluctantly, Largo agreed, aware that he should be making his way back to the kingdom anytime soon. "Unfortunately, yes. As I failed to mention earlier, I came here strictly on business to check in on the townsfolk after last night's blizzard. But it seems there was no need to worry as they seem to be doing just fine."

"You think a little extra snow will discourage these folks? Ha! Look at 'em."

Largo nodded his head as he watched the town proceed with their daily duties despite the weather. "The kingdom was hit pretty hard. We practically had to dig our way out of the front door this morning." He let out a sigh as if recalling the chilly morning he experienced before continuing. "But I guess compared to what the rest of the world is going through, we're fortunate the only problem we're enduring is a little snow."

Basilio gave a grunt in response, recalling the day the flames of war were reignited. Since the end of the prior war, the world had been teetering above an abyss of chaos. The slightest breeze, the gentlest nudge was all it would take to send that world into an all too familiar time of bloodshed. There had been a "No Hostility Pact" between the two nations of Plegia and Ylisse, but everyone who watched from the sidelines knew it was bound to fail; that it was nothing more than a farce to delay the inevitable. And after a decade of unsettled peace, Plegia gave the push, and the world took the plunge. "Shame to know it all could have ended ten years ago."

Largo nodded. "What Plegia lacks is a leader. Unfortunately, it seems the Plegian royal bloodline is afflicted with insanity. All of them obsessed with Grima and the dark arts."

"Even Validar's daughter?"

Largo shrugged his mighty shoulders. "The estranged princess? She had enough sense to leave the kingdom; I'll give her that much. Perhaps it was her Chon'sin blood telling her to get out."

Basilio grimaced at the thought of another generation of Validar's reign. "Has the Khan decided on any action yet regarding this war?"

"His will is to remain neutral; but I'm sure you can see how difficult that is for him. With how bad the weather has been as of late, we're going to need to open our trade routes lest our people starve. And then just yesterday we had the little prince of Ylisse come to our doorstep asking for our aid. I can't say I'm particularly against the idea of heading back into war, but perhaps that's my barbaric ancestor talking for me. Others would prefer not to throw their lives away for a worthless cause and enjoy the peace and quiet behind our walls."

"I can't disagree with them. But what kind of men would we be to turn a blind eye to our allies?"

"The world's just not like that anymore, old friend. Everyone's getting tired. They just want to live out the rest of their lives in peace and quiet… You were lucky to have left the kingdom when you did…" As soon as he spoke the words, he flinched as if he had said something wrong and immediately clenched his jaw shut. Basilio stared at the soldier as he focused on his boots. "Forgive me, Basilio. It seems the older I get, the foggier the memory becomes."

Basilio returned his gaze back up to the sky and muttered solemnly, "No need to apologize, friend. It's been so long now; I'm surprised you even remembered. But you're right." The clouds, once a formidable wall of grey, were slowly being pushed apart as the sun fought for its chance to shine. "Every cloud has a silver lining, doesn't it?"

~XxxxxxxxxxxX~

It was the very image of hell. Like a gladiator pit, contestants, caged behind rusted metal bars, would be released into a pit where an audience, seated comfortably up above, would watch as he fought for his life against man, beast, and monster. Should he survive his ordeal, he would be deemed innocent… But if his sins weighed heavily on his shoulders, he would be cut down, bludgeoned, or eaten alive. But should your blood seep and soak the ground, your generous offer would promise a cleansed soul to allow safe passageway to the afterworld. That was the way of Grimleal Law…

It had been a long time since he felt so afraid. Upon entering Grima's Court, he was greeted with the stench of blood, a raucous of laughter and screams, and the color red. He had entered just in time to catch the last few seconds of the latest match; a match which ended with the victor, a seven-foot armored giant, smashing the skull of his opponent – a scrawny man who appeared to not have seen a speck of food in ages. Even Lon'qu, who had never felt thinner in his life, had more muscle than that unfortunate man.

Although the crowd around him was cheering, Lon'qu seemed to be deaf to it all as his world went silent. Was this the sound you heard when you died? Was this sheer white silence the sound that fallen man was hearing? A sudden jolt startled Lon'qu from his thoughts and he suddenly found himself on his knees in the center of the arena; a new specimen for the people to marvel at. Suddenly, as if a dial was being turned up, the noise around him gradually increased until the murmurs around him became nearly deafening. It was as if he could hear every voice in the room echoing against his ear drums.

"Ah…What do we have here?" He heard. It was a dominant voice, one discernable from the rest. The others in the crowd heard it as well, as the murmurs among them immediately ceased. Lon'qu's eyes skimmed the audience to seek the man who spoke but only found himself looking at the faces of what he considered to be aristocrats looking back at him with cold, hard glares.

There was a gentle clicking of boots against hard floor, and turning his head in that direction, the young convict found himself gazing into the cold, empty gaze of a redheaded man. He held a smile on his lips, but even the most ignorant of fools could see there was no joy lurking behind it. "Are you the new convict I was expecting? The one from that… Oh, what's the name of that little country…? Kon'chon? Chen'sing?" He shrugged. "Ah, no matter. Welcome to Grima's Court, little man!"

The crowd began to cheer in response, prompting Lon'qu to grimace in disgust. Was this his atonement? To die before these people who saw his life as nothing more than a minute of entertainment? His eyes fell to his wrists where his cuffs held him. Was his life really so worthless?

"Now I'm sure you're still a little confused with how this all works," the man continued, pacing among the seats, those stainless boots continuing with their clicking, "So I'll let you kick back and take some notes. Let you get comfortable." As if on cue, two soldiers picked him up by his arms and proceeded to escort him to one of the cages that lined the arena.

As one of them went about unlocking it, Lon'qu's eyes strayed to the cell beside his and there he found himself gazing at a blonde man with an almost god-like beauty. He had his hands clasped together in prayer as his lips chanted faint words. As if sensing Lon'qu's gaze, his lips stopped moving and he slowly peeled open his eyes to look upon the new arrival. He looked out of place, Lon'qu thought, with his white robes contrasting the black of the court and his eerily calm demeanor in a situation that generated fear and death.

The man looked prepared to speak a few words to him, but Lon'qu failed to catch them – if any – as he was tossed unceremoniously into his holding. "I hope you learn quickly, little man," the redhead called from his post, "It won't be long until it's your turn to entertain!"

Pushing himself up against the wall after his rough entrance into the cell, Lon'qu watched as the arena was being cleared; the weapons being returned to their corresponding spots on the racks, the monster of a man returning to his own holding cell, and the corpse, still warm, being dragged away; a heavy trail of blood staining the ground, serving as a reminder to those encaged that there was no mercy when found guilty by Grimleal Law.

The arena seemed to calm down from the latest hype as the volume was reduced to mere murmurs. Lon'qu, amidst all the whispering, noticed a constant jingling occurring in his eardrums. There were no chimes or bells to be seen ringing and the din sounded as if it was emanating only a few inches from him. Following his ears, he cast his eyes downwards where he discovered the source of the noise. His hands, shaking uncontrollably, were causing his cuffs to rattle.

Seeing his hands shake so violently, he was reminded of the time when he first witnessed them in such a state. It was that day that took place seven years ago… He gulped as he could once again see the blood – her blood – decorate his palms. He could once again feel the thick, sticky fluid slide between his fingers while its scent of steel drifted up his nostrils. The walls of his cell seemed to be moving in on him and his hearing was once again turned off; his dangling chains the only noise to be heard.

Even though no one would hear, even though no one in this arena would care, he wanted to call out for help. But just like seven years ago, his voice was gone, his throat clenched shut by an unseen hand. He was reliving a nightmare and he knew naught of how to awaken himself from it.

But then, amidst all the ringing, a single voice, gentle – almost feminine – called out to him.

"Do not be afraid."

Four words, acting like a life ring, pulled Lon'qu out of the sea made of dark thoughts, returning him to a reality just as bitter as his hallucinations. The court, once a foggy blur in his mind, regained its regular shape and the walls of his cell were pushed back to their original positions. He was able to breathe again and the images of his past were quickly gone. Oblivious to the panic attack he had just saved Lon'qu from, the blonde man started up again. "Your soul emanates a bright light. Do not let this place diminish it with fear."

By now, Lon'qu's hands had steadied, the man's words being a source of warmth in the cold damp cell. But though his voice may have calmed the convict, there was no truth in them. Especially considering his latest visions, how could anyone say his soul was anything but dark; stained black by the lives he shortened. "Sinners need no mercy… or sympathy…" Lon'qu told the man solemnly. "Don't waste your breath on someone like me."

He recalled, within the first year of his imprisonment, all the clergymen and vicars who approached him in attempt to reform the young man. But even they – men of the cloth – were wise enough to keep away from a man such as himself as they eventually found their words and efforts bearing no fruit. The only way to cleanse a soul like his, Lon'qu determined, was to let it dwell alone in the darkness it created. And after seven years of solitude, he had grown accustomed to being alone.

"So you have committed a sin?" The other man's gentle voice reflected his inner calm which was undeterred by Lon'qu's confession. "Haven't we all? But that is no reason for us to give up on each other. After all, no one likes to be alone."

Two soldiers, Plegian evident by the ruby-red décor that donned their armor, began to approach the men's cages. They stopped in front of the cell adjacent to Lon'qu's – the one holding the man of god-like beauty – and began fiddling with the odd number of keys. The moment they found the corresponding key, they began to cackle as they began unravel the padlock keeping the bars shut. "You're up next," they sneered at the man as they began to haul him to his feet.

As he was being hauled away, Lon'qu, able to admire his virgin white garbs and glowing blonde hair, caught the man's hazel gaze and heard him whisper one final time, "I know not of the sins you carry, but the fact that you're willing to acknowledge – and regret – them already reveals the kind heart you possess…"

Lon'qu may have been mistaken, but he could have sworn he saw a smile on the man's lips.

~XxxxxxxxxxxX~

When did he decide to throw away his life, his freedom, to become Gangrel's lapdog?

The man shook his head as he led his wagon through the forest. It had to be around here somewhere. He scratched his head as he scanned the rugged terrain once more, seeking out the source of the tempting scent of bread. After his latest assignment of driving the dreadful path from Plegia to Regna Ferox with a human cargo no less, Gangrel, with hardly a thanks in return, sent the man out once again. This time not for a fighter. But for a virgin.

"You can't just grab one off the streets," the Mad King had told him as his eyes focused on the arena where two men sliced and diced at one another. It was a surprise he could even focus when his favorite part was just about to come up. "Validar wants only the finest."

The man wanted to cry out his irritations, but after witnessing the loser getting sliced open, he preferred that he remain on his king's good side. "And where, Milord, would you think I search for one without garnering any unwanted attention?"

Vincent and Victor had told him of a renowned bar the locals seemed to favor. It was located in the outskirts outside of any village eyes and was a common stopping place for all kinds of travelers. Apparently there was a barmaid who worked there; rumored to be the most beautiful across the land. "Snag her and you'll be living like a king!" The two brothers had said as they tossed a few bodies into a fire; the stench of burning flesh making the man cringe.

He wasn't much for bloodshed as Gangrel was, but he loved money. And if it meant he had to cross miles upon miles of land, evade axe-swinging barbarians, or kidnap someone's daughter to earn it, then so be it. The end justified the means. And in this day and age, they were all just trying to survive.

A plume of smoke billowed out of a chimney a little distance away, alerting any stray traveler that shelter was nearby. The scent of food became almost solid the closer he got, but it wasn't food he was interested in. It was a petite dancer he wanted; the finest in all of Ylisse.

~XxxxxxxxxxxX~

With Basilio still out running errands, it was left to the two ladies to tend to the bar. Flavia, who was better with the rowdy crowd the tavern seemed to attract, managed the front while Olivia remained in the kitchen helping with the food preparation. After waking up an hour and a half later than usual, the dancer couldn't help but be ridden with guilt as she thought of Basilio trekking through the snow on his own, a daunting amount of groceries piled high on his back. When she had voiced her guilt to Flavia, the woman simply laughed, telling her there was no need to be beat herself up.

Even so, it was uncommon for Olivia to sleep in as she did this morning. Even if she was up cleaning the bar until midnight or the boisterous crowd was keeping her awake until the wee hours of the morning, she made sure she was up and about just before the sun could show itself. Thinking back on it as she kneaded the dough for the rolls, she wondered what had kept her so occupied that she couldn't get a good night's rest. Last night she couldn't recall making it to her bedroom so she assumed she must have fallen asleep straight after cleaning duties which probably ended before midnight. The winds, surprisingly, failed to arouse her as she scarcely recalled hearing the pounding on her walls.

No, it was something else that she heard that had given her a restless night. Her hands stopped as Flavia pulled open the door, a squeaking noise eliciting from the hinges. It was those sounds that had startled her as they were very similar to another noise she had heard earlier… A sound similar to an ungreased hinge, like a creaking stage, like a rusted wheel…

Like an old carriage.

It was the images of that carriage she had encountered the prior day that danced in her head throughout the night. Even though it was just a simple carriage, in her dream it gave off a bad omen; as if it was Death himself sitting in the driver's seat.

With big violet eyes staring back at her, Flavia passed her a concerned look and asked, "Are you feeling alright? You look as if you've just seen a ghost."

Quickly ridding herself of the haunting images that formed in her mind, Olivia shook her head and passed Flavia a weak smile, hoping to quell her concern. It was just a dream, she thought to herself. No need to overthink the feelings it created in her. She tried to tell herself that, but her heart continued thumping with an unknown strength.

Thinking nothing more of the incident, Flavia put Olivia to work manning the tables as the boisterous crowd had grown within the last few minutes. It was definitely louder and busier, but Olivia had seen the dining room in bigger disarray before. Taking two plates at a time, Olivia made her way around the bar dropping off each of the men's meals while also receiving thanks, coin, and hoots as rewards. Shy as she was, Olivia tried to ignore their calls but when the whole tavern was cheering her, it was definitely a feat easier said than done.

Blushing red and wishing she was dead in a ditch, Olivia, while trying to avoid eye contact with all the men had accidentally found herself bumping into someone, knocking the plate she had been carrying onto the floor. "I'm so sorry!" She blurted, immediately turning to the guest. The two made eye contact and although the gesture would have made her turn away embarrassed, Olivia found she couldn't turn away. It wasn't because she was looking into the eyes of a handsome soldier who had stolen her heart at first sight, no, she admittedly found his features quite intimidating. But even with the snarl he passed her, she couldn't peel her eyes away.

Placing a shaking hand over her breast she knew she was staring at the face of the man who drove the carriage; the man who played Death in her dreams.

The man, on the other hand, couldn't believe his luck as the one person he had come across, the same person who was Gangrel's target, was standing an arm's length away from him. Though she had been hooded at the time of their first encounter, her voice, which had spoken the exact same three words to him yesterday, was unmistakable.

He smirked.

Talk about killing two birds with one stone…

Chapter II: End

A/N: Yeah, I updated. Surprise surprise. I'm not going to make any promises on when I'll update again because we all know I'd break it. But on a side note, I have become absolutely OBSESSED with Libra so I had to throw him in. At first I just thought of him as the character who was a dude but looked like a girl, but after getting all his supports and playing the DLC Scrambles with him, I realized how deep of a character he really was. And no, my Libra won't be mistaken for a female. Rather, I decided to make him have a very god-like beauty equivalent to like a Greek God. Hopefully, Lon'qu and Olivia will meet soon and beware that the title of this story may be changing. Hope to see all of you guys in the next chapter and thanks for reading!