Genre: Adventure/friendship
Words: 8,900-
Rating: T for teen
Main Characters: Ike and Nailah [this feels so redundant]
Summary: Post RD. Several months after Ashera's defeat, Ike, Soren, and Ranulf leave for Hatari. Nailah decides she wants to reunite her lost nation with the rest of Tellius, but fate has a different idea in mind.
(Pathetic A/N): Hi. I'm alive. I swear to it. And I'm sorry. So, so, soooo terribly sorry for not updating. And you want to know why I haven't been? Because this chapter hates me with a burning passion... Quite frankly, the two months that I spent *not* updating this were two months spent editing the same thing, over and over and over again. And again. And again. AND AGAIN.
EDITING. FREAKING BANE OF MY EXISTENCE-EDITING. BELIEVE ME, I RETURN YOUR SENTIMENTS A HUNDRED TIMES OVER, DARLING. AGAIN AND AGAIN. FEEL MY UNDYING LOVE, BEEOTCH. /shot
Yeah... o.o Suffice to say, this chapter is not as long as it once was or could have been (15,000 words, anyone?).
Dialogue and Soren hate me. Really, that's all you need to know.
(A big thank you to all my lovely readers and reviewers! You are all a huge inspiration for everything I write. Thank you very much for sticking with me and I hope you do enjoy this new chapter. I can quite honestly say that this is my best and most important one yet. :)
0o0o0o0
Travels of the East –barefootbean
Chapter V: Vanishing Acts
Daein- Daein Keep
The year 649, autumn
0o0o0o0
.
This snow is ridiculous...
Limbs chilled and mind weary, Nailah positioned herself against the western side of the dully lit room in Daein Keep and rubbed at her arms furiously, gleaming bangles jingling whimsically as she took her seat upon a small and worn bench, the paint stripped away from years of usage. The crackling hearth and companion nearby provided pleasant sources of warmth, but the deafeningly empty stone quarters surrounding her left her more cold and guarded than she would have expected. The quietness and lack of activity was unnerving; Serenes had lost so much more, and yet it was Daein's corridors that overflowed with dread.
Volug was leaning against the wall nearby, eyes closed and arms crossed. To a regular beorc, he may have appeared unwelcoming and unmoving, though Nailah knew better. Attentiveness hid just beneath his carefully conceived mask, and at the end of the day in good company he was just as real and fallible as any living creature. Albeit a bit unsocial, and even less charming than he thought himself to be, she couldn't deny his abilities as a bodyguard.
The long trek from Serenes hadn't been nearly as difficult as Nailah had originally anticipated, except the unexpected chilling weather, but despite that, no interruptions had been brought to her attention.
In hindsight, the lack of it disturbed her. Daein did not take kindly to strangers of any form, and even less those of laguz. She'd witnessed it and been told of it many times—but the citizenry of Nevassa hadn't cast her and Volug so much as a glance as she'd shuffled through the outskirts of town, and it was odd, as even the children were silent and sullen as they both leisurely made their way to the castle. Daein was a dreary place, but the people were as rambunctious and vicious as any warmongers could be, so the nation never lacked personality. Not seeing so much as a drunken man in the streets left Nailah concerned.
A dead Daein surely signaled the apocalypse.
A dead Daein certainly signaled problems for her. Lots.
The migration won't be happening if I can't gain Daein as an ally. It should be easy enough to make terms that Micaiah can agree to, it's only a matter of her being able to follow through with our agreement.
Of course, the girl's certainly not stupid. She may have a heart of gold, but Daein's welfare will come before my own no matter the situation... Hatari may have to wait longer than I'd like...
Ah, there will be no easy way to go about this arrangement. Damn.
Nailah brooded softly and rearranged herself until she was sprawled out comfortably along her back, bare arms above her head and legs dangling off both ends of the bench boastfully; it did little but cramp her neck and tail, she found.
"…You're awfully restless."
She slowly tilted her head to the side to glance at Volug, watching him mutely as he stared at her evenly. He'd been more thoughtful and observant than usual, and she wondered silently if thoughts of home are what had enlightened him to take heed of others around him—particularly herself.
"Does it bother you?" His voice rang quietly throughout the room, quiet and undemanding. She took her time to work up a reply, tail flicking out to the side in soft wisps of silver. Volug needed to work on the specifics of his questions.
"Mm… Nevassa's streets?"
"Sure."
She hesitated for a moment, before speaking grudgingly what gripped her mind. "…Yes. A bit."
"I figured as much..."
She laughed softly, fiddling with the heron made silk fabric of her sari, fingers clenching and unclenching periodically. Habit. "...Daein is supposed to be recovering, but considering how the capitol doesn't look any different since the end of the war, I don't think Micaiah has been receiving any aid at all. She's been lying about Daein's condition to Serenes to cover her weakness. Smart, but also very, very stupid."
Volug frowned deeply. "That's a bit of a strong conclusion. I would have thought the Apostle would have offered her aid. Considering Micaiah's her sister and all. And since Daein was formerly under their rule."
"Under the Senators laws, you mean."
"Well, that too. She has to take responsibility for them though, right?"
Nailah blinked slowly. "...Yes, that's how it should be. However, relations can only go so far and provide so much. Her blood ties have only become recently discovered, and it's not public knowledge, in any case."
"Explain?"
She sighed and rolled over on to her stomach, an arm propping her head up tiredly. Sleep was surely a prominent prospect. She couldn't say the same for Volug, though.
"Crimea and Daein both are sub-terrain states of Begnion. As far as status goes, Begnion is the motherland of them both, and therefore comes first in aid requirements. Sanaki may be Micaiah's sister, and theoretically speaking, she may also wish to aid Daein in their reconstruction, but as the Apostle of a failing theocracy, her citizenry and government have to come first. If they can't help themselves, then they're merely wasting their time trying to provide for Daein."
Serenes was merely an exception. Though it seems to be less of an exception and more of a general rule nowadays...
Nailah scowled at the floor thoughtfully, a single arm trailing upon the gray stones. "...On second thought, even if Begnion were able to send aid, it's a matter of Daein accepting it. I'd imagine that the people are still harboring bitter feelings from their former rulers, anyways." She quieted.
"…You seriously think they would do that?" Her ears twitched at the sound of fabric shifting against the wall. "All for the sake of—what? Pride over something they can't fix?" She didn't strive to hide the scowl that came with Volug's unseemly proclamation. Had death become nothing more than the manner behind swatting a fly to him? Daein had lost a lot more than a war.
Labor camps aren't so easily dismissed, Volug. It's not hard to relate to their rage.
"…That is what it tends to come down to. These beorc do not wish to have their weaknesses paraded, so to speak." Volug cast her a grim look.
"…So it really is more of a matter of idiocy, then."
Nailah's lips twitched, though it wasn't humor that brought the action. His carefully created mask was slipping. They both knew he wasn't as seemingly cruel as he tried to depict himself to be. He had changed from the out lander he once had been.
You try too hard to maintain your composure. You're just as mundane as the rest of us.
Admit it.
"...You pity them, don't you? These beorc people have grown on you as much as they have Micaiah this past year." He tensed at her accusing tone, arms frozen in place against his chest. "...While it is ultimately their decision in the end whether to reject or accept aid from the other nations, the likelihood of Micaiah refusing is low."
His voice was quiet but forced. "...As long as it doesn't bring any more damage to this place, I don't really care how it plays out."
Nailah relaxed. "Mm. That's probably for the best."
Volug was snarky in more ways than one.
Nailah had forgotten about it, amidst leaving Hatari behind and striving to survive the chaos of war that he had kept quiet most of the time, unable to communicate as fluently as she did in the modern tongue. Opportunities for casual chat were scarce; ensuring their lives was, blatantly put, much more important. She hadn't even realized the decline of their conversing.
There were more important things that needed my attention.
Rafiel. Serenes. Fighting a Goddess...
Silence fell upon her shoulders like a suffocating coat, the thick and sweltering kind, and Nailah kept her lips taught and sealed should she feel the antic desire to speak up. Exhaustion was snapping at her heels, her patience being crushed beneath the ringing in her ears.
Political issues were a tiring ordeal—even for an experienced wolf laguz of her stature. Nailah could admit it, grudgingly at best, that invincibility was proven not to be held by anyone these days—not even by the Goddess. So fatigue crept regularly—and that was simply how it was.
Nailah felt no comfort such realizations brought; they were merely the facts of life as she knew it to be.
Volug was a fool to overlook the will of Daein. Who was he to dismiss their pride as mere bumbling and stumbling? The road to victory was never satisfyingly smooth—he knew that. So what if denial was merely a stepping stone for Daein to use for recovery, and their pride the legs with which they sprung. Had he not used those same legs to place himself in the position he claimed now all those years ago? Had he not risked everything on the same pride? What of his own so-called 'misdeeds'?
Nailah's glance was brief and innocently derived of its purpose; it wasn't difficult to catch her own stubborn reflection mirrored in the pool of his hardened eyes.
Surely we're the proudest fools of them all.
Anything weak Hatari will be guaranteed to snap in its jowls.
Nailah restlessly turned over on her side, until she was facing the wall and staring at nothing but the cracks that marred it. Absently, her fingers trailed over them. Maybe she was making things out harder than they really were… Daein wasn't the only proud nation on Tellius. If Daein couldn't provide her country with aid from refusing their own, well… there would be other ways to get by. Her people were natural adepts at survival; they'd been doing it for decades—centuries before—and aid had been naught but a dead dream.
Reflexively, she wound the cloth covering her eye around a single finger.
I would know the truth of it.
"Still, I don't think Micaiah would lie to any of us." Volug's voice snapped her out of her reverie.
"Oh?" Nailah wet her lips and cast him a side long glance. His eyes flashed beneath his hair and he ducked his head submissively; rarely did he show such respect in private quarters for her. "Really?"
"I would think she has more reasons not to lie, wouldn't you? She kept secrets during the war from everyone, and if she hadn't, bloodshed more or less could have been averted. She's proven her strong-will and resolve to live; I doubt many people will forget that quickly."
"Her pride got in the way of rationalizing. I doubt people will forget that either."
"The blood-pact didn't offer much in the way of options at the time. The risks of doing so much as anything at all were far too high—and making amends for a situation like that would be nigh impossible."
"She had a will of her own. If the girl could drive an entire nation to rise from the slums to embrace a rising rebellion, I'm sure she would have the resolve to risk her neck to have spoken up to the Laguz Alliance. Or at least, to us."
Volug let out a breath. "Sure—if she wanted to condemn her entire nation to their deaths."
Nailah hmmed bemusedly."Ha. While that may be true, you're missing the point I was trying to make clear to you."
Volug quirked an eyebrow as if to say how clever he thought he really was. Nailah flashed her teeth in the shifting glows of the fire.
"Everyone lies, and she was no exception to that rule."
He rolled his eyes at her dramatics and stretched out his legs, pushing off the wall stiffly. Nailah watched him in veiled interest. "...Fine. Theoretically speaking then, let's say... she's trying to avoid being in the public eye. To do so, she'd have to lie. Maybe not because she wishes to, but because it's necessary."
The situation with the blood-pact.
The words went unsaid but it was as though they could have been spoken aloud, and Nailah's gut tensed lightly.
"...We won't be getting anywhere if you refer to everything hypothetically. It won't change the facts of what's been done." Volug scowled irately, lips tugging downward until his pearly teeth were bared.
"She's not bad, Nailah." Exasperation and irritability made his tone sharp. "Why are you so intent on making her out to be so? She's not the villain in this situation."
So am I the culprit then?
She pursed her lips and frowned languidly, turning her predatory gaze to the ceiling. She'd bathe in the luxury of his reaction when it came. He still had much to learn. Time was the only difference between them.
"I never said I thought she was, now did I?"
Volug froze, back stiffening and turning rigid as a plank. It only took him seconds to realize he'd stumbled into her own clever trap of wit and words. His lips twitched into the beginnings of an angered smile. "...You-" He shook his head in frustration.
Got you.
"Micaiah and Daein will make a good ally; I have no doubts about that." Her voice sounded soft without the power of her gaze on him. "I simply wanted to make sure you thought the same–"
"By baiting me? Is it really that hard to just ask?"
"Would you have risen to her defense otherwise, Volug?"
No.
He grimaced angrily, fingers clenching around his arms as he pulled a face at the floor—the ceiling—the dust in the crevices—the ice caked windows; anywhere but her. "...That's not the point. You could have said something." Frustration.
Nailah shook her head, the sharp clasp of her necklace digging into the base of her neck. "Focus on what's important. You told me what I needed to hear."
Volug turned his back to shield his eyes further from Nailah's view. If they could have smoldered with rage anymore, they would have been the color of coal. Surely she would have something snappy to say about that.
The tension eased from his figure slowly, and Nailah knew for sure when breezes from his tail no longer struck her face. She took a breath to keep her voice even.
"...I will form an alliance with Daein and Serenes when I get the chance. The Crimean queen has already agreed to my terms. When the time comes, I will attempt to make an alliance with Begnion as well."
His voice came grudgingly, though she knew she had been forgiven.
"...And what of the other laguz nations? What about Goldoa and Gallia?"
"With due time. Daein is closest, therefore, they are our most valuable ally."
If something were to go wrong...
Nailah withheld the words on the tip of her tongue and continued. "I have no concerns about the laguz. The beorc with their stubborn reluctance is what may be an issue. I want to address that first."
Volug grimaced despondently. "...There is always something. Isn't there."
She didn't bother to work up a response. What was there to say when everything had already been said and nothing was left but the truth?
She started instead, an appraising look lighting her features in the dim fire light: "...You know... for being as relatively new to this land as we are, you know more than I thought you would." He tensed. "...I do not recall having taught you any history lessons, Volug." He looked slightly embarrassed, a child caught doing something naughty, and glanced away out the far window.
"...You didn't. Rafiel rambles when he's bored."
Her lips twitched into a bemused curve at the welcomed mention of the heron prince. "Ahh…"
Rafiel.
Nailah's smile slowly faded as she was reminded of his lack of presence. Rafiel didn't do well alone, he had told her once. While he refrained from speaking of his past, she knew his ghosts still surfaced from time to time, and with it, unwelcome memories of a betrayal so long ago. With only months to distance himself between the last war and Serenes Massacre only decades before, those memories had surfaced again, becoming alive and tender to the touch. Perhaps the company of his siblings and the forest would help quell those, and her concern for him would be unwarranted, as time ran its course...
It was a hopeful thought, but Rafiel was more fragile than glass. It would take more than simply time to ease experiences such as those. He needed companionship.
And she wasn't there to offer it to him when she wanted to be.
"The treaties. You'll make them later?" Nailah glanced up, and all thoughts of him distanced themselves.
"…Most likely." She blinked, speaking slowly. "They will have to be made sometime, but now is not the time. I still have to pass this with the Elders when we return." He nodded his head stiffly in acceptance, anger fading slightly.
"Who will you send to deliver them when the time comes?"
She smiled with false apathy, eye aglow.
"You."
He was quiet for some time, eyes closed, and then: "...I really hope you know what you're doing, Nailah..."
"I'm fully aware, I can assure you." Her eye twinkled humorously.
"It doesn't seem like it. You wouldn't be planning to send me away otherwise."
"I have my reasons."
"...Care to share them?"
"You know the lands. You know the people, and you know the language. I can't expect that of anyone else, now can I?" Her smile still lingered, and her pale lips drew back to reveal mother of pearl teeth. "I'll need you to visit Serenes and speak with Rafiel for me. He will want to know how Hatari is progressing. It will be your job to keep everyone informed."
"...Anything else, my queen?" The formality stung lightly—but she didn't dare give him the satisfaction, keeping her smiling expression intact. It was a matter of pride now, and she wasn't one for turning challenges down.
"On the contrary... yes."
Volug grimaced, but didn't say another word. He couldn't outsmart logic, even if he were a scholar.
And he most certainly couldn't outsmart a queen.
"Yes, one last thing... If you're going to give me a look and a mouthful like that, you better give me a damn good reason why I shouldn't send you. Since I've been so generous as to share mine, humor me?"
He met her challenge with unexpected grace, head tilted to meet her gaze.
"Fine." Nailah watched him swallow, as if steeling his nerves. He let out a breath, voice quiet.
"Nailah... I wish to stay behind to assist you... because I not comfortable... elsewhere."
Nailah kept her face blank, evaluating. It was obvious their jests at one another had taken on different meanings than what they had intoned at some point in time, as Volug was being completely serious.
She held his eyes firmly. His expression was stubborn, and she had to wonder if the prospect of being away from home secretly distressed him. It was a thin and verging on unlikely possibility for a bodyguard such as himself, but it was one she wouldn't forget about anytime soon. Volug loved Hatari as much as she did, and leaving across the desert just after returning to their homeland would be a letdown.
I suppose you don't realize what you have until it's missed.
...What an underestimated saying.
"Other measures will have to be taken," she said coolly.
She listened in anticipation for a response, focused, but one did not come.
Volug retreated to his own world, and silence settled over the atmosphere like an obscene blanket. She shifted her position uncomfortably and leaped to her feet to tend to the dying fire for the sake of doing something, Volug still standing but now within her lissom grasp. Nailah realized suddenly that it would be easy enough to reach out and offer some wise words of comfort to him, as that was what a gentle queen would do, but her gut spoke volumes and told her otherwise. They were both too stubborn to say the words that should have been spoken anyway. Too acquainted with one another to know that the words would only be meaningless and cost more to say then they really meant to one another anywa–
"…Thank you, Nailah."
–And yet they still came.
Perhaps one of us isn't as stubborn as we think. She didn't even realize until he left the room like a ghost that she'd spoken her thoughts aloud, and time seemed to quicken like the sands in an hourglass.
Nailah blew out a steady breath to stay focused and placidly tossed a nearby log onto the blaze, trying to derive some enjoyment from the warmth that seeped into her skin despite the loss of company. The smell of pine was sickeningly sweet to her sensitive nose as the wood burned and crackled, but she found herself gratefully embracing the distraction for once.
While it covered up the atrocious smell of melancholy in the room, she still didn't know how Volug could stand it in the corridors.
.
0o0o0o0
.
"You'll agree to the terms? I know this is a difficult situation for Daein to be in, but, in exchange for equality… Gallia would like to lend its support to the reconstruction if you would let us. Over time, it may help ease the prejudice even more. King Skrimir volunteered personally to come here and aid Nevassa himself with the rebuilding."
The look on Queen Micaiah's face was pleased and concerned and everything in between, though Ranulf was sure he had her cornered with his last line. As the decision maker of her nation, all and any offered hospitality she denied would be denying her people the help they so desperately needed. She was too softhearted to say no, but too proud to outwardly say yes either—as were all Daeins. Ranulf tried to give her the benefit of the doubt –really tried– but the fact that she even hesitated after everything the Laguz Alliance had gone through in the end to save Daein was unnecessary.
How could she hold on to such a sham when Yune herself had told her directly otherwise the truth of all the maddening bigotry?
She twitched and exhaled in a rush, Sothe leaning against the wall nearby to offer steady support, he presumed. Ranulf watched them both silently from beneath the brim of his cap, his at ease business face betraying nothing of his thoughts. Certainly they'd been through a lot together, but no more than a certain other group of mercenaries. They'd made difficult choices as well, so why couldn't Micaiah live up to making hers?
"…Was this idea created under the assumption of ending the prejudice, or by some other means I should know of?" Her silver hair fell around her eyes in a frame, and with alarm he realized she looked more aged in that moment than he'd ever seen before. Dark bags were swollen under her eyes, and her mouth held a grim expression he'd seen on Ashera's face not too long ago… The cool resemblance was unnerving.
Suspicious to the end… Suppose maybe even the Maiden of Dawn can't avoid having a few loose screws… Can't blame her, really, after everything that's happened. Killing a Goddess doesn't really help anyone's sanity anyway.
Ranulf cleared his throat haphazardly. "The original idea was to propose a propaganda ensuring the odds of ending the prejudice between the people, yes, but Queen Elincia also had made the suggestion of setting a meeting between the laguz and beorc royal classes in public monthly. In this way, the people can see that beorc and laguz truly have no qualms against one another."
"Wouldn't that be dangerous?"
He glanced over at Sothe in surprise. "Well, yeah, more than likely. But we can't really advance without taking risks, you know?"
Micaiah nodded her head. "That… that makes more sense than I would have thought it to have had… " Her voice trailed off, and Ranulf waited.
She did that a lot.
He remembered when he first met the girl at the Ribahn River, rivulets of mud up to her knees and eyes staring at him defiantly as she claimed to be there under orders from King Pelleas. She hadn't looked pleased to be in her position then, and certainly now she didn't seem to be too happy either. The pride she carried on her shoulders was the price she had to pay for her countries mistakes centuries and decades ago. He could understand her hesitation for making agreements, but… the lack of trust was truly irksome. Even Skrimir thought her exceedingly stubborn—and he was one to talk.
Ranulf cleared his throat lightly. "So… can you agree to it?"
"The proposal?" Her eyes glowed warmly—honey ochre in a small round-shaped face.
"Well, unless there's something else you had in mind…"
"Yes, I can agree to this." Her answer was unexpectedly strong, and Ranulf genuinely beamed at her for the first time since he entered the room.
"Really truly?"
"Yes, Ranulf."
"Fantastic! Skrimir and Queen Elincia will be thrilled to hear the news."
Her face softened slightly, and she flipped her head around to smile at him, the dark bags under her eyes not as prominent with that particular action. "Good, I'm very glad. I want this prejudice to end quickly and painlessly. The end of the war should have been the last of it."
"It should have been, but we all knew it wouldn't be that simple." Sothe slunk slowly away from the wall, taking his place at Micaiah's side in several easy strides. The skinny beorc had grown even more since Ranulf had last seen him, his frame taller and muscles larger; he almost towered over the smaller girl. "Undoubtedly this may take years to change. Though, we're up for it."
Glad to see you're still an optimist, Sothe.
Ranulf handed Micaiah a nearby quill and shrugged his shoulders in half-hearted agreement at her companion. "They aren't kidding when they say old habits die hard, you know. Underestimated statement of the century and all."
"Yeah, I guess so..." Sothe trailed off, watching Micaiah's hand evenly as she wrote her name slowly in small little loops, the quill scritchy-scratching it's way gracefully across the parchment despite her apparent fatigue of it all. Every second felt drawn out as he watched her hand signing the agreement between their countries. Everything was changing for the better—and so much faster than he had expected.
Ranulf froze. And stared.
"Hey... you're not covering your brand anymore?" He asked softly.
The quill twitched and paused in its scratching momentarily, ink sinking a hideous black hole in the damp parchment from where the tip rested. She flexed her branded hand carefully, stretching out her fingers before gently letting the quill fall from her grasp and beside the parchment with a soft clack on the wooden desk. Micaiah held her hand out for him in plain sight, but averted her eyes to gaze at Sothe from the side, a silent exchange of words passing from her to his own weary face in all of a matter of seconds.
The small bird-like blossom brand on her hand seemed like watercolor ink, contrasting against her fairly pale skin. A lot of things contrasted about her, Ranulf observed solemnly, not all of them good.
It's so easy to overlook the persecution of the branded when wrapped up in your own problems...
I always overlook Daein's issues because I'm so involved in Gallia's and they persecute us as much as we despise them... no wonder why the branded hate us so much. We all must look selfish and merciless to them when we place our desires above their own...
"...No, I'm not," she spoke in monotone, her fingers chalk stiff in mid-air. "...I haven't been since the war ended several months ago, when my... coronation took place. The people of Daein Keep and the royal court all know what I am now."
"Micaiah, don't speak as if you're some thing..." Sothe's tired voice hardly registered in Ranulf's well-trained ears as he tried not to balk at the young girl.
...This could explain a lot about the lack of communication. The weeks of delays without a word—she must have been having problems in court when she was crowned–
This could also explain why Daein's people seem so tense and reserved...
Micaiah lifted her head and met his gaze silently, golden eyes lit with a new found proclamation of something he didn't recognize as she focused all her attention on him; her eyes were almost blinding they were so luminescent in the room.
She did not look particularly impressed by his statement.
"The people know?" Ranulf winced. "...Were you the one to tell them?"
Sothe stood stock still as if in anticipation for trouble, but Micaiah kept her emotions veiled perfectly behind her unreadable expression. Was it hardened by grief? Or by her own people's cruelty? It wasn't hard for Ranulf to imagine how Daein would react to her brand—much less to everything else that took place during the war. The very thought made his hair stand on end, and his tail twitched as the cold realization dawned.
She's lucky to even be breathing right now.
"No," she spoke hastily, her voice holding poorly hidden fatigue, "I was not the one to tell them of the war's events. But I can tell you how it came to be, if you are so inclined to listen. I'd rather recite the facts than let you draw your own conclusion. Though... yours probably wouldn't be that far off the mark." With the silver crown embedded in her hair and eyes of the goddess staring at him, it was easy to believe that she truly hadn't known what her heritage in court would cause. But after everything they learned at the Tower of Guidance...
Sothe raised an eyebrow inquiringly as Ranulf pointedly shifted his gaze to stare anywhere but him—and met Micaiah's patient waiting stare. She looked as though she carried the burden of the world's problems on her shoulders. Lost and dazed. Unsure of what to do, but confident in what she knew.
She looked a lot of things.
The ache in his gut told him he needed to ask. There was no avoiding the topic—insecurities be damned.
"...If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to hear everything you can tell me... and it's not just because it's my duty to ask, either." Micaiah smiled slightly and nodded as he finished, but the small amount of light that lit her eyes dimmed within seconds, and she seemed distant again.
Ranulf began to wonder if she had ever truly smiled since her coronation took place. Been happy in her position as queen. Sothe was probably the only thing keeping her grounded if things were as bad as she made them sound, he figured.
Micaiah took a steadying breath. "...Shortly after the war ended, when we managed to return home here to Nevassa, the capitol was in absolute shambles. People were clawing at the doors of Daein Keep when we arrived, begging for answers, and only the soldiers persistence kept everyone in check during our absence—or, King Pelleas's absence, to be more accurate... When Ashera turned everyone to stone, we were in the middle of war at Fort Nox as you know, and so when Yune restored everyone to life... people were thrown a bit off balance, so to speak." Ranulf frowned slightly.
That's how it was with everyone on Tellius after Yune's restoration. It's only natural that there would be problems after a situation like that.
"They were all that way," Sothe interjected after a moment's pause, crossing his arms casually. "From what I heard, most of the Daein soldiers laid down their weapons and returned to Nevassa, but, knowing how moronic people at war can be, I'm sure you can guess as to what really happened."
Ranulf braced his arms over his knees and bowed his head in defeat; he knew what they were going to say. And it was the worst possible thing.
How many times had he heard it before? And now—from the lips of his allies? There was no greater betrayal than that of a friend.
He would not allow himself to rage at something that could not be undone. Pointlessness.
Micaiah sagged, her unhappiness evident. "...Some of the soldiers were still angry with the laguz, and seeing how most of your brethren had reverted to being vulnerable... I am very ashamed to say, but... they—m-my army... took advantage of the situation...
"...Took advantage?" His mouth felt like sandpaper, and Ranulf lightly moistened his lips. "Explain?" His voice began to sound hoarse; crackly and gnarled like the limbs on a dying tree.
She couldn't have looked more rattled at his request. "T-there was a minor battle... but blood... was still spilt anyway. A general under my command managed to quell the riot, but by then, several laguz soldiers had—had been hauled... away." Sothe silently guided Micaiah over to a chair across from him, near the fire, and she sunk on the edge of the seat almost as if she were trying to hide. Hide from what? From how ugly her citizens' actions were?
Sothe remained standing, hand resting on Micaiah's shoulder. The solemn look he was giving Ranulf was almost pitiful, and he felt his stomach sour even more. "Are you sure you want to hear the rest of this Ranulf? There isn't exactly a happy ending..."
It was without question. Ranulf needed to hear the rest.
He flicked his tail in answer.
Sothe swallowed and nodded, but he looked as enthusiastic as Micaiah did. He waited for the horrors to be told.
"...When we arrived back in Nevassa, those soldiers... the rioters, they... they had the laguz they had taken... strung up by the ankles, stripped, and dragged around town as a sign of victory for all of the citizens to see, I was told. ...When we finally managed to catch the soldiers who had initiated it from the start, they had draped the bodies over the balcony outside, and..." Sothe closed his eyes, as if it were painful for him to speak, "...and had removed all telltale signs of their laguz heritage; they were without their ears and tails, Ranulf. ...They could have been beorc if people hadn't seen what had really happened."
Micaiah's face turned pale and she bowed over in her seat, and Ranulf imagined he mirrored her expression right then. There were truly no words to describe the illness that constricted him.
He felt reduced to nothing.
Ranulf stood slowly, movements stiff and joints creaking and cracking and crying like that of an old man, and with alarm, he realized his hands were shaking. He stared. And stared. And stared. And stared. And swallowed, throat tight as though he had swallowed a rock, clenching his fists to rid himself of his display of weakness. But he wasn't weak at all.
"Ranulf...?"
"...This racism is never going to end. Is it."
It was defeat that stared back at him—sockets hollow and rotten from years of dealing with these sort of horrors.
He was so incredibly sick of it all.
It was all a blur. Everything. He wasn't sure if it were tears that clouded his vision as the realization became tangible, or the ice creeping over his body that made his eyes sting, but it all hurt.
The door burst open with a bang, a clash of red armor and chaos alerting the queen to something urgent. Vaguely, he was aware of someone's palms shaking his shoulders, yelling into his face as though they didn't see his laguz ears a top his head. His ears.
Are not even the living laguz acknowledged anymore?
It was a struggle to lift his head, to look Sothe pointedly in the eye as the beorc struggled for his attention, expression desperate as he violently shook him once more. He still felt ill, still hazy, but he wasn't so far gone as to not be able to read his lips. And what he read was like another blow to his already shattered facade.
"What happened to Ike?"
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0o0o0o0
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It was food that would awake the slumbering beast in the morning.
Because Soren knew that was the only reliable thing that could wake Ike from the dead. That, and his sister when she was in a rage.
He was deep in the lulls of sleep on one of the three mattresses in their shared chambers for the night, face ashen and slick with sweat upon the bundles and bundles of quilt that had been supplied. A crude, makeshift bandage of cloth was wrapped tightly around his shoulder wound, bound securely with several tie offs around his neck and chest, as if Ike would fall apart at the seems otherwise.
The actual wound itself had been healed with the assistance of several palace bishops to the point of nothing but a thin pink scar as a reminder of what had once been, but out of concern for Ike tearing it open in his sleep, the bandages had been left on with Soren's word. It was probably for the best anyway; Ike had terrible luck when it came to injuries, and sleeping. He just never knew when to sit still. Or how to sit still would have been more accurate...
It wouldn't have been as terrible, Soren argued, if Ike hadn't torn open his wound again unsuspectingly upon their arrival, but no. Lady Luck wasn't as kind nor merciful as that.
It was a sickening sight, with Ashnard's portrait staring at the two of them as Ike had collapsed to the floor in surprise, his scarred fingers churning red with blood as he desperately tried to stop the bleeding... If there were such things as ghosts, Soren imagined the Mad King would have been howling with glee. Crowing in victory as he suspected ghostly figures may have done.
How ironic for Gawain's son to die in the palace he had once served so diligently...
But he's not dead yet.
Yet. Yet.
"Soren."
He startled, Ranulf's voice snapping him out of his dozing as his boots hit the floor. The rocking chair creaked as he swiveled his head to the side to assess the laguz coming through the thick chamber door, knuckles rapping softly and then closing it quietly behind him with a light click.
Soren blinked wearily. Blood stains still lingered in his garments; a dull, cherry red integrated in Ranulf's once clean pants. He turned his head away wordlessly.
"So..." The cat laguz cleared his throat, paused at the foot of Ike's bed. "...How's he looking? Any improvements since I've been gone?" His eyes analyzed the sleeping beorc. Searching. Probing.
Soren grimaced, supporting his head with a fist under his chin as his hair spilled around him like ink in the night, a dark green in the torchlight when strands caught. "...No. Even for Ike it will take time for him to recover from an ordeal like this. He lost a lot of blood from that wound..."
"Yeah. I know. I've been wearing it for the last several hours."
Soren blinked again, more slowly. He wasn't sure whether to find the laguz's jesting humorous or obnoxious. He was strongly leaning towards the latter in the heat of the moment.
"...Nice stains," He remarked absently.
"Nice hair," Ranulf immediately shot back. "You remind me of Skrimir, when he gets up in the morning. All the frizz and big talking ...Only you have a much smaller appetite."
"...I'm not laughing."
"I am. Ha. Ha." Ranulf cracked a smile, but it didn't meet his eyes. Instead, he looked ragged. As if he were fighting a war in side his head, putting up a front.
Soren saw that look frequently, but never has it been so plainly obvious on the face of a laguz. With every mission the Greil Mercenaries took up; with the wars he took part in; when they had to burn their base to ash.
When Ike's father was murdered. That expression was the equivalent of an enemy; it returned just as frequently as it left.
He didn't want to identify with Ranulf. He didn't anything to do with the laguz at all.
"...This is hardly the time for jokes, Ranulf." Soren glowered and glanced over at Ike's sleeping form as if he could will him to wake with his vexation at the laguz alone. He didn't like Ranulf, and the laguz certainly didn't like him very much. Though Soren suspected the tolerance with which he was regarded was purely through Ike's doing, it would only make things worse for himself later on if he truly snapped at the laguz, and surely vise versa.
Though, Soren liked the lack of conversation that their... abrasive relationship brought, admittedly. Ike wouldn't approve, but it was his secret, and not all things had to be shared.
At least, not the important things...
Ranulf let out a short bark of a laugh, head tilted languidly. "I call it 'humor', Soren," he said dryly. "Humor. And actually, this is the perfect time for jokes. One of us has to talk without a stick up their ass all the time."
What should have been surprising to hear was surprisingly easily ignored.
Soren snorted in disgusted dismissal, and stretched from his chair for his tome on the floor, pulling it up by the cover and into his lap with a subtle thump and flutter of dark pages once more. Ranulf watched him for a reaction, leaning against one of the posts of the bed, and Soren tried to ignore the fact that he very obviously sunk several inches in his chair from the weight of his tome. He nicked his fingertips and idly turned a few pages of his musty book, fingers stiff and spine stiff and toes in his boots stiff.
He was angry—but he was hardly going to give Ranulf the satisfaction. No, not at all.
Soren blinked, focusing hard on the text but not digesting a single drop of the knowledge.
Dammit, Ranulf.
It shouldn't have bothered him at all, as back in Crimea he heard insults from Shinon's foul mouth fly just as quickly as his arrows every other day, always acute and always savage when they struck. But Shinon was simply a bumbling idiot, and Soren made it a point to take comfort in that fact. But Ranulf one the other hand...
He was as far from a fool as Ike was from a villian.
Ranulf wasn't stupid. He was incredibly smart for a laguz. Well versed in the matter of politics, a strong fighter, and while it was absolutely painful to admit... he wasn't half-bad for a tactician, either.
So why exactly was he acting the way he was now? What had happened during the meeting that changed him so drastically? Ranulf didn't honestly think he wouldn't notice?
...Did he?
"...It seems we are at a bit of an impasse here." Ranulf had resumed watching Ike, eyes staring but Soren was sure seeing nothing.
"Yeah?"
"...I said, we are at an impasse."
"Yes, Ranulf. I heard that bit." Soren grimaced, mouth dry, and slammed his book shut with an audible snap. The laguz glanced at him from the corner of his eye.
"Yikes. Someone's getting a little worked up–"
"You're infuriating."
Ranulf presumed to bow mockingly, his hat's flaps flipping up and leveling with his ears. "Aaaaand you're an asshole! Congrats!"
Soren glared. "What exactly happened, in that meeting, Ranulf?"
The laguz looked as though he had been punched, and for a brief moment, everything was at a standstill as he screwed his face up into a painful contortion.
"...What happened?" Soren repeated more softly.
It wasn't tenderness that made him speak quietly. No, it was the realization that so much as the wrong word or tone could eliminate his chances of receiving an honest answer—and that was what he wanted most.
And Ranulf looked as vulnerable as a weaponless soldier in the middle of a graveyard of corpses.
Wordlessly, the laguz crossed the room's dull stone floor towards the window, boots silent, a hand stretching outward for the latch before his legs even finished moving. The latch popped with a soft click, and Ranulf abruptly pushed it open against the howling winds and bowed his head over the sill into the darkness, figure still.
Soren merely stared in bewilderment. Then Ranulf's shoulders heaved with effort, the undeniable gut wrenching sound of him spilling his stomach's contents out into the open air, and Soren knew that what he had suspected was far worse than what it truly appeared to be if Ranulf was as sick as he was.
He turned his head away from the smell of vomit, face inscrutable—
—Only to meet the gaze of the savage Wolf Queen herself. He blinked in surprise, fingers gripping his tome as if it were a life line and he were about to be swept away as he stood from his chair abruptly, knees locked to steady himself beneath his lightly-woven robes.
"Lady Nailah..." Soren greeted her casually, despite the fact that he was still striving to gather his composure. His eye twitched with irritation from the horrible retching sounds behind him. "...May I ask what you are doing here?" He placed his tome on the seat behind him, smoothing out a wrinkle in his robes impassively.
This is terrible timing.
The wolf laguz stepped into the space of the shadowed door frame nonchalantly, a small twitch of the cheek curling her pale lips into a pleasant expression of mirth. Her one eye glowed like serpentine in the fire light as she turned the full power of her gaze on him, a tan arm splayed out openly on her hip.
"It is good to see you again, Soren. Though, for all intents and purposes of my being here, the pleasantries will have to wait." Volug stepped in behind her, his gaze immediately fixating on Ranulf half-way out the window and he stared in silence as Ranulf heaved again. Nailah didn't look so much as taken a back or fazed.
"...I have come to see Ike," she said solemnly. "There are things to be discussed among us."
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0o0o0o0
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(A/N): So? ...How was that darling bane of my existence? Terrible? Good? :D I sincerely hope you enjoyed it, whatever the case may be. ;)
...As a vaguely somewhat important sidenote, I'd just like to say that I will be *gone* for the next week and a half starting on the twenty-first, so if you leave a review or send me a PM or anything of the sort, I won't be able to get back to you until I return. Just thought I'd mention it so nobody's left hanging and wondering what happened to me if you comment... But anyhow... hope all you lovely readers out there have a wonderful night. I know I will be sleeping like the dead tonight. WOOOO... 8]