A/N: This is a short chapter. This felt like a natural place to stop on a cliffhanger, and I need to post it so that I can move forwards with the next chapter.

Don't say 'you should just write more and combine it'. It doesn't work that way this time. After struggling with this story in the back of my mind for months, I realized that this is my quirk as an author kicking in again. This is necessary.

Chapter 12

I had a sinful dream. I dreamt that I was the belonging of a man.

As a strong and independent woman, it's not permissible.

I, Agrias Oaks, am a part of a symbol unyielding strength, the Lionsguard. But in my dream, I knelt to an illegitimate man. I gave him my sister sword at a moment's notice, symbol of my faith. I forged my body into a shield. It was my greatest gleeful joy to obey. I wanted to absorb all of his pain, and march three steps before him in my heavy armor. I wanted to indulge my endless lust for justice. I knew he would satisfy me well.

But to the wrong man, that's why it's sinful. I should be a tool of justice, but only so on the behalf of royalty, not some man on the run from the law.

It's that boy's fault. The one that bossed me around and saved the princess. On one hand, he was any warrior's ideal. On another, he was unnaturally so. He was more a monster than man, and fought too bravely. He sent a thrill through me. It pulled at something inside.

And it was sinful.

I was with the Lionsguard. Even now, at the behest of Her Highness Ovelia, I stand silent vigil with my back touching the boy's room. She is inside. She insists, almost madly, to stay at his side in his recovery. That's why I'm here, standing straight, and feeling no weariness from my constant vigil. I'm standing here on high alert constantly, through day and night with the briefest of sleep, and happy to do so. Because I protect Her Highness. It has nothing to do with the boy. I am of the Lionsguard.

I follow no others.

Right?

I'm Ramza Bevolue, a novice Holy Knight. Not Ramza the traitor, or heretic, revolutionary, or renegade.

I think.

And yet I can't deny it.

I look at Alma, my sister who is still alive and well.

And I said, quietly, "no…"

Her expression jerked to a stop. It was frozen. By the way, she had been smiling awkwardly.

Also by the way, Alma was someone who was permanently assured of everything.

She had never made that expression in two lifetimes.

Which put me in a bad position.

I, who was recovering from a poison and a deadly fight, was basically immobile.

That's the basic logic.

It's a stereotype. It's an estimation.

And the gap between that expectation and reality is the place dead men are born.

"Ovelia." I said weakly, turning to the girl I loved. "My sword?"

My darling was finally awake.

I wanted to hold him, and swear myself to him, and lavish every care upon him. Tis the least I could return, on the investment he'd made in loving me.

He had saved me so many times. My hero.

But he awoke with a strange feeling about him. He awoke, and the dead of night awoke with him. The electricity of afternoon saturated the air.

"My sword?" He asked of me.

I know of it. Tis his room I have kept sentry in these past days. I know of every detail. The beloved sword he was reborn into the light with was enshrined nearby. The simple 300g broadsword represented my darling's heart and soul. I have it here. I have had it keep me company while he was asleep.

I held it up uneasily. I hesitated for unknown reasons.

Alma as well, barely twitched her head left and right as if to warn me.

"Tis my brother. Let me hold it." Ramza said quietly.

...He's recovering. I'd better not.

"Ovelia." He warned sternly.

He'd never been stern with me before. Other people had, but in Ramza it had a different effect.

I quivered. I almost knelt.

I shoved the sword hilt into his grasp.

"Duck." He said.

I ducked until I was all the way under the bed. The hiss of steel rang through the air.