A/N: Hi, everyone! Sorry for the wait, there's been a delay over the last few months due to technical difficulties as well as the holidays but we've finally got this show on the road again! Once again, I'd like to thank my co-writer and editor, Falchion1984 for making this story possible
Chapter 10: Contrition and Compassion
As the weeks passed in Lionel, the people continued to see strange signs abounding from the castle, which all had believed abandoned after two of its former lords had met untimely ends. Those who were brave enough to approach the foreboding mass of stone continued to report that sounds of activity yet echoed from within. Some heard nails being hammered in, others heard food simmering over the stove, and others still heard laughing and banter which was punctuated by the sounds of cutlery clinking against plates. By night, these strange goings-on would seem to taper off until, typically while the moon was high in the sky and most honest folk were seeking what rest they might find in Lionel Castle's ominous shadow, the wailing of an infant rang out. Those who were roused by this wailing, and who were wakeful enough to realize from whence it came, would peer towards the castle and see a light flare in a window.
And, from the distant fortress, came the sounds of gentle humming.
The wailing would turn to mere fussing and, later, would fall silent, though the humming would persist for several minutes longer before it too fell silent and the light dimmed.
Despite the seeming innocuousness of these phenomena, the people spared only infrequent, furtive glances towards Lionel Castle and spoke of its "new tenets" either in frightened whispers or not at all. Most, owing to the sinister history of the foreboding edifice, still suspected that these newcomers were restless spirits of the dead and continued to give the castle a wide berth. Some whispered that these phantoms might be former residents of the castle, anchored to the mortal world by the horrors visited upon them by Heretic Ramza, wracked by torturous denial of their grisly ends and, consequently, unable to journey to the next life. Others still suspected that it might be the long dead spirits of the pagan Pharists, granted a new, unholy life by their heathen gods with which to wreck vengeance on those faithful to the truth of Ajora's Word. Whatever reason was proscribed to these strange happenings, and knowing how the undead behaved in other parts of Ivalice, the people kept weapons and supplies of phoenix down close at hand, lest these lost souls boil forth in search of flesh to devour.
Yet, to the relief of all and the perplexity of some, the expected onslaught did not happen.
This caused the whispers in Lionel about the strange happenings to undergo a shift. In a land where the bones of the long dead could rise again and where the shades of evil men wandered by night rather than face punishment for their crimes in life, a veritable field of study had arisen around the subject of the walking dead. Many, such as the skeletons and ghosts which could be encountered in the darker places of Ivalice, were mindless but ferocious specters, capable of besting living warriors with either the strength of their bony arms or their ability to drain the vitality of their victims with but a touch of their wispy claws. Though already being dead made them quite difficult to kill, a strong blade and some phoenix down could see a living opponent emerge the victor over these creatures.
Far more dangerous than these, however, were the ghosts which kept their semblance of life. These were often the souls of fallen warriors who had been anchored to the living world, often by the horrors of their deaths or by what they'd left undone before their passing. Other such specters, however, were the shades of those who'd done much evil in life and, in an effort to avoid an eternity of suffering as punishment for their many crimes, had chosen to linger in the living world as lost souls. In either case, these phantoms retained the training, talents, and intelligence they had in life, and could even conjure spectral blades and armor which were no less potent than those wrought of iron and steel.
Would-be ghost hunters, those seeking to free friends and loved ones from such a fate and those seeking revenge on wrongdoers who'd cheated their way out of a damning final judgment, were just as likely to add to these spectral ranks as they were to diminish them.
Yet, curiously, the specters of Lionel Castle seemed to behave like none of these dreaded manifestations.
Granted, the sounds that wended their way out of the castle certainly suggested that something dwelt within, and none believed for a moment that the living would dare take up residence after the deaths of Cardinal Draclau and Celebrant Bremondt. But, if specters were lurking within, they were most peculiar specimens.
Not only did they not emerge to stalk the living by night but, as far as the fearful people knew, they did not emerge, period. No less confounding were the still persistent reports of activity by day on the part of the castle's strange new occupants. Since most specters had an aversion to sunlight and were most aggressive by night, the fact that these phantoms seemed to behave in the exact opposite fashion ran well and truly against all known knowledge of the undead. No less bizarre, apart from the sounds of hammering, sizzling, and other clatter from within, those with the eyesight to spy the castle's windows reported that, where they'd been caked with dust but days before, they were now as clear as water. And, as if that wasn't enough, those who dared peer through the windows, though they saw no one about, realized that the once lush forest of cobwebs within was being cut away.
At first, the notion that the 'ghosts' of Lionel Castle were engaged in housekeeping had seemed utterly laughable. But, as more and more such reports trickled in, and some skeptics who'd decided to have a look for themselves returned with corroborating accounts, the furtive whisperings took another shift.
If not ghosts, skeletons, or the revenants of fallen Gryphon Knights or Pagans, then just what manner of ghost had taken residence in the castle?
An early theory was that these 'ghosts' might be echoes, lingering spirits who had not yet come to grips with their passing and who were, in the interim, behaving as they had in life. This in turn helped to explain why these echoes labored by day and were largely silent by night, just as a living human would be. Could some spectral members of Lionel Castle's household staff, not understanding they were dead, still be cooking and cleaning as though the rampage which had ended their lives had not occurred? Accounts of such 'echoes' were scarce, but those which could be considered reliable suggested that such shades were essentially harmless, and that they would continue acting as they had in life until those lingering ties to the world were laid to rest. This could be accomplished by seeing a loved one and saying a proper farewell, or some task they'd left undone being finished on their behalf, by helping them to face the reality of their deaths, or by being forcibly ejected from the mortal world by potent white magic.
That these ghosts might be harmless had reassured the people...for the better part of two heartbeats.
If these echoes, like ghosts and fallen warriors, could only affect the living matter of their victims, then how were they using hammers and nails? How were they lighting the fire of the stove and using cutlery? And, even if these were as ghostly as the specters who used them, how could these insubstantial phantoms brush away decidedly substantive cobwebs, or wipe dirty windows clean?
And so, with the balance of Lionel's sentiments gyrating between confusion and trepidation, they continued to furtively watch and listen, wondering if they ought to pray for answers or if those answers might simply rub salt into wounds yet unhealed.
However, there were others whose curiosity ultimately got the better of them and, one bright morning, they decided to seek their own answers…
SSSSSS
"Are you sure about this, Manon?" a young girl's voice furtively whispered.
The young girl's companion, a lithe youth some months short of his thirteenth year, turned to face her and, with a grin which belied the urgency of the situation, brought one finger to his lips.
After all, if the specters of Lionel Castle really were dangerous, it would not be wise to alert them to the presence of the two adventurous youngsters who presently crouched in the foliage barely twenty paces away.
Like most of the respectable townsfolk of Lionel, these youngsters had heard tales of the supposed haunting of Lionel Castle. Such snippets as babies wailing, lanterns flaring to life in the night, and other oddities had been more than enough to repel even the bravest of the respectable townsfolk from embarking on such a close investigation of these strange phenomena...
...however, the pair presently creeping through the foliage were not respectable townsfolk.
This impression was accentuated by the disheveled appearance of the pair. The boy, Manon, had russet hair which had been cropped short - by his own hand, judging by the choppy and irregular cuts - while the girl, painfully thin looking and barely a week into her tenth year, had shoulder length locks that might've once been golden, but now looked more akin to tarnished brass. Both children's tresses were rife with snarls and festooned with leaves and twigs, not all of which came from their place of concealment. One of the boy's green eyes was practically swollen shut by a livid bruise he'd received the prior evening and it was just discernible that each of the girl's sky blue orbs, had, at one time, sported its own corona of black and purple. Their ragged clothes, which did little to conceal either the undernourished frames within, revealed other signs of violence, ranging from old scars and faint bruises to lacerations that yet wept crimson tears. Such signs of violence collected over so young a life would lend considerable weight to the supposition that these two might be young ruffians in the midst of some manner of skullduggery.
Neither of the children would be surprised or much distressed by this preconception, nor were they likely to disagree. After all, every other child who'd been raised in the defunct Lionel workhouses looked much like they did, if not worse...and, indeed, some of them truly were young ruffians of the foulest sort.
Under an edict issued by Cardinal Draclau following the end of the Fifty Years War, a number of workhouses, such as the one the youngsters had left behind not long ago, had been established in the Lionel cities of Zaland, Goug, and Warjilis. These, the Cardinal had stated, would serve to offer shelter, succor and, later, guidance to the many war orphans in the province so that, whether adoptive parents materialized or not, the misfortunate children of those who'd died untimely would have the skills needed to pursue an honest life.
That was the theory, and it was a sound one. In practice, however, terrible complications arose.
Apart from the seemingly endless wave of orphans the calamitous war had produced, the funds slated for the project had inexplicably vanished. To this very day, no official explanation had surfaced from either church or state as to how or why such vast sums of gil could disappear, seemingly overnight and with nary a trace. Rumors persisted that these funds had been embezzled or forcibly reallocated to pay off the crushing debts Ivalice had accrued during the conflict, while others argued that the sheer number of orphans, and the combined costs of feeding and housing them all, had bankrupted the project. Other rumors, which were but whispered in dark and secluded corners, stated that the funds were diverted to finance some sort of expedition to ruins located in Goug and Zeltennia, where long lost artifacts dating back to Ajora's time had been discovered. Other rumors, no less whispered, suggested that it had been done to finance the hunt for a thief in Goug who'd discovered a lost treasure of the church and had unlawfully kept it for himself. Few could even conceive that so beloved a Cardinal could have allowed so noble an endeavor to be looted right under his nose, let alone that he had done so himself, regardless of the reason. And, thus, those who still pined after the late Cardinal's governance were quick to cast aspersions somewhere else. Anywhere else.
Regardless of the frantic assigning of blame, the results spoke for themselves in terrible voices. Once the funds were gone, and appeals for financial aid had ended in failure, life for the hundreds of wards in those workhouses had promptly degenerated into discord and violence. As the payment for the workers' services and funds needed for food and rents began arriving late, short, and, eventually, not at all, many of those placed in charge of the wards had abandoned their posts. The wards themselves, having nowhere else to go, were left to their own devices and, in the grim vacuum created by their abandonment, these former bastions of compassion and charity degenerated into foul dens of crime and violence. The older wards reinvented themselves as thugs who, either by intimidation or violence, dragged their younger counterparts into lives of crime.
The two children presently skulking about in Lionel Castle's shadow had been particularly resistant to such coercion, hence their numerous injuries. And, having seen too many other, similarly resistant wardmates die in terrible 'accidents', they'd ultimately decided to take their chances on the streets.
Yet, though their innocence had long been, literally, beaten out of them, they were still children. And, despite the bruises that marred their bodies and the thorns festooning their unshod feet, they still thrilled to the prospect of an adventure that might alter the course of their hard, meager lives.
Thus, the pair found themselves crouched amidst the unkempt foliage that, at some point, had been the formal hedges and bushes which had served as landscaping for the castle. Overgrown and seemingly misshapen as meticulous trimming was undone by nature's erratic hand, and with overlong branches that reached out like grasping fingers, these did little to dispel the impression that Lionel Castle might now be a den of phantasms.
"Well," Manon murmured as loudly as he dared, We've come this far, so we might as well get closer. I can see that side door we used to sneak into the kitchen, but I can't tell if it's locked or not. Let's move in closer and-"
"Wait, wait!" the girl clamored, loudly enough that her companion gave her an irate look, though this did nothing to curb her sudden enthusiasm. "Look, Manon, someone's coming out!"
Manon looked almost amused by this claim until, to his amazement, he heard a woman's voice humming a tune. His head snapped in the direction of the sound and, his good eye going wide and his black eye straining to follow suit, he beheld a woman in a modest gown the color of a dusking sky. Both children watched, transfixed, as the woman emerged from the tiny gap between the castle's gates. That a reported ghost did not simply walk through the door, however, was not the cause of the pair's suddenly being dumbstruck, nor was her seeming as alive as they were.
The woman was stunning!
She was fairly young, perhaps just past her twentieth year, but she moved with the poise of one much older...or, perhaps, one who, like them, had been tempered by fate far sooner than expected. Whatever hand had lent her that strange air, however, had also lent her a shapely figure. The two siblings had seen more than a few attractive girls amongst their former wardmates, with generous curves about the bosom and the backside, but each and all paled compared to the woman they beheld. Even under her skirts, there was no hiding the sway of her hips, nor her shapely legs, both of which caused Manon's jaw to creak open.
What drew the girl's gaze, however, was the woman's face. She had high, elegant cheekbones which were gently suffused with red, and eyes the color of a clear sky. And, her hair! Neither of the pair had ever seen crimson tresses like those which the woman sported, coiled into a trio of braids, two of which cascaded over her shoulders to frame her breasts while the remaining coil swayed about the small of her back.
"Wow," the girl murmured, her thoughts well and truly scattered by the graceful creature before them.
"My word exactly, Charlotte," her companion echoed, before his usual mischievousness reasserted itself. "Well, I might've come up with some better ones, but..."
The girl, Charlotte, rolled her eyes and pantomimed the motion of slapping Manon across the face. Even after their lives in the workhouse had taken so dreadful a turn, a smile would still tug at Manon's lips whenever he laid eyes on an attractive girl. At first, this had bothered Charlotte, as she'd felt a curious melancholy when she'd once seen Manon's wandering hands ghosting the generous curves of Francine, their seventeen year old former wardmate. And yet, when Manon had discovered Francine pressuring Charlotte to join the older girl's budding prostitution ring, those same wandering hands had left Francine spitting teeth and hauled Charlotte away from that crumbling den of inequity.
She still felt a strange twinge in her chest when Manon stared at someone like he presently gaped at the woman, but she figured she owed it to Manon to humor his boyish lack of control.
Still, Charlotte supposed, skirt chasers were probably the most benign things either of them had seen emerge from those decrepit shacks. Besides which, Charlotte could not help but feel envious of the woman whose smallest action made her feel every bit the urchin she was.
"Well, if that's a ghost, maybe being dead isn't as bad as they say," Manon quipped, chuckling.
"Don't say that!" Charlotte hissed, not caring for the jest. "I...I wouldn't have made it out of that rotten place without you."
Manon had been about to offer another quip in response, but the sight of Charlotte's downcast face brought him up short.
"Yeah, and I'd probably be knife-man for one of those brutes if I didn't have you," he said, laying a reassuring hand on Charlotte's shoulder. "But, that's behind us. So, I say we find out just what sort of ghost we've found. Let's get in closer."
Charlotte had been about to voice how nonplussed she was at the notion of approaching a supposed ghost, but the words died in her throat when a wondrous aroma reached her nostrils. Shimmying ahead of Manon for a closer look, she saw that the woman had seated herself beside a rose hedge and was examining the blooms. However, that was not what drew Charlotte's eyes and silenced her objections.
On the ground next to the woman was a small plate, upon which were a number of rolls, each bigger than her fist.
And, after nearly three days without so much as a morsel, just the sight of it was enough to make her empty stomach lurch in desire.
"Well, that settles that, eh?" Manon quipped, unable to keep a hint of amusement from his tone. "Okay, here's the plan."
SSSSSS
In the past, following the collapse of the workhouses and the subsequent poverty and turmoil of the War of the Lions, Manon and Charlotte had often had to secure their daily bread through means which could best be described as "questionable". Alone on the streets amidst the chaos of a war that threatened to undo Ivalice, and with only themselves to rely on, the two children had been forced to embark on more than one hair-raising escapade where a crust of bread served as the prize.
With a whole plate of bread just begging to be snatched, the pair was determined to be in rare form today.
Taking care to keep their voices low, the two children had a hurried discussion about how to approach the dual conundrum of discovering whether the woman was a ghost and, if not, pilfering her pastries. Manon, despite Charlotte's objections, took it upon himself to act as the diversion...
...and, knowing Manon, Charlotte suspected that, whatever he had in mind, would have the woman thoroughly distracted indeed.
Once his diversion was underway, Charlotte would snatch the rolls and dive back into the concealing brush.
Thus resolved, the pair sized up the terrain which stood between them and their goal. Though there were no trees between them and the seated woman to offer concealment, there was several other misshapen hedges and several patches of grass whose blades were nearly as tall as they themselves were. Being small of stature and light of build, it was a simple matter for the pair to dart from one place of concealment to the next, leaving nary a bent blade of grass in their wake. As they reached an especially grotesque looking bush roughly equidistant between their original hiding place and the still seated woman, Manon began snatching up pebbles and twigs and directed Charlotte to head to another hedge on the right while he ventured to a patch of tall grass on the left.
No sooner had Charlotte ducked behind the mass of claw-like branches then she heard the all too familiar sounds of pebbles whistling through the air to rebound off of the castle walls. The woman must've heard it too, for her head snapped up and her gaze darted in the direction of the sound. Curiously, Charlotte noticed the woman's hands, which were no less delicate than the rest of her, clutch her belly, almost protectively.
This sight causes a ghost of a memory to stir within Charlotte's mind, almost as if she had witnessed a similar scene at some point before. What this might mean, she could not say, but the question was promptly forced aside when her own belly reminded her of the prize so near to hand.
The woman, apparently brushing off the sound, had turned her attention back to the roses when the air was suddenly rent by the rapport of a twig being snapped in two. The incredulous chattering of two birds, startled into flight by the noise, brought the woman to her feet and, Charlotte noted with some perplexity, had her breath coming in ragged gasps. Still, whatever the cause of this strange anxiety, it was obvious that she was no shrinking violet. Snatching up a staff which, unnoticed by the pair, had been laid on the ground in front of her, she rose and cautiously made her way towards the tall grass. At the sight of the staff, Charlotte found herself second guessing the wisdom of their plan.
If this woman was some sort of a mage, then might their small theft end in a hail of fireballs?
The image of Manon's sun kissed skin blackening under the heat of eldritch flame filled her with dread, and yet she knew it was too late to withdraw. Apart from the tantalizing nearness of the plate of rolls, which might as well have been a feast to the half-starved waifs, the pair knew that the folk in the nearest towns were well aware of them and were surely too alert now to be fooled by the children's repertoire of tricks. What's more, hunger would surely claim them long before they could reach an area where they might find a modicum of anonymity with which to steal their next supper.
Still, Charlotte found herself holding back a rising tide of panic as the woman continued to approach Manon's hiding place.
Once Charlotte had judged the woman to be far enough away, she rose and soundlessly made her way to the abandoned plate. She was about to snatch it up when a yelp brought her up short. Fearfully, wondering if she might be about to see a blast of crackling fire streaking towards her, she raised her eyes. And, what she saw made her lower jaw drop.
The woman, whose jaw had also fallen open, was standing within a hand span of the patch of tall grass. Behind her was Manon, who had risen from his place of concealment to make sure that the woman was, indeed, thoroughly distracted.
Charlotte had to rub her eyes and, even when the image before her remained unchanged, she still could not believe it.
Manon, having apparently chosen to divert attention to himself in a characteristically salacious fashion, had his ever-wandering hands up the woman's skirt.
"By Draclau's bald pate!" he blurted out, deliberately making himself as loud as possible so that Charlotte might go unnoticed. "They're real! She's real!"
Despite half a second of disbelief, and another strange twinge in her chest, Charlotte knew better than to let such a diversion go to waste. Darting forward, she snatched up the plate of rolls, keeping them from spilling with the practiced ease of an experienced thief. Even though they'd cooled during the intervening mischief, just the sight of the flaky crusts was enough to make her eyes mist with happiness. Resisting the urge to shove one, or several, into her mouth on the spot, she quickly darted back into the brush. She'd already been mentally tracing her path back to her and Manon's chosen point of egress when she suddenly felt herself being lifted off of the ground.
Keeping hold of her pilfered pastries with the desperate strength with which a castaway might keep hold of a rock in a stormy sea, she craned her neck and beheld the glaring visage of a woman with reddish blonde hair.
The woman whose grace and beauty had stunned her so was, indeed, real...unfortunately, so was her rather ferocious looking bodyguard.
A quick, despairing glance in Manon's direction revealed that he'd been flanked by two young women with blonde hair and plumed helms, both of whom were palming their hilts of their swords in a silent warning for the boy not to try anything foolish.
This sight, and the fine armor she belated noticed her own captor wearing, caused Charlotte's heart to drop right to her bare ankles. Not only was the strange woman inhabiting Lionel Castle not a ghost, but she must also be some sort of a noblewoman to have such guards seeing to her well-being. And, unwitting though it was, Manon's 'tactics' may have just earned the two children a place in the local gallows.
When the woman directed for the two children to be brought to her, Charlotte could swear she already felt the noose around her small neck.
Yet, to her amazement, this did not happen.
Neither Manon nor Charlotte could explain it, but a most curious expression had come over the woman's face as she beheld the two urchins. Her lips, full and red, parted in what seemed akin to amazement while her eyes widened. Then, hesitantly, she brought up one hand to Manon's face and, rather than slap him as Charlotte had expected, she traced one fine boned finger around his eyes, causing the boy to wince as she brushed his black eye.
"Oh, sorry!" she blurted, almost as though she'd been roused from some manner of trance.
Charlotte felt her perplexity grow. She and Manon had encountered at least a few nobles since fleeing their former workhouse, and not one of them would've given a second thought towards striking a filthy street waif. Yet, to the pair's continued astonishment, the woman continued her perusal of Manon's features and, as she did so, Charlotte could swear that the woman's eyes were misting.
Charlotte gave a quick glance in Manon's direction and, though his black eye made it hard to tell, she did not doubt that he was every bit as bewildered as she was.
Then, as if Charlotte were not confounded enough already, the woman's eyes turned upon her and those full, red lips curved into a hint of a smile.
A sad, almost nostalgic smile, but a smile nonetheless.
"Er...," Manon blurted, at a loss for words for the first time either child could remember, but words tinged with urgency promptly began to tumble out of him. "If it pleases your ladyship, my grabbing your...I mean, what I did was my idea. Charlotte had nothing to do with it, she just wanted some food. I beg you, don't punish her for what was my fault."
Charlotte could swear she felt her heart vault into her throat as she realized what Manon was doing.
"No, please!" she begged, her own voice stinging her ears after speaking in little more than whispers for what felt like years. "He's all I have! Please, don't take him away from me, milady!"
If the woman was startled by this outburst, she gave no sign. Instead, those sky blue eyes locked with her own for a long moment, and then with Manon's green eyes, as though seeking what might lie behind the reported windows into the soul.
"No?" she asked, stroking her chin gently as though sorting her thoughts. "Perhaps not."
She leaned in closer and brought up one hand to gently stroke the two children's sunken cheeks.
"I've thought of a better use for you."
SSSSSS
"Are we sure about this?" Rad asked, his customary salaciousness overshadowed by palpable skepticism and concern.
"Nope," Lavian and Alicia replied in unison, and their grimly flat tones conveyed just how great an understatement that single word was.
Not that Alma could blame them, of course.
Before he had even gotten his breath following the harrowing battle against Altima, Ramza had made it quite clear that, if the Beoulve siblings were to survive in the Ivalice which would emerge from the ashes of the War of the Lions, it was imperative that no one realize that either remnant of the Beoulve line was still alive. Though the Church of Glabados was still reeling from the loss of much of its leadership and the decimation of the Knights Templar, discovering that Heretic Ramza, the man upon whom they heaped all the troubles of the world, was still alive would surely visit catastrophe upon the small band of fugitives.
Until such time as Delita could secure the Beoulve siblings' new identities - assuming he kept his word, everyone muttered under their breath when they thought Alma wasn't listening - that meant they had to exercise the utmost secrecy, lest they attract the attention of their remaining enemies. In the meantime, any travel outside the castle had to be done sparingly, with as few witnesses as possible, and taking roundabout paths so that the locals did not realize the strange travelers had come from Lionel Castle. Above all, their lives in exile must pass without so much as a hint of their former identities passing their lips while within a league of anyone outside their infamous band.
Needless to say, inviting two complete strangers into their home in exile had seemed quite daft when Alma had first proposed the idea.
Suppose the pair caught onto the true identities of their would-be benefactors and spread the word? What if the pair discovered the hidden Zodiac Stones and, thinking to earn sordid coin from one last theft, unwittingly allowed the deadly auracite, and the demons within, to escape back into the world?
Even if neither of those dread prospects came to fruition, there was still the matter of just what terms the children would be staying. Would it last until relatives or adoptive parents could be found? And, if such could not be done, then how long would they stay? For that matter, just how would they spend that time? Alma suspected that they could be willing to earn their room and board by helping the small band make a home out of the dusty and dreary castle, though two small children seemed unlikely to lessen the burden of maintaining so large an estate with so few hands. If whatever arrangement was formed turned out to be a long one, then were the children to be salaried? Though Ramza would never withhold an honest day's wages to one who'd rendered him a service, he was also wise enough to know that not everyone who earned an honest day's pay made honest use of it. And, on top of all that, there was no telling if the pair could be trusted with the treasure the small group had secreted in the castle.
Not just the mounds of gold accrued through battle, nor the vast collection of ancient relics acquired during harrowing adventures in the darker places of Ivalice, but the far more precious and vulnerable treasures that were little Rachel and her unborn cousin.
These were hard questions, ones that would have to be answered sooner or later, and Alma could not blame Ramza for being leery about allowing perfect strangers under the same roof as his newborn daughter.
Yet, for all that, and despite the arguments of her fellow fugitives, the Beoulve girl would not be swayed from her decision to allow Manon and Charlotte into her new home.
As to the why of it, however, the words to give voice to her heart proved elusive. Though she spent some moments tripping over her tongue, Ramza and Agrias suspected the truth almost at once. What's more, had Meliadoul remained amongst them, she might very well have confirmed it.
The boy, Manon, bore an uncanny resemblance to Izlude...and, indeed, Alma's own child might resemble Manon a great deal once the threshold of adolescence drew near.
More than that - and, more than how much Alma could see of herself in Manon's companion, Charlotte - she could see that the two waifs meant a great deal to one another. She could see it in how the blood had drained from Charlotte's sunken cheeks when she'd realized that Manon was trying to offer himself to the gallows in hopes that she might be spared. Indeed, whatever nightmarish vision flashed before Charlotte's eyes would've played out if he'd used such a 'diversionary tactic' on another, any other, noblewoman. Perhaps it was nostalgia, maybe it was some burgeoning maternal instinct, or it could have been the grief which yet lingered in her heart at her beloved's passing. But, whatever the reason, she could swear she saw in Manon and Charlotte a reflection of what she and Izlude had shared before he'd been so cruelly taken from her.
Might this have been what she and Izlude would have looked like if they had been born into poverty, but had had the greater fortune of knowing each other all through such a hard and meager life? For that matter, might the pair have been what would've come from the love she and Izlude had shared if he'd lived to see their child and to, later on, gift her with another?
She was not so addled by recollections happy and sad as to believe she was seeing a second chance for the love she and Izlude had briefly shared - though Manon clearly had his better angels, he had far more in common with Rad than Izlude - but the reflection was so eerily close that her heart ached at the notion of turning out the youngsters and watching her own sad history be repeated.
Without family, homeless, and half-starved, the only question was whether Manon would bury Charlotte or the other way around.
And so, despite the grave weight of the risks it entailed, Alma had argued in favor of taking in the two waifs. Apart from her own peace of mind, she suspected that, despite their attempt to steal from her, the pair were less the product of their darker natures than they were of their desperation. And that, perhaps, with the chance to earn their daily bread with honest work, they might yet find a better future, just as Ivalice herself sought to.
Though she knew Ramza had to be aware that her insistence would add a whole host of fresh concerns to a seemingly endless list, she was aware that he also knew all too well the wonders that could come from the simple act of granting a second chance to one who'd done wrong to oneself.
Besides, she added silently. Rachel and my baby might appreciate a few more playmates.
No sooner had Alma finished the musing than she found herself gasping as her unborn child, as though sensing her train of thought, suddenly lurched inside her belly. The sudden motion startled her so that the skillet she was using to make omelets wobbled ominously in her hand. At the last, however, she steadied herself and blew out a sigh of relief.
"I'm glad you agree, but you should try and to mind your timing in the future," she whispered as she caressed her belly.
She reflected that it was fortunate Ramza hadn't been in the kitchen to see that episode, as her brother's gentle chiding was growing tiresome. Though Ramza had eventually come around to the idea of Manon and Charlotte joining them in the castle, the former Beoulve had lost no time pointing out just how easily Alma's search for flowers could've attracted the eye of intruders far worse than a pair of curious children. Once his hands had stopped wringing, mostly because Agrias had threatened to make him sleep in the hallway if he kept it up, he promptly reiterated his wish that she rest and avoid exerting herself as much as possible. The Beoulve girl, however, could not bear the notion of sitting idle while everyone else in her household was working themselves to the bone in order to maintain their new home, as well as provide for and feed themselves. Though her defiance had been tempered by her talk with Reis about how easily Agrias could have lost Rachel, Alma nonetheless rose with the dawn, sometimes earlier than Agrias and the Murry twins, and promptly set about making breakfast for her new, strange household. On this particular day, however, the drab and dreary interior of the castle finally pushed her beyond endurance and she set about finding some flowers to brighten up the foreboding mass of stone.
Her hunt for flowers, however, had turned up quite a bit more than she'd bargained for, but she suspected that she'd eventually have a thousand reasons to pardon Manon's wandering hands.
Since Lionel Castle was still largely in a state of disrepair, there was no shortage of work to be done in order to make the rest of it livable again. Though the children had been more than a little skeptical at the notion of helping to restore a supposedly haunted castle on behalf of a pair of nobles they'd never even heard of, the offer of three meals a day and a safe place to sleep by night had quickly swayed them. Still, that meant there were only eight of them living on an estate meant to be staffed by dozens, if not hundreds. Apart from the cavernous halls and ever twisting corridors within the castle, the stables and courtyard had also suffered copious neglect that would not be easily rectified. Doubtless the Galthana twins faced like difficulties with their home of Riovanes, which yet held a sinister reputation due to the rampage of Hashmalum and his fellow Lucavi thralls. Still, if people were beginning to approach Lionel Castle to see about the goings-on within, perhaps it meant that others might overcome their fear of the Lionel Castle and, given time, the Beoulve siblings might be able to hire a proper staff to help maintain their newfound home.
Well, they do say even the largest tasks start with the smallest steps, she mused as she glanced at the two children.
Manon and Charlotte had, much to the surprise of her fellow fugitives, proven quite apt at their newfound duties. Though growing up in the defunct workhouses had stolen their childhoods, it had also taught the pair how to survive on their own and that even the smallest of gifts merit gratitude. Though Manon had been quick to mirror some of Rad's disreputable habits, as evidenced by how the boy was presently gazing at the Murry twins with a troubling intensity, he'd also been proven quite fastidious as he helped his elders sweep, dust, and wipe away the copious signs of the castle's neglect. What's more, his small frame and remarkable agility allowed him to scramble up to the rafters in order to combat an especially fierce patch of dry rot. Charlotte, meanwhile, had proven to be quite an asset in the kitchen...
...both as a surprisingly talented cook and as her own favorite taste tester.
"Ack!" the girl gagged through a mouthful of roast potato. "I must've used too much salt. Oh, well. No sense letting the rest go to waste."
Charlotte quickly scribbled something on a piece of smudged parchment she kept on the corner of her counter and, her overuse of the salt apparently disregarded, promptly finished the remainder of the "failed" potato in several noisy bites. The Beoulve girl couldn't help but snicker at the sight of the would-be chef's cheeks straining to hold in the aborted dish while her small hands shoveled it in all the faster. Still, though they yet wore rags and were surrounded by strangers, there was no hiding how much better the two children looked...
...which, upon reflection, said a great deal about what they must've been through before their curiosity brought them to Lionel Castle's doorstep.
Though the pair had been too young to understand what had caused their former workhouse to become a den of inequity, Agrias and the Murry twins had discerned the truth and told Alma once they could find a moment to confer in privacy.
Cardinal Draclau had founded the workhouses to aid the many orphans of the Fifty Years War and, apparently after his subversion by the Lucavi, had looted their funding in order to hire the Baert Trading Company and Gafgarion to hunt down Mustadio and the Taurus Stone. Perhaps the subverted cardinal had wanted to avoid drawing the unwelcome distraction of the High Confessor's ire by admitting that he'd lost a supposed holy relic, or maybe he'd wanted to make sure that the stone found its way into the hands of a suitable candidate for demonic possession rather than being used as a symbol to raise the High Confessor's planned rebellion against the crown. In either case, this act had meant abandoning Manon, Charlotte, and God knows how many other children to lives of poverty and crime.
Having briefly been host to a Lucavi herself, though, Alma was uniquely aware of just how meaningless the lives of a few humans were to demonkind...and, conversely, how much the denizens of hell delighted in causing such misery.
This newly discovered crime by the Lucavi - made all the more sickening, as founding those same workhouses had likely been Draclau's final act as a man whose soul was still his own, and perhaps even while he was still as altruistic as so many believed him to be - had served to galvanize Ramza into making some good come out of his unexpected governance of Lionel. As the new lord of the province, it was within Ramza's power to have the workhouses rebuilt and their original mission resumed, and being a parent himself likely spurred Ramza all the more towards that challenge. By that same token, the former Beoulve was also empowered, and eager, to restore Beowulf to his former position as captain of Lionel Castle's contingent of knights once the newly formed Order of the Chimera had established a presence in Lionel. However, though Alma echoed his sentiments, she knew there were no shortage of complications with that plan. Even if Beowulf was reinstated, he had no order of knights to command, and likely would not for several months. What's more, financing either the rebuilding of Lionel's knights or the workhouses would prove quite difficult so long as the people of the province believed Lionel Castle to be inhabited only by ghosts. By that same token, Alma's position as duchess meant little with no servants to run her household and the fact that she had hitherto avoided crossing paths with any citizen of the Lionel region. As yet, the only real use for her title would be to attract a husband when she, Ramza, and their friends made for Lesalia next month.
Alma let out a heavy sigh, reluctant as always to explore that particular sore subject, but knowing she had little choice in the matter. Perhaps a week after the small band had settled into the castle, Alma had stumbled upon Ramza poring over a letter - apparently from Delita and which, as far as she could tell, was written in an incomprehensible jumble of letters and numbers. These letters had come twice a week, though always on different days, and even those fugitives aware of the letters had no idea how they were being delivered or their contents. Ramza had unerringly deflected any inquires on Alma's part until, having run out of patience, she'd finally resorted to a nigh flawless reproduction of one of her childhood tantrums. From prior experience, she knew that the sight of her quivering lip and misty eyes would cause her brother's obstinacy to melt like snow under a firaja spell. Her tactic had worked even better than it had back then, and she'd gotten the truth out of him.
She almost wished she hadn't, for the mist in her eyes became quite real when she heard Ramza's explanation.
While the balls at Lesalia were, indeed, meant to introduce Delita's 'cousins' to the Ivalician population and secure their new identities, they had a larger purpose in attracting a husband for Alma. The letters traveling back and forth between Lionel and Lesalia - heavily enciphered so that no prying eyes could discern their contents - had contained the particulars of the plan, as well as advance word of likely candidates.
The Beoulve girl could still feel the shock of those words, and the cold dread that lingered beneath. She'd suspected this would happen, and had ever since she'd learned that Delita's plans styled her as his cousin and, therefore, a branch of the royal family. But, that didn't make it any easier to bear.
As the daughter of a noble house, she knew that her marital prospects had been discussed in whispers practically since her birth. Amongst the nobility, arranged marriages was a custom older than most of those families which practiced it and, on those rare occasions when someone at that school where Teta had been so ill-treated had deigned speak to the Beoulve girl, she'd often hear her classmates tell her that they were engaged to boys they'd never even met.
At the time, Alma had regarded their apparent delight at the prospect with perplexity.
Later, when she'd chanced upon a former classmate whose betrothed in no way resembled their romantic fantasies, her perplexity turned to pity.
Though she liked to think her father would not have married her off to a man she could not love, she suspected that, even as he lay in his sickbed, he'd been under some pressure to decide upon a likely son-in-law.
Perhaps, with his sister, and a supposed cousin of royalty, pregnant out of wedlock, Ramza had taken that burden upon his shoulders as well?
Mechanically tending to the simmering omelet, Alma mulled over her situation. She knew that many, if not all of the men who'd be vying for her hand would more likely have their eye on her purse rather than her, but she also knew that the child taking shape in her womb would force the issue sooner or later.
The still tender wound in her heart at Izlude's passing would do nothing to delay the birth of her child, nor lessen the burden of raising him or her without the man who should have been her husband.
And yet, though Alma told herself time and again that her baby would need a father, seeds of doubt yet sought to take root in her mind. Though Ramza hadn't said so, it seemed likely that he and Delita were gambling that she could be wedded and bedded soon enough that her husband would not realize that her pregnancy was another man's handiwork, and that he would see nothing untoward when 'his child' was born.
Your Uncle Ramza is a very silly man, isn't he? she mused to her baby, though without a drop of mirth.
Unless she managed to find a man who could pass as Izlude's twin - and, after meeting three dashing, green eyed brunettes already, she wasn't laying coin on her chances of getting so lucky a fourth time - she could imagine quite a few signs on her child which would betray the scheme.
And, when that happened, then what?
She suspected it would be a moot point anyway. She'd be at least four months along by then and, barring some masterfully creative tailoring, someone was bound to notice that she was a fair bit heavier than her small frame warranted.
Forcefully shaking her head, she tried to turn her attention somewhere else. Anywhere else.
And, inevitably, her wandering thoughts turned to Izlude.
Once more, her eyes misted as she remembered his handsome face, his dashing figure, and how, even when she was in chains before him, he'd unfailingly treated her with such kindness.
Yet, Izlude was dead, and her baby would need a father...even if that meant she'd have to lie to the child and her future husband all their lives and watch another man in what should've been her beloved knight blade's place.
Her grim reverie was broken, however, when she felt another stirring under her ribs. Her dark thoughts were blown out in a second, louder gasp and she once more found her eyes darting to the pan. She'd hoped this episode too had gone unnoticed but, with most the castle watching her almost as closely as they did Rachel, that hope was short lived.
"Is everything all right, Catherine?" the Beoulve girl heard a voice ring out, the stressed use of her pseudonym not lost on her.
Her gaze snapped in the direction of the sound and she saw Agrias, who'd had a baking paddle laden with kneaded dough for rolls halfway to the oven when she'd heard her friend's startled gasp.
"Oh, it's nothing!" the Beoulve girl insisted as she let out an uneasy laugh. "Your niece or nephew just kicked me, is all."
One of Agrias's eyebrows arched at these words, and Alma found herself pondering the wisdom of confessing her misgivings on the spot. However, between Charlotte's noisy chewing and the all too familiar sound of Rad carousing with the twins, she decided that such a discussion was best had in private. Still, though she knew Agrias shouldered no small burden with her own child and her persistent worries over Ovelia's well-being, the Beoulve girl decided that the pair ought to talk in private. Thus, she wordlessly signaled this by tracing a circle over her heart, joining thumb and forefinger, and then spreading them wide, breaking the circle...
...just as surely as her heart was breaking.
The holy knight gave a nearly invisible nod, showing she understood the message, and then let a grin tug at the corners of her mouth.
"I notice the little one has been doing that a lot lately…," she observed. "Rachel was much the same way, and only when she wasn't busy growing!"
"I know, when I first saw you, I thought you were wearing an extra war-pack over your stomach," Alma replied in a teasing voice as she rubbed her belly.
Agrias feigned a scowl for a heartbeat or two but, when she heard Charlotte, Manon, Rad, and the twins all snickering under their breaths, she rolled her eyes and allowed a self-deprecating grin to cross her features.
"Sooner or later, Catherine...," Agrias intoned, her words trailing off ominously as she pointed to the Beoulve girl and began to pantomime an ungainly waddle.
That sparked a fresh wave of laughter from the others in the kitchen and, much to her surprise, Alma felt the weight on her heart ease by a small degree.
Izlude might be gone, and her future husband was most unlikely to fill that void, but at least there were others who cared for her and her child.
"The baby just loves attention, it seems. Just like his or her father," Alma blushed as her thoughts wended their way back to her lost love. This time, however, his horrific passing did not rise to the forefront of her thoughts, but she instead recalled the childish and yet adorable means Izlude resorted to when he wanted her attention. When he was in one of his playful moods, the knight blade would sneak up behind Alma and grab her from behind. After putting up a pretense of half-hearted resistance, she would snuggle against his powerful form while he trailed kisses down her collarbone or suddenly blew in her ear and began nuzzling her neck like a curious puppy.
Upon hearing this, the twins giggled with amusement. "He must have been crazy about you, Catherine," Lavian observed, pointedly avoiding the use of Izlude's name in front of the children.
"That's right!" Alicia chimed in. "When a man is crazy about a woman, he will do anything - and, I mean anything - to get her attention, no matter how silly or bone-headed it is."
Alma could not help but laugh at how the twins' assessment was right on the mark. More than that, however, it had helped ease her heavy heart that, even though the late knight blade had met Ramza's company as an enemy, none held that against Izlude's memory, Alma, or the child she carried. Even though none of them really knew Izlude, each knew how much their one-time foe had meant to Alma and, when they spoke of him, it was almost as though they were speaking not of one of the many Templars who'd sought their deaths, but of a departed friend and comrade whose memory was precious to them.
And, indeed, if not for a cruel whimsy of fate, Izlude might very well have been their friend and comrade in fact as well as sentiment.
And, Lavian and Alicia, being Lavian and Alicia, both clearly remembered the knight blade as being a remarkably handsome young man, even though they saw him only once at the battle at Orbonne Monestary before he'd kidnapped Alma and spirited her away to Riovanes. Alma had told several stories of her and Izlude's mutual seduction and, despite the tragic ending and even though her newfound friends only knew Izlude from the harrowing time they'd spent on the opposite sides of the battlefield, some had said they would have liked to have gotten to know the Izlude who might very well have joined their fight.
"You're right," Alma replied. "And, I feel that, if my child is a boy, he will likely come up with creative ways to get my attention when he wants it."
"Something like...THIS?" the voice of Rad rang out before a pair of arms coiled about each of the Murry twins.
Alma, well acquainted with such displays by now, merely rolled her eyes as Rad dragged both twins against his ebon clad chest and a pair of scoundrel's lips began trailing up and down a giggling Lavian's neck. Without missing a beat, Rad angled to do likewise with Alicia but, interestingly, his lips met hers instead.
More curious still, he did not draw back, but instead the pair lingered in their unexpected embrace for a moment longer, their tongues dancing back and forth across the threshold of their melded lips.
Alma, recalling the strange look of longing and indecision she'd seen cross the dark knight's face not so long ago, found herself wondering if the circus that was the trio's odd relationship might finally be drawing to a close.
Indeed, Rad came away from the kiss breathing hard...and promptly used what breath he could muster to share a kiss, shorter but still visibly probing, with Lavian.
Alma hardly needed to look to see Agrias' expression of disapproval at this display, but she couldn't help but flippantly ask "Why do I have the feeling my baby's first word will be 'incorrigible'?"
"I can believe it," the holy knight said dryly before turning to face the carousing trio. "You never tire of these games of yours, do you?"
Three heads shook in reply.
"What else can I say?" Rad asked rhetorically. "I love the broads, and I always have the best hand."
"Let me guess, the only reason you haven't also dragged in Manon and Charlotte is that you lack the arms?"
"Your rejoinders could use some work. Seriously, though, Manon has the makings of a real charmer. He's got a lot to learn, though. Reaching all the way up a long dress like that? Rookie move. Instead, you do...THIS!"
Without further preamble, Rad's quick hands blurred their way towards Alicia's breast and Lavian's hindquarters and he began to pinch, poke, and caress each in a fashion that, Alma suspected, was the stuff of many a good father's worst nightmares.
"You really have no boundaries, do you?" Agrias asked, more than a hint of displeasure in her tone. "I trust Lavian and Alicia to protect themselves if you cross the line. But, if you touch any of the children like that, you'll draw back a stump."
"Oh, you wound me!" Rad replied, and he almost sounded like he meant it. "I can assure you, I'll be right alongside Ramza when Rachel's boyfriends need a proper father/uncle hazing. As for Charlotte, well..."
His words trailed off as he pointed to the young girl who was still engrossed with sowing the seeds of a fine meal...
...and reaping the harvest just as quickly.
With the dexterity of a practiced thief, and the table manners of a Warjilis dockhand, she was chopping bacon and throwing it into a quiche pan with one hand and using the other to shovel down the bacon she'd deemed 'overdone'.
"That bit about me drawing back a stump?" Rad continued, breaking the brief trance of morbid fascination that had settled over the women. "A guy's likely enough to lose a hand in there as-is."
As if to underscore the point, Charlotte then approached the oven where, unnoticed by the chattering adults, the rolls Agrias had deposited earlier were finished. Standing on her toes, and handling the unwieldy baking paddle with surprising balance, she began to carefully tip the paddle so that the rolls slid into the wicker basket Agrias had meant to deposit them in before Alma's gasp had caught her attention.
Just as one of the flaky domes passed her eye, she snatched it right out of the air, followed swiftly by two others, and promptly tore into each.
"Having been in her place way back when," Rad whispered to the ladies, "I can tell you that, if she really is shoving all that down after three days hungry, she'll be regretting it."
As was often the case when Rad spoke, Alma found herself rolling her eyes and shaking her head in mingled amusement and exasperation.
"Well, at least there's still plenty for the rest of us," she noted. "Why don't the rest of you start setting the table? I'll see if I can stop Charlotte from spoiling her breakfast...and her lunch."
As the small group dispersed, and Alma got in some practice making use of her maternal authority, she found that the lingering melancholy she felt at Izlude's passing, though no less a scar on her young heart, ached a bit less after the reminder that, whatever lay in the future, she would never face it alone.
Her future husband could not take Izlude's place in her heart, but if she found a man who could love her and her child and keep them well, perhaps her beloved's noble spirit could rest in peace.
The notion coaxed a smile, this one a smile of gratitude for what she'd had with Izlude and what she still had, that lit up her features like the dawn after too long and gloomy a night.
A/N: Ok, we're going to wrap up the part with Ramza/Alma and company here and shift the scene back to our adventuring knight blade, Izlude and his journey to find his lost love again. Sorry if I sound sappy, I'm just a sucker for romance, lol. :D