A/N: Sorry for the wait, my co-writer and I have been crazy busy with work and all but we finally managed to get this fic going again. This part takes a break from Izlude as well as Ramza and company's adventures and focuses mainly on the state of Ivalice during and after the Lion War as well as the ascention of King Delita. This interlude was written soley by my co-writer and editor Falchion1984 whom I like to thank for making this fic possible.
Interlude 1: Uneasy Lies the Head that Wears a Crown
If Dorter was the great crossroads of Ivalice and Gollund her treasury, then Lesalia Castle was the bejeweled crown upon her brow.
Raised centuries ago by the first of the Atkascha line, the castle was a study in opulence. Walls of smooth marble, from which innumerable towers rose to pierce the heavens, encircled the outer boundaries of the castle, festooned with delicate inlaid mosaics and stained glass windows depicting some of the more beloved of the ancient royal line.
Barring an invitation from the resident monarch, most Ivalicians were lucky to get even that close to the castle, but these would nonetheless come away stunned with wonderment. So awed were they by the marble walls - not just their sheer size, but the marvel of engineering that allowed the stones to be fitted together so perfectly and worn so smooth that one could run a hand over the surface without suffering so much as a blemish - that even those who lived lavish lives in their own right could not help but feel dwarfed by this beautiful barrier which guarded the royal family's privacy.
Quite a few uninvited guests would, at times, slip into the castle's shadow, tempted to run palm and fingers over the river smooth marble.
Reportedly, in more peaceful times, the castle guards' favorite diversion was taking bets on how many such visitors would be caught...and what manner of punishment they would suffer for despoiling the stately marble.
Though the wall was a magnificent jewel box, created both to protect and exhibit the great wealth, power, and history of the Atkascha line, it was still but a jewel box.
And, like all jewel boxes, the true wonders were discovered within.
A maze of broad corridors, all fashioned of brilliantly colored marble, bisected by fluted pillars which rose to support high vaulted ceilings, connected what felt like hundreds of opulent bedchambers, luxuriously appointed drawing rooms, a library that seemed more akin to a forest of books, and a decadent ballroom which haunted the dreams of every lovelorn soul in Ivalice.
In each and all, carefully placed by the finest of decorators so as to strike the delicate balance between enchanting a visitor and overwhelming them, were pieces of statuary, ornate vases, silken tapestries, earthen jars from which rose spreading, flowering plants, plush carpeting, ornamental suits of armor standing seemingly at attention, and portraits of royals, knights, maidens, and other remarkable figures, all illuminated by the flickering light of countless candles which burned from hundreds of golden chandeliers and candelabras.
The city of Lesalia, though not nearly as lavish as the castle that rose from its heart, ran a close second in terms of decadence.
The capital of Ivalice was the locale of choice for every noble family possessed of wealth worth the flaunting, and even a casual glance at its more upscale districts drove this point home as surely as an archer drives home a well-shot arrow. Broad avenues of cobblestoned streets wound their way through a veritable forest of majestic structures which shined against the sun. Estates of the median to lower level nobility, their stately homes accentuated by such adornments as expansive gardens and statues of fantastical creatures flanking every door, dotted the cityscape. Many of these belonged to nobles whose family lines traced a path back over centuries, subtly hinted at by how climbing vines embraced the exteriors of those grand dwellings which had passed smoothly from one generation to the next, as blue-blooded children were birthed in the master bedrooms and then bid farewell to parents and children alike in the same place.
Though men and women bearing lofty titles seemed to swarm every fashionable avenue, they were not the only residents of this city of splendors.
In such a city which was near to bursting at the seams with wealth, those of lesser means but who wished to secure a better future for themselves and their families could not hope to find a more lush hunting ground than Lesalia.
From the greater province of Lesalia and beyond, the wealth that could be had for those willing to dare the challenge of satisfying the nobility's desire for excess drew in enterprising folk of all descriptions. Whether they were jewelers, sculptors, painters, gem cutters, goldsmiths, weavers, seamstresses, potters, gardeners, playwrights, actors, musicians, curators, bookkeepers, masons, blacksmiths, woodsmiths, breeders of chocobos and other desirable creature companions, bakers, butchers, chefs, or simply man and maidservants, there could be no more an abundant hunting ground for affluent patrons willing to offer princely sums for whatever tantalized their fancy. A position in the veritable army who fed, bathed, clothed, beautified, and entertained this city of splendors was not a posting for the faint of heart, for the only things that would, or could, exceed the size of a would-be patron's wallet was the height of their standards and the fickleness of their tastes.
And, given how Lesalia's leading commodity was gossip, stories of any egregious mistakes would wend their way from mouth to mouth, and from district to district, with frightening speed.
Yet, for those willing to dare such a gambit, the dividends from such precarious labors could be truly amazing.
This was displayed, if not flaunted, by the households of those who, although bearing no title and being less wealthy than their silk-clad patrons, nonetheless had amassed great wealth catering to the frivolous whims of these lords and ladies who seemed to swarm the city. More than a few of those who had emerged triumphant and flush with gil from their tribulations were eager to showcase their success and more than a few of those commoners who had thus prospered lived in considerable splendor themselves. Even those of more restrained persuasions made sure that their homes were well kept and cozy, and even some of these were sizable in their own right. In both cases, however, it was considered a mark of the successful self-made Lesalian that their home boasted a private yard, a rare possession for one without some title or other attached to their name.
Apart from serving as a sort of testimonial to their hard work and their success, which was instantly recognizable to any with even passing knowledge of the city's nuances, these expanses of waving grass and beds of flowers also served as playgrounds where children merrily engaged in rough and tumble games seemingly at all hours. And yet, no matter what dragon they were slaying or treasure they were unearthing, these children never failed to jump for joy at the sight of their parents returning home after a long day's work.
Their exuberance, and the smell of a warm meal wafting through the windows, never failed to make hard day's work feel well worth it when such a parent had such a home and such a family to come home to.
As veterans of the endless struggle to cater to the whims of the wealthy made their own fortunes and retired, others arrived to take their places, all eager to follow a similar trail to wealth.
And, the city itself was rife with the facilities needed for those willing to undertake such a challenge.
In the expansive commercial districts of the city abounded elegant theaters with their fancifully garbed actors and musicians, galleries crammed with wondrous sculptures and breathtaking paintings, finely decorated jewelry shops offering all manner of beautifully cut gemstones set into wondrously wrought settings, and glittering gambling halls where fortunes changed hands daily on the turning of a card or the rolling of ivory dice. Such wonders abounded on every street, arresting the eye and stilling the breath of residents and newcomers alike.
Much like Lesalia Castle, the city that surrounded it showcased the wealth of Ivalice; not only in her gold, jewels, and other finery, but also the craft of her painters, musicians, playwrights, actors, sculptors, weavers, masons, and all manner of artists and craftsmen. Taken together, Lesalia seemed an eternal mark of the magnificence of Ivalice and the power of the royal bloodline which had forged the seven kingdoms into one and eternally surrounded itself in tributes to this ancient victory. Even the Fifty Years War had failed to mar the decadence of the bejeweled heart of Ivalice.
The War of the Lions, however, had changed that.
Like many of the great storms in history, the warnings of what was to come came on distant breezes, many of which were at first dismissed by the people at large. Though there had been no shortage of idle gossip and speculation when news of then-Princess Ovelia's abduction began wafting in from the outside world, there had been little true alarm outside the castle walls.
Granted, in a city where gossip found its most fertile soil, there had been no shortage of speculation as to who might be the culprit of such a foul deed, why this obscure princess had become so sought after as to have both the Hokuten and the Nanten scrambling to find her, the identity of the hitherto unknown Blackram Knight who'd apparently saved her life, and who, between the two dukes who accused the other of the crime, would profit most from the sudden widening of the schism between them.
Swapping newly acquired tidbits on these peculiar occurrences and speculating on how these strange events would unfold had provided many an hour of entertainment and diversion from the daily cares and anxieties of life, whether from the affluent idleness of the wealthy or the daily grind of those still climbing their way up the ladder of Ivalice's convoluted society.
The travails of Princess Ovelia and her mysterious rescuer, and the implications that the former had been the target of an assassination plot had made a charming addition to the city's ever-churning cauldron of gossip...but, not much else.
Within the city walls, a sort of entropy had prevailed over much of populace. Whether it was born from generations of having neither wanted for anything nor any empathy for or even conception of those legions of 'someone elses' who were less fortunate, or those of lesser means whose whole beings went into earning the wealth and reputation by which their children would be able to live better lives than their parents had known, the result was the same. The abduction of a princess whom half the people had never heard of, and about whom the other half knew practically nothing, seemed as no more than a fascinating tale of the nigh-mythical lands beyond the city's impregnable outer walls.
And then, one day, those walls came crashing down as the fascinating tale took on a life of its own and evolved into an epic tragedy which upended the ensconced lives of Lesalia's people.
The news of Princess Ovelia's rescue by a humble Blackram Knight had seemed, to some, like a charming end to an otherwise sad and dreary tale while others seemed almost disappointed that a story which such potential for intrigue had ended so soon. But, as it turned out, the story had only just begun.
Gradually, subtle signs began to crop up and mar the unchanging splendor of Lesalia. First, goods from Zeltennia and Limberry abruptly stopped arriving, as did those who peddled them. Almost immediately after that, those nobles who represented Zeltennia and Limberry's interests in Ivalice's council abruptly left, taking their various retinues with them. Later still, those contingents of Nanten and Aegis Knights which were part of the city's garrison seemingly vanished, their barracks and chapterhouses vacated so thoroughly as to leave one wondering if they'd even been occupied in the first place.
The rumors and the exodus had been the first drops of the cloudburst, and the deluge quickly followed.
It was presaged, as storms wrought by nature were presaged, by a booming clap of thunder that caused all within earshot to jump and whirl in the direction of the sound, wondering how an out-of-season storm had come upon them unnoticed...except that this storm was no product of nature's weave.
In fact, it was worse. Much worse.
Another crash reverberated over the city, and its northern and southern gates shuddered as though under the impact of a massive fist.
Several blows later, all of which witnessed by Lesalians who stood rooted to the spot in shock, the gates crumbled and in poured a host of Nanten and Aegis Knights. A knight of the Lionsguard raced to meet them, a demand for an explanation left unspoken on his lips as one of the Nanten ran him through.
After that, all was confusion and terror as Ivalicians drew steel against each other, the lightning of their arcing blades lending a horrifically perfect accompaniment to the thunder of the Zeltennian and Limberry siege engines that rained down catapult stones and ballista harpoons.
Many Lesalians, still immobilized by shock and horror, were roused from their terror induced stupors only when cold steel pierced their hearts or when a stray shot from a catapult smashed them into pulp. As many more Lesalians sought refuge in some ill-considered corner, only for their shelter to be flattened by a catapult stone or for the fires that later swept over the city to infiltrate their holes and choke them to death with clouds of thick smothering smoke.
Those who lived through that night of horrors emerged to find that their troubles had not ended.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
Many who'd climbed their way up into lives of wealth after many years of hard work and patience found their homes or businesses, or both, looted and burned, if not by the invaders from Zeltennia and Limberry then by neighbors driven mad from terror and desperation. Some families who'd attempted to regroup and determine what to do next found their half-formed plans lost to grief when they realized that some amongst their number had not arrived, nor ever would. Those nobles who'd lived in the city, who'd found themselves targets for the invaders, saw the doors of their estates kicked in and priceless treasures, some which had been passed down by their family for centuries, hauled off like the spoils of war...and some even saw the invaders add highborn wives and daughters to their haul.
Not one Lesalian passed the following evening without wishing to wake up and discover that the whole episode had been no more than a terrible nightmare. But, even amongst those who could find sleep afterward, this wish was in vain.
And, the nightmare was far from over. In fact, it was spreading to engulf every soul in Ivalice.
As Ivalice turned against herself, and communities all across the kingdom already battered and bleeding from decades of war with Ordalia were broken asunder, those who'd lost homes and livelihoods found themselves with little choice but to gather their meager belongings and venture forth in search of some oasis that yet remained amidst the desolation of war and poverty.
And, what oasis could offer greater succor than Lesalia, the everlasting jewel of the troubled kingdom?
And so, heady with dreams of starting anew in a land of endless splendor, desperate men, women, and children from Gallione, Limberry, Zeltennia, and even Lesalia's own province began a perilous journey towards the alabaster spires which offered the desperate hope of survival and, perhaps, even a second chance at happiness.
Such dreams, however, were not realized easily.
All too aware of just how much damage could be done to their war efforts by hordes of hungry refugees flooding their streets, both Larg and Goltana had taken great pains to ensure that their borders were tightly held against the desperate droves. Whatever men and women-at-arms could be spared from the front were stationed along the borders which divided Lesalia from Zeltennia and Limberry, manning hastily built fortifications watching over even more hastily cleared fields for anyone, armed or otherwise, trying to cross the battle lines of the raging civil war.
Anyone spotted trying to get past one of these ramshackle border posts without some proof that they did so with the consent of the duke to whom the post answered were forcibly turned back...and those who proved stubborn in the face of such warnings were dealt with harshly.
Though the nets of these border guards never passed a day without drawing a catch, the posts were sparse and undermanned, due to the unrelenting attrition on the front. And, as flooding in the west and drought in the east forced more and more desperate folk onto the road, the flood of humanity soon swelled beyond all controlling. And, even if the warring dukes could have spared the men needed to guard every means of ingress through every hour of every day, desperation often revealed means around such measures.
As is all too often the case in desperate times, those possessed of keen wits and nary a scruple quickly discovered means by which to derive personal gain from a world of suffering. Cadres of smugglers soon cropped up across Ivalice like so many weeds, each offering safe passage to the shining streets of Lesalia...for a price.
Some smugglers moved their live cargo via tunnels opened in the earth through the use of geomancy, prodding them through scantly lit passages which, the unwilling refugees feared, would collapse on them...and, at times, such fears were realized. Other smugglers plied Ivalician waters in decrepit barges, their 'passengers' crammed into the bilges as they languished in the filth, many of them succumbing to disease and callously tossed overboard by their so-called benefactors just as casually as the waste in which they gasped their last. Others still drove caravans of chocobo drawn wagons, men, women, and children crammed into barrels and sacks meant from transporting foodstuffs. Barely able to move an inch, lest they attract the attention of patrolling troops or incur the wrath of the smugglers, the ensconced refugees could only suffer in silence, warding off the madness of the smothering darkness and terrible silence, however, they could.
Many such refugees failed to reach Lesalia. Some were caught and turned back or simply branded as enemy agents and killed on the spot, others died of hunger, disease, or madness during the journey, and others still, realizing with horror the full breadth and depth of the smugglers' evil, decided that taking their own lives was preferable to a meager life where every breath would be exploited by the villains who had smuggled them to Lesalia.
And, many of those who'd survived the journey sometimes envied those who had not.
Within the first few months of the war, over one hundred thousand such castaways had washed up in Lesalia like so much flotsam. And, as shanty towns began to spring up like so many toadstools, a war of a different - and, if anything, even worse - sort was brought right to the Atkaschas' doorstep. Having little in the way of coin to pay the smugglers, the refugees, who had gazed with such longing and hope at the marbled walls of Lesalia discovered that they had traded one yoke for another. The smugglers, who would tolerate not even the smallest lapse in payment, would track down their onetime human cargo, wringing from them whatever meager funds they could.
And, when there was no coin to be had, they took their payment in the form of flesh, forcing themselves on the women and girls and offering an 'extension' to the horror-stricken family in exchange.
Those who could offer neither coin nor flesh soon found the local authorities knocking at their door, and a noose around their necks soon after.
Those who'd lived in Lesalia long before the arrival of these huddled masses, however, fared little better.
Whether it was a product of man's great propensity to loathe his fellows who had what he did not, whether pivotal of trivial, or whether it was the desperation of too many days with an empty belly that could erode reason and righteousness alike, the castaways who'd washed up on the island of marble that was Lesalia soon found their despair becoming hostility towards their unwanted neighbors.
Once prosperous shops and other establishments were repeatedly ransacked, either from spite or simple desperation, and the estates of the nobility soon found their expansive lawns becoming armed camps manned by emaciated but still fearsome bands of the impoverished. Any native Lesalian who traveled alone by night did so at the peril of being beaten, or even killed, for whatever small coin or meager food might be on their person and, for those women who were thusly waylaid, a toll even worse could be exacted by those who prowled the once pristine streets.
Even the more benign activities of the refugee hordes, such as huddling for warmth on the doorstep of one of the many businesses of Lesalia's self-made men and women, saw once loyal customers shy away and hard earned fortunes shrink as the ledgers took an ever bleaker course.
And, with the city's constabulary all but disbanded as its constables were pressed into the army, all this depravity, and the violent reprisals from both sides went on unabated.
Yet, in a truly strange irony, both sides ended their harsh days in the same manner.
As the sun vanished beneath the horizon and the stars blazed with cold fire in the ebon skies above, each and all of Lesalia's troubled peoples turned their gaze heavenward and asked what they had done to deserve this.
And, when the winking stars offered no reply, all uttered a prayer that someday, somehow, this long nightmare would end.
Then, one day, with a suddenness that astonished all, this prayer was answered.
Some of the more romantic, or fatalistic, souls in Ivalice had expected the War of the Lions to end in an epic final confrontation which would dwarf even what would've taken place at Fort Besselat if the sluice hadn't inexplicably opened before the battle could be joined. And, for those in Lesalia, fears that history would repeat itself if Zeltennian and Limberry troops darkened their doorstep again haunted seemingly every waking moment.
So, when the Blackram Knight of that long ago tale of then-Princess Ovelia and her mysterious rescuer arrived in Lesalia at the head of the Black Lion forces, all onlookers feared the worst.
Yet, to their astonishment, the self-proclaimed king sought not vengeance, but reconciliation. To those who swore loyalty to him, he would spare their lives and, in good time, aid them in reclaiming their futures. Despite no small amount of skepticism, the possibility, however slight, that Lesalia's dark days might be drawing to a close was enough to have the high and the lowly alike taking a knee before the man who would be later known as King Delita Hyral I.
Several weeks on, though much work yet remained, the Lesalians were near to bursting with relief when this new king proved as good as his word. After the dissolution of the feudalist controls which had allowed the crown and its most immediate subordinates to control every last coin, the floods in Gallione and the droughts in Limberry had finally ended. Taken together, once sparsely filled markets where native Lesalians and refugees alike would battle over meager stocks of food, often tearing apart the shopkeepers in the process, were now bursting at the seams and able to sell their goods for prices that were unheard-of since before the Fifty Years War. No less remarkable, Delita had been able to win over the skeptical refugees by offering them, according to their own choice, the opportunity to build new villages throughout the countryside which, upon completion, would be their new homes or, alternatively, to allow him to broker arrangements between them and the native Lesalian businesses, whom he urged to provide them room and board in return for work and, at the end of the term, to either take them into their employ or give them a stipend to start life afresh elsewhere.
Those native Lesalians, who remembered all too well that these refugees were the same people who had looted their business and, in some cases, did far worse, were mollified only when Delita made them an offer no less generous. Any business or individual entrepreneur that signed such an agreement would see a drastic reduction in their taxes and rents and, in a hitherto unheard-of gesture, the opportunity to buy land from destitute or annihilated noble families so that they could, potentially, rebuild and expand their businesses. This, the stunned masses realized, meant that, where once they'd have to rent land from nobles who were as likely to use their control over the rents on the land to dictate what and to whom their enterprising tenants could sell, and run them out of business at the first sign of objection, the entrepreneurs could now carve out their own mercantile empires on land far more valuable than what they'd owned previously.
No less amazing, these mercantile empires would be theirs to govern and expand as they saw fit. And, without having to navigate the caltrop laden field that was the old Ivalice's feudal architecture, their former prosperity seemed to pale compared to the wealth that lay in the offing now that Ivalice's self-made men and women now had self-determination over what, when, to whom, and for how much they could sell their wares.
Whereas the crown had maintained a stranglehold on Ivalice's economy, with past kings and queens dictating from on high where and when every last copper went, this new monarch now made the unprecedented vow to break that stranglehold and allow a free market, run by free men and women, to rise in its place.
Someone mentioned, rather needlessly, that such a thing had never been done before...and, if anything, such daring inventiveness added to King Delita's mystique and the allure of his promise.
And, with that promise, came promises greater still. Namely, the chance not only to rebuild what they had lost to the war but to gain greater wealth and renown than they had ever dreamed of during those bygone days when Lesalia had still been the untouched jewel of decadence in Ivalice's crown.
Even those nobles who had financed the war efforts of his avowed enemies were invited to participate in the revivification of Ivalice. Many of these had supported Larg, though the late Duke of Gallione had run short on friends long before his death as one fortune after another was lavished upon the war with the only returns being dead bodies. Many of these nobles were nearly bankrupt, others had sons and daughters who had served as knights in Larg's host and yet languished in the overflowing dungeons which Delita had inherited upon Goltana's death, and others still had seen their children march to war never too return and were left only with a stately manor haunted by the ghosts of brighter days and specters of the sons and daughters whose lives no amount of wealth could buy back.
Many of these had sizable holdings of land which they now lacked the funds or workers to maintain. These, in the proper hands and with good labor, could be made into prosperous farms to feed the malnourished kingdom, logging operations to rebuild sundered communities, and mines where veins of gold and iron, the fuel of any kingdom, could be unearthed. In exchange for offering these lands for outright purchase rather than rent or lease, some nobles would be able to act as full partners in such an enterprise with the salary that such a position commanded, as well as a fixed percentage of the proceeds. For others, he offered to throw wide the doors of his dungeons and return their sons and daughters, whom he'd made a point of describing as "worthy adversaries", with no conditions, bargains, or petitions beyond those agreed upon between the unlikely partners in the rebuilding of Ivalice.
And, to those who had no heirs to inherit their lands, he offered the hope, prayer, and promise that his plan would allow them to live their remaining days seeing that the kingdom which their sons and daughters died for would not only endure but prosper. And this, much to the surprise of those who'd spent many a night crying themselves to sleep in long empty nurseries, was enough.
Suffice to say, Delita's offer had been met with unbridled acclamation.
Some prostrated themselves as though in the presence of a divine being, others wept in the uncontrollable joy that their nightmares had ended and the future lay bright before them, and others still expressed their happiness to Delita in ways that were...potentially inappropriate.
On parchment, charging at a monarch to gather him into a rib-cracking hug usually merited a flogging. But, in a display of magnanimousness that once more left every mouth hanging agape, Delita declared to his scandalized guards that, if ever there was a day to make exceptions, this was it.
Then, as if these simple words, these promises that would seem as mere wind when escaping another's lips, were a shaft of light radiating from the heavens, the thunderhead of death and despair that was the War of the Lions was sundered for good and all.
Days and weeks blurred together as the work began at a pace which boggled the imagination. Contracts for the purchase of land from distressed noble houses were signed and, to couple one previously unthinkable image with another, nobles and commoners, seeking to rebuild their lost fortunes, sat at a table discussing how best to guide their shared investments to success.
And, success followed apace.
With much of Ivalice still in the throes of hunger, crops sold as fast as they could be harvested. As the ravaged farmlands of Gallione and Limberry turned green and vibrant again, and plots of fertile land left untilled were cleared and sown, wagons bulging with food soon began to swarm the roads of the kingdom, flooding markets large and small with goods that could be sold for a pittance.
Even those of different persuasions found themselves a niche in this strange and yet tantalizing new world.
Hidden treasures - portraits, sculptures, jewels, and other bits of finery which had been stolen or abandoned by those who'd fled their homes - had begun to crop up in many a shadowy corner of Lesalia and many other cities beyond. Most of these were in poor condition, either from the careless hands who cared little beyond how much bread such a trifle might buy or the ravages of time and nature following their owners fleeing for their lives, and thus a new trade emerged, dedicated to restoring such pieces. Painters, sculptors, and jewelers, their customary clientele otherwise occupied, applied their talents to renewing faded artwork, mending cracked or mutilated statues, and wiping the tarnish of jewelry. Such pieces, if their owners could be traced, were returned while those pieces whose owners could not be found were resold.
And, in a city where gossip changes hands as easily as coin, such tales of skill and good will were sprouted as readily as the crops in Ivalice's now flourishing soil.
No less amazing, the onetime refugees who'd spent years flouted the laws handed down by those who cared as little for them as one would for the dirt beneath their boots, had held up their end of King Delita's proposed bargain. Many took to the burgeoning lumber camps, felling trees and sawing boards, supports, and shingles from the raw logs. And, as the growing skeleton of what would be their new homes gradually took shape, even the weary amongst their number found their exhaustion chased away by both the pride in looking upon something they had built and rightfully owned, and envisioning the better future which might finally be at their fingertips.
As much more refugees decided to stay in Lesalia, more than a few of these finding their consciences promptly filling the void after their hunger was tamed. Seeing in a different light those they'd held in contempt, and against whom they'd done much that hindsight informed them was evil, many of these refugees found themselves unwilling to let such a black matter lie. Many offered their services to the shopkeepers whose homes and businesses they once terrorized, asking only for a roof over their head and a modest meal in return. Few of the shopkeepers were enthused by the proposition, but King Delita's offer of lesser taxes and rents for those who obliged such a request proved too tantalizing, and too badly needed, to ignore. And, remarkably, these former refugees honored their word.
Some arrived for work earlier than expected and stayed much later than was expected of them, others showed a level of care and diligence in their labors that rivaled that of their salaried counterparts, and others still eschewed such disreputable pastimes as drinking and gambling in favor of studying up on aspects of their newfound trades which they'd yet to explore.
When their original contracts drew to a close, more than a few businessmen, amazed that the bundle of filthy rags that once huddled on his doorstep for warmth was the same person as the one who'd become such a valued asset, were quick to offer a salaried position if such was desired.
More often than not, such discussions ended in the outlining of terms, a handshake, and, more than the exchange of coin and services, the healing power of forgiveness also passed from one to the other.
Each and all saw, as time blurred the past, their once tarnished and defiled city mending and blossoming like a flower which none had realized was still in the bud, all spared more than a few moments to turn admiring eyes to toward the castle, their gazes alighting upon the all too familiar silhouette of a man standing upon the ramparts.
Even as his promises took shape, and the high and the lowly alike sowed and reaped the bounty of prosperity to which he'd set them to work, King Delita Hyral I yet watched over his people, wordlessly reminding them that he would always be there to guide the ship of state as she sought to leave behind the shoals of war and poverty and seek the strong winds of peace and prosperity.
And, just as surely as the people always saw him atop the ramparts, they always said a prayer of thanks that this fairytale prince amongst the peasants had leaped free of the pages to cleave away the dark clouds of the War of the Lions.
But, even as skepticism withered in the face of Delita's many promises taking shape, certain questions lingered.
The northern and southern gates of the city, which had been smashed down when the armies of the Black Lion had stormed the city to seize the traitorous - and, thankfully, deceased - former Queen Ruvelia yet lay broken even with so much of the city now rebuilt and beginning to flourish.
No less peculiar, the shanty towns which had sprung up during the flood of refugees yet remained standing.
Though these questions were voiced only in quiet corners and in fervent whispers, they were as persistent as a gnat, buzzing around the ear and threatening to despoil.
Why would the ruined gates be left in shambles when, even with the war over, Ivalice never lacked for roaming bands of monsters and ne'er-do-wells?
That the shanty towns had been left standing was even more bizarre. Not only were they as loathed by their occupants as much as by those who'd already been on the island of marble that was Lesalia when the flood of humanity arrived, but the sprawl of decrepit shacks was all but deserted. The refugees, who needed little urging to accept Delita's offer of new homes in return for labor, had abandoned those crumbling hovels as quickly as they could, leaving behind only handfuls of squatters and scavengers, madmen, and fugitives from the justice that took shape in the figure perched upon Lesalia Castle's battlements like a great bird of prey.
The question of these oddities yet persisted, as was expected since gossip being Lesalia's leading commodity was one of the few things that remained well and truly unchanged over the years, but no amount of speculation and suppositions could yield an answer. And so, with a shrug and a crinkling of the brow, the people pondering these peculiarities went back to their lives and tried, with varying degrees of success, to put the matter out of their minds.
These too, they hoped, were but another remnant of the many horrors of the long nightmare that was the War of the Lions. And, it was a nightmare which, many hoped, was, at last, giving way to dawn.
A/N: And that concludes Interlude 1. Part two is coming shortly so please look forward to it! ;)