Co-Author's (Falchion1984) Note: THIS IS A VERY IMPORTANT NOTICE! The placement of Interlude 3 and 4, both of which will be broken into multiple parts, in the order of chapters is quite misleading. Both take place just after Chapter 17: To Court a Duchess. To review, the first ball has just ended, with a total lack of results, and Ramza, sensing that Delita is still in a bad way after his first suicide attempt, is worried that his old friend's mental state might have deteriorated further. This takes place before Izlude can attend the second ball and, therefore, before Ramza knows that Izlude is alive and has the Pisces Stone. So, as far as he knows, the slightly harebrained marry-Alma-off-to-an-Izlude-lookalike-soon-enough-to-pass-off-the-baby-as-his scheme still appears to be their only option. Now that that's done, enjoy!

Interlude 3, Part 1: The Monster in the Mirror

There seems to be so little that binds together any two people living two lives, let alone the diverse throngs which called Ivalice home.

Whether men or women, young or old, rich or poor, highborn or low, wise or simple, strong of arm or keen of wit, artist or knight or merchant or farmer, it often seems that one could no more find two people who are truly alike than they could snatch at flurries of snow and discover two perfect twins amongst the minuscule yet intricate patterns of fluttering ice.

And yet, for all that, there is perhaps a single, immutable constant that is shared amongst these disparate souls.

And that constant is that, on some fateful and unbidden day, each and all must look into the mirror and see who they truly are.

On that day, the fullness of ourselves is laid bare, from the heights of our munificence to the depths of our malice. The victories and the follies, the kindnesses and the cruelties, that for which we are grateful and that which we regret.

One day, each and all will be staring back at us from within the glass as we behold ourselves with the mask of pretense having fallen away.

It is often remarked that the happiest man in the world could peer into the mirror at that moment and be quite content with what he sees.

Those who live lives less perfect, but still enviable in their own right, will see much to be thankful for, and regard whatever regrets may mar the image as being too few to mention.

Others, perhaps the most predominant amongst those who will face themselves at a time beyond mortal choosing, might see that for which they are grateful and that which repulses them as being more closely balanced and, depending on whether this realization is a challenge to make better use of what time remains to them or a condemnation for not having done better, they will either rise or crumble.

These are people who, whatever else may befall them, can nonetheless see the truth of themselves, their strengths and weaknesses, with a clear eye, coming to cherish the former and learning either to shoulder or overcome the latter. And, whatever these people see, whatever lesson they carry in their hearts when the moment passes, life continues afterwards. Different than before, perhaps even very different, but continue life does, either altered or merely illuminated by these discovered truths.

But, for a most misfortunate few, the truth can be unbearable.

And, even in the most peaceful of eras, to say nothing of the carnage and misery of the War of the Lions, when has humanity ever lacked for such souls soon to be tortured when that fateful moment forces them to behold all pretenses fall away, leaving behind the ugliness of a life ill spent?

The refugee who killed one of his fellows for a crust of precious bread, suddenly wondering if starvation would've been preferable to living as a murderer.

The parent who was oft abroad to ensure his or her children had an inheritance, who later ponders the worth of being there for their birthdays, Yuletides, and when their children were ill.

The merchant who, facing ruin at the hands of his competitors, turned the tables through dishonest means and cannot behold his wealth or accomplishments without seeing a patina of filth.

The sworn or hired blade, who lived by the sword and suddenly becomes consumed with musings about the lives of those who died by that same sword.

The criminal, of their infinite variants, who has ever evaded earthly law and yet sees ample cause to fear heavenly law upon their final breath.

The knight who made the impossible choice where honor or duty, but not both, could prevail and where neither choice fails to leave a wound that runs deep and bleeds invisibly.

The monarch or statesman who'd had to betray his or her own values, or even the trust of the people, for the sake of expediency, for whom an act hailed as exemplifying political acumen leaves disgrace staring back at them from the glass.

For these souls, bruised and bleeding by actions they wish they could undo, or which they should have done but did not, facing the truth of themselves, in all its terrible nakedness, is often more than most can bear. Some, undone by the hideousness of what they witness, burst into tears, shatter the mirror, wishing they could shatter what they beheld within as easily, and sink into a morass of regret and dissipation from which few are known to emerge.

For those who do not succumb, however, the future is uncertain, for what might happen traces paths as myriad as those who might embark upon them.

There are those who resign themselves to what they see, some either lurching forward with their lives as they soldier on while others hobble forth in a daze of disappointment deeply buried beneath a pale imitation of the lives they'd had before. In more dire cases, the outcome is even bleaker. Those who, broken by the horror of how far they've fallen and how late is the hour, let what time remains to them pass in a haze of drink and opium, which they imbibe in volume to dull the pain until anguish and joy alike fall forever beyond their grasp.

Yet, there are others who are very different. Some remarkable souls, grossly imperfect and yet refusing to be no more than the sum of their follies and shortcomings, unmoor themselves from what led them to such ignominy in their own eyes, seeking to forge themselves into something they can look upon in the mirror without shame.

For some, this they achieve alone in a harsh and lonely quest whose success they snatch from the jaws of despair through their own, often meager, inner resources. Most, however, need, if not the aid, then the words of those who have faith in them, where even the notion that someone holds the conviction that one seeking redemption in their own eyes might yet find it is enough to spur one to try and vindicate that faith.

Whatever journey is embarked upon, and where it may lead, however, is not the first consideration for those who would become more than the terribly flawed specimen they see gazing back at them. The act of changing oneself, of rising above one's misspent years, is often the apex of what will likely prove to be a long and grueling campaign.

The first step on that road is to accept the truth of what one sees upon beholding in the mirror how much lesser they are than they'd believed and wished they could be. For, just as one beholden to liquor or with a mind or spirit rendered unsound by some terrible trauma must acknowledge that which ails them before they can act to rectify it, so too must one who seeks to take that image in the mirror and supplant it with something better.

Such is easier said than done, however. Whether it be pride, or denial, or man's infinite capacity to rationalize that which they oughtn't have done and yet did anyway, most quail at the notion of admitting, even to themselves, the full depth of their ignoble deeds, their follies, their hypocrisies, and the too long leash they lend their baser natures. For those who seek to author a new and better chapter in their lives, accepting the ugliness of the prior volume can prove to be a battle in and of itself.

In the war council chamber, deep in the bowels of Lesalia Castle, King Delita Hyral the First waged such a battle…

…and, he was losing.

SSSSSS

Situated well below the cobblestoned streets of Lesalia, and seemingly a thousand miles away from the endless lavishness of Lesalia Castle, the war council chamber was a well-hidden pocket of austerity amidst the bountiful decadence that so characterized the alabaster island from which the monarchs of Ivalice watched over the kingdom. Solely accessible via out of the way staircases, most of which the castle's inhabitants were unaware of, the chamber was as cold and grim as the purpose for which it was built.

It was here, at the grand oak table, that the prosecution of two wars, both of which had nearly brought Ivalice to rack and ruin, had been conducted; from the Viura Campaign, which had seen the tragic death of King Denamunda the Second snatch victory from Ivalice's fingers, to the signing of the treaty which had reunited Ivalice under the rule of the peasant born king and his royal bride.

Here, arrayed upon expansive maps, drawn and redrawn as territory was taken and lost, and as miniatures of knights and infantry were shuffled about in a deceptively simple portrayal of the tides of war shifting this way and that, the fortunes – or, rather, misfortunes – of war had been grimly tallied.

The dead and wounded, often nameless, were consigned to an ever-growing roll of statistics by the trembling hand of the royal scribe while commanders, their expressions as grim as the campaigns they'd waged, mulled over forays and defensive actions, both of which were made precarious by Ivalice's ever dwindling stores of blood and treasure. Here too, prepared as a hedge against the grandest of misfortunes, the chamber had also been built to act as a final redoubt, stocked with months' worth of dry stores, enough weapons and armor to outfit a small army, and designed by mages and siege engineers to be easily shielded from a foe's hand by defenses arcane and mundane.

Should capital and castle alike fall under siege from all quarters, and too swiftly for the embattled monarch to escape, these chambers could also serve to keep the royal family secure until help arrived from other provinces. Though constrained by space, such bits and pieces of profligacy as expensive rugs and a second throne had been placed elsewhere in this warren, in part to maintain the intermingled illusions that both the business of the crown would continue even were such a crisis to befall and that so dire a crisis would prove as fleeting as a seasonal migration from one clime to another.

Not many believed the latter, though none dared voice these sentiments aloud.

Even if the monarch in question was tolerant of contradictory, but harmless opinions, this warren, prepared as a desperate redoubt against the unthinkable yet inspired a nigh-superstitious dread in those who ensured it was kept in readiness even as they prayed it would never see use.

Those of the more skittish persuasion, and it was certainly hard not to be thus after more than half a century of calamitous warfare, genuinely feared that, were the disbelief in how short a time the warren would see use even if it were needed was voiced often enough, then some spirit of misfortune would not only work to see the chamber needed but ensure that it failed.

Though few, if any, would admit to these fears in public, any who saw to those chambers – either to brush away the dust they'd rather let carpet the place, inspect the dry stores they'd prefer to let rot, upholster furnishings that would see occupants only in the worst of waking nightmares, or tend to the impressive armory they longed to see rust to nothingness – those who saw to these chambers' upkeep often had to be coaxed, cajoled, or even browbeaten to tend to the war council chamber.

The shadowy alcove where warfare was prosecuted, and the shelter of embattled kings should their realm and people be swept behind enemy lines, the war council chamber was a bastion of secrets and a warren prepared as a last resort, wherein was spoken and laid upon parchment untouched by the sun those secrets and plans which could've sent all of Ivalice into a panic if discovered while battlefields yet rang with clashing steel.

After all, if the king feared for his safety enough to prepare for so unthinkable an end as to be besieged in his own castle, then how fearful should be those Ivalicians who dwelt in flimsy huts, far closer to the encroaching enemy hordes?

Now, after elusive peace had finally been found and this chamber had been forgotten, still another secret that could topple kingdoms now flitted about the shadows. Yet now, there was no scribe to put pen to parchment, nor any oath sworn commanders or councilors to take vows of secrecy. Indeed, it seemed the chamber was empty, save for one wretched soul who had somehow found his way to this hidden nook of the castle and now huddled in a corner muttering to himself…

…yet, this was no wretched soul, for any present might very well see the golden armor worn by the newly crowned king. And, further, he was not alone.

Deny it though the eye might, it was clear that Delita's own eyes beheld something unseen and yet terrible, for his green orbs were fixated upon some point before him which he regarded with equal parts anger and fear, before his gaze flicked away and his countenance adopted something akin to tremendous shame.

Any who beheld such a spectacle would've been bewildered, and more than a bit alarmed, that the same man who had ended the waking nightmare that was the War of the Lions had been brought low, fearful of the nameless malady that had undone a monarch so young in his reign and yet so beloved. These same people would, in due course, be revisited by the all too familiar fear they'd hoped had ended with the war, as a laborious but bright future suddenly seemed clouded.

Though few were likely to ponder much beyond that, some might speculate as to whom their king was seemingly speaking to, the unseen phantasm he referred to simply as "Algus".

A/N: Sorry for the wait! This is Elly3981 and I'd like to note that Interlude 3, parts I, II, and II is entirely the work of my co-writer, Falchion1984. My own contributions will continue in the following chapters!