Chapter 22: Fighting Together, Mending Together
With Lollotte looming over Meliadoul, the divine knight trapped beneath the Templar's longer, heavier blade and buckling under her foe's assault, the audience was very much convinced that whatever skill or courage the divine knight might bring to bear would surely be in vain, and her honor sullied by this imminent defeat.
Meliadoul, however, seemed to disagree.
"Well, if you say so," she intoned with an almost playful air.
Perhaps Lollotte was surprised by, and suspicious of, this strange flippancy, or maybe she was merely angered by it. Whichever might've been the case, however, promptly became irrelevant as Meliadoul, once more slipping free of her opponent's blade, suddenly leapt into the air, so high that she'd seemingly vanished.
Stunned, Lollotte turned her gaze skyward just in time to see the divine knight descending toward her, cutlass angled for the kill. Only a desperate whirl to one side had caused the tip of the blade to scour her shoulder pauldron rather than her face.
Meliadoul, not nearly as perturbed by her impromptu flight, quickly tucked into a roll, sprang to her feet, and spun around to face her enemy. Startled by the near-miss, not to mention the divine knight's inexplicably adopting the aerobatics favored by dragoons and her late brother, the Templar seemed leery at the idea of another frontal assault.
Meliadoul, by contrast, went on the offensive.
Surprised by this unlikely assault, Lollotte brought up her blade to meet the attack. However, since Meliadoul was able to swiftly close the distance, her seemingly rash actions had deprived Lollotte of her key advantage. The two opponents were now fighting nearly chest to chest and, at such close range, the Templar's ability to use her longer blade was hampered. The knight's sword's great length and weight made it an ideal weapon for fighting at medium range, preventing the opponent from advancing as well as smashing down their defenses in a great show of strength. An opponent with a shorter weapon was at a keen disadvantage in such a fight, since attacking at all meant drawing well within range of the opponent and running the risk of taking a blow long before being able to deliver one in kind.
Yet, in managing the close the distance, the balance of the engagement had shifted. Lollotte could no longer draw back her blade to thrust, nor bring her blade over one shoulder for a slash that would cut many a foe in half, not with her opponent so close. And, since her blade was much heavier than Meliadoul's cutlass, the initiative now seemed firmly in the divine knight's hands.
And, she seemed keen to make good use of it.
Though Melidoul was also constrained by her close proximity to Lollotte, she compensated by using quick, precise jabs with her cutlass as she probed her enemy for openings in her still robust defense.
Though lacking the room needed to counter – and, indeed, the speed, since her couters, rerebraces, vambraces, and gauntlets offered robust protection from shoulder to fingertips, but also meant that her arms weren't nearly as fast as Meliadoul's bare arms and unencumbered hands – the Templar was able to knock aside the divine knight's attacks by using small, controlled swings.
Still, even a well-trained sword arm couldn't keep that up forever, even with the offhand brought in for support. But, when Meliadoul turned from the one-handed jabs favored by knights and squires to the doublehanded slices commonly used by samurai, and unleashed a whistling downward cut at Lollotte's head, the desperate Templar saw an opportunity.
And, she was in no position to refuse.
Catching the falling blade with her own sword at a particular angle, she quickly slid her Save the Queen out from beneath her foe's cutlass. As the two grinding blades parted company, Save the Queen, no longer encumbered by the resistance, shot forward, its pommel smashing into Meliadoul's shoulder and sending her sliding backwards.
Though surprised that the blow hadn't dislocated Meliadoul's shoulder, nor even knocked her off her feet, Lollotte was nonetheless free to bring her blade to bear. Still, now painfully aware that her foe had some surprising new tricks up her (metaphorical) sleeve, the Templar decided she'd best revise her tactics. If, for instance, Meliadoul once more closed the distance, it would be best if Lollotte had a weapon better suited to fighting in close quarters, such as the platinum dagger that was on her belt…
…"was" being the operative word for, when her free hand groped about for the hilt, she discovered only an empty sheath.
"Looking for this?" Meliadoul asked coyly.
Lollotte's eyes, already pulsing wide in shock, nearly popped out of her skull when she turned to the divine knight and saw her tossing the dagger in the air and catching it with the sort of casual dexterity one might expect of a thief or ninja…which, upon reflection, might explain just how she'd managed to steal the dagger off of Lollotte's belt without the Templar even realizing it. Apparently, Meliadoul's efforts to expand her repertoire had not been confined to learning the aerial combat arts of dragoons and knightblades.
And, this point was accentuated when she took the dagger in her offhand, held in a reverse grip for plunging and raking blows from above, while wielding the cutlass in a low guard suited to low belly cuts delivered from below.
Lollotte could feel her throat constrict in anxious bewilderment. This was wildly different from the styles of swordsmanship practiced by the Knights Templar and, though it was not unheard-of for Ivalice's defenders to choose one vocation and mix in select skills of another to create a unique warrior, the practice had fallen by the wayside amidst the unrelenting attrition of more than a half century of war, the urgency of replacing fallen knights and soldiers too pressing to allow time for such exhaustive training.
Yet, here was a divine knight who was not only well known as being masterful at her chosen vocation but who had learned, and incorporated, the dragoon's ability to vault into the air and strike from above, the thief's ability to plunder the pockets of an enemy even in the midst of combat, a samurai's proficiency with the doublehanded grip, and a ninja's skill at fighting two handed, even with mismatched weapons.
Lollotte tried, unsuccessfully, to envision the time, the dedication, the sheer amount of practice, that must've gone into developing such skill on top of the already demanding regimen of a divine knight and, loathe though she was to betray so much as a hint of such, she found herself afraid.
Yet, even amidst her fear and befuddlement, a sliver of amazement managed to creep in as Lollotte desperately strove to fend off attacks from the two weapons which constantly changed direction, and even changed hands, never allowing half a breath with which to discern what form the next attack might take, let alone how to thwart it.
If all of Ivalice's defenders had fought the way Meliadoul did now, then the Fifty Years War might've been the Fifty Days War instead, and ended far differently.
The divine knight, it seemed, had caught wind of what Lollotte sought to conceal, for a delighted smile tugged at the corners of her lips even as she huffed and puffed more out of excitement than exertion.
"Adaptability is the key to victory in battle," she intoned, almost sagely. "To learn many skills, and to apply them deftly, and to use as many of them as you can so that your enemy never has the chance to riddle you out makes one great warrior worth many of his lesser brethren just as surely as are well-trained and well-equipped troops."
Meliadoul promptly dovetailed this point by catching Lollotte's blade in a cross between dagger and cutlass, a technique rare even with matched blades and hitherto unknown for use between mismatched weapons. Though neither weapon could contend with the sheer strength and weight of Save the Queen, using them in tandem once more turned the expected on its head. Desperate to reclaim her blade and, with it, even half a chance of winning this duel before it became a second humiliation, Lollotte tugged and twisted, frantically bending her sinewy arms to her frantic labor.
Yet, Meliadoul's odd pair of blades kept Save the Queen thoroughly in captivity.
"If knowledge is power, then to be unknowable is to be unbeatable," the divine knight proclaimed, her tone deepening into finality. "That, I learned in the war, and I was taught by the best."
After imparting this wisdom, Meliadoul ferociously twisted her wrists, yanking the trio of locked blades to her left and then the scissored blades uncrossed. As the startled Lollotte pitched forward, the divine knight swung her elbow into the Templar's face with bone crunching force. Lollotte's eyes teared up from the pain, and her nose would likely need lengthy ministrations from a white mage, but this did not stop the now thoroughly enraged Templar from delivering a blow to Meliadoul's abdomen with her gauntleted fist.
Most opponents would've passed out from such a blow, many would've been knocked clean off their feet, and others would've come away coughing up blood.
But, as was aforementioned, one did not earn a place amongst the Knights Templar by being like "most people".
One who sought to join the Knights Templar was expected, amongst other things, to prove him or herself through a rigorous training regimen designed to hone the body until flesh and sinew seemed more akin to a second set of steel armor.
Lesser warriors who tried to use Lollotte's tactic on an unarmored Templar, and lived to tell about it, were often quoted as saying that punching a mountain would've been less painful.
Though Meliadoul skidded backwards from the impact, and came away hacking and massaging her stomach, she seemed very much still in the fight.
Not wanting to give the divine knight a chance to recover, Lollotte charged in. She was wheezing and her brow was bespangled with perspiration from the intense combat, but she still had enough strength in her for one last ditch effort to win the bout, to uphold her honor and win back her pride.
This singular, desperate goal caused the world to contract around her, obscuring and then erasing all save her opponent. She saw nothing of the opulent ballroom, the gawking audience, the decadent food and drink…
…or the dagger flying pommel first at her forehead.
That the small blade did not instead land blade first and bury itself to the hilt in her brains, nor the pommel strike hard enough to cave in the skull, and whether providence or skill on Meliadoul's part had seen such a thing happen, inspired fevered speculation amongst Leslian gossip circles for months.
The Templar, however, was in no position to ponder such things, or much else for that matter. Her armored boots seemingly flew out from under her while Save the Queen whirled free of her exhausted grasp. She crashed to the floor amidst a great clatter of metal, and her vision cleared just in time to see Meliadoul, snatching Lollotte's blade out of the air and then leveling it at the fallen Templar's face.
"I also sling a mean gun these days," she quipped, turning to Mustadio and pursing her lips in his direction. "Again, I was taught by the best."
After this upset victory to conclude a duel that seemed rife with astonishments, most of the onlookers could only gape in slack jawed stupefaction…with the conspicuous exception of Mustadio, who was blushing and grinning like an idiot before he caught himself and tried grinning, with limited success, like some manner of a dashing dandy, and several near him who were nudging him with their elbows and winking in a suggestive manner.
Regardless, though none present had ever seen such a spectacular or unconventional duel, be it fought with guns or blades, all could agree that they'd witnessed a bout for the ages and that Meliadoul's honor and courage and been proven and vindicated handily. Twice.
Though there were those who were conscious of the fact that this provided no explanation for Meliadoul's peculiar absence during those battles in which the Knights Templar had been mysteriously decimated, nor had the divine knight offered any denial, and that this did not truly disprove the accusation of desertion, all could agree that one point had been unimpeachably proven.
Dame Meliadoul Tingel was no coward.
For how could a coward fight so skillfully and spectacularly? How could a coward prove equal to the challenge of learning, mastering, and using such a varied set of skills and weave them together for use in battle? How could a coward even muster the will to try?
In later times, some might ask what Meliadoul had been doing during her as-yet unexplained absence and, though the inevitabilities of Lesalian gossip made fanciful and implausible speculations a certainty, it was doubtful that even the most irrational gossip would entertain the idea that such a gallant swordswoman had been absent out of fear.
Soon, astonishment became awe and, alone, then in pairs, and then by the dozens, the audience broke into thunderous applause and cheering for the victor. Master Mustadio, Lady Agrias, Duke Malak, Duchess Rafa, Sir Rad, Dame Alicia, Dame Lavian, and King Delita's applause being particularly thunderous.
Comparatively unnoticed, Lollotte looked as though her world had come to an end…which, in a manner of speaking, wasn't far from the truth.
Her expression one of grim resignation that thinly veiled bleak despair, Lollotte rose to a kneeling position and lowered her gaze, bowing her neck as would the condemned before the executioner's axe…
…and, this pose was far from incidental.
Dame Lollotte had leveled horrendous accusations of cowardice, desertion, and treason against a superior officer; and before a ballroom crammed with nobles, foreign dignitaries, and the king, no less.
As the new commander of the Knights Templar, Meliadoul was fully within her rights to take Lollotte's head as punishment. And, not so long ago, she might very well have done just that.
Following the dread realization in the bowels of Limberry Castle that Ramza's seemingly mad story had been true – that her father's very soul had been evicted by a Lucavi demon from ancient scripture, and that demon had killed her younger brother – she'd also realized that the Church of Glabados and the Knights Templar to whom she'd pledged her sword, her faith, and her undying loyalty, who'd been her family as much as either of the then-surviving Tingels, had been corrupted. Not just by the evils of demonkind but by the evils of humanity, in their vainglorious ambition not only to subvert the monarchy and make clergymen into kings ruling from the shadows, but in sowing and reaping crops of poverty and misery to enflame the already downtrodden and frustrated populace to support this unspoken coup and unwittingly reward their tormentors with the spoils of kingship.
And, all of that was on top of finding out the Zodiac Stones, the "holy" relics, were demonic and that Saint Glabados, to whom she'd prayed by night since she'd learned to talk, was also a demon fraudulently passing himself off as a Savior and Son of God.
Wait, was Ajora a man or a woman? Meliadoul suddenly found herself wondering. Maybe it was due to having possessed Alma, but Ajora certainly looked…buxom. No, getting distracted here.
These revelations had caused something in Meliadoul to gutter out. Perhaps it was her ability to smile, to laugh, to make witty rejoinders. Or, maybe it was her ability to feel empathy, to be inclined to show mercy to her foes or encouragement to those who were downhearted. Whatever the reason, she'd become cold and severe during her time amongst Ramza's band. She was curt and aloof amongst her fellows and, to her foes, she was a figure born of nightmares.
Fearsome, implacable, mechanically inexorable, impossible powerful.
She was a machine of battle possessing the cold precision of one of the Construct-class automatons in the Ivalice of antiquity, coupled with the merciless ferocity of a cyclone.
That, and the enemies to be fought, had been enough to allow her to muzzle her grief for a time but, eventually, all her foes were dead or subdued. Realizing this, as well as that she had practically nothing to go back to in Ivalice and that none of her myriad foes had proven equal to the task of ending her now bleak life, she'd tried to do so by her own hand.
Was it Mustadio's intervention, and the subsequent realization that someone cared enough about her to stop her from killing herself, that had brought her out of her affliction of fatalism? Or, was it the later realization that, amongst Ramza Beoulve's eclectic band of outcasts, she had a larger family than she'd believed? It might've been the machinist's bumbling attempts to convey his budding affections with a regifted, but still ludicrously expensive, trifle and, later, by barging into her house and giving her a stern lecture about how many others bore wounds much akin to hers and not only endured theirs but were eager to help her heal as they'd helped one another.
Whatever the cause, that which had guttered out had ultimately been kindled back to life.
It was entirely possible that Lollotte had instigated this duel in order to replace Meliadoul as head of the Knights Templar, using the divine knight's absence from the most disastrous of the order's recent battles as justification for her ambitions. It was just as likely that Lollotte had no idea what devilry had been worked behind the curtain of the war as, indeed, Meliadoul hadn't known, and might never have if chance had not seen fit to have her attempted attack on Ramza and company from behind occur just in time to see Marquis Elmdor transform into the Lucavi demon Zalera.
Which reason it might be was unknowable. But, what Meliadoul did know was that, even well aware such an act might invite ingratitude, or even future reprisal, she wanted, sincerely wanted, to give Lollotte another chance.
Lollotte was far less than perfect, but she was a good warrior and a good Templar. She might even be a good person.
Ivalice could afford to waste none of these, not after the terrible carnage which characterized the War of the Lions.
The divine knight would not take the head of her erstwhile sister-in-arms.
Instead, she let her opponent's sword fall to the floor with a clatter.
"I return your sword," she said with solemnity. "Take it, and next time, put it to better use."
Raising her wide, staring eyes at this declaration, Lollotte regarded Meliadoul in mute bewilderment for a long moment until, a seeing no sign of the divine knight reconsidering her mercy, she took her sword and rose. After sheathing the blade, and doing likewise with the dagger that she'd spent several minutes dodging, she pooled what dignity remained to her in a solemn bow of respect and obeisance before her superior and departed.
It was a moment which had flabbergasted, and impressed, many onlookers and which some amongst their number hoped would ultimately teach Lollotte the patience, respect, and humility that was as much a part of being a warrior as feats of arms or courage…
…which was promptly ruined when the castle's steward shouted at the departing Templar that he'd send her a bill for the stained glass window she'd shot out.
After some spluttering laughter, and a second bout of cheering for the victor's magnanimous gesture, Mustadio approached Meliadoul, who promptly favored him by allowing the warrior/machinist to kiss her hand.
It was not lost on the audience, and certainly not Mustadio himself, that she turned her hand to allow his lips to press into her palm, a gesture normally reserved for lovers.
Granted, the idea that these two were "normal" had been discarded some time ago, but the now furiously wagging tongues found this latest morsel simply too delectable and lapped it up with great fervor.
"You were incredible, Melia," Mustadio intoned with boyish delight before his tone abruptly shifted. "I mean, I know better than to find that surprising, but you really got my heart pounding back there."
The divine knight replied with a very pretty smile that, those closest would swear, had Mustadio tugging at his collar.
"Why thank you, kind sir," she intoned coyly as she returned Mustadio's cutlass and watched, amused, as he suddenly found the task of getting it back into its sheath to be somewhat complicated. "Now, if I'm mistaken, I owe you a dance. But first, I must beg a small favor."
"Anything," Mustadio replied, sounding as though he'd snatch the moon out of the sky if she but asked and quite oblivious to several onlookers whispering the phrase "famous last words".
"Find my shoes."
Startled by this reply, the warrior/machinist blinked in astonishment for a moment before glancing down at Meliadoul's feet, her slender toes curling from the chill of the marble. Suddenly aware of the downright contagious snickering that now wended its way through the ballroom, the now red faced Mustadio uttered something that sounded vaguely like "Erm, right away" and began trying to navigate the veritable forest of silks to find the missing adamantoise shell shoes.
SSSSSS
It was a rare occurrence for Agrias to do this, but such a comic ending to the excitement of the evening was more than enough to have her laughing. Though more than a few of those around her looked near to fainting with their mirth, hers was a quieter, but still merry chortle that bubbled up from the belly and would've carried a fair distance had it not been so thoroughly drowned out by her fellow merrymakers.
Still, even that much would've raised an eyebrow or two back during her days amongst the Lionsguard. The daughter of a long line of knights, sword and spurs passed down from venerable parent to worthiest child for centuries, her sunny days of childhood had been as fleeting as the twilight, and days spent picking flowers and watching the clouds with her friends quickly gave way to long mornings polishing armor, lengthy afternoons practicing swordplay, and sleepless nights observing the vigil-at-arms.
It had not been a carefree childhood, nor a particularly happy one. Eventually, flowers and watching clouds lost its appeal and, much as her calloused hands grew numb to the cold steel of her sword's grip, her heart hardened and tears once shed out of exhaustion or sadness dried up. But, she had excelled in her unforgiving vocation, earning top honors from her superiors and, ultimately, the post of bodyguard to then-Princess Ovelia.
Meeting Ovelia had caused some of the ice about her heart to crack as, little by little, she came to regard the innocent girl as more than her charge. At first, it was concern that the girl was too trusting and too ignorant of the harsh realities of the world to survive in the nest of cruel intrigue that was Lesalia. Later, incredulity at being asked to sit still while Ovelia wove flowers into Agrias's hair turned into begrudging tolerance and, later, reluctant acceptance.
It hadn't taken Agrias long to realize the logic (a term that fit these events awkwardly at best) behind this behavior.
Ovelia might have needed a bodyguard, as the Princess of Ivalice and a likely successor to the throne. But, as a person, she needed a friend.
At the time, Agrias didn't understand why Ovelia hadn't conscripted the much friendlier and more open Alicia and Lavian to this service. But then. After the Murry twins had found a ready playmate in Rad and their rude games became the afternoon entertainment for the band of outcasts, Ovelia's choice seemed to make more sense…
…as did the "phase" where, for several weeks after a conversation with Alicia and Lavian behind closed doors, the then-princess would turn as red as a beet when faced with any man younger than the elderly Father Simon. Nonetheless, the holy knight had gritted her teeth (though less and less tightly as time went on) and acquiesced.
After all, Ovelia would make the acquaintance of more than enough nobles who sought her only to exploit her, and it would do her some good to have at least one who was unflinchingly on her side.
If meeting Ovelia had caused the ice to crack, then the chain of events set in motion by her abduction had melted it away altogether…and, for a time, she'd desperately wanted it back.
She worried over Ovelia while, at the same time, telling herself that she could not ignore a foe such as the Lucavi, who posed a dire threat to the very survival of the human race, to save just one person. She told herself that the revelation that the Church of Glabados had been founded on a fraudulent savior was merely leverage they could use against the corrupt church and that the sense of abandonment she felt was inconsequential by comparison.
She wanted to stop feeling. And, when her mutinous heart refused to cooperate, she sought something to make her forget.
Or, rather, someone.
Ramza had tried, with a comic lack of success, to hide his burgeoning affections for Agrias and, by then, she'd been forced to admit that he'd impressed her. So, one fateful night, she stole into his tent and asked him to help her forget.
She wanted a night of carnal pleasure to smother the pain. The pain of failure, of betrayal, of being helpless to save a girl who she'd come to love like a sister, and of being abandoned by church and God alike. She wanted Ramza, who obliged despite what remained of his former principles, to take the pain away.
Instead, he'd given her Rachel.
And, as unplanned and damnably inconvenient and downright stupid as it had been to get pregnant out of wedlock and in the middle of a war, Agrias would not have taken back that decision for anything.
Not when she had a loving husband at her side, an adorable daughter in her arms, and not when her once wintry heart had been graced by spring once again.
Though not nearly as boisterous as the echoing guffaws of the men, nor as feminine as the tittering giggles of the ladies, the simple act of finding cause to laugh, and savoring it, had done much to ease wounds, some old and others more recent, that had ached against her numb senses and bled invisibly.
Beyond that, however, she laughed because she was happy for Meliadoul.
Though her surprise pregnancy had precluded fighting alongside the divine knight, it had taken Agrias little time to see that Meliadoul was a magnificent fighter.
It had taken even less time to see how miserable Meliadoul was.
As wounded as Agrias had been by the betrayal of the church and her crisis of faith, it had not been coupled with losing her family. For Meliadoul, however, the future had seemed only darkness.
When she'd spied the divine knight arriving at the ball on Mustadio's arm, she almost didn't recognize either of them. And, aside from how the divine knight's swashbuckler fighting style had so contrasted with the straightforward, killing intent with which she'd fought in the War of the Lions, there had also been the brightness of her smile, the lightness in her steps as she'd danced with Mustadio and away from Lollotte, and the way she'd blushed when Delita had referred to her as "Mustadio's woman".
And, to top it all off, there had been the coyness with which she'd sent her man after her lost shoes, and how he'd complied with little more than a stutter of surprise.
Whatever the reason, the divine knight had rediscovered the happiness that had seemingly died with her family, and the holy knight's heart leapt at the sight.
She was also glad for Mustadio as well.
As had been the case with Ramza, her first impression of the machinist had been less-than-flattering. When they first encountered him in Zaland, and Ramza had given her a rather spectacular demonstration of how impetuous he could be when he saw someone in peril, Agrias had suspected their intervention would mean trouble. And, she'd been right.
She'd been leery enough that Mustadio was asking for their help in gaining an audience with Cardinal Draclau, even before he'd proven tight-lipped about the particulars. After all, Duke Larg and Queen Ruvelia were keen to have Ovelia and her small band of protectors killed and had the full might of the Hokuten with which to bring that wish to fruition. Meanwhile, Duke Goltana, having been framed for the attempted assassination, would be just as keen to have the Nanten take the heads of Ovelia's protectors in hopes of keeping his own.
The last – the very last – thing the small band needed was yet another pursuer, especially one as powerful as the Baert Trading Company.
Agrias had been used to making hard decisions, the sort that came across as cold-hearted to those who'd never been put in such an unenviable position to have to make such choices, and had been about to tell Mustadio that the band's priority was the princess's safety when the princess herself promptly took that option out of their hand by affirming that she would help the desperate machinist.
Agrias was certain that they would regret that decision and, although regrets had abounded from the War of the Lions the way weeds abounded in a neglected garden, deferring to Ovelia's wishes to help Mustadio was another decision she'd never take back.
Though Mustadio had, at first, seemed much akin to Ramza and his other former classmates from the Hokuten Academy – young, of limited experience, possessing much raw talent but too little good sense with which to use it properly – she'd been relieved to have been disproven on all counts. Despite his youth and his reacting to technology in much the same way a small child reacts to candy, Mustadio had proven himself a great ally. Not only had his understanding of ancient technology allowed him to activate Construct 8, turn Reis back into a human, summon Cloud with the strange orrery, and put a resurgence of the airship within reach, but his incredible marksmanship had protected their lives many a time just as surely as it had protected Meliadoul's honor but minutes ago.
The machinist was still a young man and, like Ramza, had made more than a few questionable decisions.
Even without her then-pregnancy wreaking havoc with her normally unflappable composure, Agrias had nearly popped a blood vessel when she learned that Mustadio had spent fifty thousand gil of the group's money on a tube of tynar rouge, which he couldn't even give to Agrias anyway since she and Ramza were already an expectant couple by the time the rouge had been delivered. But, judging by the ruby shade of Meliadoul's lips, that nonsensically overpriced bit of makeup had found another purpose.
In hindsight, the holy knight had to admit that all this impetuousness had turned out for the best.
Mustadio had been a wanted man even before he'd thrown in his lot with Ramza and his seemingly hopeless mission against the worst of mankind and demonkind alike.
Just two months ago, it had taken an intervention – an armed intervention – to prevent Meliadoul from killing herself out of despair.
And yet, here they were, a couple, if not in love than soon-to-be, and the holy knight looked forward to what the future had in store for this oddest of the very odd couples.
Agrias snickered again as she recalled that, along with Mustadio and Meliadoul, she and Ramza were also far less than normal.
But, what did it matter?
What she and Ramza had was strange, was unconventional, was unique, and was wonderful.
Were she called upon to take up blade again to defend the family she'd unwittingly discovered, she would do so gladly.
Right now, she was getting a mischievous thrill as Mustadio was apparently testing the hypothesis that the missing slippers had skittered under a lady's skirt and that he needed to explore that possibility.
And, as was reportedly the wont of men of science, it seemed he was finding all the wrong answers before he found the right ones.
And yet, for all this, Meliadoul just laughed merrily at her unlikely escort and coyly encouraged him to persevere. Mustadio, apparently finding another dance with the divine knight worth all the slaps across the face he'd get (which would undoubtedly be many), continued his hunt for his lady's lost slippers.
"She has him so well-trained," she whispered, no less coyly, to Ramza.
Ordinarily, the Duke of Lionel would either shudder at the veiled implication that Mustadio's lot tonight would likely be Ramza's tomorrow. Or, he might opine that either he shared her delight or felt deep sympathy for Mustadio for being a bashful man subject to the whims of an independent woman. Perhaps both.
Now, however, he was silent.
"Drake?" Agrias asked, perplexity creeping into her previously merry tone.
The Duke of Lionel was still standing next to her, well away from the combat but with a perfect view. Yet, rather than tracking Mustadio's progress as the self-styled warrior/machinist hunted for the lost slippers, Ramza leaned against a pillar, his eyes fixed on the door through which Alma had departed some minutes before.
His arms were crossed and his brow was deeply furrowed, as though he had something quite weighty on his mind. And, now that Agrias thought about it, Ramza had not applauded Meliadoul's upset victory over Lollotte, which was glaringly out of character.
After calling to him several times had failed to rouse him from his reverie, she clapped a hand on his shoulder and he jumped as though she'd pricked him with a needle.
"Don't tell me you missed that whole thing," she said, more concern than shock in her words.
Characteristically, Ramza seemed sheepish at this, not terribly unlike a child who'd been caught daydreaming when he should've been attending to a school teacher's lecture.
"What is it?" Agrias asked, her inquisitive glance hardening when Ramza tried, ineffectually, to wave away her concerns.
"Well, it is something," he admitted, but quickly brought up his hands to forestall any questions or outbursts. "But! But, it might be good news, finally."
"I could always use some of that."
"Well…I really think I ought to tell you in private. Too many people listening in here."
That was hardly the response that Agrias wanted, but something else she'd gained from her unexpected motherhood was a new and deeper sense of patience. At times, Ramza might seem impulsive, too quick to thoughtlessly jump into the fray when he saw the defenseless in peril. But having a wife, a child, a sister, and an unborn niece or nephew to think of had done much to temper his courage with good judgement and hard-won wisdom.
Ill-timed her conception might have been, but Rachel had taught both of them a great deal.
Agrias had been meditatively stroking her belly, recalling how she'd learned several such lessons when Rachel had been restless in her womb, when Ramza spoke up once more.
"Are you still hungry?" he asked, a hint of disbelief in his tone. "You might want to be careful, that dress is looking a bit tight on you."
The holy knight's eyes pulsed wide at this comment, and then drew narrow as her husband's comments inspired some less-than-pious sentiments. Her expression promptly inspired him to issue a sound much akin to an "eep!" followed by a long string of fretful stammering.
Ramza had grown much, learned a great deal, and accomplished true marvels…but, he still needed to learn how to keep that damned mouth of his from getting him into trouble.