A/N: Hi, its Elly3981. As always, I apologize for the wait but hope our readers will find our newest chapter worth it. Once again, I would like to thank my co-writer and editor, Falchion1984 for his help in making this fic possible. Enjoy and please review!
Chapter 27: A Case of Mistaken Identity and Intentions
Whether in moving ballads sung by bards as they strummed their lyres, epic poems passionately recited by skalds, or gripping tales told around the campfires amidst the ever-lengthening shadows of night, a common theme was that the knights of Ivalice, and many of their fellow warriors, were indefatigable, implacable defenders of all that was good and decent. That they would tirelessly pursue any who threatened the kingdom and its people, day and night, over hill and dale, and that one could sooner outrun their own shadow than a knight of Ivalice.
Ramza had learned the falseness of this impression before he was even rightly a squire.
He was exhausted!
It had been, if not easy, then an act he could perform again and again through constant practice, to ignore and push past his own fatigue during the War of the Lions. If not because he was wanted, dead or alive, and preferably dead according to most, by church and state alike, then because he had someone to rescue, be it Agrias, Alma, Ovelia, Reis, Olan, or whomever else found themselves with only the most infamous heretic of the last century to turn to in their hour of greatest need.
Now, however, it seemed the dust was finally beginning to settle and the sense of purpose that had driven him so far and for so long, having been nearly satisfied, no longer spurred him as urgently, leaving him wishing desperately for a long, uninterrupted sleep.
His preference was about a week, though he was open to negotiation.
Recalling that his quarters were a fair distance away, and that the sight of the king's cousin snoring on the couch might not be a welcome one, Ramza sighed wearily and ran a hand through his crimson tresses. With the posture and dignity one might associate with a drunken beggar who'd tried to abscond with a keg of beer, and found that his back wasn't up to the task, he quietly trudged and lurched his way down the corridor and made his way to the room where he, Agrias, and Rachel were staying as guests of the newly crowned royal couple. After the unexpected but exhilarating duel between Meliadoul and the rebellious templar, Lollotte, not to mention Mustadio's fascinating demonstration of his knowledge of firearms and skill as a marksman, both of which added tremendously to the excitement and delight of the guests at the ball, Ramza realized that his distracted air had caught Agrias' attention, and that he could not make her wait any longer for an explanation.
Resigned to obliging her, and wondering just what he could say that wouldn't cause her to bend his spine like a cheap spoon, he'd urged his wife to retire to their room with Rachel first while he spoke to Delita to inform him that Alma had finally made her choice from amongst the suitor pool.
This served to remind him of one of the few, but vital, matters that might yet decide the future of the survivors of the War of the Lions.
Delita's mental state.
The Duke of Lionel had long held the belief, however scant the evidence might be, that his best friend since childhood and brother in all but blood had not truly turned as hard and cruel as his machinations for the throne would cause – and, indeed, had caused – others to believe. But, the scene of madness and despair Ramza had stumbled into not long ago had been proof far exceeding anything he had expected, or was prepared for.
Delita had been pulled back from the brink after seeing that Ramza, who he'd wronged more than most, had forgiven him, but this neither ensured the troubled king wouldn't topple over the edge somewhere down the line, nor had it mended his marriage.
Delita still governed from the throne he'd won with the blood of enemies and innocents alike, and he governed quite well by all accounts, but Ramza saw the chasm of grief in his old friend's breast, which yawned ever wider as the young king desperately tried to fill it with the governance of his kingdom.
This, Ramza knew.
What he did not know was the nature of this mysterious "package" that Delita had become strangely fixated on, nor did he know why he'd sent Olan and Balmafula to hunt for it.
Most confusingly, Delita had also sent his and Ramza's old classmates from the Hokuten Academy along on the search.
The Duke of Lionel was not overly worried, as the former Hokuten cadets had fought at his side, literally, since day one of his journey and he knew them to be extraordinary warriors and mages. He also knew Olan to be a cunning and powerful man, with or without the unique abilities afforded by his Astrology magics. As for Balmafula, he was barely even acquainted with her, but he doubted any who underestimated her wouldn't regret it.
Still, that left the Duke of Lionel with a pertinent, and unanswered, question: just what could this "package" be, that it warranted Delita sending eight of his finest after it?
Predictably, asking Delita had gotten him nowhere. But, Ramza could sense a hint of desperation in Delita's bearing, as if this "package" was something he sought with terrible urgency.
Thankfully, Ramza also sensed that Delita shared his relief and delight upon being informed that Alma had found a suitor who she thought to be charming and could, in time, come to love.
Well, that was the story he'd told Delita, anyway. And, he hoped it was convincing. Because, as was often the case these days, the truth was vastly more complicated.
The young Beoulve had lost count over how many times his infamous luck had saved his tail over the last few years long before his accidental discovery that Izlude Tingel, Alma's true love, was in fact, alive and well, being the latest stroke in his favor. And, no less providential, this had occurred just in time to prevent the public from discovering she was pregnant out of wedlock and, quite possibly, just in time to prevent Izlude from startling Alma into a miscarriage by revealing his true identity to her at such a delicate time. Since Izlude had been made aware that he was the father of Alma's child, that meant that Ramza and Delita's hastily drawn plan to deceive Alma's would-be husband into thinking he was the father was longer necessary.
Once it could be done without jeopardizing the child's life, Izlude could reveal his identity. Then, Alma would have her love back and their child would grow up loved and without shame.
While the stressful events of the evening had put a strain on the young Beoulve's heart and made him feel much older than his twenty-three years, Ramza was also profoundly relieved that his efforts to help Alma find someone she liked enough to finally agree to marry, combined with his infamous luck, had finally paid off; he had done his part, and now all he could do was leave the rest in Izlude's hands when it came to revealing his identity to her. The young Beoulve had learned long ago that there were times when he had to depend on others since there was only so much one man could accomplish alone. But Ramza also had faith that if Izlude had been able to come this far to find Alma and seek her hand in marriage, despite the hurdles he had to go through over the last few months, he should be able convince Alma to agree to marry him again.
Relieved that he had at least one problem behind him, Ramza stopped when he finally reached the door to the room where he knew his wife and daughter would be waiting for him. Here, Ramza took a moment to regain his composure and try, unsuccessfully, to find the words he'd need to explain just what had had him so occupied that he'd missed much of the show Mustadio and Meliadoul had put on. Agrias had quickly sensed something was up, and she would doubtless not humor his delaying tactics for long.
Luckily, it wasn't too hard for Ramza to gain at least a bit of time by convincing Agrias to retire early, since Rachel needed to be fed and put to bed, something the young Beoulve himself wish he could do when he pleased. A good night's sleep was a luxury that wasn't afforded to Ramza often since he'd started his new journey after leaving Gafgarion's mercenary band. Not even before, in fact, since the fell knight, after learning of Ramza's origins, took great delight in using the young Beoulve as his favorite whipping boy. Of course, Gafgarion waking him up at some ungodly hour for menial chores promptly gave way to constantly having to rescue people, fight demons, and outmaneuver Templars. But now that he knew his issue with Alma would finally be resolved, the Duke of Lionel would be able to sleep just a bit easier tonight.
Two or three other matters yet remained, but they could wait until he was rested.
After a moment's pause and deep breath, Ramza finally took the key to his room out of his pocket and slipped it into the keyhole before slowly turning the knob and opening the door, trying to stay as quiet as possible in case Agrias and Rachel were already asleep. Long years in the Lionsguard defending the royal family had trained Agrias to rouse to wakefulness at the slightest provocation, and it seemed Rachel had inherited her mother's light sleeping habits…but most definitely not her ability to spring back from slumber with all the ruckus of a bird's shadow. As soon as he quietly entered the dimly-lit room, he found his daughter asleep in the arms of her mother as she paced back and forth before the bed they shared, gently rocking the most innocent of the Beoulve line. Ramza felt a smile, only barely touched by weariness, tug at the corners of his mouth as he recalled how, whenever Rachel was unable to fall asleep in her cradle, the young couple would let her nestle between them in their bed until she finally nodded off.
Lingering in the doorway for a while, Ramza took in the sight of his wife as she padded back and forth with their daughter in her arms. Once again, he was touched by how radiant she looked. Granted, he'd always thought that, practically from the moment they'd met, but hers had been a cold radiance at the time. Much like a marble statue of exquisite craftsmanship, beautiful to behold yet icy cold to the touch, had she seemed on that fateful night at Orbonne. As poised and resplendent as a lioness, and as likely to bite off any hand that strayed too near.
Now, though she still had the pride and dignity of a born and bred knight, marriage and motherhood had lent warmth to the once frigid marble. Her cheeks were rosy, readily accented by her gentle smile, while her characteristic tendrils of lusher reddish gold hair cascaded down each shoulder, sometimes fascinating the baby's wide eyes, while the rest tumbled in soft waves against her lower back.
Her figure still showed some aftereffects of childbearing, for her stomach was still quite a bit softer and her hips noticeably wider than when she'd come to his tent that night, begging him to help her forget. Reis had given him a nebulous (to him, anyway) treatise into how pregnancy can alter a woman's body and that, for certain body types, some of the weight gained during pregnancy might linger almost indefinitely.
The scowl Agrias had shot in his direction upon hearing this might've been considered cute if he hadn't by then seen her cut several dozen men in half with her sword.
Though Ramza wanted to live to raise his daughter far too much to say so aloud, he thought the additional curves looked good on Agrias. They felt good too, as he noted when he embraced her as they cuddled in bed and he savored the soft warmth that underpinned the depth of love and compassion that had only recently been mined from her icy exterior.
As for her breasts nearly doubling in size…well, Ramza was a man and so found that quite agreeable. He'd sworn to take that to his grave, however, not the smallest reason being that Agrias might just put him in his grave if she caught wind of it.
And, regarding the perverse amusement Ramza got upon finding out that Agrias could no longer secure her clothing over her chest unassisted? Well, the former Beoulve had seen Agrias' Divine Ruination cremate undead and lesser demons on the spot and wasn't anxious to find out if it did the same to humans.
Upon seeing her husband quietly watching her, Agrias gave him her most welcoming smile and, using a quick cantrip, reactivated the wards placed upon the room earlier in order to soundproof it. Like Ramza, she too had noticed that Alma had finally taken an interest in one of her suitors, and it was just as much a relief to her as to Ramza himself. As with Ovelia, as well as the Murry twins, the former holy knight had also come to think of Alma as a younger sister. And, having been raised amongst the ever churning, and often cruel, cauldron of gossip that forever bubbled in Lesalia, had been deeply concerned for Alma after learning that she was with child out of wedlock. And, like Ramza, Agrias too worried when she noticed the Beoulve girl's reluctance to choose from among the eligible young men who came to seek her hand.
Until the mysterious raven-haired knight named Damien Mitchell came along, that is.
"Welcome back, Ramza. How did everything go with the king?" she asked.
Unable to hold it in any longer, the young Beoulve gave a sigh of relief and said "I told him that Alma has finally chosen someone. And just in time too, since this is the last night of the ball and it would have been a waste if she couldn't find anyone to her liking…at best."
He didn't bother saying what would've happened at worst, for Alma likely would've been showing her pregnancy well before Ramza and Delita could throw together another plan, even if the latter had been in a fit state to do so.
Agrias eyed her husband curiously, as if sensing that there was more that he wasn't telling her.
"Is that all?" she asked before holding out Rachael to her father.
Taking the hint, Ramza took the sleeping infant and gently placed her in the cradle before removing his outer coat and boots. He then plopped onto the bed next to his wife, dignity holding little power over exhaustion. Still, knowing Agrias, she probably wouldn't let him rest until he told her everything on his mind.
Or at least as much of it as he dared.
Telling her about Delita's troubled state of mind was out of the question, since she would certainly react…badly to the king nearly cutting her husband's head off, madness or no. And, Ramza knew too little about the "package' to accomplish anything by telling Agrias, aside from needlessly worrying both of them.
Still, brushing her off entirely was clearly not an option.
"Where do I start…?" Ramza began as he searched his mind for how to tell Agrias that the man Alma chose at the ball was more than what he appeared, even though he could tell by the look on his wife's face that she already suspected as much.
"Do you not approve of Sir Damien Mitchell? I can tell your sister has taken quite a liking to him since he's the only one who's been able to hold her interest in the last three nights."
Ramza shook his head. "It's not that I don't approve of him, Agrias. Just the opposite, in fact. He seems like a fine man, and I doubt Alma could do better."
After all, who could be a better match for Alma than one who already loved her and had proven that he'd give his life for her if it came to it? Who had given his life for her when it had come to that?
"Then what is it?" Agrias asked, sternness in her tone. "I can tell there's more to Sir Damien than meets the eye. In fact, when I saw him dance with Alma, I could have sworn that I've seen him somewhere before, even though I can't quite be certain where."
"Well, you are right about that, Agrias," Ramza admitted, taking the plunge. "You have seen him before. We both have, in fact."
"Do you recall where? Even though he seems familiar, I know we haven't really run into any Romandans like him on our journey. Let alone ones with Favoham accents."
"Well, that's' because he's not really Romandan, Agrais. He's Ivalician, like us."
"Really? Are you sure? He certainly looks Romandan. Oh, anyone can dye their hair black, but such paleness is much harder to fake, even with makeup. And, even if it is a ruse, why would he make such a claim? And, if you know this, what makes you so sure you can trust him with Alma's hand?"
"It's a bit of a long story."
"Oh?"
Ramza took a deep breath. What was he supposed to say? That the raven-haired man his sister had taken a liking to at the ball meant to help her find a husband was actually the same man she had been grieving for these last few months because she believed him to be dead? Because he was, in fact, dead? That he was the true father of her child? That he had risen from the dead to come back to her?
Deciding that it was best to approach the subject gradually, Ramza started by asking his wife a question.
"Agrias, you know the holy stones are capable of performing great miracles as well as great evils, don't you?" he began cautiously.
The former holy knight was puzzled. After everything she had witnessed on the journey she'd shared with her husband and their unlikely band of unsung heroes, how could she not know what the holy stones were capable of?
"You can ask me that knowing what we have been through and seen together for the last two years since our first meeting at Orbonne?" she asked, forcibly flattening the incredulity out of her tone.
Instead of answering his wife's question, Ramza gave another of his own. "So, is that a yes?"
"Of course, I believe the holy stones are capable of just about anything. I've seen them do things no white mage, black mage, time mage, summoner, geomancer, or oracle could come close to accomplishing. Why are you asking me this now, Ramza?" she demanded.
Ramza sighed before finally getting to the point. "Well, remember when you said you thought Sir Damien Mitchell looked eerily familiar? What if I told you that he's actually the man Alma has been obsessively mourning for these last few months, so much so that she absolutely refuses to even look at anyone else seeking her hand until he came along."
"Are you saying that they've met before?"
"Yes… months ago, when Alma was in captivity at Riovanes Castle."
"There were many guards and knights at Duke Barrington's castle before the massacre. Could she have met him there, since Sir Damien was one of his bodyguards?"
"Well, you're partially right about that, Agrias. Damien Mitchel was a bodyguard of Duke Barrington. Alma's suitor, however, the one who attended the ball, is not, and never was."
"Are you saying that man is not truly Damien Mitchell? Then who is he, really?"
"Who do you think, Agrias? Alma was interested in only one man during the duration of her captivity."
For a long moment, Agrias' brow furrowed in deep perplexity and concentration, as though she were still baffled at these seeming inconsistencies. Damien Mitchell not only was not Damien Mitchell, but somehow knew and had caught Alma's fancy at Riovanes, was for some reason masquerading as a former bodyguard of the late, unlamented Duke Barrington, after somehow managing to turn his skin the phantasmal pale characteristic of snowbound Romanda. Yet, Ramza did not consider this strange deception cause to reject this Damien's entreaty to court his sister, and this somehow tied into the holy stones and their bizarre powers to twist the very weave of nature.
After finding this puzzle too convoluted to fit together outright, Agrias decided to study it piece by piece to see what she was missing. She first examined the question of how "Damien" was, in truth, someone Alma had met and fallen in love with while held prisoner at Riovanes. Then, dawning comprehension made her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline and sent her jaw plummeting earthwards.
"You mean her previous fiancé, Izlude Tingel?" she asked, in obvious disbelief. "But how can that be? Izlude is dead! We saw his corpse at the castle, remember?"
"Yes. Or so we thought we did, at least. Do you recall that the corpse's face was completely crushed, mutilated beyond recognition? Do you not think it possible that Izlude could have survived the massacre and faked his death by swapping his armor and dog tag with that of one of the fallen knights and assuming his identity?"
"Impossible!" Agrias exclaimed. "That man we saw at the ball looks every bit a native Romandan! Izlude did not!"
Ramza sighed and brought up one hand to massage away a burgeoning headache. "I thought you said you believed that the holy stones were capable of anything, Agrias," he said pointedly.
Realizing that her husband had a point, even if she wished he'd hurry up and spit it out, Agrias apologized. "You're right, Ramza. I'm sorry. Please continue."
Relieved that they were finally going somewhere, Ramza did just that. "Do you remember how one of the holy stones revived Malak after he had been killed by his adoptive father?"
"I do. And, I doubt I'll ever forget it."
Ramza doubted he would either. Having been blindsided by the reappearance of Elmdor, whom he had not seen since, ironically, rescuing him from the Corpse Brigade, and had heard was dead, the young Beoulve overlooked the body of Malak, laying prone nearby in a pool of his own blood.
When Elmdor was driven off, and Ramza had spotted the neatherseer's still form, the horrifying truth had been made terribly clear.
Agrias, who'd been left behind as she'd crested the sixth month of her pregnancy not long before, had proven ill-content to wait and had waddled her way up the several stories of stairs which, perversely, the portly Duke of Favoham had traversed much faster while armed with the strong motivation of having someone quite intent on killing him.
Between her waddling gait, how absurdly ill-fitting her armor had been, and the Murry twins insisting on one leading her by the hand and the other following while supporting her back, Agrias had felt – and looked, though Ramza was too keen on living to say so – supremely ridiculous.
Whatever tongue lashing she'd been keen to deliver to Ramza regarding what his overprotectiveness did to her dignity was forgotten when she beheld Malak, lying terribly still with his head cradled in a tearful Rafa's lap.
A neat hole had been punched into his chest, which allowed dawn's eaely light to shine through his back. And, near where he lay was a spray of blood, chips of bone, and chunks that might've once been pieces of Malak's heart.
No amount of Phoenix Down could see Malak rise again. He was dead, and his death was final…
…or so they had thought. For although Malak's death wound was far beyond the power of human magicks to mend, a far greater power chose that moment to intervene.
One of the Zodiac Stones, the same stones that had turned men into demons, had, by some will or heart that no mortal could fathom, had been moved to use that same power to undo Malak's death.
Agrias had seen the hole in his chest mend, the chest heave to indrawn breath, and Malak's eyes open. So astonished was she that her jaw plummeted to her boots and stayed thus for the better part of an hour.
It was a miracle; there was simply no other word for it. And, this scene drove home the point that, dangerous though the stones might be, the evils they could do were not inherent, but determined by who held them.
"Well, what if I told you that Malak was not the only one revived by a holy stone?" Ramza went on, rousing his wife from her introspection.
"Are you saying that Izlude was brought back as well?" Agrias asked, amazed.
"Yes… he and Damien Mitchell, not the Damien Mitchell whose corpse we found but the Damien Mitchell who wants to marry Alma, are one and the same."
"How can you know this? And how would you explain his Romandan appearance? Malak's appearance did not change when he was revived, aside from him keeping the scar from the bullet that killed him."
"Because he revealed himself when Malak and I confronted him last night. Malak had surveilled the real Damien Mitchell, and spotted some discrepancies in Izlude's portrayal. When I walked in on the two of them in another part of the castle, just after Alma dashed out of the ballroom, the two of them were fighting. Malak managed a glancing blow that cut open 'Damien's' pocket, and out tumbled what had allowed Izlude walk the world again and to disguise himself: he had a holy stone. The Pieces Stone, to be exact."
Upon hearing this revelation, Agrias's eyes widened. "WHAT?!" Agrias bellowed, rousing Rachel and causing the walls to shimmer, quite possibly from the wards straining to deaden the noise. Ramza frantically pressed a finger to his lips, but Rachel was already wailing from the outburst. "Izlude has a holy stone?! But how? I thought we collected them all during our journey."
Ramza felt a bead of sweat forming on his forehead when he realized that he had just let slip that he had been keeping secret the fact that the Pieces Stone had been missing from their collection all this time. With almost fratricidal speed, Rachel calmed down and dozed off again, leaving her poor unfortunate father well and truly defenseless before an exceptionally pissed off holy knight.
"No…we did not," he admitted, idly wondering if he'd rewritten his Last Will and Testament while under the guise of Drake Seymour. "I realized that one was missing not long before we left for Lesalia."
As Ramza had predicted, his wife was pissed at the fact that he had been keeping the missing holy stone a secret from her all this time.
"And why did you not tell me this sooner?" she demanded. "After all we had been through together, I thought you trusted me!"
"I do trust you, Agrias," he frantically professed. "I just didn't want you to worry needlessly since there was nothing I, we, could do about it at the time. I wasn't exactly in a position to go out and look for the missing holy stone, since I had no idea where to look and since Delita hadn't gotten new identities for Alma and I, nor pardons for you and the others, back then. But, as luck would have it, Izlude brought it with him straight to Lesalia."
"So, did you get it from him?"
"No…he still has it. I didn't want to fight him for the stone, like I did back in Orbonne. Especially since he's since learned how dangerous the stones can be and wants them kept out of the wrong hands just like we do. The good news is that Izlude was willing to give it to me to win my trust. The bad news is that the stone itself would not accept me as its new owner. When he tried to give it to me, it nearly seared the flesh right off my hand. The same thing happened when Izlude tried to give it to Malak."
"Good lord…" Agrais muttered. "So, you're saying Izlude still has the Pieces Stone? Can we trust him with it?" she asked worriedly. "I know you said he's aware of how dangerous they can be, but power like that can be…tempting."
"We have no choice, Agrias. But Izlude did give me his word that he would guard it with his life, which includes not letting it fall into the wrong hands if he can help it. I do not believe he is susceptible to the influence of the Lucavi, since he was able to come this far for Alma's hand with the stone."
"I believe you, Ramza. But Izlude is not the one I'm worried about."
Although she did not mention who she believed would be most susceptible to Lucavi influence, Ramza knew exactly who she was thinking of. After all, it weighed heavily on his mind as well.
"I understand your concerns, Agrias. And, if it makes you feel any better, I will watch Delita like a hawk. And, if he shows any signs of demonic possession, I will deal with it…accordingly."
Agrias was silent. Although the thought obviously pained him, they both knew that Ramza was prepared to fight and even kill his best friend if he became a Lucavi demon, as he had done with his older half-brothers.
Especially since it was vastly more dangerous for a Lucavi to have the King of Ivalice as a host. The Lucavi craved the subjugation, if not the annihilation, of humanity, and how much easier would that be to accomplish after having enslaved the soul of a king so trusted and beloved that much of the populace believed he could do no wrong and everyone else was far too afraid to defy him? The Lucavi could thin out humanity by using the power and authority of their invaluable and largely unquestioned royal proxy to start ruinous wars, as had nearly worked not so long ago, or to slowly carve away chunks of the freedoms Ivalice had only recently tasted until the iron fist of the crown, and the Lucavi, held the people under a yoke of oppression far worse than any of the more ignominious rulers in Ivalice's troubled history.
A few weeks ago, Delita likely would've resisted, for the stone not only had little to tempt him with but offered him subservience when he'd long craved mastery. But now, with the weight of his many sins having come crashing down on top of him, Delita's thoughts and emotions were in turmoil, his willpower broken, his coolly calculating judgement uncertain, his keen if callous wits all askew, his very mind in precarious condition, and his marriage in tatters.
What could better serve as a host for the Lucavi than a man broken by guilt and despair, who just might give anything, even his soul, if offered the power to make it right?
Not for the first time, Ramza found himself wondering if the subversion of Delita's mind and soul might already be underway. After all, the young king had just sent off not one, not two, but eight of the people who knew to look past his magnanimous image, and who might be powerful enough to kill him if it became necessary.
And all to find a mysterious "package"…which just might be a fiction arranged by the hand of an as-yet unsummoned Lucavi to thin out the opposition it would face upon its emergence into the mortal realm.
Once again, Delita's wish to appoint Ramza as Grandmaster of the Knights of the Chimera, which would essentially make him supreme commander of Ivalice's military, worked its way to the forefront of the young Beoulve's mind.
If Delita did become a Lucavi, then such a rank might mean that, if Ramza could prove such to the army, they might rally to his side to kill Delita…
…perhaps even rally around him afterwards when the question arose of just who should occupy the throne next.
Was Delita's wish to appoint Ramza to a post where he could take Delita's army, and likely his kingdom, from him if he misruled the last act of a man who's mind and soul, troubled they may be, were still his own? Was the obsession with this "package" the first act of a man who's mind and soul were lost to demonkind?
Ramza did not know. All he really knew was that he didn't like the idea of being a general, let alone a king.
And, the idea of killing his best friend and brother in all but blood? He like that even less.
Not knowing what else to say, Agrias simply nodded her acceptance of Ramza's plan. "Alright then, I'll trust your judgement, Ramza. And, you know how you've always believed there was some good in Delita, in spite of everything he's done? I do hope you're right."
"Believe me, Agrias, I feel the same way."
SSSSSS
Despite the hidden uncertainties that bubbled and broiled behind heavy curtains of secrecy, those parts and persons in Lesalia who chose to sleep instead of cavorting the night away found their rests undisturbed. Just past dawn, in a certain room in a certain inn, Izlude was roused by the sound of someone knocking insistently upon his door. Since his temporary abode was a modest, but well-appointed inn, which could cater to wealthy nobles, well-to-do commoners, and more humble personages with extra gil to burn, the knightblade assumed that it was one of the maids who had come to see if the room needed cleaning and to remind him of their, presumably, excellent breakfast service.
"Yes, who is it?" Izlude asked sleepily as he sat up from his bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
"It's the maid service, Sir Damien!" a female voice called out from the other side.
Acting on what had become second nature to him over the last few months since the Pieces Stone had breathed life into him again, Izlude quickly swiped it from the night table next to his bed and stuffed it into a pocket of his pajamas before getting up to answer the door. No matter where he went, from that miraculous moment of his resurrection until now, and very likely beyond, the knightblade made sure never to let others notice the stone, not even the most innocent and least dangerous of God's children, as he knew any the stone found suitable for demonic possession could be twisted into something monstrous even as they remained fair to look upon.
In many ways, it had been just as much the bane of his existence as well as his lifeline in times of danger and peril. And, as he had told Meliadoul, Izlude did not dare to let the blasted rock out of his sight, lest it take the opportunity to possess a host and turn another human, be they unsuspecting of its power or not-so-much, into a Lucavi demon.
He still wasn't entirely sure why the stones couldn't simply turn whomever they wished, nor why this one seemed strangely determined to stay with him. But, since he could neither chance it changing hands when it crossed the path of someone who it thought might make a fine demon, nor could he simply leave it behind for anyone to stumble across, he knew this unenviable balancing act was his burden to bear.
"Coming!" Izlude called as he walked to the door and answered it to find a young woman. In a surprising bit of hospitality uncommon outside the more upscale inns, she did not simply tell him where and when to find breakfast but had instead brought it with her. In her hands was a tray containing a plate of warm buttered toast and scrambled eggs as well as some bacon and a glass of orange juice.
"Good morning, sir," the maid greeted politely. "Did you sleep well last night?"
Izlude wasn't sure how to answer that, as he was abruptly reminded of how his scalp still ached from where his big sister tried to noogie him to death last night. After he ran a hand through his mussed hair, glad the gesture was innocuous enough, he nodded amicably. Though it was more embarrassing to be punished by Meliadoul for annoying her like that as an adult than the uncountable times it had happened to him as a child, Izlude knew he'd been practically begging for it with his teasing and prying into her relationship with Mustadio Bununza.
The knightblade must've been lost in introspection longer than he'd supposed, for he was jolted back to awareness as the maid audibly cleared her throat, her expression concerned. "Is everything all right, sir? If you don't like what I've brought, I can get you something else to eat."
Izlude shook his head. "No, it's not that. I've just had a long night yesterday, that's all."
The maid smiled. "I'll say…so it's true what the rumors say?"
Izlude released a soft gasp as the question caught him totally off guard. "W...what do you mean?" he asked, startled. "Who's saying what? And, just how many are up to say it? It's barely past dawn."
"Well, rumor has it that the Duchess of Lionel has chosen you as her favorite. So, I was wondering…"
The knightblade stared at the young woman as if he wasn't sure what to say. Which, in fact, wasn't at all far from the truth. Alma had just accepted his proposal last night, and somehow the entire city knew about it now?
"Where did you hear that?" Izlude asked in equal parts curiosity and shock, even though he already suspected the answer.
"Well, I read it in the paper this morning. The Lesalia Times had it right on the headline… so is it true?"
Seeing no point in denying it, Izlude sighed and his shoulders slumped. "Yes…" he answered. "But it is not official yet, since I will still need the approval of the King as well as Duke of Lionel to formally court Duchess Seymour. So, I will need to return to the castle soon."
The maid's eyebrows furrowed in surprise, tinged slightly with worry. "But sir, don't you want any breakfast before heading into town?"
Izlude smiled and shook his head before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a fifty gil bill. He placed it on top of the tray she was holding, though she nearly dropped it when she saw just how much money she'd be so casually given.
"It's all right, my lady. I already have plans. I'll be joining a friend for brunch today. My breakfast can go to whomever wants it, or to you if you wish. And this tip is for you as well. All I ask is that you ensure my room remains undisturbed in my absence."
The young maid gasped softly at Izlude's generous gratuity before bowing her head. "Yes, sir. Have a good day."
"You too. Oh, and before I go, I do have one question." At the maid's nod, Izlude let some nigh-cathartic candor pass him lips. "Do you Lesalian gossips keep a cadre of time mages on hand to get the rumors going around this fast, or is it just natural talent?"
There were a few Lesalians here and there who might take such a question as an affront. But, Izlude had guessed that this maid was not such a person. Correctly, it turned out, for she nearly doubled over with laughter.
"No time mages, sir," she gasped out, her eyes watering from mirth. "Just seems like it to you out-of-towners. Thank you again for the tip, and I hope the day treats you well."
Izlude nodded graciously and made ready to leave, idly snickering at the maid's misconception.
He'd been born and bred in Lesalia. It's just that, even after all that time, sometimes home could still surprise you.
SSSSSSS
After leaving the inn and picking up Nelly from the adjoining stables, Izlude headed out to South Lesalia, intending to meet up with Meliadoul at their childhood home, Tingel Manor. Although he had revealed much to his sister the night before, there was only so much the knighblade could explain in the hour or so they'd had before Meliadoul had needed to return home to avoid catching the attention of any restless guests at the inn or rousing the suspicions of the servants at the Manor. Seeing Izlude's perplexity that Donavan was not her sole servant anymore, Meliadoul had explained that, upon returning from the war to reclaim her family home, she had managed to convince some of the Tingel family's original staff to return to their former posts now that Vormav was gone and presumed dead. Several of those she could track down had agreed to return while others had either died in the war or had found new posts elsewhere. Still, it gave Izlude some relief that his sister had people around her he knew were trustworthy.
Some of the Tingel's former servants likely harbored ill feelings towards Vormav, but it seemed some had remembered it was his children who'd bandaged the wounds he'd inflicted.
Knowing that his sister would want to hear his plans for the future, as well as yearning to see his old home again, Izlude made sure to don inconspicuous attire to avoid attracting attention before making his way to Tingel Manor. When he finally arrived, the knightblade noticed Donovan tending to the front gardens as usual, which did not surprise him. In all his years working for Vormav, Izlude had rarely seen the old man fail to show up for his morning gardening duties. Which was fortunate in his case, since Izlude needed Donovan to open the front gates to let him pass through the gardens and into the manor.
Clearing this throat, the knightblade called out, catching the gardener's attention. "Excuse me, good sir!"
Donovan's ears perked at the familiar youthful voice. Even in his advanced age, the man's hearing was still sharp and his memory impeccable, as he instantly recognized the voice of the youth whom he had conversed with less than two days prior. Turning his head, Donovan greeted his young visitor.
"Ahh…it's you again, Sir Damien! How may this old man be of service?"
"Forgive my intrusion, but I've come to pay a visit to Dame Meliadoul Tingel. I was hoping I might have better luck delivering my message this time around. Is she home?"
The gardener raised an eyebrow. "I believe she is, though it's possible Lady Tingel may still be asleep. She was out rather late last night, and I hear that evening was most…eventful. However, I see no harm in letting you in, if you wish to wait for her inside."
"I would, if you please."
"Of course… Master Izlude."
At the mention of his real name, the knightblade's already pallid features drained of blood until he might've been mistaken for a unique subspecies of undead. Blindsided, and his hard-won reserve availing him not, he began checking his pocket to make sure he didn't accidently lose the holy stone. He was certain that he'd still had it with him when he set out from the inn, but could someone have lifted it from his pocket since then? Cold dread gripped his heart as he pondered the implications of that which had been helping him to maintain his disguise since he left the slaughterhouse that Riovanes Castle had become, after abandoning everything that could identify him as the Templar's second in command, having escaped him.
Even now, it might be in the hands of some unsuspecting fool whose very soul would soon be evicted. Even worse, it might be working its will on some powerful noble or even King Delita himself, the Lucavi within even now reigniting the bloodshed that had nearly brought about the ruin of-
Oh, wait, here it is!
The stone was right where he remembered putting it. Though that did leave him wondering, if the stone had not parted company with him, then how did, how could, Donavan recognize him?
He had no idea. Still, Izlude tried to feign ignorance with his father's old friend as he had with Malak and Meliadoul. Uncomfortably aware of just how that had turned out, he asked "I beg your pardon, sir?"
The old gardener gave the disguised knightblade a good-natured smile. "Now, now, young master, you cannot fool me so easily. Your father might not have told you this, but I used to be a mage in my younger days. Even fought at his side during the Fifty-Year War. White and black mages are much more useful, but a seasoned oracle like myself can sense when there is something…unnatural afoot. I don't know what magic is behind your disguise, but it's unlike anything I've ever sensed. I dare say it's not unnatural so much as supernatural."
Uncomfortably aware of just how close to the mark Donavan's words were, Izlude gestured for him to lower his voice before they continued. "Even if you sensed all that, how did you know it was me underneath?" he asked, hoping the hither-to cooperative stone would not betray him now.
"Well, there was also your curious concern for Lady Meliadoul, not to mention how delighted you seemed when I told you of that lad who'd caught her eye. You would not have had such a reaction if she was no more than a stranger to you."
Izlude gulped, not knowing what else to say. For some reason, his throat felt very dry and when he had managed to find his voice again, he asked "When did you figure it out?"
"Oh, since the first time you suddenly showed up here inquiring about Mistress Meliadoul," Donovan answered with a touch of humor as he stood up and opened the front gate to allow Izlude to enter.
"And did you tell anyone who I really was?" Izlude asked nervously, once more assuming the coloration of an undead.
"And why would I do that, master? Especially since it would not benefit me in any way?"
Izlude scowled. As Izlude and Meliadoul had grown, and the Tingel family's staff had shrunken, Donovan had steadily become a second father to the two ever lonelier children and had never shied away from small jokes and pranks. Donovan's answer, and the implication that the only reason the old gardener did not reveal his secret was because there was nothing in it for him, was a bit more than a "small joke", and Izlude promptly rediscovered the childhood temptation to find the older gardener's tea and put something…interesting in it. But he was not in the mood to match childish antics with his father's old friend, at least not until later, and only wished to speak to Meliadoul about his future plans.
"Never mind that," the knightblade said testily. "I need to speak with my sister before heading to the castle to request an audience with the king and Duke of Lionel regarding Duchess Seymour."
"Ahh, yes, of course. I heard that she has taken quite a shine to you. Well, congratulations, sir."
Izlude sighed. It looked like word got around the city fast, indeed, especially if it was already known here that he was the favorite of Duchess Seymour. Yet, he seemed to be the last one to hear of it, an irony in itself.
"Thank you, but there is still much I need to do before our engagement becomes official. Such as winning the approval of her cousin and brother, so don't congratulate me yet."
"I understand, young master. Good luck."
Izlude said nothing but nodded his acknowledgement before leaving the gardener to return to his duties and finally entered his old home. He had not set foot in the sprawling estate since his father sent him to Murond to train for the knighthood and, ultimately, the Templars, but the sight once more caused his heart to ache.
To ache for the old days, for the parents he'd lost and still missed, for his sister, for simply having his name and face back.
With an effort of will, he shoved it all back under the surface of his mind and turned his attention back to business.
He had lost much when his father's soul had been evicted by Hashmalum, but he could still get back what mattered.
Unfortunately, Izlude's conversation with Donovan, as well as his entry into the Tingel Manor, did not go unnoticed. As luck would have it, Mustadio had caught sight of the two conversing from a distance just as he was approaching the Tingel Manor. The young machinist, after assuaging a sense of disappointment that Meliadoul being challenged by Lollotte, and injured defending her honor which cut their evening short, decided that he ought to make sure that she was alright. Granted, he'd seen her in combat too often and seen her take too many wounds to believe one punch to the ribs would do lasting harm, but that hadn't stopped him from worrying. Even before he'd realized how enchanted he was by her, the way she'd seemed to chase her own death during the war, and then tried to give it to herself when no demon proved equal to the task, had cemented her well-being in his mind.
And so, he'd set out for her manor with a bouquet of flowers in his arms as a get-well gift card for Meliadoul. Quite by chance, he'd spotted that flower merchant they seen in Sar Ghidos while chasing down the slightly unhinged Cloud.
Apparently, with relations between Ivalice and Ordalia being reestablished, the mass of slums at Ivalice's easternmost border was now lurching its way out of poverty. Though daring merchants were trickling in, most longtime residents had too many bad memories to want to stay and, once they'd had enough coin enough to do so, they had moved elsewhere.
This had included the flower merchant (Aeris, she'd said her name was), and who'd opened a flower shop in Lesalia.
Mustadio still didn't known why Cloud had gaped at her as if he'd seen a ghost, but Aeris seemed like a godsend with her shop overflowing with beautiful flowers.
He'd picked a number of yellow flowers with an interesting aroma, hoping both would evoke him, and then had been quite baffled when Aeris' expression turned somber and she'd asked when the funeral was. Seeing his bafflement mirror her own, she explained those flowers were an especially pungent species of marigold and were meant for the deathly ill. Indeed, since they had such a strong aroma, she'd only ever seen one buy so many when they needed to keep the bugs away from the corpse when there was a delay in the burial.
And thus did Mustadio Bunanza make yet another contribution to the sciences by proving that it was not possible to die of embarrassment.
Aeris, seeing that Mustadio's dignity might need a minute to heal, asked him who the flowers were intended for and, despite his habitual gushing about Meliadoul and everything wonderful about her, Aeris managed not only to neither nod off out of boredom nor strangle the simpering man. Instead, she'd managed to pluck a few illuminating tidbits from his ramblings and turn them into recommendations.
Four gladiolus flowers for strength of character, for hydrangea flowers for the heartfelt gratitude of being understood and, above all, three red roses for love.
Somehow not managed to crush the flowers in an overexcited grip, nor to shred his hands on the roses' thorns, Mustadio bolted for Tingel Manor with all decorum of a child having been dismissed from school.
His elation seemed to grow a bit more with each step until he felt nearly too dizzy to go on, merely at the knowing that he was on the street where she lived and that, is she were already well, she might suddenly appear and greet him with that wonderful smile.
His elation promptly sank, and turned into confusion, when he saw someone else admitted to her door.
And although he was still too far to hear what "Sir Damien" and Donovan were talking about, he was still able to recognize the knight he had met at the tailor shop only days before and saw again at the ball with Alma as Catherine Seymour.
What's going on? The machinist thought curiously. What business could Sir Damien have here?
When he finally reached the gates, Mustadio called out to Donovan.
"Good day, Mister Dawson!" he greeted while trying his best to be patient and presenting himself politely before getting to the point and asking what purpose "Damien" could possibly have at Tingel Manor.
Recognizing Mustadio from his first visit just a few days prior, the old gardener gave him the same friendly greeting he gave Izlude.
"Ah, good day, Master Bunanza! I trust you are in good health?" he asked, strange humor in his eyes.
"I am. What about yourself?" Mustadio could literally see red gather in his peripheral vision.
"Always," the older man answered simply. "So, tell me, what can I do for you, sir?"
"Well, I came to see Lady Tingel. I'm concerned for her, since she left the ball so abruptly last night. Is she well?"
"I believe so. Since she came home late last night, I presume her to still be asleep. But, she should be up soon if you wish to see her."
"I would…" Mustadio began before asking the question that was on his mind. "By the way, was that Sir Damien Mitchell I just saw you speak with earlier?"
Donovan raised a brow before a mischievous thought came to him. "But of course, Master Bunanza! He wanted to see Lady Tingel as well, so I fear you will have to wait your turn in line."
As the old gardener predicted, Mustadio misunderstood the meaning of his words and believed they implied something else. Something cold. Something dark. Something ugly.
And, for Donovan, something hilarious.
"Oh? And what reason could Sir Damien have to see Lady Tingel?" he asked in a voice that was tight with anxiety and more than a hint of jealousy.
Donovan shrugged. "To be honest, I'm not sure. Maybe he was fascinated by her duel with that other disgruntled Templar at the ball, and wanted to ask her for some pointers?"
Mustadio's eyes narrowed in suspicion that there was something the old gardener was not telling him. And, just why would Damien Mitchell, who the infamous Lesalian gossipmongers claimed had proposed to "Catherine Seymour" just last night, be knocking at another woman's door in the middle of the morning? Dark suspicions began to take root in his heart as he recalled that, as beautiful and strong as Meliadoul was, he knew there had been times when her judgement was not sound, not the smallest example being when she'd tried to kill herself just after the battle in the Graveyard of Airships. He also could guess, from the papers, that Damien Mitchell was a cunning and capable man.
Might Alma's chosen suitor be a lying philanderer as well?
"Are you sure that's what he's really interested in, Mr. Dawson?" he asked, his tone somewhere between desperate and homicidal.
The gardener shrugged. "I have no idea. Perhaps you would like to come in and ask him yourself?"
Mustadio shook his head. He knew that getting into a confrontation with "Damien" right now might not be the best idea, so he decided to take a different route and warn Alma about her new fiancé.
Why, the nerve of that bastard! They're not even officially engaged yet and Damien is already trying to cheat on Alma. And with Meliadoul, no less! I can't let this slide, she needs to know what a slimeball he is!
"That won't be necessary, sir," Mustadio answered coldly, displeasure apparent in his tone even though he tried not take it out on the old man. "Please tell Lady Tingel that I came by and will try to see her again later when she has time for me."
The old gardener nodded. "Of course, Master Bunanza. Have a good day."
"You too."
As the machinist stalked off, his mood hovering somewhere between one keen to kick down doors and riddle the interloping bounder with bullets and wanted to cut short his own misery by sticking his gun in his mouth and pulling the trigger, he failed to notice that Donovan had one hand behind his back the whole time, two fingers on that hand being crossed.
Once the machinist was safely out of sight, he let out a rasping chortle as he recalled how fun young people were to tease.
SSSSSS
Izlude took a deep breath before finally opening the door of his old home and going inside. Having not set foot in the manor since his "father" had sent him to Murond to train for admission into the Knights Templar, he felt a strong sense of nostalgia.
Little things, long forgotten and yet stirring back to life now, flittered about his mind. He recalled how his mother would, with more than a hint of melodrama, chastise his father for leaving his coffee mug laying around the house when it ought to be stacked with the dirty dishes to be washed. He recalled how his sister, ever a study in contrasts, could emerge from the training room, clad in sweat as much as in armor and, in less than an hour, emerge from her bathroom washed and dressed in finery, and looking queenly enough to give Ovelia a run for her money. He recalled the spreading oak, which had grown enough that its topmost leaves could be seen from the front yard if one stood at the right distance and angle, which he'd climbed a hundred times, and fallen out of nearly as many.
He recalled the life he'd had before he'd lost his mother to illness and his father to demonic possession.
Under normal circumstances, the knightblade might say it was good to be home. Only that this wasn't his home; not anymore, since he'd been declared officially dead by the Glabados Church and had taken on the identity of another man. And, since Izlude was widely believed to be dead, he could never inherit his family's home or their wealth. Not that he needed his former inheritance anymore now that he had built a fortune of his own in Gollund, but that was beside the point.
Now that he was in the guise of a new man, and practically living a new life, Izlude had to pretend to be a stranger to this house if he ran into any of his family's servants. He had to act as a stranger to them as well, even though he wasn't sure he could keep a straight face before one of the people whose wounds he'd bandaged when the demon who wore his father's skin whetted his appetite for slaughter by greeting the paltriest infractions with his fist. And that was assuming he didn't tip his hand by somehow managing to never get lost in a sprawling estate he'd supposedly never set foot in before. Meliadoul did tell him the night before that she had managed to convince some of their original staff to return, but had to hire new staff to fill the rest of the positions at Tingel Manor, so Izlude would have to assume his guise of Damien Mitchell if he ran into any familiar.
If he had a choice, the knightblade would have preferred not to go anywhere he could run into people who knew him in his past life, and who might notice the stranger who didn't act like a stranger to them, but this was one of the few times he really had no choice in the matter. There was a favor he needed to ask of his elder sister, one which he dared not trust to any other.
Oddly enough, Izlude noticed that, aside from Donovan, none of the servants could be found as he wandered the manor. Granted, Donovan would happily tend the garden and see to the well-being of the Tingel siblings even on his days off, so his being at his post wasn't unusual, though it did beg the question where the newly rehired servants had gone. Upon reflection, Izlude decided that his sister must have dismissed the servants and given them the day off, something that he was grateful for. The fewer people who were exposed to the holy stone he had been stuck with for the last few months since he was brought back from the dead, the better. Though he had been gone for years, the knightblade had not forgotten where to go whenever he and Meliadoul needed to talk about something privately.
As soon as he made his way to the training hall, quite possibly the same one where Meliadoul and Mustadio had what might be the strangest first date in recent history, Izlude heard the report of someone striking training dummies in one of the rooms. Knowing that his sister was in the habit of practicing her sword skills in the early morning hours, the knightblade made sure to rap on the door loudly so that he would be heard on the other side.
"Come in!" a feminine voice, tight with exertion but still clear, called from the other side.
Without hesitation, Izlude stepped into his sister's favorite training room and found her dressed in casual sparring gear just as she delivered to an exceptionally battered training dummy what would have been a death blow for a real opponent.
"I thought you'd still be in bed considering how late you were up last night. Did you take a carriage back home since you left your chocobo at the castle stables to follow me in secret, Melly?" Izlude asked casually.
The divine knight shot her brother a smirk before putting her practice sword away. "Funny you bringing that up, considering that you've also stayed up late only to wake up at the crack of dawn to start your physical training since you joined the Templars. I doubt that's changed over the years. And, I'm betting you've had more than a few restless nights on your journey from Favoham to Lesalia, Izlude. Especially given all the…detours you mentioned."
The knightblade flinched slightly at hearing the sound of his true name. Even though he's been hearing it a bit more often as of late, Izlude had not yet grown comfortable with it, out of fear that someone could overhear and discover his secret.
As if reading his mind, Meliadoul simply smiled and said "It's all right, little brother. I've dismissed all the servants for the day and told Donovan he can go home early. You've nothing to worry about. So how does it feel to be home, Izlude? Did you go to your old room yet? Father had most of your childhood belongings put in storage, but other than that, it's the same as always."
Izlude shook his head. "I'd like to, but I'm a bit pressed for time so I need to ask a favor of you, Melly."
"And that is?"
Izlude took a deep breath, and a moment to muster his reserve before giving voice to this gamble he was about to undertake. "I need to go to the castle and see King Delita, as well as Ramza, to request their permission to formally court Alma. Since she's passing herself off as the Duchess of Lionel, I'll need both of their consents. Ramza already knows about me…and about Alma and I, so I doubt it'll be a problem. But as you said before, bringing the holy stone into the castle, especially into the king's presence, is very risky. So, I want to ask if I can leave the Pieces Stone here with you, at least until my audience with them is over."
Meliadoul nodded. "That's a good idea, Izlude. There's just one problem: will the stone be able to maintain your disguise if it's not with you?"
Izlude scratched his head. "That's what I'm here to find out, Melly. If I can't maintain my disguise without the stone, it would be best if I find out here, where no one will see. If I can leave it behind and still keep my disguise, then I need to know how far away I can be from the stone without anything going wrong. Our home isn't far from the castle but even so, I'd prefer not to take any chances."
"Alright, so how will you test it, exactly?"
"I need you to keep watch over the stone here while I go to another part of the manor, and then out into the rear gardens. If it's not too much to ask, I'd like to borrow one of your pocket mirrors so I can check if my disguise is still functioning as I move further away from the holy stone."
"Good idea," Meliadoul said as she darted out of the room and, heartbeats later, returned with a mirror whose glass face and frame would fill a large man's palm, but which was small enough to hide in one's sleeve. She quickly demonstrated this trick, which she'd sometimes used to check around corners while hunting stray lesser demons and then handed it to her brother. "I'll stay right here. I've still got some training to do, so try coming back in an hour, all right?"
"Sure thing, Melly. And, don't touch the stone. I have no idea if it'll burn you like it did Ramza and Malak, but I'd rather not risk it."
"Of course. You can leave it on that table in the corner."
With that, Izlude moved to the table the divine knight had pointed out, piled with training outfits, sheathes, bandages, ointments, and other necessities for a family of born and bred knights who honed their craft daily. He grasped the holy stone, made to set it down on the table and…hesitated.
Why he did so, he was not certain. Maybe he was weighing the likelihood that the stone could only maintain his disguise while it was on his person and that this experiment would waste time better spent elsewhere? Perhaps he was worried the stone might take offense to being left behind like a discarded coat and react…badly? He might've been wondering if it could be safely left with Meliadoul, since the Sagittarius Stone remaining passive in her keeping might not necessarily mean that the Pisces Stone would follow suit. Or, he could've been contemplating whether the stone had been waiting for this opportunity to work some kind of mischief while he was indisposed.
Whatever the reason, the stone lay, seemingly placid, in the palm of his hand as that hand trembled and proved worrisomely resistant to his commands to set it down.
His breath went short and hard while nameless terrors only he could see hovered about him, offering dire portents and yet no clear sign whether this reluctance to part with the stone was his own anxieties at letting something so dangerous out of his sight, or…something else.
Something vastly deadlier and more terrible.
Meliadoul was saying something to him, but her words were drowned out by the blood pounding in his ears. Then, with a great effort, as though he were ripping the stout oak door to the room right off its hinges, he turned the hand holding the stone. First a little, then a little more, and finally until the stone slid off his palm and landed on the cluttered table.
It made a loud thunk, as though it were made of solid iron rather than crystal, and weighed as much as Izlude himself did.
Then, a bit more hastily than he would consider befitting a Templar, he left the room, though he jerked to a halt just beyond the threshold.
"What was it you said, Melly?" he asked, strangely breathless. "I'm sorry, but I wasn't paying attention."
Meliadoul's expression was tense and alert for a long moment, but then she relaxed.
"I was saying you'd reminded me of something," she began conversationally. "The chocobo I left at the castle stables? Well, Boco isn't mine, he's Ramza's. When I heard rumors that unusual monsters, which sounded like lesser demons we'd seen fighting alongside the Lucavi, were prowling about, Ramza let me borrow Boco, along with…another of his companions. He'll probably want them back."
Izlude had the feeling that the divine knight was being less-than-honest, but decided not to press the matter. After leaving his sister to resume her morning training routine while keeping watch over the holy stone, Izlude started to wander from one part of his former home to another, all the while stealing glances into his pocket mirror. At Meliadoul's insistence, he'd strapped a pair of leather thongs to his forearm which, together, would allow the mirror to slide on its handle out into his palm but keep it from flying out of his hand altogether. Quickly becoming acquainted with the flick of the wrist to bring the mirror out of his sleeve and to catch it with his fingertips rather than let it go flying, he wandered further and further away from the holy stone, checking his reflection every few paces to make sure that the face of "Damien Mitchell" was still staring back at him. Like the homes of most exceptionally wealthy Ivalician nobles, the Tingel Manor was vast and Izlude had no shortage of far flung rooms he could meander to in order to test the range at which the Pieces Stone could affect him. The knightblade was relieved to find that his disguise remained intact as he wandered to the furthest corners of his home and even out to the rear garden, which was empty since Meliadoul had allowed Donovan to leave early for the day.
When he returned to the room where his sister was training after the hour was up, she asked "How was it?"
"The stone's power still worked," the knightblade answered. "At least in this house. The rear garden is also pretty big, so I know it'll hold for a fair distance. But, the real test would be how far I can wander from the stone before my disguise falls apart. If it does."
When Meliadoul gingerly plucked the holy stone from the table, Izlude was astonished to see that the stone did not burn her as it had Ramza and Malak. Did the stone somehow assent to their plan? Or, was the Divine Knight wearing some variation of Flame Armor, which proved strong enough to withstand the stone's fiery displeasure at being handled by another? The question, he decided, could wait. For the moment, Meliadoil, either not feeling the same anxiety Izlude had felt or simply hiding it better, looked the stone over as an idea came to her.
"If you plan to go to Lesalia Castle to see King Delita and Duke Seymour, I suggest you wear a cloak to disguise your features. Keep glancing into the mirror to check your reflection along the way, to see if the stone's power is still working. If you feel that your disguise is fading away, return to the manor and we'll figure something else out."
Though he would prefer not to have to delay his audience with the men whose consent he needed to officially court Alma, especially since Ramza was clearly already concerned about him and no king enjoyed having his time wasted, Izlude knew he couldn't afford to have his true identity revealed to anyone outside his trusted circle, so he had no choice but to agree.
"I will, Melly. I promise."
Taking his sister's advice, the knightblade donned a dark green cloak, which he clasped over his armor, purposefully less ostentatious than the wyvern armor he'd worn to the ball, and made sure the hood concealed his features before finally leaving Tingel Manor and heading into the sprawling splendor of Lesalia. As he had done while in his house, Izlude made sure to glance at his reflection frequently on the way to Lesalia Castle, both in the mirror and in the windows of the shops he passed by, in order to be sure that his disguise remained intact. After nearly jumping at half a dozen seeming signs that his disguise was failing, all of which turned out to be tricks of the light or flaws in the glass, he finally reached the castle. To Izlude's relief, the guards allowed him to pass without trouble, having been notified of his arrival by the king beforehand.
Once he was past the guards and made his way to the door that separated the throne room from the rest of Lesalia Castle, Izlude looked around to ensure none of the servants were watching him before giving a flick of his wrist to slide Meliadoul's small hand-held mirror from his sleeve to inspect his reflection one last time. To his relief, his disguise remained intact. Taking a deep breath, the knightblade quickly tightened both thongs to hold the mirror fast, lest it slip out of his sleeve and prompt awkward questions, and whispered a small prayer that everything would go well before knocking.
After a moment of silence, the door was slowly opened by a lone guard who quietly stepped aside to allow Izlude entry into the throne room. As soon as the knightblade was inside, he saw King Delita on one of the thrones. Queen Ovelia was absent, which some worried gossips said was becoming increasingly common of late, but Duke Seymour stood by the king's side instead. It was apparent that both men had been waiting for Izlude's arrival.
"Your Majesty, my lord duke, Sir Damien Mitchell has arrived," the guard who opened the door for Izlude announced.
Delita nodded and beckoned for Izlude to come closer. "Thank you, Sir Brian Castillo. I and the Duke of Lionel wish to speak to Sir Damien alone. You are dismissed."
The guard made a quick bow to his liege. "Yes, your majesty," he replied before making his way out of the throne room and leaving the knightblade with the king and duke.
After the doors had boomed shut behind the departing guard, Izlude slowly approached the throne and knelt on one knee before the new King of Ivalice as well as the Duke of Lionel, who stood next to his throne.
"So, you are Sir Damien Mitchel, formerly of the Wyvern Knights of Favoham, who is now the talk of the town due to his exploits in vanquishing the phantoms of Gollund, as well as capturing the interest of Duchess Seymour, am I correct?" Delita asked as his eyes roamed over the form of the raven-haired knight kneeling before him, his fist over his chest in the customary salute of one warrior to another.
"Yes, your majesty, that is correct," Izlude confirmed while keeping his head down and eyes directed at the floor, as it was a gesture of respect to avert one's gaze while addressing the king or queen until they gave permission to look them in the face. "I have come here requesting an audience to ask you, and Duke Seymour, for your approval and permission to officially court the Duchess of Lionel, Lady Catherine Seymour."
And, with those simple words, the last steps of his journey to return to Alma's side, and to the child he'd unknowingly fathered and yet loved already, lay within sight at last.