Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy Tactics. This fic is written for your enjoyment only and takes place after the Lion War. Once again, I would like to thank my co-writer, Falchion1984 for his help in making this fic possible. Enjoy and please review!
Chapter 29: You Belong to Me, Part II
In an attempt to calm her nerves, which achieved only mixed success, Alma had spent the next few minutes watching Charlotte's training regimen for the role of a Lady-In-Waiting, offering critique and suggestions until she heard a knock at the door.
By chance, Charlotte had been trying to master a ladylike stride, only for her book to topple to the floor again as her gaze snapped in the direction of the door.
As Charlotte made for the door at a not-so-ladylike clip, Alma decided to lend the girl some small help and spare her the rigmarole of retrieving the fallen book. She quickly snatched it off the floor, placing it on the nearby stool and well within the girl's reach.
"Lady Catherine, did you send for me? I am here," the voice of Mustadio Bunanza called to Alma as Charlotte pulled the door open.
"Please come in, Master Bunanza!" Alma answered as Charlotte quickly ushered Mustadio inside.
The blond machinist obeyed and quietly stepped inside Alma's room without another word, but not before turning his head this way and that to be sure that no one was watching him enter the private quarters of the Duchess of Lionel.
Granted, he and Alma were simply friends, but it stood to reason that some would be watching her door, either out of propriety or keenness for scandal.
Once he was inside, Mustadio gave a, slightly excessive, formal bow to the young duchess, practically kneeling on the floor. "I apologize for the wait, my lady; I came as quickly as I could. What is it you wish of me?"
Alma smiled and bent over to take Mustadio's hand before gently pulling him to his feet.
"There's no need to be so formal when we are alone, Mustadio," Alma said simply. "You and the rest of my brother's merry band are like family to me."
"Of course, Catherine," and Mustadio promptly took her invitation a bit too much to heart by playfully ruffling Charlotte's hair. "I understand. It's just that I've become quite used to acknowledging you as duchess. So, what can I do for you?"
Here, Alma paused for a moment. As yet, only she and Mustadio knew that there was something…peculiar about Damien, and she felt it might be best that it stayed that way. Especially considering how quickly Manon and Charlotte had taken to him. She quickly beckoned Charlotte over and, after taking a moment to straighten the girl's hair, instructed her to go to "Drake's" room and see if he needed any help looking after Rachel. Charlotte needed no further encouragement and was quickly on her way.
"Well, now that it's just us, do you remember when you said you thought Sir Damien might have a connection to the Tingels?"
"I do," Mustadio's boyish face promptly turned serious, though with a hint of trepidation.
"Well, I think we may have a chance to find out. I just received an invitation to visit the Tingel Manor, sent by Dame Meliadoul herself. And since you said you have seen Damien at her residence, I think this may be the perfect opportunity for us to ask her about it."
"I see…so, you want me to accompany you. I greatly appreciate this, my lady. For I have many questions of my own as well."
"Good. I'm glad we're in agreement. I do not wish to be conspicuous so I must don a disguise before leaving. I think you should too. Meet me outside the castle gate in fifteen minutes and we'll head to the Tingel Manor together. Agreed?"
Mustadio nodded, took Alma's hand, and kissed it.
"Agreed."
As Mustadio turned to leave, Alma called out to him.
"By the way, do you still have those flowers you got for Meliadoul the other day?"
Perhaps asking was ill-advised, but it was too late to take back the words now.
"Well, they've faded, so…," Mustadio said, with no small hint of dejection.
"A Cure spell can fix that. So, please bring them. I think she'll want them once they've perked up."
SSSSSS
Shortly after Mustadio left, Alma quickly changed into a casual dress more befitting of a common-born woman than a supposed duchess. And, luckily, she had no shortage of such attire since it was quite necessary for her as well as Ramza and the rest of their friends to disguise themselves forthe time they'd traveled Ivalice during and after the War of the Lions before settling down in Lionel Castle. In fact, neither Alma nor Ramza had donned noble attire after leaving the Beoulve household, until they became the new Duke and Duchess of Lionel.
It had taken several attempts to find the right dress as, with her fourth month of pregnancy dawning, several had proved too tight.
Still, this reinforced two vital truths: firstly, she had to know what Damien was hiding and, secondly, there was no more time for stalling.
As promised, Mustadio met up with her, having also changed into his more casual machinist attire, outside the castle gates. He had a wrapped bundle under his arm which he passed, almost regretfully, to Alma. Once she was sure no one was looking, she quickly opened the wrapping and inspected the bouquet.
Four gladiolus flowers, signifying strength of character, four hydrangea flowers for the heartfelt gratitude of being understood, and three red roses for love.
The bouquet was in sorry condition, faded and battered, but Alma could tell that this gift had been thoughtfully planned…
…probably not due to Mustadio actually knowing the language of the flowers, but whomever had advised him did so peerlessly.
Having learned from a rather creative monk at Orbonne how to adapt a Cure spell to work on plants, albeit only plants that had grown and were otherwise healthy, Alma channeled the healing magic into the blooms to, temporarily, lend them some of the vitality they'd lost while Mustadio had been nursing his confused heartbreak. When she handed the blooms back to Mustadio, and she saw that he was too choked up to thank her, she merely gave a smile and a kindly nod.
"Are you ready, my lady?", the blond machinist asked once he could speak while a stable boy brought around a chocobo. "I know it's still some distance to downtown Lesalia and the Tingel Manor, so I took the liberty of preparing a ride for us."
Alma was startled when she recognized the chocobo. "Say, isn't that…?"
Mustadio nodded and patted his mount on the beak. "Yes, it's Boco. Meliadoul was going to return him to Ramza, but she loaned him to me beforehand. Please, let me help you up."
After Mustadio had climbed into the saddle and offered a hand, Alma allowed him to pull her up and onto Boco. After making sure she was comfortably seated in front of him, Mustadio snapped the reins and guided the redoubtable mount towards Tingel Manor. Fortunately, he did not have to do much since Boco already knew the way, having been under Meliadoul's ownership and care in Ramza's place for the last few months.
The trip to the Tingel Manor passed by mostly in awkward silence with neither Alma nor Mustadio knowing what to expect, even though they both had the same question on their mind: what connection could Damien Mitchell possibly have with the Tingels, and what would they do once they found out?
With Mustadio in love with Meliadoul Tingel and Alma's very future as well as that of her unborn child, resting on Damien's shoulders, both were all too aware of the gravity of the situation.
As they saw the Tingel Manor in the distance, Alma finally mustered her courage and spoke up.
"Say, Mustadio, have you ever asked Meliadoul if she has any other relatives besides Izlude and their parents?" she asked, hoping it wouldn't worsen the machinist's shaky spirits.
The blond machinist shifted slightly in his saddle as if he wasn't certain how to answer his friend's question.
"Well, no… the thought never crossed my mind…" Mustadio admitted. "And even if it did, it's not like I could have asked if she and Izlude had a bastard half-brother or something like that…"
"Of course not," Alma replied with a roll of her eyes at Mustadio's copious lack of social literacy. "How about a distant cousin, then?"
"That might be a better way to approach it. Maybe we can ask Meladoul when we see her. That, and why she sent for us in the first place. Do you think it might have something to do with Sir Damien?"
"I…don't know," Alma admitted. "It could be anything, really. But I get the feeling that she may be the only one who could provide us with answers. That is, if you're certain it was Sir Damien you saw at the Tingel Manor and not someone else."
"Oh, I'm certain it was him," Mustadio assured, at first hotly but then calming down when he reminded himself that he was speaking to Sir Damien's fiancée about her would-be husband. "The man's hair and complexion make him stick out like a sore thumb in these parts. In fact, before I met him, I'd never seen another of his ilk, only heard of them."
"Yes, I heard a lot of people at the ball say that…"
"Speaking of which, and I know it's none of my business but I can't help asking, when was the last time you saw or spoke to Sir Damien?"
"Let's see…the last time we spoke was when I accepted his proposal. After that, he said he wished to ask for the approval of my brother and the king as well."
"Yes…it is the proper thing to do; I agree with him on that at least. Do you think they will give their consent?"
"I don't see any reason why they wouldn't. You know I cannot stay unmarried for long…"
Mustadio was puzzled. "Why, what's the rush?" he asked.
Alma blushed as she realized her slip and tried to change the subject. "It's a bit of a long story. I will tell you another time, if you don't mind being patient for now."
Although his interest and curiosity were piqued, Mustadio did seem to sense that this matter was an important one and decided to respect Alma's wishes.
"I understand, my lady," he said, trying not to overthink Alma's sigh of relief. "We're almost at the Tingel Manor anyway. It looks Meliadoul's gardener has been expecting us too."
"Oh?" Alma asked, surprised.
"Look ahead; Master Dawson has already opened the gate and is waiting for us," he pointed out.
Alma raised a brow. "I wasn't aware that you were on familiar terms with the servants of the Tingel household," she said knowingly.
Now it was Mustadio's turn to blush. "It would be discourteous of me not to remember the names and faces of those who've treated me as an honored guest in Meliadoul's house, my lady," he replied; and it might've sounded convincing if he didn't keep tugging at his collar.
Alma managed, barely, to stifle a giggle at Mustadio's embarrassment.
Mustadio managed, barely, not to look annoyed.
"I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist," Alma spluttered. "Still, yes, you have a point. Sadly, many nobles don't think their own servants are even worthy of such consideration. Of course, father taught Drake and I differently."
"Speak of which," and here Mustadio carefully lowered his voice, "whatever became of your family's servants after the war?"
Alma took a quick glance around to make sure no one was listening before she too lowered her voice and replied.
"Ramza told me that, when he returned to Igros to confront Dycedarg, he found that the castle was nearly empty. Aside from Dycedarg and Zalbag, only a few guards were still living there. I assumed that the servants were dismissed. Permanently. I can only hope that was the case, and they were permitted to leave the service of our family without…undue repercussions."
Mustadio swallowed nervously, though Alma didn't notice, as he considered her words. He still wasn't sure how much Alma might know, or didn't know, about Dycedarg's ultimate fate. And, while he certainly hoped that Dycedarg, even after being possessed by Adramelk, would decide that a string of dismissed servants was more easily ignored than a string of servants either disappearing or turning up dead, that didn't guarantee much.
As the Horror of Riovanes made terrifying clear, even if a Lucavi did have the wherewithal to remove a possible witness without violence, once that witness actually saw something connected to the demons, that witness tended to become a corpse.
"Since you put it that way, I do too, Alma…," Mustadio answered in a low voice before changing the subject. "Please let me speak first when we get to the manor. Though he knows me, Master Donavon isn't exactly expecting to see me of all people escorting you there."
"Of course."
When the pair arrived at the gates of Tingel Manor, Mustadio dismounted and offered the elderly gardener his hand and a friendly smile.
"Good afternoon, sir," he greeted, his tone indeed familiar.
Donavan glanced up from where he was pruning a rosebush and, upon seeing his mistress's…beau? Lover? He wasn't sure, in truth, but he did know that Dame Meliadoul had been in vastly better spirits since the young machinist had come knocking, so that more than warranted the warm smile and firm handshake he offered in turn.
His grip got a mite tighter, and not in an amicable sort of way, when he noticed a woman on the chocobo Mustadio had ridden in on.
"I'm sure you're surprised to see me escort the Duchess of Lionel here," Mustadio began, a hint of strain in his voice. "But, let me assure you that she is expected here and requested that I escort her. I am close with her brother, and he has entrusted her to my care."
The elderly gardener shot a quick glance toward Alma and then back to Mustadio. After studying the younger man's face for a moment, he nodded and decided he had nothing to worry about.
Though he saw no need to tell Mustadio this, Donavan was of the opinion that, if the man were any more transparent, he'd be invisible.
"His grace, Duke Drake, must hold you in high regard to bestow the privilege of guarding his only sister upon you," he said with a touch of humor. His mistress had mentioned Mustadio was fun to tease.
Mustadio brushed off the unexpected praise, rather ineffectively. "The duke and I have fought side by side during the war. Few things would bring me more pleasure than to see to the duchess's safety. I was told that Lady Meliadoul has sent for her. Might I enter to ask the reason?"
"Of course, Master Bunanza. In fact, my lady has a guest she wishes the duchess to meet. I do not recall her sending for you as well. But, since you are here, I can inform her of your visit."
Leaning in, he let his voice drop to a conspiratorial whisper and added "One of your visits does seem to…brighten her day."
The young machinist promptly became the very picture of a besotted schoolboy and then, realizing his slip, became the very picture of mortification.
Dame Meliadoul was right, Donavan mused. Teasing this lad is so much fun!
"Yes, I would appreciate that very much, sir," he spluttered.
"Good. Please come in. You can leave your chocobo here and one of the stable boys will take care of him."
"Thank you," Mustadio said before turning to Alma and offered to help her down. "Allow me, my lady."
Alma nodded, took the offered hand, and carefully dismounted from Boco.
After leaving the chocobo at the gate and trusting Donavan's word that he would be taken care of, Alma and Mustadio followed the gardener into the Tingel Manor. Once they were inside, Donovan turned to the pair.
"I must take my leave of you here for the moment;" he said, "please excuse me while inform the mistress of your arrival. You may speak with her then. As for the duchess, I will have one of the maids take her to see our other guest."
Alma was puzzled. "Who is this other guest?" she asked curiously. "Is he someone I know?"
"Unfortunately, I cannot answer your question, my lady. But I'm sure he will happily speak for himself."
Knowing that she wasn't going to get any more answers out of the old gardener, even though she had a feeling that he knew more than he let on, Alma simply nodded.
"Very well, Master Donovan. I will wait."
"Thank you for your patience, my lady. And you as well, Master Mustadio. By your leave…"
Mustadio nodded and allowed the gardener to be on his way. A few moments later, a young maid arrived as Donovan had promised to take Alma to meet Meliadoul's mysterious "guest". Before she left, she passed the wrapped bouquet to Mustadio and mouthed "Good luck".
As for Mustadio himself, though the blond certainly had a lot on his mind at the prospect of seeing Meliadoul again, he could not help but worry about his dear friend being taken to meet some stranger alone. Even if he was another acquaintance of Meliadoul's, quite a few of the divine knight's…acquaintances had been rather hostile in the past.
As if sensing Mustadio's thoughts, Alma gave him her most reassuring smile. "Don't worry, about me; I'll be fine. I'm sure Meliadoul will be wanting to see you as well."
Mustadio sighed and nodded as he watched the young maid lead Alma away. He found it ironic that he was so concerned for Alma that he forgot, however briefly, his own desire to see Meliadoul as well as the questions he wanted to ask her.
Shortly after Alma and her guide had left, Donavan returned, giving Mustadio a formal bow.
"I have informed the mistress of your arrival," he declared. "Though she was not expecting your visit, my lady welcomes you nonetheless. Her chamber is on the west wing of the third floor. Shall I guide you there?"
Mustadio shook his head. "That will not be necessary, Master Donovan. You have already been more than helpful; I do not wish to trouble you any further."
"That incident in milady's kitchen notwithstanding, I presume? How did that stain get on the ceiling anyway? Regardless, I will respect your wishes, sir. I will take my leave then. Enjoy your stay. And, if you need anything else, please do not hesitate to call for me."
"I will. Thank you."
"You're very welcome."
As Mustadio began to walk towards the stairs, already pondering why everyone recommended breathing deeply to deal with stress, when such usually led to hyperventilation, Donavan decided to get in one last quip.
"Oh, and when you do get to milady's chambers," here he paused and snickered under his breath, "do behave yourself."
Mustadio promptly faceplanted into the carpet.
"Wha?!" was his eloquent reply. "What exactly are you suggesting?!"
Donavan gave a shrug and what his best imitation of an innocent, guileless smile.
"Why, I'm suggesting that you behave yourself."
SSSSSS
Mustadio took a deep breath, and double-checked (well, quintuple-checked, but who was counting?) that his earlier mishap hadn't left any visible signs, before finally approaching Meliadoul's door. Since returning from the war to claim her rightful place as the new head of House Tingel as well as the new commander of what remained of the Knights Templar, Meliadoul had moved her belongings into her late parents' former bedroom. While he had been a guest at the Tingel Manor before, this was the first time Mustadio had ventured beyond the second floor, and he took a moment to admire the hallways before he came upon Meliadoul's new chamber.
The corridor alone was the epitome of lavish, tiled in gray-flecked marble covered in plush red carpeting. Arched marble pillars lined the wall, rising to meld with a ceiling trimmed in oak which gleamed under the sunbeams that slanted through the tall, gently curved windows.
Not for the first time, Mustadio felt very small, and more than a bit dirty, in the face of Meliadoul's illustrious lineage. Though he'd never let the disparity in their ranks, considerable though it was, keep him from fighting at her side and offering what kindnesses he could, the truth remained the same.
She was a blue-blooded lady of high birth, with a storied family history and great wealth, while he was a humble machinist of neither great lineage nor great fortune.
He was also aware, painfully so, that he looked more like the boy he was than the man he'd become over the past few years, as Dame Lollotte hadn't been the first to think him a child.
It was not uncommon for him to mishandle social interactions, his keen wits and gifts with machines coming at the expense of how to make conversation and deal with other people.
And, while none who'd fought alongside him would gainsay his skill and bravery, it was no secret that Meliadoul was the more powerful combatant.
Yet, in spite of all this, he recalled other things as well.
He remembered the state of nigh-manic despair Meliadoul had been in after learning that her father's very soul had been evicted by the Lucavi and that the demon who wore her father's shell had killed her younger brother.
Mustadio remembered how, for all his faults and his having the social literacy of a malboro, and about as much class, he'd been the one to put a smile back on the divine knight's face.
And, he remembered how the radiance of that smile had irrevocably made him hers.
Mustering his courage, he brought up a hand and gently knocked on her door.
"My lady, it is I, Mustadio," he said, trying (though he couldn't vouch for his success) to sound like a gentleman, but using a low voice so that he wouldn't attract the attention of the servants. "I apologize for coming without giving you prior notice, but the Duchess of Lionel was in need of an escort on short notice and wanted to be discreet in answering your summons."
After a moment passed without him receiving an answer, Mustadio worried that Meliadoul might not have heard him and was about to knock again before the door slowly opened and he was greeted by the mistress of the house herself.
"Ah, for you, milady," Mustadio squeaked, handing her the bouquet.
"It's alright, Mustadio," Meliadoul said, gentle amusement in her tone as she accepted the flowers. "And, there is no need to whisper, I have given nearly all my servants the day off. Donovan and a few maids, none of whom work on this floor, are the only ones at the manor now."
The blond machinist sighed in relief and gave his…what was the word for what they had? The term "lover" or "beau" seemed much too forward, especially given his own apprehensions, but he approximated a formal bow nonetheless. "I am glad to hear that, Meliadoul. Alma asked me to accompany her here as soon as she heard you requested her presence. And, to be truthful, I wanted to see you as well."
"Of course. You don't need an excuse to come to my home; you are always welcome here. Please, come in," the divine knight insisted before stepping aside to let Mustadio enter. Since none of the other servants were anywhere near this part of the manor, there was no need for formalities or any fear of misunderstandings.
Well, aside from those Mustadio might cause by simple error, that is.
"Thank you, my lady," he replied before entering her chamber. Once Mustadio was inside, Meliadoul quietly closed the door before turning to her unexpected, but welcomed guest.
In the stretching second that followed, Mustadio studied the lady who'd so enchanted him, even back when she was trying to kill him. She had forgone her armor – and he could count the times he'd seen her do that on one hand, and with fingers to spare – and instead wore a casual gown of deep green silk that fit her (rather buxom, he noticed) body like a glove and cascaded to the floor in yards of emerald skirts. The garment had no sleeves, which offered a view of her well-muscled and yet shapely arms, which were adorned with jeweled bracelets. Her luxuriant auburn hair was down, tendrils of it framing her lovely face and teasing at the gown's rhinestone adorned neckline…which offered enough of a view of her chest to make him short of breath.
By the time the young machinist realized he was staring, and gaping like a fish plucked out of the water, the divine knight was letting out an airy chuckle.
"You know," she began as she quickly deposited the flowers into a vase and inhaled appreciatively, "there are other, more polite ways to let a lady know that you find her attractive."
Mustadio turned as red as a tomato, and looked ready to burst like one that had been left over the fire for too long.
"I'm so sorry!" he spluttered, averting his eyes in horror.
Before he could give in to his instincts and flee from the room, he felt a thumb and forefinger cup his chin and guide his gaze up to meet Meliadoul's.
"I'll let it slide for now," she intoned, a teasing edge in her voice. "After all, what lady doesn't like being…appreciated by a fetching gentleman?"
Embarrassed by his gaffe and her praise, Mustadio's gaze drifted back downwards…
…which, since that allowed him to see down her dress, only made him blush all the harder.
"I think I should teach you some…more appropriate ways to behave around the ladies," she said, sounding rather pleased at the prospect. "I wouldn't mind if you came by more…frequently."
Pointedly keeping his eyes on her face, Mustadio nodded eagerly.
"Also, thank you for escorting Alma here" she said quietly, her voice finally turning serious. "There is someone here I wanted her to meet. Someone…very important."
Seizing the opportunity to ask the question that had been on this mind, Mustadio asked while trying his best not to sound rude due to his suspicion of Meliadoul's other "guest".
"About that…," he began. "I hope you will forgive me for asking, but would this guest happen to be that Romandan knight everyone is talking about? The one who had been seen with Alma at the ball and whom she has chosen to be her new husband?"
Meliadoul raised a brow at Mustadio's sudden inquiry. "Yes, that's right," she answered. "Why does that interest you so?"
"Because I saw him here the last time I tried to visit you. Donavan told me he was an "acquaintance" of your family's. That piqued my curiosity, since he is also the same man who proposed to Alma. If I might be so bold, my lady, who is Sir Damien Mitchell? And what connection can he possibly have with the Tingel family?"
Meliadoul detected a hint of disdain in the young machinist's voice when he spoke of her disguised brother and quickly caught on to what he really wanted to ask her. Resisting the urge to smile in amusement, she decided to tease Mustadio a little more.
"You are right in that he is acquainted with the Tingels. In fact, Sir Damien is more like family than a mere acquaintance."
"Family?" Mustadio was surprised, but pressed on nonetheless. "As in a distant relative?"
"Relative, yes. Distant, not so much."
Mustadio resisted the temptation to sigh in relief at hearing Meliadoul refer to "Damien" as family, eliminating his darkest fear as to what the other man's connection to her might be. However, since he was still concerned for Alma, and since Damien's involvement with both her and Meliadoul might have other, equally troubling ramifications, Mustadio had to press her for more details.
"If I might be so bold…," he began before trailing off, all the while praying he would not offend Meliadoul with what he wanted, needed, to ask.
"Yes? You may speak freely, Mustadio; I will not be upset. And, when we're alone, please call me "Melia". That name's rather grown on me"
"Very well, Melia. I am curious to know if Sir Damien is a close relative of yours. And, just how that could be, since he does not resemble you or your brother very much. At all."
"You are right that there's not much resemblance, but he is related nonetheless."
"How? Is he a cousin of yours? Or perhaps…"
Here, Mustadio chocked up. It occurred to him, only belatedly, that Meliadoul's memories of her father were already badly tarnished by the knowledge that he had been host to the Lucvai Demon Hashmalum for more than a decade, and what he was about to suggest might be just be as painful to hear.
"Go on," the divine knight urged, her demeanor strangely calm.
"A half-brother?" Mustadio nervously suggested, letting the implications go unsaid.
Meliadoul allowed herself to smile, this time out of admiration rather than mirth, impressed that the young machinist was finally catching on. Still, she believed that it would be better for Mustado to figure it out on his own.
After all, the best way to keep a man interested was to keep him guessing. And surprise him once in a while.
"It is closer to the latter, Mustadio," she admitted.
"I see…but why is this not public knowledge?" he asked, his curiosity deepening.
"For the same reason Ramza and Alma's true identities are not public knowledge."
Mustadio was confused, and more than a bit worried since he had toyed with the possibility that Damien might have discovered the truth of both Alma and Meliadoul and had been using it to blackmail them. But, then again, why would Meliadoul be speaking about Damien in such amicable terms if that was the case?
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
"You will…sooner than you think. I don't want to shock you too much; can you please be patient a little longer?"
Trying not to let the disappointment show on his face, Mustadio agreed. "I understand, Melia. But there is something about Sir Damien that I must know now: I need to be sure he does not intend Lady Alma any harm. She's already suffered enough with the loss of her family, and…"
The blond said no more but Meliadoul knew exactly what he meant. "I assure you, Sir Damien means Alma no harm. Just the opposite, actually."
Unable to resist any longer, Mustadio finally released the breath he had been holding, profoundly relieved that "Damien" had no intention of harming either Alma or Meliadoul.
Granted, he still had far more questions than answers about the man, and his questions were pertinent. But, Meliadoul's reassuring smile was more than enough to put him at ease.
"I understand. I'm guessing Alma doesn't know about…whatever it is you mean yet?"
"She doesn't. I will leave that to Sir Damien. More than likely, he is speaking with her about it at this very moment."
"So, do we wait until they're through?"
"It is the only thing we can do right now. Would you like to join me for a drink to pass the time?"
Relieved and strangely happy, the blond agreed. "I would like that very much, Melia."
"Good… I hope wine will suffice?"
A curious purr crept into Meliadoul's tone at the invitation, which sounded very inviting indeed. And, this was exacerbated as she leaned forward, allowing her blushing beau to see down her skirt.
Mustadio tried, desperately, not to let his thoughts linger on how…bouncy her chest looked.
"Of course," he squeaked, not sure if he was going to jump for joy or pass out.
Maybe both.
SSSSSS
Alma followed the maid in a wary daze as she led her to the Tingel Manor garden, the pair soon reaching the gated entrance. Now that her duty had been fulfilled, the young woman bowed to Alma and said "We have arrived, my lady. Dame Tingel has ordered that I bring you here to meet our guest before I am dismissed for the day. If there is nothing else you need, I will be on my way now."
"No, you have been very helpful. Thank you, I appreciate it," Alma said graciously before reaching into her purse and pressing a gold coin into the maid's hand.
The younger woman blushed. "You are too kind, my lady. But it is not necessary, for my mistress pays me well enough for my service."
"Please, I insist," Alma replied. "This new Ivalice has much to offer, and you deserve every opportunity to get ahead."
"Very well, then. I will accept this. Thank you again, and good day."
"You too."
After the young maid left, Alma took a deep breath and opened the gate to the Tingel Manor's private gardens. While it was not as large and spacious as the Royal Gardens of Lesalia Castle, the garden belonging to Izlude and Meliadoul's parents was still a marvel to behold. And Alma could definitely appreciate the love and care Donovan put into maintaining it.
Pretty stone paths meandered between formal hedges and bushes which were festooned with lovely and exotic flowers, most of which were in bloom. Other shrubs, these little more than greenery, had been expertly sculptured to resemble animals, such as swans, lions, and the exotic Ordalian bears known as pandas. Copses of decorative trees dotted the corners and center of the garden, offering ample shade to the ornately carved benches beneath and a fountain bubbled at the center, the water gushing from the beaked maws of sculptures resembling the fanciful fish-that-breathe-like-men known as dolphins.
For a moment, the Duchess of Lionel was enchanted by the beauty of the flowers that rivaled those at Lesalia Castle and the exotic decorative touches until she caught sight of someone standing near the marble fountain.
Alma found her breath catching in her throat as she stopped in her tracks. Although the man's back was turned to her as he studied the sculpted creatures, his ebony hair, as well as the garb he wore to the ball where he'd easily won her favor, was unmistakable.
"Sir Damien? Is that you?" she asked curiously.
After a moment of silence, the man in question slowly turned around, confirming Alma's suspicions.
"My lady…" he greeted. It might've been Alma's imagination, but he seemed nervous.
"Wh…what are you doing here of all places? Are you a friend of Dame Meliadoul's?"
"Actually, she is a bit more than just a 'friend'," the knight replied and, upon seeing Alma frown, quickly added "But not in the way you think."
"I don't quite follow," Alma couldn't keep a hint of displeasure from her tone.
"Well, to be frank, she is more akin to 'family', than a friend. I see this doesn't surprise you. I take it you already suspected as much?"
"I did, I won't lie. Mustadio has brought it to my attention that you have been here more than once. He thinks you have a personal connection to the Tingel family."
"He isn't wrong. But, if I may ask, what do you think?"
"What do I think? If I might be so bold to ask, are you related to the Tingels? And if you are, tell me how that is possible, since you have the raven hair and grey eyes of an ethnic Romandan."
Here, Damien lapsed into thoughtful silence for a moment, as though mulling over something important. That hesitation did not go unnoticed, and Alma wasn't sure she liked it.
"Would you believe me if I told you I was a close relative of Dame Meliadoul's?" he asked.
"How close?" Alma asked, confused. "Are you indeed another son of Vormav and Meredith Tingel? Or were you born of the late commander and someone other than his wife? Forgive my rude implication, but if I am to officially and publicly accept your proposal and have you as my husband, I must know who you really are."
"I take no offense, my lady. In fact, it is I who owe you an apology for my earlier deception. But, in my defense, I had to wait until the moment was right to reveal myself. To answer your question, you are correct on one count, I am of Vormav's blood. But I am not 'another' son of his, for the late commander of the Knights Templar has only one son."
That brought Alma up short. Her eyes widened and she took an unconscious half a step back, as though bracing herself for a blow…or preparing to run.
The one son of Vormav Tingel? She knew, painfully, who that was. But, what could Damien being playing at by bringing him up?
"He did," she confirmed, her tone grim. "And both the commander and his only son are no longer of this world."
"Once again, you are only half right, my lady," Damien replied with vexing calm and maddeningly ambiguity.
"I don't know what game you are playing, but I am not amused. I was there when Sir Izlude met his end. I watched him die. It was literally the most painful moment of my life. Because I knew there was nothing I could have done to save him from-"
So taken by her agitation was Alma that she only just managed to clack her jaw shut before she said anything that might be far harder to explain than Damien's cryptic words.
Yet, as if he'd sensed her very thoughts, he finished her sentence for her.
"From Hashmalum?" he asked.
Alma could literally feel the blood freeze in her veins
"How can you possibly know that?" she asked, her words choked to a whisper.
"Believe me, Lady Catherine, I understand that you want answers, and that my words have assuredly left you pained and confused," Damien replied solemnly. "But if you want me to bare my secrets, you must also be willing to do the same. I swear that all will be explained before we are finished here."
Upon hearing her fiancé's unexpected retort, Alma shifted nervously. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, sir."
Instead of being crossed with Alma for her evasiveness, Damien slowly approached her before giving a bow. A very particular bow, that was undeniably familiar.
"I mean that I am not the only one with secrets. We both had a life we were forced to abandon to protect the lives we have now, and those whom we love. You made that decision along with your brother, didn't you…Alma Beoulve?"
"I…"
How Alma kept herself from fainting, she'd never know. It was no small feat; of that, she was certain. Somehow, inexplicably, Damien knew not only about Hashmalum but also of her true identity. How that was possible, especially with her disguise having been woven by as deft a hand as Delita's, she couldn't even guess.
More to the point, she recalled how Mustadio had voiced the possibility that Damien might, indeed, had unearthed this truth and could seek to use it to extort her and Meliadoul. At the time, the machinist admittedly had no proof, and the idea likely had more to do with his (hopefully short-lived) heartbreak than his usual wits, but was it possible he was right after all?
And, if so, then why was Damien's face so bereft of malice? He was nervous, yes. In fact, he looked nearly as anxious as she, but she saw no hint of the avarice she'd have expected from one who'd seek to exploit her for his own gain.
For Izlude's part, he was indeed nervous. In fact, he was also wondering how he'd avoided fainting thus far. Knowing that this was the moment he had been anticipating for months, the culmination of his long journey to the realm of the dead and back, and then across the breadth of Ivalice, Izlude took a deep breath before finally taking the plunge, hoping that his love will finally realize the truth.
"My lady… Alma," he began solemnly. "I am the man who asked for your hand during your captivity during the War of the Lions. And I am also the same man who asks for your hand now. I pledged my life to you before, and I humbly ask to do so once again."
Alma found herself stunned speechless at the man's confession. "H…how did you know my real name?" she spluttered. "And, how could you possibly know who, and what, killed Izlude? Who are you, really? Answer, or so help me, I'll-"
Even though he had long been expecting Alma's reaction, Izlude still wasn't quite prepared for it. Regardless, the moment of truth had arrived. There was no going back, nor would there be any second chances, so he had no choice but to finally take the plunge.
"I know a lot about you, my lady," he said gravely. "The reverse is also true. This manor is my home as much as my sister's."
"No…it can't be," Alma gasped out at the implication.
"It is… Please believe me, Alma. I've been searching all over the land for you. I literally went to hell – well, I talked to a few of the departed, at least – and I was sent back to find you."
"That's not possible…you died. I saw you die! You must be a ghost!"
Bewildered and angry, Alma had begun surreptitiously casting Aegis, knowing she would need the speed enhancement it would offer if she needed to retreat. But Izlude, exasperated, finally lost patience and quickly grabbed Alma by the wrist, foiling her escape not only with his iron grip but because the distracted cleric's spell failed as her concentration wavered.
"I assure you, I'm every bit as alive as you!" He insisted. "How could I have been seen dancing with you at the ball by everyone if I was naught but a phantom?"
"I... I!"
This simply sounded too good to be true. Alma had almost been almost prepared to let Izlude go and give herself to this new man in her life, making do with the knowledge that he would be a willing, but unwitting, father to her true love's child. But to find out that they were actually one and the same was so shocking that Alma wasn't sure if she should jump into his arms or run as far away from him as she could.
Without thinking, the Beoulve girl started chanting the Aegis spell again, in case she needed to run. Alarmed, Izlude finally let go of her wrist so as to not frighten her further. He had hoped that if he gave her a few moments for everything he'd revealed to sink in, Alma would be more willing to accept that he had literally returned from the dead to be with her again.
Even in a world where common looking crystals could turn people into demons and brothers schemed against their brothers, however, Alma found his tale hard to swallow…
…and yet, something stopped her from fleeing as she'd intended.
What it was, she could not say. Maybe it was how, as her whirling thoughts blew the two men (or one man?) into her mind's eye, she realized the eerie similarities between the two? Perhaps it was how, despite his alarming words, he'd done nothing to threaten her? Or, it might've been the, also strangely familiar compassion and ardor in his eyes as he regarded her.
Whatever the reason, she stayed rooted to the spot, wondering if, perhaps even hoping that, his outlandish tale might be true…
…but, given the stakes, she had to be sure.
"Tell me something only Izlude would know," she challenged.
"The night after I asked you to marry me," Damien began, "the first time, that is, you tried to kill me."
Alma went ghost white, though whether in shock at his words or the revulsion she'd felt as she recalled the attempt, she could not say.
"We were in bed, in Riovanes Castle. You slipped out of bed, thinking I was asleep, and retrieved a dagger from underneath our bed. You then tried to force yourself to kill me as I slept, but you could not do it. After you realized this, I rose, as I was feigning sleep, and asked you why you didn't go through with it. You asked why I didn't try to stop you, and I said it was because such a vile act was against your nature. I did offer you my life, if you wanted to take it, and instead you admitted that you loved me and…well, I asked you to be mine."
Alma's head was spinning, but this time with dawning realization and even guarded hope.
She hadn't told anyone about that night she'd contemplated murdering Izlude to win her freedom, only for her conscience to interfere. She never even told Ramza. That Damien knew what only Izlude could've known…
…her eyes brimmed with tears, these finally being of joy.
By the blessing of God, heaven, and all that was good in this world, she was given back the man she loved. Her mind and heart alike were full to bursting with what she wanted to say in response to this miracle of miracles, all of which clamored to be let out in a rush.
And, rush it did…due in no small part to one of the more amusing side effects of magical speed enhancements. Though Damien...Izlude, hadn't noticed, Alma had finished the Aegis spell during the midst of his explanation, taking care to chant under her breath and keeping the motions of her lips too subtle to notice. So, the spell took effect just at just the right moment to have some hilarious results
"OhIzludeIcan'tbelieveyou'rebackI'vemissedyousomuchIcouldbarelygoonhowdidyoucomebackandwhendoesanyoneelseknowhowdidyoudiscoverthatIwasAlmawhydidn'tyoucomesoonerdidMeliadoularrangethisorwasityourideaohwhatdoesitmatteryou'rebackandwecanfinallymarryaswe'dplannedbackinRiovanesIloveyousomuchandIwillneverletyougoagainmybelovedknight!"1
For a long moment, Izlude was left blinking in dumbfounded stupefaction as he tried, unsuccessfully, to make heads or tails out that deluge of syllables.
Whatever he'd been expecting Alma to say upon realizing he was back, that wasn't it.
"Er," he began with great eloquence, followed by an equally silver-tongued "Could you say that again, but a bit slower, please?"
Alma, by contrast, heard something very different and amusing in its own right.
"Eeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrr…Ccccccccccoooooooooouuuuuuuuuulllllllllldddddddddd yyyyyyyyyyoooooooooouuuuuuuuuu ssssssssssaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyy tttttttttthhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaattttttttttt aaaaaaaaaaggggggggggaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnn, bbbbbbbbbbuuuuuuuuuutttttttttt aaaaaaaaaa bbbbbbbbbbiiiiiiiiiitttttttttt sssssssssslllllllllloooooooooowwwwwwwwwweeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr, pppppppppplllllllllleeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaasssssssssseeeeeeeeee?"2
After a long pause and each lover seeing their dumbfound look on the other's face, both burst into hysterical laughter. Long minutes of hilarity passed, by the end of which Izlude's cheeks were flushed and he could barely see for the mirthful tears in his eyes.
"Please don't tell Ramza or Meliadoul, or anyone else, about that," he gasped out between deep chuckles. "They'll never let us hear the end of it. So, when we share the good…Alma, what's wrong?"
Much like himself, Alma's face was flushed red with embarrassment, but another, very different expression, one that Izlude could not name but which caused his mirth to melt like snow in summer, had stolen over her face. Then, no less confused by herself than Izlude was, Alma finally did the only thing she could think of:
She turned and ran from the man she loved. Again.
SSSSSS
A few hours into Olan and company's search of the ruined Sadalfas Manor, the unthinkable happened.
In hindsight, they should have known that "the unthinkable" had the disconcerting tendency to also be "the probable".
Especially in Ivalice, and especially in this day and age.
Once the small group had divided to search the ruin, they had sifted through the profusion of mold, mildew and ashes which seemed all that remained of House Sadalfas' sullied legacy, all the while hoping against hope that what they sought wasn't there to be found.
The temptation to simply wait for some period of time, and then return to tell Delita that they hadn't found anything was palpable, especially if Algus' alleged sister did, in fact, exist. But, Olan had been around Delita long enough to know that he had an eerie way of knowing when he was being lied to, and the King of Ivalice could just as easily send someone else next time.
More than likely, that "someone else" would give Delita exactly what, or who, he wanted, and with a smile.
Besides, though Olan was more a statesman and scholar than a knight, he was yet a knight in spirit.
And, if Algus' sister did exist then, judging by the state of the manor, she more than likely needed help and had no one else to turn to.
In any case, they had wanted, desperately, for Delita to have been wrong, for Algus not to have had any siblings, and for this ominous errand to end with them returning to the King of Ivalice – a man they knew to be devious, vindictive, and, above all, exceedingly well-informed and foresighted – and telling him the mission he'd sent them on had been a complete waste of time.
And then, Abel called for the group to assemble in a room in one, comparatively intact, corner of the upper floor.
On the opposite side of the manor from where the floodwaters had struck, it nonetheless showed such scars as the door having been kicked in and anything that didn't look particularly valuable having been tossed aside like so much litter.
One of those furnishings had been the splintered remains of a dollhouse.
Not far from that was what used to be a lavish bed covered in the tattered remains of once decadently soft pink blankets.
"Well," Mydrede spoke up, pausing to gulp nervously. "I'd say this settles it. Algus did have a little sister."
Olan nodded grimly, dread creeping up and down his spine at what this meant.
"Alright," he began solemnly. "Look for anything, and I mean anything, that could help us find this girl. A name, a face, any clue as to where she might have gotten to. Let's get back to looking and reconvene here in an hour."
That hour passed much too quickly for Olan's liking as he searched the girl's long since vacant room while the others looked elsewhere. Despite his best efforts, spurred on by desperation – though desperation to accomplish what, he could not say – he found nothing that would aid their search. In fact, the only things that seemed even reasonably intact was a stuffed animal – a bipedal tiger with large eyes, a very long chin, a springy tail, and a broad grin on his disproportionately large face – and a child's teal blanket. Both had been covered by the bed's comforter, which had been ripped off and cast aside by one of the manor's myriad assailants, and so were in far better condition than the rest of the home.
Of course, this did remind Olan of just whether or not their former owner had fared as well.
He had his doubts.
Still, he stored the articles in his pack, thinking that, if they did find the girl, offering some of her old possession might make her more inclined to trust them.
After long minutes of fruitless searching, Olan heard the others return. The news was much as he'd expected. The basement levels were still flooded, so searching down there would prove as hazardous as it would prove pointless. No less galling, the master bedroom had been one of the rooms in the path of the floodwaters, and anything that might've been in there was likely flotsam scattered over miles of riverbank. Searching the ruins of the foyer, dining room, and drawing rooms had proven similarly fruitless and the kitchen and study had also been washed away.
Balmafula alone had succeeded.
"I found this in what I'm guessing was Algus' room," she began, placing a flat object covered by a worn cloth on the floor.
Pulling aside the cloth revealed that, beneath, was a portrait of a young girl.
Very young, actually. Assuming the portrait was recent enough to still be a good likeness, she couldn't have been more than three years old.
The small girl did, indeed, resemble the late Algus. Large, bright blue eyes, long blonde hair, a high forehead, a dainty nose, and small, delicate ears.
As Olan studied the painted face, he wondered what expression she had worn when strangers had burst into her house and began taking anything that looked worth plundering and smashing anything that didn't.
Had she known, or understood, just what sins of her forebearers had brought them to her door when, quite possibly, she herself had given no provocation?
But, then again, she was Algus' sister and, by all accounts, that man's tongue had done just as much as his actions to sign his own death warrant.
He shook off the thought. As he had learned, the hard way, preconceptions could be just as poisonous as mossfungus.
So, he focused on what he did know: Algus did, in fact, have a sister, whom Delita wanted to find.
"Layla Sadalfas," someone said, shaking him from his reverie.
He glanced in the direction of the sound to see Raffe looking at the back of the portrait, mostly likely having discovered a name written there.
"Born in the year 1002," Raffe added. "That'd make her three or so now. She looks like she's still about that age in this portrait, so it's probably still a decent likeness. Well, we've got a name and a face, so we better figure out what to do next."
"Here, hand that over, would you?" Francis asked.
With a shrug, Raffe did just that. Francis accepted the portrait and drew his dagger.
"Hold on, what are you doing?" Olan asked, wondering along with everyone else at the urgency in his tone.
"I'm going to cut out the face. Might be best if we were asking for a missing girl who didn't look like she might be part of everyone's least favorite noble house."
"No!" Olan was surprised at his own vehemence, so he took a moment to moderate the remainder of his words. "There's been enough wonton destruction here. Balmafula, you said you brought along parchment and colors?"
"Yes, I did," the witch confirmed. "Why do you ask?"
"I want you to make two, maybe three, simple copies of that portrait. Don't include anything that makes her stand out as a noble, especially not of House Sadalfas. All anyone need know is that we're looking for a missing girl who's named Layla."
"Wait, that'll take at least a couple of hours!" Wynefreede protested.
"You haven't seen me paint," Balmafula answered coyly.
"It'll still take time, and I want out of this creepy place!"
"Then let's put that time to good use," Olan spoke up. "We need to do some thinking."
And, indeed, there was a lot to think about. Since learning about Layla's relationship to Algus, and the stormy history between him and Delita, Olan had proceeded with this mission in the hope of coming away empty handed. In much the same way some shy away from planning for dire tragedy, whether out of denial or fear that preparing for them will beckon them forth, or both, he had avoided giving much thought to what he would do if he found that Algus did, in fact, have a sister.
And, he was about to pay for his purposeful shortsightedness, for his worst fears were confirmed and he had no idea what to do about it.
Still, standing in Layla's ruined bedroom kicking himself would yield no solution, so he gestured for Raffe, Francis, Abel, Wynfredde, Mydrede, and Emery to seat themselves on the carpet which, though no less trampled then anything else, was at least a more palatable place to sit than anywhere else in the ruined and moldering manor. Balmafula, who was mixing her paints, gestured for them to proceed without her.
"Alright," Olan began. "Algus Sadalfas did, indeed, have a little sister. I have no idea how Delita knew, but that's beside the point. We know her name is Layla, and we have what is, hopefully, a good idea of what she looks like. But what we don't have is any idea where she is, how she's doing, or just what Delita intends to do if he gets his hands on her."
He paused for a long moment to let that sink in, and he could see that the others, who'd known Delita since he was a bright-eyed cadet at the Hokuten Academy, shared his unspoken fears.
Though Delita hadn't said what he'd do with, or to, Layla, all knew Delita to be a vindictive man and that, of all the people he hated, Algus Sadalfas was assuredly at the top of the list.
The idea of what he'd do to his hated foe's sister was a thought born of nightmares.
So, taking Layla to Delita was out of the question, but what could they do instead?
After all, though none of them were strangers to the idea of disobeying an order that was criminal and immoral, and had done so before now, Delita was a very different enemy than any they'd faced before.
He fought with his wits, which had proven a potent enough weapon to topple church and state alike, leaving him as the sole power broker in the troubled realm of Ivalice and with the populace happily flocking to his banner.
The prospect of trying to outsmart such a foe and keep an innocent girl from his grasp was daunting, to say the least.
"So, what to do?" Emery asked, voicing the unspoken question on their minds and her forlorn tone likely matching the course of their thoughts as well.
With a long sigh, Olan rubbed at his temples and replied "What to do, indeed?"
1 Falchion1984: *imitating GLaDOS from Portal* If you have any questions, just remember what Alma said in slow motion. *starts speaking normally again* Not good enough, eh? Okay, all you really need to do is re-read it and add in the spaces and punctuation in the logical places. Still not good enough? Wow, you guys are picky. Okay, then, it goes like this: "Oh, Izlude! I can't believe you're back! I've missed you so much, I could barely go on! How did you come back and when? Does anyone else know? How did you discover that I was Alma? Why didn't you come sooner? Did Meliadoul arrange this or was it your idea? Oh, what does it matter? You're back, and we can finally marry as we'd planned back in Riovanes! I love you so much and I will never let you go again, my beloved knight!" …are you sorry you asked yet?
2 This other ungodly grammatical abomination is even simpler. Start with each first letter, and get rid of the nine clones, and you've got it. But, I'll save you the trouble: "Er…Could you say that again, but a bit slower, please?" Okay, show of hands, who guessed it anyway?That little gag was partially inspired by Serial Ravist's nigh-iconic, I-can't-believe-there's-no-sequel Ramza x Agrias fic called Heart of Gold. In one particular scene, we see Agrias' perspective as she's under the effects, enhanced speed and all, of Aegis, though it was called MBarrier at the time since it was based on the PSX version. In particular, Agrias noted how her would-be assailants seemed to be moving so slowly, they might as well have been walking through water. So, what if their speech was similarly affected? Anyone who tried to taunt Agrias would sound like they were drawling in slow motion whereas anything Agrias said in retort would sound like accelerated gibberish. And, I just couldn't resist the comedy potential!