Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of Final Fantasy Tactics and am not making any money off of this fanfic (although that would be nice) They are all the property of Square-Enix and I write this for your enjoyment only (and mine too) On another note, this is the new and rewritten version of my Alma/Izlude story that takes place between the time Izlude brings Alma to Riovanes until Hashmalum as Vormav takes her to the Graveyard of Airships below Orbonne. I hope you enjoy this new rewrite of my original work and please check out the sequel by me and my co-writer, Falchion1984. Enjoy and please review!

Chapter 1: The Abduction

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the landscape, the Knights Templar of the Glabados Church made their way back to the formidable Riovanes Castle. They had just returned from a tumultuous raid on the sacred Orbonne Monastery, a mission that had been shrouded in secrecy and anticipation. Leading the crusade was Vormav Tingel, a man of considerable authority and ambition, but he was preoccupied with affairs of his own in another location. Consequently, he entrusted his son, Izlude, to oversee the operation in his stead, with strict orders to do whatever was necessary to uncover the elusive Germonik Scriptures, a tome of immense power and significance.

However, the raid had not gone as planned. Despite their best efforts, the knights had failed to locate the fabled manuscript. The situation worsened when one of Izlude's own men, in a moment of reckless aggression, had slain Simon Pen Rakshu, the head priest of Orbonne. Simon was not just any priest; he was the sole guardian of the knowledge regarding the whereabouts of the coveted scriptures. With their only lead extinguished, Izlude was left to ponder their next move.

In a desperate bid to regain control of the situation, Izlude surmised that Ramza Beoulve, a young nobleman and a figure of rising notoriety, had likely beaten them to the prize. Fueled by frustration and a need for leverage, he devised a plan to abduct Alma, Ramza's sister. He believed that by capturing her and bringing her back to Riovanes Castle, he could extract vital information from her and perhaps use her as a bargaining chip to reclaim the scriptures if Ramza indeed possessed them.

The abduction, however, did not unfold smoothly. Alma proved to be fiercely resilient, refusing to succumb to her captors without a struggle. Her spirit and determination were formidable, catching Izlude off guard and leaving him with bruises and cuts—a testament to her unexpected strength. Upon arriving back at Riovanes, he entrusted Alma to one of his knights, ensuring her confinement, before retreating to his private quarters to tend to his injuries.

Sitting before the ornate mirror on his dresser, Izlude examined the marks of battle etched across his skin. As he traced the lines of his wounds, a faint, almost wistful smile crept onto his lips. He couldn't help but feel a strange admiration for the young noblewoman who had bested him in a skirmish. It was not often that he encountered someone who could challenge him so effectively, especially someone whom society deemed delicate and frail. As he closed his eyes, memories of their fateful encounter flooded back—a confrontation that had sparked something unexpected within him, a mix of frustration and intrigue that he had never anticipated.

SSSSSS

The air was thick with tension as the final moments of the raid on Orbonne Monastery unfolded. In a matter of minutes, the Knights Templar had descended upon the once-holy sanctuary, leaving a path of destruction in their wake. The place was turned upside down, its sacred halls ravaged in a frenzied search for the elusive Germonik Scriptures. Those who dared to stand in their way met a swift and brutal end, their lives snuffed out without a second thought. Among the chaos, Izlude stood resolute, his mind racing as he contemplated Simon Pen Rakshu, a man he believed held the key to locating the ancient relic. Just as he prepared to apprehend Simon for questioning, fate dealt him a cruel hand—one of his own knights had mistakenly slain the head priest, further complicating an already dire situation.

With the scriptures still missing and Wiegraf urging him to flee, the urgency heightened as Ramza emerged from the depths of the monastery. The tension was palpable; confrontation was imminent. As Izlude gathered his knights to retreat, he unexpectedly collided with a striking young woman. She was elegantly dressed, with golden blonde hair cascading down her back, tied neatly with a vibrant red silk ribbon. Her delicate features were framed by a pair of captivating sapphire-blue eyes that sparkled even amidst the carnage surrounding them. For a fleeting moment, Izlude was struck by her beauty, an overwhelming sensation that would have been romantic under different circumstances. But duty called, and he needed to take her back to Riovanes Castle for questioning—she might possess vital information about the whereabouts of the scriptures.

As he approached her, Izlude sheathed his sword, attempting to project calmness despite the violent atmosphere.

"Come with me," he said, his voice steady. "I have some questions to ask you. If you come quietly, I promise I won't hurt you."

"Like hell you won't!" the girl retorted fiercely, her voice laced with defiance. "Why should I trust you? You might use me as leverage against my brother and then dispose of me when I'm no longer useful!"

Izlude was taken aback by her boldness and courage; she was unlike any other young woman he had encountered. Realizing that persuasion would not work, he prepared to take her by force. With a swift motion, he lunged forward, intending to hoist her over his shoulder. However, he was utterly unprepared for her fierce reaction.

Instead of merely resisting, she fought back with remarkable tenacity. Her fist connected sharply with his face, stunning him long enough for her to break free and land another blow.

"Let go of me!" she screamed, her voice filled with rage. "I won't go anywhere with you!" Izlude quickly seized her again, but she was fueled by a determination he hadn't anticipated.

"Miss, please calm down!" he implored, desperation creeping into his voice. "I swear I won't hurt you! Just come quietly!" Yet, he knew it was futile—the fire in her eyes told him she would not surrender without a fierce struggle. With a determined glare, he realized he had no choice but to escalate the confrontation. "Fine, Miss. If you want to do this the hard way, so be it!"

He lunged at her once more, but she fought back with a ferocity that took him by surprise. Despite her seemingly fragile appearance, she was a whirlwind of energy, punching and scratching at him with nails that drew blood from his face and neck. Her bites were sharp, and her hair-pulling left him feeling vulnerable. This girl, delicate in stature, was as fierce as a wild mare, resisting with a strength that belied her gentle looks.

Though she was unarmed, her instincts and sheer will proved to be formidable weapons. As his fellow knights remained occupied with the aftermath of the raid, Izlude found himself grappling with her alone. After a brutal struggle, marked by numerous scratches and painful bruises, he finally managed to subdue her, though not without significant effort. Exhausted and battered, he finally succeeded in knocking her unconscious.

With a weary sigh, he left the chaos of Orbonne Monastery behind, allowing Wiegraf to handle the remaining turmoil. Upon returning to Riovanes Castle, he entrusted the girl to the care of his knights, knowing she would be safe under their watch. But as he retired to his room to tend to his wounds, he couldn't shake the image of her fierce spirit from his mind. Little did he know, this encounter would haunt him long after the dust of the raid settled.

SSSSSS

Izlude winced as he pressed a damp cloth soaked in healing potion against one of the cuts on his face, the stinging sensation reminding him of the chaotic encounter he had just experienced. While none of his injuries were life-threatening, the deep gash on his cheek worried him; it had the potential to leave a permanent mark. Additionally, his scalp throbbed from where his hair had been yanked. Despite the turmoil the girl had brought into his life, he found it impossible to harbor any true resentment toward her.

In fact, he was captivated by her audacity, her fiery spirit, and her undeniable beauty. It struck him as odd that he had formed such an interest in her so quickly, especially since they had only met hours earlier. Yet, he resolved to seek her out again once he finished tending to his wounds.

Later that evening, as dusk enveloped Riovanes Castle, Izlude made his way down into the dungeons, determined to check on the young girl he had taken from Orbonne Monastery. The air grew cooler and heavier as he descended the stone steps, and a flickering torch cast wavering shadows on the damp walls. Upon reaching the cell where she was held, he found a solitary guardsman stationed outside, his eyes widening in shock at the sight of Izlude's battered face.

"Sir Izlude!" the guardsman exclaimed, his voice a mix of surprise and concern. "What on God's earth happened to you? Did you get into a fight with a wild animal or something?"

Izlude managed a bitter smile, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You could say that," he replied with a dry chuckle. "But enough about me. Where is the girl I brought from Orbonne?"

The guardsman hesitated, glancing nervously toward the cell. "She's inside, chained to the wall. Just a word of caution, sir: even though she's restrained, don't get too close. She's quite unpredictable. One of the guards nearly lost an ear before we managed to subdue her."

Izlude nodded, already anticipating such behavior from her. "I won't take any unnecessary risks," he assured the guardsman before stepping into the cell and shutting the door behind him.

Inside, the dim light from two flickering torches barely illuminated the space. Izlude's eyes adjusted, and he spotted the young girl he had captured, slumped against the wall with her wrists shackled. Her once pristine dress lay tattered and stained, and her hair was a wild mess, much of it escaping the confines of her ponytail. He took a moment to steady himself, ensuring he maintained a safe distance before clearing his throat to get her attention.

"Excuse me, Miss," he said softly, and she startled awake, her gaze locking onto him. Recognition flickered in her eyes, which widened in disbelief.

"You!" she gasped, her voice rising in pitch. "You're the one who brought me here! What do you want from me now? Are you here to gloat over my predicament?"

Izlude shook his head, feeling a mix of regret and frustration. "I truly didn't want to resort to force, but you left me with no other choice. It's not personal; I hope you can understand that."

The girl laughed bitterly, a sound laced with indignation. "Understand?! You kidnap me, throw me in a dungeon, and now you expect me to understand? You've got some nerve, Mister!"

Izlude felt a flash of anger at her mocking tone; he had come here with the intention of checking on her well-being, and instead, she was ridiculing his efforts. He considered leaving her to her fate, letting the guards deal with her as they wished, but he inhaled deeply, forcing himself to temper his emotions.

"Despite what you may think, I'm not here to gloat," he continued slowly, striving for calmness. "I came to see if you were all right, and perhaps to offer you something to eat and a more comfortable place to stay."

The girl regarded him with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. "And why would you do that?" she asked, her tone shifting from antagonistic to inquisitive.

"Because, in truth, you're not my prisoner; you're my guest," Izlude explained, his voice steady. "I do have questions for you, but I also want to ensure you're comfortable during your time here at Riovanes. So, what do you say? Will you accept my offer, or would you prefer to remain in this filthy dungeon?"

She studied him intently, surprised by his unexpected politeness and the seemingly genuine nature of his offer, despite the circumstances of her capture. A flicker of hope stirred within her, mingled with caution. As he stepped closer into the light, she noticed for the first time the rugged handsomeness of his dark hair and striking features, the muscular build that spoke of strength and determination.

Summoning her courage, the girl met his gaze and managed a tentative smile.

"All right," she said, her voice softer now, hinting at the possibility of understanding despite the tumultuous beginning of their acquaintance.

Izlude smiled warmly, his demeanor shifting as he regarded the young girl before him.

"I'm truly glad to hear that, Miss… I apologize, but I didn't catch your name."

"Alma," she replied, her voice soft yet clear. "Alma Beoulve."

Izlude raised an eyebrow in surprise, recognition dawning upon him.

"Alma Beoulve? As in Ramza Beoulve?" he inquired, his curiosity piqued.

"Yes, that's correct. Ramza is my older brother, along with Dycedarg and Zalbag Beoulve," she explained, a hint of pride evident in her tone.

A realization struck Izlude like a lightning bolt. He recalled their earlier conversation at the monastery when she mentioned being taken hostage to leverage her brother's whereabouts. But he had never imagined that her brother would be the infamous Ramza Beoulve, a name that resonated throughout the land.

"Well then," he said, his voice now more respectful, "I suppose I shouldn't keep a noblewoman like yourself confined in here. Please wait for a moment. I'll arrange for someone to escort you to your quarters, provide you with dinner, and procure some new attire for you. Once you're refreshed, we can have a proper conversation."

"New clothes?" Alma's brow furrowed in confusion. But as she glanced down at her tattered and soiled dress, a blush crept into her cheeks, prompting a soft giggle. "Oh, I see. Thank you, Mister…"

"Izlude Tingel, knight blade at your service," he introduced himself with a slight bow.

"Right. Thank you, Izlude," she replied, a smile breaking through her earlier apprehension.

"You're most welcome. Please, just wait here." With that, he stepped outside, his mind racing with thoughts of the situation at hand. Upon seeing a guard nearby, he approached him with a serious expression.

"Did you manage to extract any information from the prisoner, sir?" the guard inquired, a hint of eagerness in his tone.

"Not yet," Izlude replied, his voice steady.

"If she refuses to talk, we can always resort to torture," the guard suggested, a grim smile forming on his lips.

Izlude shook his head firmly. "No, that won't be necessary. I genuinely don't believe she possesses any useful information. However, if she does know something, I intend to find a more effective method to elicit her cooperation."

"Really? And what would that be?" the guard pressed, sensing an opportunity to pry.

"It's none of your concern," Izlude snapped, irritation creeping into his voice. He didn't appreciate the guard's inquisitiveness. "I'm sending a maid to escort her to her room and provide her with dinner. As long as she remains here, she is my guest and will be treated accordingly. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," the guard replied, deflating slightly.

After giving the order, Izlude soon dispatched a young maid to lead Alma to her chambers and serve her dinner. When the maid arrived, Alma's eyes widened in wonder at the sight of her room. It was a lavish space adorned with elegant decor: a large bed draped in soft satin sheets that matched the delicate curtains at the window, finely crafted wooden tables, and well-crafted drawers that hinted at luxury. The bathroom boasted running water, which left her in awe; even back at Igros Castle, she had to draw water from a well for a bath.

On one of the tables lay a plate of delicious food alongside a glass of fine wine, and on her bed, a new dress awaited her. The maid, ever courteous, filled the tub with hot water for Alma's bath. Before exiting, she advised the young noblewoman to enjoy her dinner while waiting for the water to cool down. With a graceful bow, the maid departed, leaving Alma alone with her thoughts.

As the rich aroma of the meal wafted through the air, Alma realized just how famished she was. She hadn't eaten since being taken from Orbonne, and the raid had occurred just before the monastery's inhabitants were due for lunch.

As she savored her dinner of roasted pheasant, freshly baked bread, and seasonal vegetables, accompanied by sips of wine, her mind began to wander. She couldn't help but ponder why the enigmatic knight blade who had captured her was treating her with such unexpected kindness. Then, a chilling thought struck her—a realization that made her stomach twist with anxiety. The Knights Templar had raided the monastery in search of the Germonik Scriptures. When they failed to find them, Izlude had abducted her, believing she possessed information about their location.

The thought of escape crossed her mind, but reality quickly dashed those hopes. The castle was heavily guarded, with watchful eyes around every corner. Climbing out of the windows was not an option; her room was situated on the highest floor, far above the ground. All she could do was eat, bathe, and prepare herself for whatever awaited her.

Once she finished her meal, Alma discreetly hid the holy stone that Ramza had given her beneath the bed before removing her tattered dress and stepping into the tub. As she sank into the warm water, a sigh of relief escaped her lips. After such a tumultuous day, the sensation of warmth enveloping her bare skin felt heavenly. She took her time, lathering herself with soap to cleanse away the grime from her struggles with Izlude and her brief imprisonment in the dungeon.

As she leaned back, allowing herself to relax, her thoughts drifted back to the dark-haired knight. He had mentioned wanting to ask her questions, likely related to the scriptures. But why had he gone to such lengths to provide her with comfort—an inviting room, fresh clothing, and food? It didn't align with the typical treatment of prisoners, especially when he could have easily chosen a path of cruelty and intimidation to obtain what he sought. No, there had to be more to his motives than mere inquiry. She suspected that his hospitality stemmed from a reason only he knew.

With no choice but to remain in the castle until she answered his questions, Alma composed herself after dressing and sat on the edge of her bed, running a brush through her damp hair while she awaited Izlude's return. Her anticipation didn't last long; soon enough, a gentle knock echoed against the door.

"Come in!" Alma called out, her heart racing. The door swung open, revealing Izlude as he stepped into the room, dressed in a simple white shirt and brown leather pants. Most of his wounds had healed, save for a faint scar on his right cheek—a reminder of their earlier encounter. He bowed courteously, a pleasant smile gracing his face as he greeted her.

"Good evening, Miss Beoulve."

Alma, however, felt no inclination for formalities. "You can spare me the pleasantries," she snapped, her defiance bubbling beneath the surface. "I know why you've brought me here, and I understand what you want. If you're seeking the Germonik Scriptures, you should know that I don't have them."

"I know you don't possess them," Izlude replied smoothly, his voice calm and collected. "But you must have some idea of who does and where I can find them."

Alma glared at him defiantly, her resolve hardening. She truly had no knowledge of the ancient tome's whereabouts. But she suspected that if anyone had found it by now, it would be Ramza. There was no way she would betray him to this bastard, no matter how charming he appeared.

"You've wasted your time then," she retorted, crossing her arms tightly. "I don't have the slightest clue who holds them either." She attempted to mimic his cool composure, but they both knew she was not entirely truthful. Izlude could see through her façade; the way she averted her gaze gave her away. Her naiveté amused him. Did she truly believe her life wasn't precariously balanced in his hands?

Though it was not his usual approach, Izlude decided to entertain her defiance for the moment, intrigued by the young Beoulve girl and the secrets she might hold.

"Are you absolutely certain about that?" he inquired, his brow furrowed with concern. "I recognize that your upbringing has been rather sheltered, but the Beoulve family are known for their education and insight. As naïve as you might come across, I find it hard to believe that you are entirely oblivious."

"And what exactly do you imply by that, sir?" Alma replied, her voice steady, though her heart raced.

"I believe you have some inkling of who possesses the scriptures, even if you're not entirely sure. Honestly, even I can deduce it. It's most likely your brother, Ramza, isn't it? After all, my men and I made exhaustive efforts to locate them before we departed. If they were indeed at the monastery, Wiegref would have uncovered them by now, and yet I have heard nothing from him."

Izlude noted the way Alma's façade of confidence began to crack, a small but significant victory in their exchange. Yet instead of responding directly to his assertion, she countered with her own question.

"If you already think you know who has the scriptures, then why bother interrogating me? I genuinely don't know for certain, and you could very well be mistaken. Have you considered the possibility that the scriptures might have been accidentally destroyed during the raid? Your men acted with considerable recklessness. If that were the case, then keeping me here would be utterly pointless."

As much as he loathed to concede, Izlude recognized the merit in Alma's reasoning; her response reinforced his suspicion that her conjecture was just as valid as his own. However, that did not diminish the potential value of holding her captive. If he was right about the scriptures being in Ramza's hands, then Alma could still serve as a valuable hostage. Beyond that, he found himself drawn to her; there was a certain allure about the girl that made him prefer her company, keeping her closer to his quarters where he could keep watch over her.

"You may have a point," Izlude replied, his tone contemplative. "But I would advise you to keep your thoughts to yourself. My superiors are not as generous as I am. If they conclude that you hold no value, they might very well choose to dispose of you. For your sake, I sincerely hope your brother has the scriptures."

A shiver ran down Alma's spine as she processed the weight of his words. "I understand… so what is your plan? Will you keep me here until you find out the truth?"

"That is indeed my intention. And if I may offer my unsolicited opinion, I find you far too enchanting to simply discard." As he spoke, his expression softened, catching Alma off guard. While she had received compliments on her beauty before, hearing an enemy acknowledge it while treating her with a modicum of respect was an unexpected turn of events.

"Th… thank you… you're not so bad-looking yourself," she stammered, immediately regretting her words. Of all the things she could have said! Despite her education and grace, as Izlude had noted, she still had a lot to learn about interacting with men. "I apologize," she quickly added, "I didn't mean it like that. It's just been an exhausting day for me, and I don't often converse with men asides from my brothers, priests, or monks."

Izlude couldn't suppress a smile. The Beoulve girl might be obstinate, but at least she was genuine—a trait he found appealing.

"It's perfectly alright," he said, turning toward the door. Just before he exited, he glanced back at Alma. "I must take my leave now, my lady, as the hour grows late. I shall see you again tomorrow. You may be here for some time, so try to think of Riovanes as your second home. While I have some responsibilities to attend to, my servants will be at your disposal for any needs you might have. However, do not even entertain the notion of attempting to escape. You are safe in my custody, but should you venture beyond the walls of Riovanes, I cannot guarantee your protection."

Alma executed a curtsy, a gesture she hadn't performed in quite some time. "I understand, Sir Izlude. Good night, and thank you for your hospitality."

"You're most welcome. Sleep well, my lady."