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Chapter 15: Brothers

...of course, we cannot be sure what the Hokuten and Limberry forces might have done once they'd completed their campaign in southern Gallione, but the actions of Gregory Levigne removed any chance at a peaceful resolution. Dycedarg Beoulve had been attacked: neither his childhood friend, Prince Larg, nor his brother, Knight-Commander Zalbaag, would allow the act to go unpunished. So the Hokuten and Limberry forces blockaded the Lenalian Plateau and pushed north, to eradicate the Death Corps once and for all.

-Alazlam Durai, "Shadows of the Lion War"

Was this Ramza's fault?

He knew, on some level, that it couldn't possibly be. The band of soldiers who had attacked the Manor had not come out of southern Gallione. The band of soldiers who had taken Teta had nothing to do with the men and women Ramza had captured and set free. The men and women who had hurt Dycedarg and Alma had nothing in common with the ones he'd been unable to hurt, save for the fact that they paid allegiance to the same cause. Save for the fact that, while he had refused to hurt them, they had hurt his family and taken Teta.

The thoughts chased each other round and round through Ramza's bed as he sat on a stool in Dycedarg's bedroom. Not his fault. Not his fault.

"I'm fine," huffed Dycedarg, his arms crossed in front of his bare bandaged chest.

"You are not fine!" Zalbaag growled, looming over him. "You had your chest sliced open."

"It was a shallow cut," Dycedarg said, waving one had dismissively.

"It was a deep wound," Zalbaag said. "If Alma hadn't been there..." He rested a hand on Alma's shoulder. She was hunched over Dycedarg's bed, clutching at his hand. Her face was still bruised and scraped. Ramza didn't like to see her that way. He didn't like to imagine the violence that had been done to her.

And if he didn't like that, how must Delita be feeling at this moment?

"I didn't do anything," Alma whispered. "I couldn't...I didn't...Teta...!"

"Not your fault," Delita said, his voice stilted, as though each word had been pronounced separately by someone who didn't understand the meaning. He was staring straight ahead, past Dycedarg, past Alma, past Zalbaag. He was staring out to the glow of dusk through the window, as though he could see Teta somewhere out there. And Ramza felt another shock of guilt. Was this what his attempts at justice brought him? Is this what came of trying to keep his hands clean?

"They fled for the Lenalian Plateau," Zalbaag said.

"You didn't pursue, did you?" Dycedarg asked.

"I'm not risking our soldiers on a wild goose chase," Zalbaag grunted. "The Limberry forces have it cordoned off. No one's getting out that way."

"And the mountains?" Dycedarg asked.

"Nothing can get through," Zalbaag said.

"I haven't heard that before," Dycedarg replied, smiling sardonically.

"I've pulled two-thirds of the Hokuten north," Zalbaag said. "When we're done, there won't be anything left of the Death Corps."

"Where did they come from?" Delita asked, staring out the window, not looking at any of them.

"We don't-" Zalbaag began, but Dycedarg held up a forestalling hand.

"We can't say for sure," Dycedarg said. "But my best guess is that the Corps raids out of the Lenalian mountains were one giant diversion. They were veiling elite units, designed to make the war in the south as costly as possible. I suppose that includes killing me."

"They'll pay," Zalbaag whispered.

"They will," Dycedarg agreed. He squeezed Alma's hand, but he reached out with his other and grabbed Delita's shoulder. "Delita," he said. "Look at me."

Delita's dark eyes drifted away from the window. His dark eyes were wide, and clear, and almost seemed empty, like there was no thinking person behind them.

"Del," Dycedarg said. "How long have I known you? How long have I known Teta?" He squeezed his shoulder. "Do you imagine I will leave her in the clutches of these bastards?"

Delita nodded, stood up, and walked out of the room without another word. Ramza hesitated, but could not quite bring himself to follow. Not while his brother was laid up with a wounded chest.

"I'm sorry," Ramza said. "I should have been here."

"What could you have done that we didn't?" Dycedarg asked.

Ramza shook his head, remembering Miluda, remembering all the men and women he hadn't killed. Could he say for certain that he was not responsible? Could he really be sure?

"You did well, Ramza," Zalbaag said. "Every report says so. This isn't your fault."

"What do we do now?" Ramza asked.

"Nothing," Dycedarg said. "We have the Corps penned in the north. There's nowhere for them to run. Do your duty. Keep Argus safe. We'll handle the rest."

"And Teta?" Alma asked.

"I'm leading our forces," Zalbaag said. "I'll find them. I'll find her."

Ramza nodded, then rose from his seat. "Dyce, I'm sorry," he said, jerking his head out into the hallway.

"No, you're right," Dycedarg said. "See to him. Zalbaag and I must discuss the coming operation." He squeezed Alma's hand and gently lifted her from her seat. "Alma," he said. "Thank you."

Alma nodded, but didn't say anything. She left the room with Ramza, who wrapped a protective arm around his sister's shoulders.

"Teta," Alma whispered. "They took...and I couldn't...!"

"It's not your fault," Ramza said. It was Ramza's, if it was anyone's. They had attacked his brother. They had taken Teta. He had done his best to seek justice, and they had repaid him by tearing his world apart. Was this God's will? Was this part of some divine plan? Everything felt very fragile, very precarious. Ramza felt brittle, like he might break at any moment.

"I should have been a soldier," Alma said.

Ramza shook his head. "I am one," he said. "Who have I saved?"

They wandered together through the desolate halls of the Manor. The smell of blood and smoke was thick everywhere they turned—reminders of the battle that had been fought here. The sun had nearly set by the time they found Delita in the shadow-laden stables, loading heavy saddlebags upon his chocobo's sides.

"Delita," Ramza said, stepping away from Alma.

"Get away from me, Ramza," Delita said.

"What are you doing?"

"Going after her."

"What's the point-" Ramza started, and Delita was upon him, faster than Ramza would have believed possible, shoving him back against a stable door. The birds around them crooned and cried and stirred restlessly, rustling their feathers and flapping their short wings.

"What's the point?" whispered Delita, his eyes wide with fury. "What's the point?"

"Delita!" Alma cried.

"In getting yourself killed!" Ramza shouted, not fighting against Delita's grasp. "We have no idea where they've taken her!"

"Would that stop you if it was her?" Delita demanded, jerking his head towards Alma.

"Of course not," said a deep, cold voice. "She's a Beoulve. What's your sister again?"

Delita dropped Ramza unceremoniously to the ground and turned to face Argus, leaning against the entrance to the dusty stables.

"Look at you," Argus said. "I think this is what it looks like when a mad dog forgets its place."

"What did you say?" Delita whispered.

"You heard me."

Delita stalked closer to Argus. Argus seemed unafraid.

"She's my sister," Delita said.

"And you're a dog who needs to be put down," Argus said.

Delita struck Argus across the face with sudden force, and the chocobos exploded in frightened squawking cries. Argus collapsed against the wall, clutching at his face.

"Delita!" Ramza shouted, but Delita was already moving, stepping over Argus and out of the stables. Ramza moved to follow, and Argus grabbed him by the wrist.

"Where do you think you're going?" Argus asked.

"After him."

"After what he did to you?" Argus asked. "He's just another commoner whose forgotten his place."

There was an awful hate in Argu's voice, and when Ramza looked down he found the other man's eyes were blazing.

"She's my friend," Alma whispered. "She's my friend, and she tried to save me, and-"

"As she should," Argus said. "Her place is to serve."

"You're a monster," Alma said, and rushed past Ramza, out of the stables. Ramza tried to follow her, but Argus still had a firm grip on his wrist.

"Let me go," Ramza said.

"Why?" Argus asked.

"He's my friend."

Argus shook his head. "He's your servant."

"He's my brother!" Ramza shouted.

"NO!" cried Argus, and twisted, so that Ramza lost his balance and slammed chest-first into the ground. Ramza scrambled to his feet as Argus did the same, so Argus was blocking his path, glaring into his face.

"No," repeated Argus. "Your brother sits in bed with a wound in his chest, while your so-called friend barks and growls. Look at him, Ramza. Look familiar? Like Wiegraf, eh?"

"Wiegraf-" Ramza started.

"How many men are dead, because he forgot his place?" Argus asked. "His friend killed all the Marquis' men, Ramza. Killed those commoners, too. Filled their heads with heresy and then punished them for drinking from his well. How long before your so-called friend wets his blade with your blood."

"He would never," Ramza said.

"He would," Argus said. "These dogs forget their place. They think themselves the equals of their masters. Look at the chaos that comes from their perversion of the natural order! They have to be put down."

"They weren't treated fairly," Ramza said.

"Fair!" scoffed Argus. "We were born to power, Ramza, so power is ours! All your pretending and all their barking won't make it otherwise! Now we must put down good dogs or fear for our own throats! Would you give these curs the reins of power? After what they did to your brother? What they did to my-"

He broke off, shaking his head. "You're a Beoulve, Ramza," he said. "Act like it. I can't keep fixing your mistakes."

Ramza stared at the other man. He had a vague foreboding pressure against his sinuses, as though he were standing in the open while the stormclouds crackled overhead. "What do you mean?" Ramza asked.

Argus gave Ramza a withering look. "Do you really think I gave that whore a safe route?"

That whore? Who was he talking about? Did he...did he mean Miluda?

Ramza's eyes widened. That moment of precarious hard-won trust, convincing her that they didn't have to be foes just because of their different births. What had Argus done? What had Ramza done?

"Argus-"

"I received the reports just before we returned," Argus said. "She met with our reserves. A small group escaped, but the rest are dead."

There was a moment of disjointed motion, as a drunken fuzz passed through Ramza's head and made everything feel distant and hazy. Argus was suddenly a lot closer, so close Ramza could see the blond bristles of a nascent beard upon his jaw. It took Ramza a moment to realize he had hauled Argus closer to him, grabbing him by the shirt.

"What did you do?" Ramza asked.

"What you were too weak to do," Argus said.

"Alma's right," Ramza said. "You're a monster."

"And you're a fool," Argus said. "You've seen what happens when you let these people go, Ramza. They spread their poison."

Ramza shoved Argus to the ground. Argus did not try to rise, but stared up at Ramza with something like pity in his eyes.

"You intend to go after the girl?" Argus asked. Ramza could barely heard the words: that drunken haze blunted every feeling save his rage. It was all he could do not to grab for the sword he still wore on his belt and cut him apart where he lay sprawled out upon the floor.

"Her name is Teta," Ramza said. "You drank with her."

"Be reasonable, Ramza," Argus said. "Your brothers will not hold back the Hokuten for the sake of one common girl."

"They're not like you," Ramza said.

"No," Argus agreed. "They're stronger still."

Ramza shook his head. His brothers were Beoulves, devoted to the cause of Service and Justice. They would not sacrifice Teta for the cause of vengeance. They wouldn't.

Would they?

"You have to become a Beoulve some day, Ramza," Argus said.

"I am a Beoulve," Ramza whispered.

"You're a child playing the part," Argus said. "Grow up."

"And you..." Ramza shook his head. "I don't have a word vile enough for you, Thadolfas."

Argus' eyes blazed with sudden fury. He rose to his feet, and the two men faced off, burning with rage. Ramza's fingers curled around the hilt of his sword.

"The heart of the Corps is Fort Zeakden, on the Rhana Strait," Argus said, through gritted teeth. "Your brother's heading north through the passes, and the Corps will fight them for every inch. If you take the road east to Fovoham through the Lenalian Plateau, you might beat the Hokuten there. I'll tell the Limberry forces to let you pass.

Argus turned to leave. It took a moment for what he'd said to penetrate the murderous fog in Ramza's head. "What?" Ramza breathed.

"You heard me," Argus said.

"Why?" Ramza asked.

"I pay my debts."

Argus was gone. Ramza was alone in the stables, with the gentle crooning and rustling of the birds all around him. Alone, with the world cracking around him. Because Miluda and her men had been slaughtered though he'd tried his best to save him, betrayed by a man Ramza had thought of as a friend. Alone, because his friend's sister had been taken by the same people Ramza had tried to save. Alone, because his every attempt to live up to his name had failed. There was nothing of justice here. He was a pretender, exactly as weak and insufficient as he had always imagined.

How could he have been fool enough to try to change the world? How could he have believed himself worthy of the name Beoulve?

He stumbled out of the stables, devoid of rage, devoid of hope, devoid of purpose.

Outside was the orange blaze of the setting sun, staining everything with fire. Delita was hunched over in the grass, sobbing: Alma stroked his hair, crying in turn, tears dripping down her bruised face. Hurt. Ramza didn't feel hurt. Ramza didn't feel anything.

He crossed to them, walking across one of the aqueducts that bubbled and burbled through the Estate. He sank into the grass beside them, and said nothing, because he didn't know what to say.

Until he heard a high, thin note.

He looked over, and found Alma with a blade of grass in her mouth, blowing as hard as she could. The high sound spread across the grounds, and Alma blew until she was red in the face, tears glistening on her eyelashes and on her cheeks. She ran out of breath and dropped the blade of grass from her lips, panting.

Delita sniffled, and pulled up his own blade of grass. He blew his deeper note, and Alma snapped her own blade back to her mouth. Her high note sounded much clearer and cleaner than Ramza's, sweet and musical, and Ramza remembered the day when Zalbaag had taught them all to play, as Dycedarg and Zalbaag laughed at the four of them fumbling clumsily with their blades of grass. His brothers and his sisters and his father.

He picked up his own blade of grass, and blew, and wished Teta was there with them.

"What are you doing!" shouted Beowulf's brash voice.

Ramza turned, and found Beowulf striding towards them, leading Violet by the reins. He was not alone: Reis walked at his side, in a loose martial outfit with long sleeves and trouser legs.

"We have to hurry!" Beowulf said. "They've already got a lead!"

Delita rose to his feet. "Beowulf-" he started.

"I figure I need a third desertion charge," Beowulf said. "Complete the set."

"And obviously I can't let him go by himself," Reis said. "He's helpless without me."

"The Templars are just letting you go?" Alma asked.

"I explained the situation to Bishop Bremondt," Reis said. "He's a good man."

"I can't ask you-" Delita said.

"You don't have to," Beowulf said. "We've got to rescue a damsel from distress. This is hero's work. I'll let you come along anyways."

Delita grabbed Beowulf around the neck and hugged him tight. Beowulf clapped him on the back, looking uncomfortable. Delita released him and turned around, his face still wet with tears.

"You're right," Delita said. "I don't-"

"Fort Zeakden," Ramza said. "If go by way of the Fovoham Plains, we might beat the Hokuten there."

Delita's eyes widened. "How-"

"Does it matter?" Ramza asked.

Delita hesitated, then shook his head. "No," he said. "But you don't have to-"

"She's my sister," Ramza said. "And you're my brother."

Delita closed his eyes and nodded. "Thank you," he whispered.

He moved back to the stables. Ramza turned to his sister. "Alma-" he began.

"Find her," Alma said. "Bring her back."

"I will," Ramza said.

He was no Beoulve. He had no justice, no resolve, no achievements to his name and no divine will to guide him. But his brother needed him. His sister needed him. And he would not stand idly by.

He headed to the stables.