(Month-long break after this chapter)

The Tale of Beowulf: A Wanted Man

He sat with his back to the wall, sipping at his beer and looking at no one. But he could see the door to the bar from the corner of his eye, and he was aware every time someone came and went, and every time curious eyes turned towards him. His hood was pulled tight, to hide his hair and obscure his face...but that didn't guarantee him safety. Nothing would, now that he was an enemy of the Church.

It was nearly two years since he'd last walked the muddy streets of Dorter, searching for the Death Corps and a missing Marquis. It was nearly two months since he'd awoken, bruised and aching, in a forest south of Goland, nestled in the roots of a great tree. The canopy of branches had been broken above him: of Reis, there was no other sign.

"Can I get you another drink?"

Beowulf looked up, and reached for the sword at his side at once. The woman was too well-kempt to be a barmaid: her blonde hair was too clean, and her blue eyes were sharp and bright as ice gleaming in sunlight. Those eyes were dangerous.

But as his hand closed on the hilt of his sword, another hand closed on his. "Is that you, Ramza?" asked Delita, clapping him on the back even as he pinned his swordhand to his side. "Fancy meeting you here!" He gestured towards the woman. "Val, this is the friend I was telling you about?"

"Lovely to meet you," the blonde woman said, sliding into the seat in front of him. She had brought a tray of beers with her, and slid one to Beowulf and Delita, taking the last for herself.

Beowulf allowed himself to be pulled into a hug. "Ramza?" he muttered into Delita's ear.

"You've got a pretty distinct name, Wulfie," Delita muttered back, then pulled away and clapped him on the shoulder. "Good to see you! Heard had you trouble on the mining job?"

Beowulf glowered at Delita. All this subterfuge and sneaking around...he hated it. But when he'd stumbled into Goland to ask the local Templars for help, they had tried to arrest him. Wanted for attacking the Archbishop...and for killing Reis Duelar.

He had barely escaped with his life, dazed and battered as he was. He had staggered across the wilderness, half-feral with fear and fury. Bremondt had betrayed them both, and now lied about his betrayal: he accused Beowulf of murdering the woman he loved. Beowulf had fled, hiding in caves and small towns, making a little spare coin taking guard jobs under a fake name, until he'd come to Dorter, looking for Delita.

"You could say that," Beowulf managed, before rage choked off any other words.

"In that case, you're probably hurting for gil." Delita clapped Beowulf on the shoulder, took a swig from his own drink, and guided him to his feet. He led him from the bar and out into Dorter's muddy, crowded streets, until they found a tent stretched between two leaning hovels buried in a back alley. Inside was a single splintering chair, a grungy pile of hay, and a crooked table with a tight-packed bag sitting on top of it.

"Sorry it took so long to find you," Delita grunted. "Couldn't let the Church know we were looking to help you. The Archbishop's out for blood."

"So am I," Beowulf growled.

"What happened?"

As best he could, Beowulf told them. Delita's face contorted into a frown, and stayed that way throughout his tale.

"Well," Delita said, after Beowulf had finished. "At least that explains the reports of the Dragon..."

Beowulf was on his feet in an instant. "She's been spotted?"

Delita gestured for him to sit down. "Scattered rumors, not much else. A farmer sees what he thinks is a behemoth eating his sheep, before the behemoth takes to the sky...a merchant ship headed for Mullonde spots some great beast soaring on the horizon...since dragons are extinct, we didn't know what to make of it."

"Not Lucavi, at any rate," Val said, with a sardonic smile.

Delita made a short sound that wasn't quite a laugh. His fingers drummed at the edge of the well-worn table. "But why would he try and...brainwash her?" Delita muttered. "She was already loyal to him."

"Loyalty is a choice," Val replied, and her smile was gone, her ice-eyes bright and sharp. "Loyalty can be lost. The Church wants absolute obedience."

Delita grimaced. "Yes...I suppose I know better than to trust in a man's reputation, however sterling it may be." He looked up at Beowulf. "You're lucky I'm still here. I'm headed for Lesalia tomorrow."

Beowulf stared at him, then sagged back into the chair. "I didn't have anywhere else to go."

Delita patted his friend on the shoulder. "They've already checked your father's place, and they're not accusing him of heresy. They're trying to keep your defection quiet for now. I don't think they want to draw too much attention to themselves before the war begins."

Beowulf looked up. "It's starting soon?"

Delita nodded grimly. "One way or another. Even if we didn't do anything, Larg's not likely to stay idle for long. S'why I'm headed to Lesalia: need to be ready."

Beowulf didn't know what to say. He had found real purpose as a Templar, laboring in Bremondt's service, nursing his secret dreams of becoming a modern legend as one of the new Braves. Now he was a wanted heretic, and the woman he loved was twisted into a beast and God knew where. The same black void that had opened inside him at Fovoham was yawing once more: he might fall forever, if he stopped moving.

"Hey." It was Val's voice, soft but sure. Beowulf looked up to find those ice eyes a little less sharp. "If magic turned her, it can turn her back. She might even help you do it. She saved you, didn't she?"

Beowulf nodded: hazy as his last memories inside the mine were, he knew that much. She had saved him, as he had saved her. But even if she could be turned back, how was he supposed to do it? If he was wanted as a heretic and a murderer, there would be almost no place he could safely travel in all of Ivalice.

Though he'd said nothing, Val and Delita exchanged glances. Val nodded, and Delita looked back at Beowulf. "Wulfie," he said softly.

"Wulfie?" Val repeated, chuckling.

Delita gave her a withering look, then continued, "I think we can help one another."

Beowulf looked up. "You're willing to turn against the Church for me?"

Delita hesitated, gave Val another glance. Val chuckled again, and continued, "He's already turned against the Church. We both have."

Beowulf stared at them. "What?"

"I told you before that I intended to build a better world," Delita said. "But I do not believe the Church is capable of building that world." He shook his head. "Val's right about Bremondt. They're all...like that. They hide it behind prettier words than even Dycedarg did, but they want power more than they want to bring heaven to earth."

"But you're helping them?" Beowulf asked.

"They intend to stir violence all across Ivalice," Delita said. "They do it with more purpose, more focus, than either Larg or Goltanna...but their ends are ultimately the same. When the bloodshed ends, they hope to be strong enough to claim Ivalice for themselves."

"But what if the war puts an end to all of them?" Val asked.

Beowulf looked back at her. Her icy eyes were burning like a winter sun. "What if there's no one left with an army to lead? What if no one is left with a real claim to the throne?"

Beowulf studied her for a moment. "What?" he asked.

Val smiled. "Something we've never seen before. A government of the people, by the people, for the people."

"Democracy," Delita scoffed.

"You're working with me, aren't you?" Val demanded.

Delita shrugged. "You're offering the least bad option, like getting stabbed in the shoulder rather than the chest. But I'd still rather not get stabbed."

"Wiegraf led a revolt for this!" Val exclaimed.

"Wiegraf led a revolt for backpay," Delita grunted.

"Is Wiegraf...in on this?" Beowulf asked.

Delita waved his hand noncommittally. "He doesn't trust the Church anymore than we do-"

"He trusts the Church a lot more than I do," Val grumbled.

"We can't all be secret heretics with secret schemes," Delita replied, and looked back at Beowulf. "Of course, an open heretic is a different story..."

Beowulf leaned forwards. "You have a plan."

"You keep looking for Reis outside the Church," Delita said. "I'll keep looking for her inside. I can let you know if they find her...or if they're close to finding you."

Beowulf studied his old friend for a moment. "But that's not all you're asking of me, is it?"

Delita locked eyes with Beowulf, and ran his hand over the old burn on his cheek. "No, it isn't." He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "But I am...I am only asking." He opened his eyes again. "I know we share a purpose. I know we share beliefs. I know you want to set Ivalice to rights, just like we do. And you've suffered at the hands of the same enemies we hope to destroy. But this is Reis we're talking about. If you'd rather go your own way, I'll still help you, as much as I can." He paused, and his gaze steadied. "But I can help you more, if you'll help us, too."

"Help you how?" Beowulf asked.

"We oppose the Church," Delita said. "But there are limits to how much we can oppose them, without revealing our true motives. That's not true of people like you. They already think you're a heretic and a murderer. Why not prove it?"

"We can point you to people abusing their power," Val continued. "Hurting people like they hurt you and Reis."

"You're asking me to fight the Church?" Beowulf asked.

"You're going to fight the Church either way, unless you want to be executed," Val said. "We're asking you to help us hurt the Church."

Beowulf looked away from the two of them, down at his hands. He was weary to the bone: he had stumbled through dark alleys, marched across rocky hills and thick woods, trudged through muddy banks and waded through ice-cold creeks and rivers. He had seen no sign of the woman he loved, turned to a dragon by magic unknown. He had gone to seek the aid of his fellow Templar, and only barely escaped with his life. The glorious life of purpose promised in their ranks seemed as far behind him now as his glorious story fighting the Death Corps.

But the only other option was to lay down and die. Beowulf's story would not have such an ignoble end. He would not be Bremondt's victim.

And besides. He had to save Reis.

"What do you need me to do?" Beowulf asked.