(Starting Part 6. Some heavy personal stuff going on, so publishing may be a bit sporadic. I'll try and stick to a once-every-two-weeks schedule)

Part 6: Honorbound

Chapter 131: To End A War

Saint Above, but getting old was a miserable experience.

There had been a time, not so long ago (don't lie to yourself, Cid: it was a long time ago, decades ago, when you were young and strong) when Cid could have ridden a chocobo across the length and breadth of Ivalice, and still been ready to fight (he wasn't exaggerating: he and Balbanes had once led Hokuten reinforcements on a week's ride from Igros to Zeltennia, and plunged atop trail-weary chocobos straight into the rear of the Ordallian forces, routing them in a night's hard fighting). Now, he felt himself saddlesore from the short ride from Bethla Garrison down the Pass, where the Hokuten had a spacious tent waiting for him.

He adjusted himself irritably upon his chocobo (a reliable Nanten bird named Lina: it was a long time since Cid had kept a bird of his own, but Lina had served him faithfully on his latest errands), and cast a glance to either side of him. The sheer cliffs of the Bethla Pass would allow no one easy passage up their rocky brown sides, and regular Nanten patrols made sure even those bold enough to make the attempt were discovered, driven off, or annihilated. Olan assured him that the Hokuten were attempting no such trickery...but Cid had not survived this long without his own cautious streak.

But no one moved beneath the blue summer skies. The wind whispered its way down the canyon, stirring little eddies of hissing dust as it went. Cid's brown cloak rustled in the breeze: it cooled the sweat beneath his silvered hair, and eased the heat beneath his trim beard.

The white tent in the distance grew steadily closer. Two flags flew above it—a white flag of truce, beneath the banner of the Twin Lions that marked the Ivalician throne. The white Lion faced the west, while the black lion faced the east. A chocobo was tied on a post outside: Cid slid off Lina, and deftly tied her beside the other chocobo. He checked the straps on his armor: he adjusted Excaligard, sheathed at his side. But before he entered the tent, he took a moment to look up at the flag with its twin lions.

He had fought for that flag, and the kingdom it represented, all his life. He had fought to save Ivalice, from foreign invaders and domestic tyrants. Now Ivalice was killing itself. Maybe they could stop it. If only...

He took a deep breath entered the tent.

Zalbaag Beoulve was sitting inside. A plain table was set on the canvas floor, with a single woven chair on either side. The left side of the table held a pitcher of water: the right, a bottle of wine. The center was dominated by parchment and two inkwells. Sitting in the chair on the other side of the table was Zalbaag Beoulve, with a Gospel in his hands. Like Cid, he was in his armor—black to Cid's grey—and like Cid, he had his sword, though his leaned against his chair. Cid took in both the man and the sword—his hair was as blonde as his fathers had once been, and his beard held echoes of Cid's own. In some ways, Cid was more glad to see the sword. It was so long since he'd seen Justice hanging from Balbanes' back.

"Knight-Commander," Cid said, and inclined his head.

Zalbaag snapped his Gospel shut, rose to his feet, and bowed in turn. "Knight-Commander." He gestured to the chair opposite him.

"No guard?" Cid asked.

Zalbaag arched one bushy eyebrow. "Did you bring a guard?"

Cid laughed. "No."

"I had no fear of Nanten ambush," Zalbaag said. "I..." He hesitated: a little of his characteristic sternness melted away. "There were those who counseled otherwise. I assured them that any who doubted the Thundergod's honor-"

"And you are Knight-Commander Beoulve, like your father before you," Cid replied. "I assured them that, while a Beoulve commands the Hokuten..."

Zalbaag almost smiled. "Thank you, Count Orlandeau."

They regarded each other warmly for a moment. Cid let himself relax, if only a little. "This war cannot have been easy on you."

Zalbaag snorted. "You haven't exactly made it easy, Count-"

"We are alone, Zal," Cid said. "Surely we can dispense with the formalities."

Another almost-smile. "To the best of my poor ability, Cid."

Cid smiled. "Please. A moment's ease, before we embark on..." He gestured to the paper in front of them.

Zal nodded, and sat back down. Cid sat across from him. "I will not insult the quality of the Nanten by lying to you. Splitting governing between Igros and Lesalia is no easy task. Our army has suffered, but not nearly so much as our people." He paused. "I imagine you feel much the same."

Cid nodded. "You've done a fine job assailing our positions," Cid said. "You've pushed our lines back in several places. You should be proud."

Zalbaag nodded. "I was...sorry to hear about the Marquis."

Cid sighed. "He knew the risks. As do we all." He cleared his throat. "You weren't wrong. About the toll it takes on people. The civil war in Limberry is just beginning to quiet down. We were already having trouble feeding ourselves before Messam..." He shook his head. "Between our supply issues, and yours-"

"Hence why we are eager to end this without further bloodshed," Zal agreed.

"A desire we share." Cid felt a twinge of guilt as he said it. He had not spent this long as a general without learning how to lie, but every lie across his decades sat poorly with him, and this one threatened to choke him.

"Then you'll surrender."

Cid blinked. "Excuse me?"

Zal's face was almost comically stern. "Do you ears fail you, Knight-Commander?"

"My ears work just fine, Knight-Commander." Cid bit back his anger. Zal was here as an emissary, the same as he was...and, presumably, with just as little say in the terms he'd been asked to present.

But there was a sinking feeling in the pit of Cid's stomach. He hadn't had much hope for these talks in the first place. What little hope he'd had was fading fast.

"Nanten aggression started this war," Zalbaag said. "And only Nanten pentitence can end it. Your forces will stand down. You will open the gates of Bethla Garrison. You will release Queen Louveria, Queen-Regent of Ivalice."

It had been a long time since Cid had seen Zalbaag, but he could still sense the very slight hesitation in his words on this last demand. Good. There might be room to negotiate.

"So you ask my liege lord to loose an assassin and throw himself on the mercy of traitors and schemers?" Cid asked dryly.

Zalbaag's jaw clenched. "It is Duke Goltanna who launched an unprovoked attack upon the Queen." He took a deep breath, and his jaw relaxed. "But the Duke's service and valor are proven, even if they are tarnished by his treachery. We are willing to grant him exile." He paused, and his eyes darkened. "So long as he surrenders the assassin Ovelia, to await trial for treason."

Cid's jaw clenched. He could see the wheels that turned around Ovelia—the plots that had moved against her, and the plots that sought to use her, these unknown schemes that Olan saw but could not yet fully explain. But the girl herself had given Cid no reason to doubt her. And he did not imagine much of a trial awaited her in Hokuten hands.

"I see," Cid said at last, and took a moment to pour himself a goblet of water. He eyed the wine longingly, but decided against it. Peace talks were already souring: the last thing he needed was to add drunkenness to the mix. He took a drink to soothe his parched throat, and said nothing for a long time.

"I assume you have your own offer?" Zalbaag asked, after the silence had stretched.

Cid nodded. "I do." He set his glass down. "The mirror of yours. The surrender of the Hokuten. The exile of Prince Larg." He paused. "The official recognition of Queen Ovelia, with Orinus as her heir."

The faintest grim smile on Zalbaag's stern face. "Generous." The hint of a smile was gone. "And Queen Louveria?"

"The best future the assassin Louveria can hope for is house arrest," Cid said shortly. "Personally, I would prefer to see her executed." He was angry, and he let that anger show. There were many questions surrounding this war. Louveria's arrest was not among them. She had disbanded the House of Lords: she had likely poisoned her husband, had arrested the Council when they sought to question her crimes, and had almost certainly tried to assassinate Ovelia and implicate Goltanna as a traitor. Whatever else came of this war, he did not wish to see Louveria Larg free in Ivalice ever again.

It was Zalbaag's turn to hold a steady silence, his eyes locked on Cid's.

"You could not have imagined we would accept your terms," Cid said at last.

"As you could not imagine we would accept yours," Zal replied. "But we both came, all the same. I imagine we came for the same reasons."

Cid arched his eyebrows. "Oh?"

Zal nodded. "You came to convince me we need not go to war." Yet another almost-smile. "It may surprise you to learn that I agree with you."

A flicker of shock in Cid's heart. A flicker of hope, too. "You would push for peace?"

Zal's not-quite smile faded. "Duke Goltanna would accept an equal peace?" Cid did not bother to answer. Zal nodded. "Nor would Prince Larg. He wants his sister restored to the throne, to rule as regent for her son...and he wants all those who challenged them destroyed." He closed his eyes. "I cannot exactly blame him. The future of the kingdom-"

"The future of the kingdom is being traded for his greed," Cid snapped.

Zal's nostrils flared, as he took a deep breath. "And Duke Goltanna has no ambitions?"

"It was not Duke Goltanna who plotted the assassination of a royal princess."

"You have no proof," Zalbaag snapped. "And even if you did, it was not Prince Larg who sacked the crown city of Ivalice." His eyes were still closed. "You know as well as I do: there are crimes aplenty on both sides of this war."

"So what peace can there be between us?" Cid asked.

"Between Larg and Goltanna?" Zalbaag asked. "Or between Hokuten and Nanten?"

Cold stole its ways up Cid's spine. He studied the man in front of him. Zalbaag did not look much like his father—he had inherited all of Balbanes' solemnity and severity, and little of his ease and grace. But he saw the honor of the man he'd loved in the stiffness of Zalbaag's spine, and the firm set of his jaw. This was a man who saw some way out of the dishonorable straits they found themselves in. Cid wanted to believe in him.

"You're not suggesting rebellion," Cid said softly.

Zalbaag shook his head. "No. But you need not stand in our way, when we march."

Cid laughed. "So we allow you to sack Bethla Garrison?"

Zalbaag's jaw clenched. "No sacking. We march. You yield." He opened his green eyes. "The Nanten have fought with honor, Count Orlandeau. But there is no honor in dying for this cause. Ivalice needs the Nanten. Ivalice needs you."

Cid studied the young man a moment longer. "You thought I would reject the first offer, and accept this one?"

"Cid-"

"But forget for a moment that I am Knight-Commander of the Nanten, bade to stand against an assassin and a tyrant by my liege lord." He saw the words strike Zalbaag, and pressed: "It is not the Nanten who will die if you march on Bethla Garrison."

"It is."

"The fortress cannot be taken."

"It will be."

Cid laughed. "Unless God is marching at your side-"

"God is on our side!" Zal snapped.

"God?" Cid asked. "Or the Glabados Church?"

Zal's green eyes went strange. "What?"

Cid leaned forwards. "You are Knight-Commander of the Hokuten. You cannot be blind to how the Church has-"

"Be careful, Count." Zal's voice was frosty with disdain. "You sound like a heretic."

"A heretic like your brother?" Cid asked.

Zalbaag stood up. "Is this the way of it? Has even the Thundergod taken to heresy and blasphemy?"

"I speak not against God, but against men!" Cid growled.

"You speak against the Saint's representatives upon this unworthy world!" Zal's fists slammed into the table. "You command rebels and murderers. I should not be surprised at the depths to which you sink."

Cid studied Zalbaag for a moment. "Are you so desperate, Knight-Commander?"

Zal's brow was furrowed in anger, but Cid's words added confusion to the mix. "What do you..." He trailed off uncertainly.

"You are Knight-Commander of the Hokuten, like your father before you," Cid said. "You fight the war you are called to fight. It is never clean, because war is never clean."

"Is that how you justify it to yourself?" Zalbaag asked.

"I fight a war in defense of my liege lord, wrongfully attacked," Cid said. "I come to make peace, as best I can. And I reach out, to a man of honor, to convince him that there is more to this war than either side has been allowed to see. That while we struggle to cling to threads of righteousness, others pull those threads to make us dance to their tune." His voice softened. "Look at yourself, Zal. You come to me, offering terms of surrender you don't believe in, just for the chance to snatch something worth salvaging from the flames."

Zalbaag's face was white, his jaw clenched. Still, he did not speak.

"I would no more stand my Nanten down then you would your Hokuten," Cid continued. "There must be peace. The Hokuten cannot take Bethla Garrison, save by treachery. It will be a bloodbath, if you march. But if the Hokuten cannot destroy the Nanten, neither can the Nanten destroy the Hokuten. You have already marched on Bethla Garrison once before, and your army stands intact. Either there is treachery afoot, or we stand to fight another bloody battle, without purpose."

He leaned forwards. "Zal. We were not sent here to broker peace. We were sent because our lords want to say they tried for peace, before the bloodshed that awaits us. They send us in search of hope, so they may be gilded with honor."

It hurt, to speak this way of Goltanna. When Balbanes had hatched his plan to end the 50 Years' War—his multi-front assault upon the Ordallians, luring them into a siege of Zeltennia reinforced by Hokuten and Nanten under Cid's command, tying up more and more of their forces until the Haruten and the Corpse Brigade pushed them out of Limberry and threatened to destroy their army—Goltanna had lent it his full support: had used his own position and power as bait, to draw enemies in. Now, he would not relent. Now, his power and position mattered to him more than Ivalice. If Cid was not careful, the man he loved would destroy himself, all for the sake of power.

"So let us make something of this meeting," Cid breathed. "Hokuten and Nanten alike will stand down. No war can be waged when armies refuse to fight. Let us end the bloodshed. Let us save Ivalice."

He kept his voice level, though his heart was pounding. If Zalbaag would only listen, this miserable war could finally end. All this death, all this pain, all this loss...

Zalbaag closed his eyes. His strong jaw was still clenched, framed by his neat beard. He was not like Balbanes...except for that sense of honor. There were many times Cid had seen his friend's jaw clenched, just like this, as he tried to untangle the knotty problems of the 50 Years' War. Let this be such a moment. Let Zalbaag see clearly. Please, by the Saint, let him see.

Finally, Zalbaag opened his dark eyes. His jaw relaxed.

"You mentioned the Church."

There was menace in Zalbaag's voice. The hairs stood up on the back of Cid's neck. But he nodded all the same: he needed to be honest now. "Yes."

"So you subscribe to the same heresy as my brother."

Another moment's hesitation. Slowly, Cid shook his head. "I have not seen your brother since he was a toddling child." Of the adult Ramza had become, Cid had only what Olan had told him, and even then, Olan had only liked the boy, not learned much of use from him. "-and I do not know what he believes." He paused, took a breath. "But there are agents in the Church who seek to profit from this-"

"Enough." Zalbaag's voice was flat. He stood up, his whole body coiled like a snake about to strike. He picked Justice up from its place on the table, and deftly buckled the swordbelt around his waist. Without another word, he moved for the tent entrance.

Cid stepped into his path.

"Move," Zalbaag said, without looking at Cid. His hand felt to Justice's hilt.

"Zal, please-"

"We stand beneath a flag of truce," Zalbaag whispered, staring straight ahead. "I would not strike down any man I met here—not even Germonique himself. But if you seek to hold me here against my will-"

"I'm not holding you, you fool!" Cid spat. "I'm trying to end this war."

Zal laughed, and a wave of cold dripped down Cid's back. He could not have imagined a Beoulve laughing like that—so sharp, so cynical, so broken. "I'm sure you are. Yes, let us go to our lords, and tell them the Hokuten and Nanten will fight no more! Let us whisper to them that the Church is rotten, and that our armies must put an end to them! Let us rebuild the empire of the Ydorans, godless and rotten with sin, until we invite fresh Judgment upon us."

Finally, his dark green eyes found Cid. Cid thought he saw tears there.

"I am Knight-Commander of the Hokuten," he whispered. "As you say, my duty is to do what good I can, in the nasty business this world requires. And rather than fulfill our grim and necessary duty, you would have us betray our oaths, and abandon our lords, and oppose the Church." He looked away from Cid. "I never thought you, of all people..."

Cid said nothing, and stepped aside. There was nothing but rage and betrayal in Zalbaag's eyes. Cid knew a lost cause when he saw one. And he would not force the other man to break a flag of truce. The dishonor would hang too heavy on both their heads.

Zal strode past him, untied his chocobo with two deft flicks of the hand, swung upon the bird's back, and rode away. Cid looked around the little site of truce, and wondered if anyone was nearby to take it down. He moved towards Lina, patting her musky neck while untying her from the post.

He felt tears burning in his eyes. He swallowed against them.

These talks had always been a long shot. Olan had told him so. Goltanna had told him so. Cid had known it without them telling him. Even if there was a peace he could convince Goltanna to agree to, what chance was there for one that Larg might accept? This had been in his only real hope. If he and Zalbaag simply agreed to stop fighting—if they threw the name of both Beoulve and Orlandeau into the path of this mad war...!

Tears burned anew. He closed his eyes against them.

Olan had found no answers, in his search of western Ivalice. No proof of any conspirators but the ones they already knew of. No proof that the Church had fueled this war, or made men in the camps of Goltanna and Larg alike dance to their tune. Olan thought they existed. Cid tended to agree. Especially with what Zalbaag had said.

Ramza Beoulve. Naturalized bastard of one of the people Cid had loved most in the whole world. As a mere cadet, he had saved the Marquis from the Death Corps: the rumors said he had tried to fight without killing, in the campaign that followed. The Church avowed he was a heretic, who had murdered the Cardinal Delacroix and blasphemed against the Church. Whoever he was, and whatever he had done, he had certainly been at Lionel Castle, when the Cardinal had died: and whatever catastrophe had befallen the Khamja at Riovanes, he might have been there, too.

And Zalbaag Beoulve, Knight-Commander of the Hokuten, had brought this heretic's accusations up, when Cid had spoken of the Church. Whatever Ramza Beoulve aimed to do, he had spoken to his brother. He moved against the Church.

But Zalbaag would not be moved. Not by his brother, and not by Cid. Cid's last, foolish hope was gone.

He took a deep breath, and opened his eyes again. A general's job was to wage his lord's war, however unpleasant that war might be. And Cid had wasted enough time on his foolish hopes.

Cid gingerly pulled himself upon Lina's back, with another soothing pat to her neck. He turned his head back towards the tent. The flags atop it—the two lions of Ivalice, and the white flag of truce—hung limp.

Then he kicked Lina's side, and rode back to Bethla Garrison, and back to war.