016 » it's a shot in the dark but i'll make it

[lugria]

( continued from here! )



[mornings, in ramza's camp, move both early and sluggish.

as dashing and heroic as it would be to simply run off to zeltennia, a party of roughly twenty men and women can do no such thing. a few well-trained soldiers rise before the crack of dawn; the others wake as the sky brightens, or else, because the sound and chatter of those that are packing to leave become impossible to ignore.

ramza and agrias are two of the precious few "heretics" that are up before sunrise, and they set to work immediately, with little conversation to spare. armor has to be put on, strapped, buckled; blankets must be packed, tents folded into canvas squares. ladd and mustadio join in the morning chores a bit later, taking stock of the party's food and water; rapha and marach, more keenly trained, work at concealing all traces of their tents and campfires in case anyone may be following their trail. alicia and lavian, the sentries from last night, are apparently being rewarded with the privilege of napping astride the pack chocobos while the others saddle the birds up with luggage and gear.

it's only later — when almost everything has been done, and the group is mostly waiting on some fastidious healers who insisted on washing themselves of last night's dirt in a nearby stream — that ramza realizes he hasn't yet seen the group's wayward knight templar, and raises his voice in the middle of camp.]

Isilud?

Comments

[isilud]

[ Though it lasts for the briefest second, the look that Ramza wears in that second is so baffled that Isilud re-examines his words and frowns himself, regretting his remark's implications. Ramza would not hide behind his friends. He does not choose easy roads to walk.

And doubtless he honours the memory of his and Delita's friendship — even now, when misunderstandings and unease and more mar their past closeness. ]

I understand. [ Isilud nods. Sliding one hand to the back of his neck, he absentmindedly brushes his fingers through the strands of hair lying against his nape. ] I suppose... well, you are not the bloodthirsty fiend of hearsay, and you were not glad to be rid of Confessor Zalmour. Zeltennia seemed more trouble than the outcome was worth, if you only sought Count Orlandeau's whereabouts.

[lugria]

...A man's life is a poor price for such information.

[the quiet acknowledgement that isilud is right.

it's true. no one else would speak of it, but it is certainly true that, when measured in objective terms, the trip to zeltennia was a waste of time. but what of the things that can't be measured> what of its effect on ramza — the burdens lifted from his shoulders?]

...Delita is still the man I knew. He is changed, of course, but — he is still the man I knew. And I would not think of relying on his help, but... nor do I think, now, that I will ever have to see him slain by my own hand.

[isilud]

[ Better Zalmour Lucianada's life than Ramza Beoulve's, Isilud thinks to himself, even if the inquisitor was likely the same sort of misguided fool he'd been. He keeps the thought quiet.

The picture of Ramza's errand is slightly more complete; he understands it a little better, and again he reconsiders his words. ]

... I was wrong, then. [ His hand stills and drops, settling upon his knee. ] At first I thought that you meant to warn Delita away from the Church, to tell him the truth, and he must have believed you, but he raised his blade against your foes to silence them for his own sake.

[ Necessary, of course, for Delita to feign loyalty to the Church. ]

I know not what to make of him, I will admit.

[lugria]

[for a moment ramza almost thinks to tell isilud that he asked delita to join them — that he wanted delita to walk with them, to stand beside them. but in the end, he doesn't mention it, and instead, he bites into another forkful of scrambled egg.]

...His loyalties are to himself and to the Princess. [ramza admits, after he has chewed and swallowed.] I do not resent him this. His loyalty towards me never did him any good.

No doubt I act as he expects me to. And, in turn, he acts as I expect him to. If he thinks me a pawn to be played, he is welcome to it. For as long as we move toward the same ends...

[he hesitates.]

I... I can yet call him my friend.

[isilud]

[ Isilud's brow furrows. He does not resent Delita's reservations where alliances are concerned, his eyes opened to their limited options, but this talk of pawns strikes a nerve. ]

He would seek to use you? Why? What manner of friend—

[ A former friend who does not share Ramza's wish to acknowledge the remnants of their boyhood friendship, who must be approached with caution, according to Ramza himself. That manner of friend.

But it isn't for Isilud to speak ill of Delita and to question Ramza's thinking, to liken what hangs between the two of them to his own trust betrayed. He closes his mouth, vaguely contrite. ]

[lugria]

Of course he does. Think, Isilud. Why does Delita serve Duke Goltanna, yet conspire with your once-fellow Templars? He would use the Lucavi scheme to rid Ivalice of the White and Black Lions — and then he would use me to rid Ivalice of the Lucavi. A fine plan.

[he finishes off his meal with sudden gusto as he speaks, taking larger and larger forkfuls of egg until at last the food is gone and he is left to taste idly at the salt on his lips. when his plate is cleared and he rests his fork on its surface, ramza lets it rest on his lap as he plucks idly at blades of grass.]

...There are still others, I suppose, who would yet claim the throne — and that he will undoubtedly do away with, quietly, from the shadows.

[isilud]

[ Why does Delita serve Goltanna? To gain his trust and set the Church's plans for the duke into motion — so it was said. Why does Delita serve the Church? Because their vision was his, too? Because he understood Ivalice's needs?

The crease upon Isilud's brow deepens. ]

Our goals yet align, but now that he knows of the Lucavi, will he not join us? The world is at stake — is that not reason enough to lay the past aside? You were friends, once! Is he content to sit back and watch as you face demons that would not take pause in dyeing Ivalice's seas crimson?

[ Luckily Isilud's seeming tendency for heated mealtime conversation has not spoiled Ramza's meal; the plate of eggs shrinks at an impressive, almost alarming pace and Ramza does not choke on his rapid bites of the food.

Ruining the effect of Isilud's speech is his stomach's reminder that it, too, would appreciate the attention that Ramza's was given. ]

[lugria]

[ramza looks over at isilud — or rather, at isilud's stomach, as though he can gauge the emptiness within simply by looking at it through isilud's tunic.

with a laugh, he quips:] You might have mentioned that you had not eaten before I finished these eggs!

[it is hard, somehow, to explain delita to isilud without saying too much. ramza brings a blade of grass to his lips and whistles on it, producing a high-pitched reedy note. a few heads by the campfire turn toward the noise, but all return to their respective conversations soon enough.]

...He cannot take Princess Ovelia with him to slay demons, Isilud. Look at how well I succeeded with Alma.

Now, should we fetch you something to eat?

[isilud]

They were yours.

[ Isilud draws his legs up against his chest as if to muffle his stomach's demands, shrugging lightly. His gaze follows Ramza's hand, curious, as it plucks a blade of grass from the ground and places it against his lips. Perhaps the whistling signifies that Ramza thinks of Alma, as she thought of him.

Alma, who did not fall into the hands of demons solely because she accompanied her brother. ]

... Very well. [ He agrees with a nod, but not without a trace of rueful embarrassment. Yet before he stands from his seat, he tears a piece of grass from its spot himself, rolling it between his fingers until he brushes it free and lets the breeze carry it away. ]

No one will make a pawn of you, Ramza. You see the world clearly, and you know to do what is right, and you act of your own will.

[lugria]

[perhaps, in some other circumstance, isilud's compliments would embarrass ramza — but out in the open air and the light of the campfire, the beoulve only laughs, shrugging isilud's words off with a smirk that can only be described as... sassy.]

If you must sing my praises, I would have you know I bake excellent pies as well.

[he rises to his feet, presumably to go fetch isilud something to eat, and put his plate in the pile of dishes to be washed — other members of their camp have had dinner to eat as well, by now — but before ramza steps away, he acts on some fluid whim, bending over and pressing his blade of grass against isilud's lips.]

Here — whistle on this.

[isilud]

Pies?

[ The last traces of their conversation's somber tone lose to the humour that Ramza's remark injects, delivered like a challenge, but what follows keeps Isilud from making his question less of an echo that could express amazement over Ramza's heretofore hidden pie baking prowess or ask him to name his favoured sort of pie. Pressed to his lips, Isilud feels the smooth texture of Ramza's blade of grass and the weight of Ramza's fingertips behind it.

He has never thought to make whistles of any plant — until now, that is. A moment passes, and another, and Isilud tries to imitate the Beoulve siblings' whistling method, bringing his hands up to take over from Ramza's, uncertainly shaping his mouth against grass and fingers both.

That... does nothing. It does look as though he is somewhere between preparing to kiss or bite Ramza's blade of grass and his fingers instead. ]

[lugria]

[if ramza's intention was to make isilud look like a fool, he most certainly succeeded — and indeed, he laughs as though that is the truth of it.]

...You'll have the knack for it, with practice.

[that's all he says before he removes his fingers from isilud's mouth, whirling around with his plate in hand and giving a sort of jaunty wave.

what was that all about? ramza is enigmatic with his whimsies, sometimes, and when at last he comes back from his rummaging around in bags near the campfire, he says nothing of his mysterious grass-whistling prompt. instead, he holds out a loaf of hard adventurer's bread and some beef jerky — both well-preserved and suited for travel, though not so warm and welcoming as scrambled eggs.]

I would return the favor you did me and prepare for you a meal of my own, but I fear Boco not so forthcoming with his talents this evening. Here — will this do?

[isilud]

[ It is better to give Ramza cause for laughter than to see him subdued, and so Isilud takes his failed attempt at whistling in stride, though he would have liked to discover the knack for it then and there. It may be a simple, whimsical thing, but he'd thought its meaning known only to Ramza and Alma, an intimate link between brother and sister. The invitation to join in leaves him mystified and oddly honoured.

His steps are slower as he follows, hanging back in thought, lifting the blade of grass to his lips again. It flutters against his fingers, silent. It is there still, half in his mouth, when Ramza reappears to address the matter of Isilud's neglected stomach.

Hastily, the knight pulls the piece of grass from his lips, curling his fist around it and accepting the proffered food. ]

—Of course, I would not ask it... [ Despite the talk of excellent pies. ] Thank you.

[lugria]

[in the distance, behind ramza, valentyne has started playing another song on his lyre. no vocals accompany the tune; his fingers pluck the strings, and nothing more. the melody is almost as haunting as valentyne himself.

ramza turns to watch the bard for a few minutes, then turns back to isilud with an odd expression on his face.]

Have you ever had friends? [he asks, very quickly and suddenly, and then — after a pause — he laughs.] Whatever am I saying? Of course you've had friends. Rather, I should have said —

[he smiles, and then he sobers.]

...Have you ever lost friends?

[isilud]

[ Amid their quiet listening as Valentyne plays his song, Isilud parts with his blade of grass, deciding against asking Ramza for another demonstration right then, and settles into attacking his meal, tearing off a portion of the bread and smaller chunks from that piece. One such mouthful delays his answer when Ramza asks his questions. He stares at first, mid-chew, but Ramza quickly corrects himself, and Isilud's expression turns from taken aback to thoughtful.

He hurries to resume his chewing and swallow, a moment long enough to ponder Ramza's meaning. Many a fallen comrade comes to mind — but that isn't quite the answer that Ramza's question seeks, is it? It isn't the same loss that Ramza knows.

Another moment goes by, and Isilud shakes his head. ]

I've never had a friend like yours to lose. [ He pauses, lowers his bread. ] ... Why do you ask?

[lugria]

I know not.

[is his vague answer, at first, but then ramza looks up at the night sky again, and sighs.]

Or — no, 'tis not that I know not but merely that I find it all difficult to express in words.

[he shifts his weight.]

Delita is... one of the only friends I have ever lost. Not a friend with whom I quarreled badly, or dismissed in a fit of anger, but... that I lost, when I reaped the consequences of what I sowed. And I oft ponder, from time to time, that mayhap we might still be friends, if only I had chosen different words, or readied my blade for different causes.

[isilud]

[ Not unlike the notes whistled on that blade of grass, Ramza's response seems almost too intimate a glimpse of his heart, a confession uttered aloud yet meant for no mortal ears. For all that the topic of Delita brings a shadow to Ramza's face, and their parting handshake in Zeltennia spoke volumes as to the state of their friendship, there was no animosity between them, none that Isilud could detect. There was only this regret, the same flicker that he saw in Gollund and sees again now, in Ramza's gaze raised towards the heavens. He hears it in every mention of Delita. ]

... At Orbonne, Ramza, you told me that the Beoulve name stands for truth and justice. What other cause is there? Delita joined us to see justice realized — what fault could he find with you?

[ Ramza is not infallible, but he is a good man and a good friend. Now, a week into knowing him, Isilud finds it impossible to believe otherwise. ]

[lugria]

The Beoulve name stands for truth and justice. Not all those who bear it hold it so high.

[there it is, that age-old question plaguing him again: should he tell isilud about his past with delita, the struggle at fort ziekden and the death of tietra heiral? and if he does, how much of it should he explain, how honest should he be? is it any of isilud's business at all? if ramza tells isilud the truth, what will he gain, and what will he lose? if he doesn't say anything, does that make him a coward, running away from his past?

these seem almost like the insecurities of another man — not ramza beoulve. they are certainly not the insecurities of the ramza beoulve drawn on the church's handbills, if indeed that ramza has insecurities at all.]

...Even I had to learn to carry its weight.

[isilud]

[ Ramza means his brothers, Isilud thinks. Absently, he brushes bread crumbs from his fingers, the remains of the loaf placed down in his lap. ]

But you and Delita must be my age, or thereabouts. You've learned to carry it far sooner than some.

[ Yet Ramza remarked upon Delita's past loyalty, its consequences for Delita. It is a difficult thing to fathom. ]

You do not turn a blind eye to the rot that plagues this land, and the Stones have no power over you. Few could be trusted to look upon one, let alone guard so many!

[ Isilud's hand finds Ramza's shoulder. ]

You tirelessly slay demons and offer your mercy even to those who would see you executed.

[lugria]

[ramza's steady, determined gaze turns sheepish under the weight of isilud's words; the hand on his shoulder feels equally heavy.]

You flatter me overmuch...

[all thoughts of his brothers and of delita (in many ways a brother as well) are chased out of ramza's mind entirely by isilud's effusive praise. ramza fidgets and watches the brunet finish his dinner.]

...How old are you, Isilud? I thought — I was sure that you were the older, twixt the two of us, but Meliadoul did not look to be very old herself, so I wondered...

[isilud]

Flatter? It is but the truth, Ramza, known to every one of your friends. Naught more.

[ It is abundant proof, in Isilud's eyes, that Ramza's soul is a rare one, pristinely, unfalteringly virtuous to the core. He can see, however, how swift Ramza is to deflect any praise, and he takes his hand away, returning it to his loaf of bread, though his gaze drops to Ramza's fingers before he continues his meal.

Only to pause again, another mouthful to chew tucked into his cheek as he finds himself facing the mystery of Ramza's age. Ramza's features are softer than those of his infamous portrait, gentle lines instead of sharp edges, but his youth and his kindness do not make him a child yet sheltered from the world's truths. ]

I? Six— [ He interrupts himself with a shake of his head. ] This year marks my seventeenth summer and my sister's nineteenth — neither of us is very old. And you?