by TacomaSquall

It was his wife's birthday.

Delita Hyral briskly walked out of his home, heading for the gardens nearby. He wanted to get some flowers for Ovelia. He knew that they had married to end the war that had engulfed Ivalice, but he had grown to love her. Now, he sought to let her know that he valued her for more than being the woman he had to marry to become King.

He walked into the gardens, and turned toward a sculpted maze of flowers. The walls of the maze were fashioned from living rosebushes and other shrubs. The flowering shrubs were trimmed and maintained so they would not compete with each other to the point of mutually assured destruction. Delita sadly shook his head. The flowers of this garden were very much like the leaders of the factions during the Lion War.

Larg and Goltana. The two Lions. Neither willing to back down from their pursuit of control over the destiny of Ivalice. Each backed a claimant to the crown, seeking to be the Kingmaker, the power behind the throne. Neither of them gave a damn about the people who they condemned to suffer while they pursued their ambition. Entire towns were destroyed, and populations decimated by their lust for power. It wasn't until Delita worked his way into the councils of Prince Goltana that Delita was able to begin his work for the people of Ivalice.

To that end, he played both factions off against each other, aware that there were sinister forces who sought to prolong the war, even as he sought to bring it to its conclusion. Finally the war was ended, and Delita had succeeded in placing Ovelia on the throne. To ensure that Ivalice's rulership always remembered the so-called "common" people, he married Ovelia, becoming her King.

Ovelia was not his wife's real name, of course, but few knew that she was not the daughter of King Omdolia. Most of those who knew had met their end due to the harsh attrition of the Lion War. Ovelia was a woman who had fought off despair upon discovering her true identity. During her lonely battle, she had won Delita's respect and, finally, love. That love supported him through all of the horrors of the Lion War, and buttressed his resolve to see things through.

Delita stopped by one of the rosebushes, whose flowers were brilliant red, and were in full bloom. Drawing his belt knife, which he always carried with him due to the troubled times just past, he carefully reached up and cut one rose off, leaving about two feet of stem attached to ensure that the plant could be watered and nurtured once it had found its way to a vase. He then proceeded to cut down other roses, constructing a bouquet for his love. As his hands did their work, his mind continued to wander down the road his thoughts had led down.

So many sacrifices made. So many friends lost during the fighting. His childhood friend, Ramza Beoulve, declared a heretic and hunted down by the Church, who had been manipulating the War. Ramza's sister, Alma, who had been kidnapped, turning the last of the Beoulves against the Holy Church. Olan Durai's father, Orlandu, called sometimes, "Thunder God Cid," who joined Ramza's idealistic crusade. Balmafula, who he could have had so much more with, except that she had been ordered to kill him if he betrayed the Church. Countless others, betrayed by the noblemen who were supposed to protect them from the ills of the world, killed to further the ambitions of nobles who didn't even care that they existed.

Ahead of all of those sacrifices was the one price he had been unwilling to pay, the one tragedy that set his feet onto the path he had pursued. Teta. His sister. The only other person who understood what it was like to be a commoner in the Beoulve household. The inspiration of everything good in Delita, riven from him by the fiendish plots of Larg and Dycedarg. She had nothing to do with the infighting between the nobles, but was just a target of opportunity for a desperate rebel. His sister, murdered by that bastard, Algus, may he burn forever in hell.

Delita finished cutting the roses and bundled them together, using a piece of twine he had brought, specifically for the occasion, wrapping the flowers in a piece of paper that he had taken with him when he decided he was going to get flowers for his Queen. He inspected the bundle, and smiled. [I]This should do for a token of my love for her.[/I]

Delita left the garden and walked toward the ruined chapel in back of his home, Zeltennia Castle. His wife had been frequenting the ruined hall of worship, since the coronation. Delita guessed she was praying for the souls of the fallen.

He came to the ruined entrance of the chapel. In any other location, the chapel would have been more accurately described as a church, Delita realized. The chapel had not escaped the ravages of the Lion War, and the almost all of the walls had been torn down by one side or the other during the fighting. The place of worship lay open to the air, and only a few stone benches and the front altar remained. Delita could see his wife, standing at the altar, her eyes downcast in the manner of one addressing one's God. He walked up behind her, silently, holding the bouquet behind his back with one hand.

"Here you are! Everyone has been looking for you."

The Queen turned, surprised. Delita noticed that she had been weeping again. His features softened, as he brought the flowers out with a flourish.

"Today's your birthday, right? These flowers –"

Time slowed to a crawl for the young King. Ovelia drew a dagger from her waist and plunged it into his belly. His eyes went wide with the shock, as he felt the blade sink into his flesh. His eyes went wide with shock as he looked at his love's face, seeking a sign, [I]any[/I] sign, of why she had done this.

"O… Ovelia?" His eyes begged, [I]why?[/I]

"You use everyone like that!" The Queen saw the rage that grew in Delita's face. "Now, you'll kill me just like Ramza!"

With that last, Delita drew his belt knife and stabbed with it. Between Ovelia's ribs, piercing the heart, the knife sped with the lethality of a warrior's hardened reflex, even as Delita's heart and soul screamed to hold his blow. The wound was instantly fatal, and Ovelia fell backwards, dead before she hit the ground.

Delita staggered away from his love. Of all of the sacrifices he would have made, this was the one he would have avoided at all costs. His wife was the one who had driven him to be a hero.

As the darkness of unconsciousness swooped in, Delita found his thoughts going to his best friend. Was this what Death had been like for Ramza?

"Ramza, what did you get?"

The King of Ivalice knew no more.