Alis Volat Propiis

She Flies With Her Own Wings

Disclaimer: I am making no profit whatsoever from this story.

A/N: I apologize for the long lack of updates. This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but it does have some interesting developments. I'm probably not going to be able to guarantee another fast update because I'm swapped with a lot of other work at the moment, but I will be uploading edited versions of the earlier chapters over the next few weeks to fix some rather minor errors I've spotted. I'm also changing this story all to one verbal tense rather than having the semi-poetic shifts from past to present that have been present in the some of the earlier chapters.

Chapter 10: Men of Stone

Clemence had been awake since early that morn when his carriage passed into the mountains, rocking and jerking as it rolled up the steep pass. He opened the little carriage's window and inhaled the pungent sea air breezing over the cliffs. They mustn't have been far from Larner Channel now though he couldn't see it past the thick evergreens and high peaks. The mountains always reminded him of Valendia, of his childhood. As he closed the window and reflected, the carriage pulled to an abrupt stop almost throwing the frail man to the floor.

"Who goes there?" Lady Amanda barked, who rode at the head of his guards, "You two," she called, "Guard the Prince!"

The Prince found it hard to feign bravery in the face of an unknown danger. What could have halted them? There was scarcely an hour left in the journey to Kalona's keep. A sudden tapping at the window alerted him, and he unlatched it looking into the steel-masked face of one his helmed guards.

"Mountain bandits. The captain tasked us with your protection while she and the others ward them off," he explained, looking off into the field.

"How many?" Clemence asked, subconsciously wringing his hands.

"Twenty against our twelve, but they are badly armed and even worse tacticians. The fight is in our favor."

"Very well," he replied, closing the window once more. With such favorable odds, the sounds of battle suddenly didn't interest him, and not twenty minutes passed before the skirmish ended. A sudden tapping drew his attention once more, "Yes," he murmured, opening the window yet again.

Lady Amanda leered down upon him, reeking of muddy fields and freshly spilt blood; the woman was as uncouth as ever. He grimaced, "Report."

"We've slain nineteen of theirs and one fled. We suffered no casualties save minor scratches. We shall be on our way once more and near Lord Kalona's keep soon enough," Having nothing else to report, she nodded curtly and rode back to the front to lead the party once more. There was a certain madness in her that enjoyed killing which made him shudder. He suspected that many of the corpses littering the mountain path were slain by her hand. The rest of the journey passed without incident.

Standing high and majestic against the mountains as if it were carved out of the very face the cliff it sat upon, Kalona's castle rose in the distance, all hard stone and walls. Clemence could hear Amanda shouting orders and then talking with two men that he knew weren't his own. He glanced out of the carriage; they were between two high towers at the very edge of his new host's lands. One of the men noticed Clemence's head peeking out and nodded, waving the company on. Soon enough they found themselves before the massive castle, the sounds of war training filling the air and pulling each and every one of them to attention. The Prince could already hear the passionate Wren Kalona over the noise making his way to his carriage, shouting at his coachman for not rousing his lord fast enough.

"He needn't bother," Clemence opened the door himself and cast his coachman a severe mock stare, stepping down from the coach carefully, "His lord is already roused."

"Ah, hail to you, Your Highness!" Kalona clapped the man's arm, "Walk with me and share how you found our good d'Erstile. I fear that my own castle isn't nearly as pretty as his…you'll find it more a fortress than a home, but I do hope you enjoy your stay here as well."

Clemence smiled as they strode up the path to the fortress's massive gates. Men ran laps in soft clothes around the field surrounding the castle; another company fenced in armor. This was but a small part of the fighting force that would win him the crown, and the man at his side would lead it. Like his mountain home, Kalona stood tall, strong, and wickedly clever by his own defensive nature. Always planning, always thinking, Wren jumped at the opportunity to serve Clemence's cause when the Prince approached him barely a year ago. Seeing his plan finally coming to fruition, Clemence was glad to have the lord as an ally and not as an enemy.

"I found him to be every bit as you told me. Passionate to a fault…easily manipulated but influential enough. He has called a council which all the lords will attend in a week's time. Will you be amongst them?" Clemence glanced over at his companion.

"Nay, I must return to Bethla Garrison before then, to interrogate and be interrogated," the man replied.

"Oh?" Clemence followed him into the fortress, down a corridor to his meeting room, a grim, and little grey room. There were two chairs both cast from the pine that grew plentiful in the surrounding mountains and a small rude desk between them, papers gathered at one side. Kalona sat and motioned for Clemence to sit across from him.

The lord smirked slightly, "It would seem that Olan thought it wise to launch an investigation into the matter of Ruvelia's death, but it allows me to kill two birds with one stone. You see, at this very moment my second in command now lies in chains deep within Bethla. He seemed to disagree with me over who stood watch over the Queen a fortnight ago. He remembers my men guarding her, but I and these documents," Kalona motioned to series of schedules and charts folded neatly on the desk, "Specifically remember his men watching over her. They've already been executed, but he…I must wait until Olan's interrogator arrives, and I am left in an interesting quandary."

"How so?" Clemence brow arched as he strained to see what Kalona saw, "The matter seems already resolved to me."

"Oh, that matter is. Olan will lose face whatever support he has left in our lands, make his own men regard him with suspicion, and I will be left without supervision, but to name a new second…that is a difficult task, but your Amanda."

"My Amanda," Clemence echoed.

"She has served with me for a year now, and she's a clever strategist. I would be honored to have her work under me, though I can understandably see if you refuse to part with her."

"Aye," Clemence thought the matter over. He would loathe parting with Lady Amanda. His fellow Valendian was more than a skilled swordswoman; she was one of the few friends he had that he trusted implicitly, but she would serve him better here. Wren Kalona was the sort of man that needed looking after, "Amanda does as she will, but if I ask her, she would serve you."

"It's agreed then," the lord grinned, "Tell me, did you enjoy our beautiful mountains on your way here? I can't imagine that these mere foothills could ever rival the unparalleled wildness of the Valendian countryside. I should like to visit there one day and test my strength against those peaks."

"I enjoyed them well enough…though we were set upon by brigands only an hour away from here," the Prince murmured.

"These thieves grow bolder every day," Kalona growled, "Forgive me, Your Majesty. They are broken remnants of Death Corps. They still persist in these mountains. My men have ventured to destroy them, but some vermin are hard to exterminate. Did you come by a main road? I shall chastise my men when they return from their patrols if these brigands attacked you on a merchant's pass."

"It is of no matter, Wren. We came by one of the back ways, and they were badly armed," and then Clemence gained a strange flicker in his eye, "Did I inform you that I have…well had a sister?"

"Ah, I take it that you've seen the document from Orbonne then," Wren suddenly looked up at the other man, "Carolus reported that he and his men did not have an easy time finding the thing, but I couldn't have fathomed that the late Ovelia was one of Denamunda's as well. Omdoria had always claimed her as his. It was always rumored that she wasn't his daughter. I'd always thought she was of noble lineage for her features were far too fair to be a commoner's sire…but to truly have been of the royal bloodline! If this document had been found just several years earlier, I wonder if there would have ever been a war."

"Better for us that she is dead. Were she alive, we'd have quite the predicament, but I think I would have liked meeting her. I do think that her mother is still alive…an abbess of good name in a monastery not too far from Gallione so says the parchment," Clemence murmured his gaze far off thinking of the father he'd only known from afar. In his old age, Denamunda seemingly attempted to repent for his many sins and gave his son some acknowledgement even if done secretly; he'd drawn up an addition to his ancestral tree in a provincial monastery- Orbonne Monastery.

The paper verified Clemence's existence, his right to name, title, and the right to rule so long as another son purely of Ivalice didn't still live. Orinas. His eyes narrowed. The boy's very life was just another obstacle. Through his mother's assassination, he'd hoped to discredit the boy king's standing. So far, his plan was steadily succeeding.

Ovelia wasn't fond of farewells, but she'd said her goodbyes, pulling Olan into a fierce embrace before she left. When she'd see him again, she couldn't know. They'd bid Marty farewell then. They'd be both travelling to the Lesalia Province but separately, by different passes; the knights accompanying him would grow suspicious of three hooded strangers amongst them. The trio would forward Finnath River then stay the night in Bervenia, the free city; Marty and his company would travel south through Bed Desert. Ovelia had shaken the monk's hand, and then, Alma and he stood apart from them speaking quietly for some time.

Zeltennia lay several days behind them. They'd reunited with their steeds in the castle town, owing a rather hefty fee to the stable master who'd maintained them. She ran her fingers through Rose Red's silky feathers. The chocobo cooed in response; she'd been carefully groomed and her talons polished. Ovelia smiled down at her steed.

"I missed you as well, dear girl," she whispered, leaning close to beast's great neck, and then sat tall, staring into the distance. A low band of thunderclouds were rapidly sweeping upon them. The sky rumbled. How soon would the rain fall? She looked up. They must've been near the Finnath by now; she hoped they could forward before it began raining otherwise they'd have to break and make camp. The wind whipped up, blowing her hair wildly around her head, but there was still no rain.

"Faster!" Ramza ordered from far ahead. Ovelia dug her heels in Rose's sides, urging the bird in a sprint. Its mighty talons tore at the ground, kicking up grass behind them. Another thunderclap echoed, and lightning peeled the sky like a sudden streak of white paint against a dark canvas. Faster and faster, they ran against time, against the coming rain. The river awaited them, already swollen and faster than what was crossable; the trio screeched to a halt at its edge.

"We'll have to find a narrower crossing," Alma murmured.

Ramza stared south, "If I remember correctly, it is narrower downstream. Come."

They resumed their pace still trying to beat the rain, and then Ovelia felt a drop against her hand, which was followed by a splash against her neck, and then a downpour.

"Halt," Ramza threw his fist in the air, signaling for them to stop. Ovelia pulled Rose Red to a complete stop, its talons skidding slightly in the damp, muddy grass. They dismounted and pulled away from the river's side lest a stray current course over its swollen side and drag one of them in. Miserable and sodden, they huddled together sitting beneath their steeds for warmth.

Ovelia patted a despondent Rose Red who in turn whined pitifully. The woman clucked her tongue, "For shame! At least your feathers tread water."

Then, Alma spoke as she wrung out the hem of her cloak, "Is there any cover from this rain nearby? A cave, perchance?"

"No such luck. These are the flatlands," Ramza said, shaking his head. Ovelia pulled her cloak close and hugged her knees to her chest, shivering despite the warmness of Rose Red and the others so very near her. The party was content to remain silent, all thinking that it was better to remain so as they were all feeling rather cross. Then, a low sound rumbling that stood apart from the thunder caught Ovelia's attention. She peered past her knees; massive shapes roved against the mist that'd settled upon the land as the rain poured.

"Alma…Ramza," she whispered, "There's something out there."

Alma looked up, "I can see them, but they are too far out to tell what they are just yet."

"Whatever they are we should be ready to meet them should they prove unfriendly," Ramza stood, unsheathing his sword. The chocobos were already upon their talons, and Rose Red warked, nervously backing away from Ovelia ever so slightly. Ovelia glanced back at her companion; its crimson feathers were puffed, and its protests alternated between low hisses and high cries. It stamped impatiently, and she turned to approach it, but the bird pecked at her in fear.

"Rose," Ovelia whispered, soothingly, approaching the chocobo slowly, and then glanced over her shoulder backward, staring into the field, after Alma's breathy scream cut above all other noise in the field.

"Behemoths!"

"Nine of them," Ramza added, his voice unusually grave, "There are too many for us. Come on, quickly!" Ovelia managed to calm Rose Red enough to mount the bird, and she suddenly rode like the wind, gliding through the rain following the glittering gold and harsh black of Alma's and Ramza's steeds. She stared wildly back; the behemoths were almost upon them. Steam streamed from their nostrils, and their eyes glowed like fire as they tore the earth asunder beneath their might claws hunting their prey. The beast in the lead bore its fangs, leapt wildly forward, its golden mane flying in the wind about its great, monstrous head, and landed near Rose Red. The monster bowed lowly attempting to gore the bird with its mighty horns, but the chocobo leapt right landing awkwardly on its long legs, tossing its rider from its back.

"Ovelia!" Ramza yelled pulling to a full stop. Before the woman even registered him calling her name, she whistled through the air and careened onto the earth, landing with a hard thwack near the river's edge. Breathless, Ovelia pushed herself to her feet. Her limbs were shaking, and when she was completely aware once more, the snarling beast was before her pawing at the ground ready to charge. A flash of black sped by her eyes, and she was in the air again, being yanked up onto Ramza's chocobo by her waist. She folded her arms around his waist, still dazed, and they ran on. Rose Red matched their pace as does Alma's golden Boco. Rose flashes her apologetic eyes, and she loosened one arm to reach out to the beast, but Ramza placed his firmly over hers.

"Do not let go," his ordered. Ovelia glanced back; the behemoths were still pursuing them, driving trenches into the earth. All the while, the rain was still falling, and the mist obscured everything further than ten meters from view. Half of the pack fell behind, and after ten minutes the monsters gave up the chase completely.

"Ramza," Ovelia murmured. He didn't respond, his hand still securing her arms around his waist. She didn't have to see his face or the bulging veins in his neck to know that he's angry. Over the next three hours, the dark clouds passed, and the rain slowed to a trickle, giving way to a starry sky. No one had spoken the entire time; Ramza was still just as angry as he had been after the encounter with behemoths, and when they rode into Bervenia, he sent Alma to a nearby inn on the poor side of the city to reserve a room for them.

Taking Boco and Rose Red by the reins, Ovelia walked a short distance behind Ramza and his steed as they made their way to a stable to house the chocobos for the night.

"How much for a single night for these three?" Ramza asked the stable master.

"That'll be thirty gold pieces," the man replied. Ramza paid him, throwing in an extra hundred for a potion to treat Rose Red's shallow wounds. He strode past Ovelia onto the streets without a word.

She'd had enough, "Ramza!" she called, and he stopped short then turned, taking her hand and pulling her into a dark alleyway, backing her against a wall.

"Are you mad?" he spat, "Don't ever call my name again in the street! Less could reveal us."

"I apologize," she faltered, "I didn't thi-"

Ramza cut her off and accused hotly, "Think? You never do, Ovelia."

Then her eyes narrowed. This wasn't at all about what happened on the street mere seconds ago…this was about what had happened on the field with the behemoths, but what could Ovelia had done to prevent that? Rose Red threw her, reacting only as it could in self preservation when the leader of the pack singled them out.

"That," Ovelia growled, "Could not be avoided, Ramza. Let me go," she demanded, trying to pull away from his powerful grasp.

He refused to be shaken free and leaned closely, his face so close to hers that their noses touched, "You should have remained in Zeltennia. If you truly cared for Ivalice, you would have stayed there. What brought you out here? The need to satisfy your vanity?" He let her go then, panting, his adrenaline spent.

"H-h-how dare you," she sputtered, her rage barely contained, "Do you truly think so little of me, Ramza? I've misjudged you," with that statement, Ovelia ran through the street towards the inn which Ramza had steered Alma; she bumped into her friend who'd been leaving to find them.

Catching sight of Ovelia's tear-streaked face, Alma's eyes filled with worry, "What hap…what did he say?"

"Please," Ovelia hiccupped, wiping quickly at her eyes, "No questions. The key, if you would?"

"But," Alma began and then closed her mouth, thinking better of questioning the other woman further. She gave Ovelia the key and showed her their room, watching her friend leave without another word. Brow furrowed, Alma paced into the tavern, ordered a glass of wine, and sat at a table near the door, waiting for her brother. Barely any time passed before Ramza entered the inn himself, his cloak still damp and his hood low like hers. He walked about as if in a daze.

Alma waved him over, pointing for him to sit, "What did you say to her?"

Ramza raked a hand through his hair beneath the hood and stared away, "I am a fool, Alma. I should've never dealt so harshly with her…I was so angry, and my words were hasty. She'll hate me now. I'm sure of it."

Alma placed her hand over his, squeezing, "She's very hurt, but I'm sure she'll forgive you with time."

Ramza looked up suddenly, "I do care for her…against my honor, I care for her. Were she to die, I can't say what I'd do. I cannot lose someone else the same way I lost Ag…" It still hurt to speak her name. Ramza was slowly beginning to accept Agrias' madness.

"I know, Ramza. Don't think I haven't been watching the way you two behave around each other as of late," Alma smiled sadly, "You will not lose her like Agrias."

"Seeing…Agrias so nearly drove me mad, myself, and I'm so conflicted. I love Agrias…yet, I have these feelings that I cannot quash no matter how I try for Ovelia. She knows that I've been avoiding her. I can scarcely talk to her now," Ramza held his head in his hands.

"Brother…" Alma murmured, unsure of what to say…what to do, and she thought for a long moment, "Don't cast these feelings aside lest you are driven mad. For now, it's for the best that we simply focus on the task at hand, but tomorrow when we break for camp, you must apologize to her, or you'll have to do battle with me," she joked.

He laughed quietly, his face taking on an expression she hadn't seen since before the Lion War. The quietly sad Ramza she'd grown up with whispered, "You always did know how to make me smile, Alma."

"Uncle," the boy tugged at Olan's sleeve with one hand and rubbed his eyes sleepily with the other.

Olan smiled sadly and patted the boy on his head, "Tis far past time for you to be sleeping, Your Majesty." Orinas was such a willful child, but Olan couldn't help but to indulge the boy with his mother's death still so fresh for everyone in Ivalice. So young to be without a mother…as young children often were after tragedy, Orinas barely grasped the full implications of Ruvelia's passing, and it was left to Olan and the boy king's flustered, shy nurse to dry his tears. He looked down at the stout little boy once whose long golden lashes drooped with fatigue, "Pray tell, milord, how you escaped your nurse this time?"

The boy's chest swelled with pride, "I am a very good spy, Uncle, and a good spy never tells his secrets."

"Is that so?" Olan allowed himself a dry chuckle and lifted the boy up in his arms who in turn protested, wriggling his legs and arms.

"Put me down!" the boy squawked, indignant.

"Now, now, milord, you can barely keep your eyes open. I am carrying you to your apartments myself, and it will be a scolding for you if you're skulking about the halls again."

Then, the boy's eyes brimmed with tears, and Olan felt immediately guilty, "Orinas," he began. Olan rarely used the young king's proper name, "You mustn't cry."

"Uncle," Orinas whined, "I'm not tired, honest! Please just let me stay with you a bit longer, and then I'll go to sleep, I promise."

Olan sighed as the boy's eyes went wide and pleading; he was growing soft or Orinas was growing cleverer by the day, "Very well then, milord. You will keep me company as I feed Agrias."

"The mad woman!?" Orinas exclaimed, and then his eyes were drawn wider by a very different emotion- fear.

Olan flashed the boy a severe look, "You mustn't call her so," and he intended to chastise the boy further but stopped himself. Orinas had been present for one of her rather nasty outbursts, but she'd been better these last few days, trading her sputtering and incoherent babble for longer and longer stretches of silence. For certain moments in the day, Olan could have sworn that as he looked into her eyes, she'd been staring back, truly seeing him for the first time since she'd been found almost a month ago. As he neared her corridor, he set the boy down, taking his hand instead.

"I believe she's still ill, Your Majesty," he began not at all sure why he was explaining his opinions of Agrias' malady to a child. Orinas cared and understood naught, "But, it would seem that she is improving."

As they approached her door, the knight guarding it drew himself up rigidly, standing at full attention.

"Milord," the knight saluted and stepped to the side giving Olan leave to enter, "A maid has already brought her evening meal."

"Very well," Olan replied, "And please do thank the lass that brought her meal. I know how the people fear her."

The knight appeared taken aback for a minute before mumbling a reply that Olan couldn't quite catch. The door closed behind him, and Olan sat the lad down at the foot of Agrias' bed. Her back was to him, the long curve of her neck made frailer and its fine bones all the more prominent for the near starvation her madness drove her to. He approached carefully, lightly even as he padded on tip toe across the room, and she drew a long shaky breath, the only noise that broke the quiet of the room since his entry. He lowered himself down in his chair across from hers slowly as if he sitting too quickly would've distressed the woman.

Olan smiled, his face a mask to the confidence he most certainly didn't feel, "Good tidings, Agrias. I apologize for my tardiness; matters of the kingdom have kept me long today," and he began to reach across the table over the same steaming bowl of gruel he fed her every day, three times a day, as if to take her hand. Did he dare? Deft, long fingers befitting his sorcerer's hands lowered enveloping hers, the callused fingers of a swordswoman softened for the recent lack of battle, and to his surprise she did not jerk away or screech. She sat perfectly still, her eyes now on his, not glazed over in madness but observant and glittering under the low candlelight that illuminated the room. Long shadows played against her face, masking the decrepit agedness her insanity had racked upon her. Bare of any emotion at all, she just stared, and he wasn't quite sure how to react.

"Uncle," Orinas' small voice broke the silence.

Olan didn't dare turn his back to Agrias, "Yes, Orinas?" He'd done it again, that nagging social faux pas of using the boy's proper name. Had he the courage to breach that unspoken etiquette once more? "Yes, Milord?" he corrected himself.

"Is she…she better?" Orinas whispered as if he were attempting to keep Agrias from hearing him.

"I-I-I," Olan sputtered, his mouth flapped like a fish flailing for air after being beached, "I'm not at all sure, Your Majesty."

He drew his hand from hers, thinking to compensate for this sudden strangeness about the room with his usual nonsensical chatter, and reached for the bowl, lifting the spoon to her lips, "I've never cared much for this myself, Agrias, not even in my infancy so I've been told, but I've been assured the taste is sweet. `Tis been flavored with oats and honey."

With a spoonful of the syrupy grain, he sat the bowl down to pry her mouth open with his free hand. He'd forgotten to apply the clamps or addle her with enough spells beforehand, and perhaps tonight he'd willfully forgotten. It was so barbaric a thing to have to do a woman he respected so much, but she stunned him, opening her mouth, and he fed her, completely silent unlike all his previous times with her.

When the bowl was empty, they sat together staring at one another, and then he spoke, "Agrias, can you hear me?"

"Yes," she replied weakly, gazing at him with more than a little fear, and she ran her hands against the sides of her face as if she weren't use to the invisible hinges beneath the skin stretching and contracting for speech.

"Oh dear God," Olan breathed, "Are you really there? Agrias, say something again."

"Where am I? Where are the others? Where is Ramza?"