Writings of an Owlmoose

Summary: A chance meeting between two of Spira’s greatest warriors — Nooj the Undying and Sir Auron, the legendary guardian — will change the course of history.

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Death Shall Have No Dominion

Chapter Twenty-Three

The siege was the most tedious tactic in the arsenal of the professional military man. Once the choke points had been chosen and the number of troops necessary to man them had been decided upon and assigned, a commander had little to do besides sit back and watch the rest of his army lose its edge.

Nooj had explained this to Paine for the umpteenth time as a way of excusing his bad temper and restlessness.

“So, I have to make sure the ones not on duty at the passage keep up their training and don’t just lie around drinking and complaining, especially the ones who joined up without normal exposure to discipline. If this lasts too long, some of them will get bored and wander off. We can’t afford to lose a single man.”

“Calm down, Nooj. It’s only been one day, not even that. I doubt their readiness has declined all that much.” She looked up from the bed with a grin. “I’m sure you told Squab and the others to keep them at their exercises and arms practice.”

“Of course, but how about the monks? I’m not comfortable giving Kal direct orders and I don’t know what he’s doing to keep them sharp.” He stared wretchedly out the window at the flurry of fresh snow. “At least it’s not glaring today and not snowing too heavily. It’s a good day to fight. Why won’t those bastards in the Temple come out and act like men?”

“Would you? Would you risk your troops if you didn’t have to? And about Kal, he’s been a Warrior twice as long as you. I’m sure he knows how to keep his men up to par. Quit pacing, it’s bad for you.” She patted the bed by her side and leered at him playfully. “Come on over here, I’ll find you a distraction.”

-X-

It was rare to find the Ronso guardian more than a few steps away from the summoner he guarded, so when Tidus saw Kimahri squatting by the Agency door, his face turned up to the feeble sunlight, he took advantage of the opportunity for a talk.

“Hey, Kimahri, how’s it going?” The blitzer lowered his own body to its haunches and balanced himself with a fist on the ground.

A grunt was his only answer. Conversation was not a priority among the blue-furred race.

“Yuna all right?”

Another grunt and a brief nod.

“How long you think we’ll be stuck here waiting for them to get hungry enough to come out and fight?” Tidus was genuinely curious since Kimahri was an experienced warrior.

“No knowing. No hurry. We have supply place. Can wait. Why?” The Ronso turned to fix the lad with his disconcertingly unblinking gaze. “Scared?”

“N-no.” The other hastened to reply. Why had he started this conversation in the first place? He should have known he would not get any real information from this source. “I’m just getting bored.”

“Real soldiers not get bored. Real soldiers know how to wait. You learn.” Kimahri tipped his head back again, seeming to relish the feel of the light and warmth on his face.

Tidus maintained his pose for a few more minutes out of pride and then slunk off to find a more verbose and sympathetic audience.

-X-

It was cold at the siege check point but even colder on the rim of the heights overlooking the path to the Temple. At least at the siege front, those manning the watch had the possibility of something happening to keep them alert and warm. They could shout insults and brandish their weapons to ward off boredom. The bulk of the force, deployed behind the point of action, had no such diversions and had to make do with rumors and quarrels.

In spite of his position as Acting Quartermaster and, hence, a ranking officer, Ferata had to grin at the conversations he overheard as he made his rounds.

“You reckon them as stayed with Lucil got it better?”

“Got it warmer anyhow. An’ they can look at Lucil. That’s better’n looking at Squab.”

“I got to look at Beclem – but I’m not that desperate yet.”

And at another group:

“I hope I get rotated down to the front pretty soon.”

“Damn fool! That’s where you get killed. Didn’t you hear Maester Seymour’s down there in that temple?”

“I don’t know nothing about Seymour. Is he some kind of super-something? What makes him so scary?”

“Just shut up and I’ll tell you.” The second man started on a long only partially accurate description of the Maester.

Ferata did not take the time to correct the information since a fist fight had started across the way. With a warning shout, he raced toward the disturbance. Two bands of men had decided to disagree about whether machina firearms were superior to broadswords and were determined to settle the matter in blood. When Ferata arrived at the scene, Squab was there and Beclem was on the way.

“I was on my way to check the front lines when these damn’ fools cut loose,” Squab gasped as he grabbed one of the combatants by the throat and held him briefly aloft before dropping him in a snow-drift. “Next time, it’ll be over the cliff,” he snarled at the breathless man.

Ferata hefted his staff and began laying about him without discrimination. “Stop it or I’ll crack your thick skulls! You want to fight, wait for the enemy.”

The squabblers who had been rolling in the snow, grabbing at one another’s weapons, kicking and cursing, suddenly recognized the voices of their leaders and became still. The ones on the outskirts of the turmoil tried to sneak away and hide among those who had been watching, only to be thrust back out before justice in the person of their Captain.

Squab folded his arms, drawing himself up to his greatest height and just looked at the miscreants. He stared at them until they had all dropped their eyes and appeared as guilty as they were.

“You misbegotten sons of diseased garms, you whelp of rotten flans, you products of wall-eyed basilisks, what do you think you’re doing here? You think we need you to show us which weapons to use? If I gave you what you deserve, I would take all the weapons you have away and send you out to do battle with your bare hands, you pusillanimous would-be warriors. Down on your knees! Scrape every scrap of snow off this area with your tongues. Now!”

Ferata joined his old friend as they left the sinners to their punishment. “They’re just bored, you know.”

“I know but we can’t let them lose discipline. Nooj will flay any of us who ease up on them. Cut back on the alcohol rations again.” Squab started down the path to the siege point.

“Again?” Ferata called after him.

“Again,” came the answer.

-X-

Aquelev glanced up from his work when the shadow fell across his hands. “Hi, Tidus. How you doing?”

“Bored. How long you think this’ll last?” He sat down on the log which had been brushed clear of snow.

The Al Bhed knit his brow, making his swirling pupils more noticeable than usual. “I’m no soldier so I just don’t know. Nooj says no two sieges are alike. There’s no telling — it could end tomorrow or we could be sitting here next month.” He shrugged. “We just have to stay ready.”

Tidus had lost interest in the answer when he realized Aquelev had no inside information and was poking into the packets the other man was assembling. “What’re you making?”

“Just getting ready to train a class of first-aid volunteers. When the monks decide to come out it may not be to surrender. If they choose to fight, it could get real nasty real fast. I promised Nooj I’d get together a corps and teach them some simple healing spells and outfit them with basic supplies.”

“You always do what he tells you? What’s in here?” The younger man peered into one of the pouches lined up on the board across his friend’s knees.

“Oh, tourniquets, salve, cloth for bandaging, a few knock-out pills — the usual.”

Tidus looked up with a grin. “You’re going to teach people how to use these and cast heal spells? Can I learn?”

Aquelev smiled at the enthusiastic tone. “It’s all right with me but you might be better occupied defending the Lady Yuna. After all, you are a guardian.”

At once Tidus returned to reality. “Yeah, I’m a fighter. Thanks anyway. Well, I better check out the rest of the team.” He wandered off, a little forlornly. He was always eager to learn new skills and it would have been fun to be a healer as well as a warrior.

-X-

By midnight, the sky had cleared completely. Moonlight sparkled on the snow, lending an eerily beautiful glow to the drifts around the temple entrance as the small team of warrior monks approached, each tapping the Crusader he was replacing on the shoulder. The soldiers exchanged places in silence, the sound of quietly crunching footsteps filling the air. Once the switch had finished to his satisfaction, Kal walked up to the main sentry position where Auron stood.

“Back already?” Auron asked, turning. “Didn’t your men just finish a watch this afternoon?”

“Yeah.” Kal shrugged. “But we’re more familiar with this kind of duty than the Crusaders, so Nooj asked us to take an extra shift, and everyone was willing. Guarding the temples is all about waiting. The others are having a harder time balancing anxiety and boredom.”

“It’s true,” said Beclem as he joined them, preparing to follow the group that was just finishing its turn on the front. “Much as I hate to admit it. But some of the fights we had to break up today! It’s barely been a day and a half, and they’re already almost too restless to control. I’m thinking about letting my squad hunt fiends for an hour before their next watch, just to blow off some steam.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Kal replied. “But for now they really need to get inside, grab some food and some rest. Just standing can be exhausting when you’re not used to it.”

Beclem nodded. “You’re right, sir, of course. Thanks for taking another turn so quickly. Sir Auron.” He sketched a quick bow to the guardian and then moved out.

“So.” Kal settled in to a comfortable position, weight distributed evenly over his feet. “You’ve been out here awhile yourself.”

“I am also accustomed to waiting,” said Auron. He looked at his old friend, who stared serenely at the temple. “Are you sure your men are up to this?”

“I think we can handle watching a door.”

Auron’s grunt was half a laugh. “That’s not what I meant.”

Kal glanced quickly sideways, then returned his gaze to the temple entrance. “I know. We talked about it yesterday. They’re fine. Have to admit, having Julien as the face of Yevon makes it easier. No one here has any interest in seeing that bastard win. If nothing else, that’ll carry them through.” He chuckled. “We’ve got it under control. Go get some rest yourself.”

“I will.” Anyone else, Auron would have waved off, but Kal knew him too well. The warm inn and some food would not come amiss. “See you in the morning.”

-X-

The Crusader heard a slight sound from behind him. A creaking like the sound of the snow crust being compressed caught his attention and he swung about, lowering his machina rifle to the firing position.

“Halt! Who is it?” He croaked out. He had been silent so long his voice was unreliable. A tall figure emerged from the darkness of the surrounding area. “Identify yourself or I fire!”

“Don’t shoot, soldier. It’s me.” Nooj limped into range of vision. “What are you doing here? I thought the monks had taken another turn at watch.”

The soldier re-shouldered his weapon and saluted. “They have, sir. I had a stomach problem earlier and missed my deployment so I volunteered to join Commander Kal’s team. Is that all right? Sir?”

“If Kal approved. Where is he? Is he still out here?”

“Yessir. He just passed this point and was going to the right. Sir.”

“Carry on, soldier. What’s your name? I don’t think we have served together before.” Nooj returned the salute.

“No sir, I have not had that honor. I’m called Merfal. Sir.” He drew himself up to full attention, trying to look as military and professional as he could.

His commander turned away slightly to hide a smile. The Crusaders who had chosen to follow the rebels were bringing a note of fine discipline to the improvised army. They seemed to feel it their duty to set an example for both the monks and the recruits picked up during the march. There was much to be said for formal training. This segment could be relied on to follow orders quickly and precisely, and that would almost certainly prove to be of critical importance once the battle was finally joined.

“I am glad to have you with us, Merfal. Carry on.”

“Yessir.” Had he not been standing ankle deep in snow, the Crusader would have clicked his heels. As it was, he maintained the salute and posture until Nooj had passed back into the darkness.

Nooj himself had already dismissed the man from his mind and was wondering why he had felt compelled to check the emplacements at this time. He had tried to keep his visits to the front to a minimum lest the troops catch the edginess he could not contain. It would do no good for the army to think its leader worried or doubtful.

He had wakened after a couple of restless hours of broken sleep and had realized at once he would be unable to rest again until he had satisfied himself that all was as it should be. His intuition had served him well in battle before and he was inclined to trust it to some degree. There was an uneasiness in the air. Could the monks of the Temple be preparing for a surprise attempt to break through? Were he in charge, he would do so; this was so early in the siege such an effort would not be expected.

He looked over towards the Temple. There were lights flickering in the openings to the interior. Naturally, the denizens would be keeping watch inside as well as out, but … He felt a gathering danger. Something was going to happen, soon. Kal had gone in this direction. Should he hurry and try to catch up with the senior monk? The relationship between the two of them was better, but it was still not as comfortable as it might be. Nooj was of two minds. If he shared his feeling of alarm with Kal might the other man think him an immature coward? No. He could not risk that. He would keep this prickling in his mind to himself and continue to watch until the dawn.

As usual, he had left his heavy gun behind. It weighed him down and hindered his ability to use the other weapons he bore. In his heart, he knew he would never become reconciled to the stinking, greasy mechanical tool. He had become more facile in the use of the powerful left hand which could wreak as much havoc as the gun if only at short range. He stood quietly and raised that hand, observing as the pulleys and such worked smoothly under the black glove. Yes. This was a worthwhile weapon, always with him and always effective. It would serve very nicely to rip the throat out of that dishonorable Julien who fancied himself a general. Nooj spat in disgust. No man so unable to control his own behavior had any business controlling troops. They must be scraping the bottom of the talent pool to let someone like that occupy so high a position.

Continuing to let his thoughts follow their own patterns, he resumed his patrol. He put his steadily increasing apprehension to one side and began the task of noticing everything.

-X-

It had been a long, dull night, perched on the roof of the temple, waiting for Kal and his disgraced warrior monks to make a move. But neither side had blinked, and so now Julien was looking forward to a few hours of sleep and a little time off duty. The last thing he wanted to deal with was the face-off that awaited him in the temple’s main chamber, but it seemed that he would have little choice in the matter.

“How much longer are we to be held prisoner here?” The Lady Dona crossed her arms and glared at the young warrior monk who blocked her path to the front door, the guardian Barthello glowering silently behind her. “It’s been two days, and I need to get to Bevelle.”

“Sorry, m’lady summoner, but no one is allowed in or out,” said the monk. “The commander’s orders.”

“I don’t care about the commander’s orders. Since when do summoners answer to the warrior monks? So don’t give me that. Now, do you let us go, or do we need to take matters into our own hands?” She tilted her chin back over her shoulder, and Barthello took a step forward, flexing his arms menacingly.

With a deep breath, Julien walked out of the doorway and interposed himself between the summoner and the monk. “Now, m’lady,” he said, as mildly as he could manage, “this is for your own protection. There’s an army out there, and even assuming you could get past them, reports suggest that there’s a much larger force outside the gates of Bevelle. So you probably couldn’t get into St. Bevelle even if you did make it that far. We will break the siege soon, and as soon as that happens you are free to go.”

“Break the siege?” Dona snorted. “How? By sitting in here and hoping that the rebels will go away? How’s that working out for you so far?”

Julien felt his jaw clench and the vein in his left temple starting to throb. Stupid girl — what did she know about military operations? “Patience, Lady Dona,” he said, keeping as calm as he could manage. “Just give us a little more time.”

Dona tossed her hair haughtily. “My time and patience are limited, Commander, and I have run out of both. Barthello, we’re leaving.” She stepped around both Julien and the other monk with a look that dared them to stop her.

“Going so soon?” The smooth voice descended from the top of the stairs and commanded the attention of everyone in the room. Maester Seymour followed his words down the steps, Baralai a few paces behind him. “My lady, is our hospitality no longer acceptable to you?”

Dona looked coolly up at the maester. “The accommodations are fine, but I have delayed my pilgrimage long enough. Your muscle-headed commander seems to think that we need to stay here to be safe, but do you really think the rebels would stop a summoner on pilgrimage from her sacred duty?”

Baralai bowed politely. “These Crusaders and their followers have turned on Yevon, my lady. Who is to say that they will consider you sacred any longer?”

Seymour nodded. “You may be right, Lady Dona, but so may our friend Baralai.”

Dona shrugged. “Possibly. But I’d rather take my chances than stay cooped up here a minute longer.”

“Be that as it may,” said Seymour, with a glance at Baralai, “I’m afraid I really must insist. You have a duty to the temples as well as to your pilgrimage, I’m sure you would agree. If the temple defenses should fail, we need you here.”

Julien bristled. “Not necessary, your grace. The defenses will hold.”

“Of course they will,” Seymour replied, serene. “I have every confidence in you, Commander Julien. But it would be foolish of us to throw away any weapon we have at our disposal.”

Dona’s mouth dropped open in horror, and several of the priests gasped. “Are you calling me a weapon? How dare you suggest that I use the Aeons against people?” she demanded. “It is not their purpose, and a perversion of the teachings!”

“The Lady Yuna will not hesitate to use the aeons in such a manner,” Baralai said. “I saw her do it myself, against the warrior monks at Mushroom Rock Road. We must be prepared to stop her.”

“Yuna? That little goody-goody?” Dona snapped. “Please. I don’t believe it.”

“It matters not whether you believe it,” said Seymour. “I am the maester and I am giving you a direct order. You will stay and help defend the temple.”

Dona exchanged a long look with Barthello, then exhaled sharply. “I guess you’re not giving me any choice, are you? All right, fine. We’ll stay.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Seymour bowed to her, and she and the guardian returned the gesture perfunctorily before heading off into the guest quarters.

After she had disappeared, Seymour transferred his attention to Julien. “I expect you to keep better control over the people in your charge, Commander. Is that clear?”

“But I…” Julien started to snap, then stopped himself. She was a summoner! How could he use force against a summoner? But he bit back his frustration yet again. “Yes, your grace. I will attempt to do better in the future.”

“Good. Now get some rest. We’ll meet this afternoon.”

“Yes my lord.” Julien bowed, then waited for Seymour and his entourage to depart. Once the room was safely empty, he let his blank expression twist into a silent snarl. Priests, summoners, maesters… a pox on all of them. He would show them how real men fought a war. But first he needed a little sleep. It had been a long night, and it seemed that this day would be even longer.

-X-

Paine was wakened by the sound of the door closing and looked with sleep-fogged eyes as Nooj entered as quietly as he could manage. The faint glow through the window told her it would soon be morning — he had been away for a long time. Even now, there was sufficient ambient light to see what her lover was doing. She watched drowsily as he shook his head and scratched fiercely at his scalp, all the while prowling uneasily about the room. He had brought the chill of the outside with him, and she shivered as she pulled the covers closer about her and wondered what was troubling him at this hour. The siege was beginning to wear upon him and he was obviously impatient and spoiling for action; maybe that was all. As she looked through her lashes, she saw him tug at his hair again with a snarl.

With a yawn, Paine swung around so that she was sitting up, pulled her robe from its place at the foot of the bed and belted it around her.

“Where have you been?” She thought to divert his attention from whatever had driven him from their warm nest. “And is your hair really bothering you that much?”

He showed no surprise that she was awake. “What? Oh, yes. It’s hard to keep it out of the way during campaigns when I don’t have time to redo it on a regular basis. It’s a rat’s nest right now and itches.” He dug the fingers of his right hand once more into his scalp.

“Come on over here and sit down.” She swung her legs over the edge and hooked a chair with her foot, dragging it to the space between her knees. “I’ll help you take it loose and do it over. You know, I’ve never seen you with your hair down.”

He looked at her as though she had suggested washing his face for him. “No, you don’t have to do that. I can manage. Taking it down isn’t anything special, just time consuming.”

“Come on over here and let me do it. I don’t have anything else to do and I want to. See, I even have a comb.” She held up the grooming tool she had taken from the pouch she normally wore at her belt. “We’re just waiting for something to happen and I’m awake now. Might as well get this done. You look exhausted.”

He smiled sheepishly and limped over to pivot the chair around and seat himself astride it with his back to her. The touch of her strong slender fingers on his head was soothing. He added his own hands to the task of unwrapping and unbraiding until the multiple coils were loosed around his shoulders. As he had said earlier, the mass of his hair fell to the level of his waist with the forelock to the right and the cropped section to the left as exceptions.

Paine gathered the thick mane in her hands and combed through it, first with her fingers, then with the bone comb she used for her own short spikes. It was a slow job teasing out the tangles which had become knots over the time between dressings. She was amused by the noises the normally stoic Nooj made when she hit a particularly intricate mat. “Hush up. I’m not pulling out your fingernails,” she chastened him.

“It feels like you’re plucking me bald.” He swung around and kissed her lingeringly.

When she finally drew back with a shaky laugh, she gave him a little push and muttered, “Stop trying to distract me. I see now why you wanted the longest part cut off. It must have been one long chain of snarls. Now, hold still; I’m almost done.”

She took a palmful of her herbal cleansing gel from the tube on the table and worked it into the coarse mass from root to tip, feeling him relax under her attentions as the fresh fragrance spread through the room. His dark hair lay ordered across his back, gleaming and waving smoothly. Paine leaned back to admire her work and wondered aloud, “Do you want to leave it down for a little while and let it rest?”

Nooj thought. He had never felt his hair loose for longer than the time it took to care for it and then re-arrange the elaborate coils and braids. “Yes, move over and let me rest a while before we have to get ready to be Warriors again. I am a little tired.” Their eyes met and they smiled at one another — meaningfully.

-X-

“We have been under siege for nearly two full days now with no end in sight.” Seymour looked around the room at his advisors and the highest-ranking warrior monks. “Although we are safe here for many days yet, it does concern me that no one has proposed any way to break the stalemate. Suggestions?”

Baralai sat quietly back in his seat as an uncomfortable silence descend, then glanced at Julien, whose face had settled into a scowl. The commander had already seemed tired when he returned from his watch at dawn. Then, rumor had it, he had received a messenger from Bevelle less than an hour after he had disappeared into his chambers to sleep, which could not have improved his mood. Especially given the contents of the message: official word that no reinforcements would be sent. No one had really expected help to come from Bevelle, but it was still not good news for the temple defenders, and everyone was edgy as a result. The runner now sat quietly in the corner of the room, waiting to see if his services would be required to send a return message.

Seymour let the quiet settle, then sighed with disgust. “You are my advisers. Would someone please advise me?”

“Maybe…” A warrior monk officer sat forward and tapped the table lightly. He looked sidelong at Julien, nervous. “Maybe we should let the summoner in. I mean, what could it hurt, right? Another summoner with–”

Julien jumped up and glared down at his underling, his height and bulk filling the entire room. “Are you actually telling me we should surrender? You have that little confidence in my ability to get us out of this?”

The other monk shrank back from the anger in his commander’s voice, looking as if he wanted to disappear into his chair. “N-no,” he said hastily. “I was just–”

“I think,” Baralai interrupted mildly, “that the lieutenant was only looking for a peaceful resolution to this stalemate.”

“Shut up!” Julien swung around and turned the force of his anger on Baralai. “Why are you always questioning me and my authority?”

“Apologies, Commander, that was never my intention.” Baralai bowed in his seat. It was true, in a way — from the beginning, he had been careful not to challenge Julien directly. Instead, he planted suggestions in other people’s minds and let them do the challenging. If the warrior monk’s current demeanor was any indication, the strategy had been effective.

“Commander.” From Seymour, the word was a rebuke. “What did I say about temper? I asked for ideas and the lieutenant provided one, unworkable as it may be. Still, at least he is trying to come up with alternatives. Can you say the same?”

Julien stood up straight and slammed an open palm against the table. “Damn you all! Yes, I can. I’m finished with hiding. It’s time to attack. Today. As soon as possible.”

Seymour raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bold suggestion.”

“Yeah, and it’s the right one.” Julien folded his arms across his chest and looked directly at the Maester. “We’ve been observing the rebels for two days, and I’ve seen the same faces three, even four times over. I don’t think the force is as large as they’re pretending it is. Maybe we can take them out, and even if we don’t finish them this time at least we’ll catch them off guard, unbalance them for next time. An offensive move is the last thing they’ll be expecting. Your grace, I think it’s the only way.”

Seymour made a thoughtful noise. “You make a good case.” He looked at the bodyguard to his left, then Baralai at his right hand. “Have you any thoughts?”

The Guado mage shrugged, then nodded. Baralai spread his hands. “Your Grace, I know little of warfare. This plan seems as likely to work as any other.”

“Very well.” Seymour stood, and the balance of the room shifted toward him as everyone remembered that he stood even taller than Julien, and wielded considerably more power. “Commander, ready your men. You may attack at will.”

Julien bowed deeply, then smiled for the first time in two days. “Thank you, your grace.” He turned and walked out of the room, his warrior monks rising to follow.

Once they had gone, Seymour sat back down. “Well,” he said to Baralai, soft enough for the other alone to hear. “Hopefully this will be over soon, with Yevon under my control and Lady Yuna in my possession. I have put my plans for Spira on hold for long enough.”

“Indeed, your grace.” Baralai nodded, his calm countenance hiding the excitement beneath. This was the tipping point he had hoped to push Julien past. “Do you require anything more of me at this time?”

Seymour waved a hand. “No, you are excused. Feel free to resume your other duties.”

Baralai stood and bowed. “Thank you, your grace.” And he hurried off to do just that, motioning for the courier to follow — he recognized the other from Bevelle as a sympathizer who could be put to good use.

—

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