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Her Order was decimated. All of the honorable Orders of Burmecia had been decimated, but none more so than the Order of Reis. It has as much to do with the emphasis their teaching placed on never abandoning another, as it does with the fact that all of Reis' knights were women.

The matriarchal Alexandrians had focused all of their might on what they had arrogantly assumed to be the strongest elements of Burmecia's force. Reis' knights had not disappointed them --they gave twice as much as they got-- but no amount of skill or dedication could stand up to Alexandria's overwhelming numbers.

Freya is the only Knight left. There are two younglings who were close to their trials before the attack, but one of them might never walk again. A score or more striplings are running around the ruins of Burmecia who had begun their apprenticeship, but she doubts many of them will return to finish. Their hands are needed elsewhere.

And then there is Matron Holly, who had retired her spear years before Freya had become a Knight.

"Your sisters died with honor," Matron Holly sighs gently, steam eddying around her head in a dizzying swirl. The slit pupils of her eyes fix unblinkingly on Freya. "We must all live to keep that honor pure now. I cannot --will not-- deny your request."

Freya bows deeply. "Thank you, Lady Holly."

"Reis now," the dragon shivers and collapses into the form of a human woman. Old still but her back is unbent and her stance strong. The eyes that stay fixed on Freya remain the same. "We will become strong once more. Come now, we have much to do to rebuild our ranks."

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"Your tail is ugly," Freya carefully enunciated each word, though the vowels still came out mangled and barely legible to anyone sober.

Zidane, fortunately, did not have that problem. He was twice as drunk as she was, no matter what he said otherwise. "'s not! Yours is uglier."

"It is not!" Freya replied indignantly, but she turned to squint fuzzily at it anyway. "Is it?"

The hint of uncertainty broke through the haze of alcohol in Zidane's brain. Unfortunately, it wasn't quick enough to stop his mouth. "It's the ugliest tail I've ever seen."

"It is!" Freya's face crumpled as she wailed. "That's why he left me! It's because my tail is ugly!"

"Uh," Zidane stared helplessly at the morose woman. "I, uh, didn't really mean it." Freya continued to stare at her tail with suspiciously wet eyes. Zidane tried to regain some of the charm that seemed to have deserted him after the seventh round. "I think you're really pretty, Freya."

"Liar," Freya muttered and her lower lip wobbled slightly.

"No!" Zidane's eyes widened and he fixed his most charming grin on, and succeeded in making it look only slightly psychotic. "You're absolutely gorgeous. Anyone who'd want to leave someone as beautiful as you should get his head checked."

"Really?" Freya sounded hopeful as she slowly straightened from her slump. "You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"

"Really! I- hmph!" Zidane was cut off by a lap-full of a friend he'd swore couldn't move that fast while drunk, or could be coordinated enough to keep both the stool and their drinks from spilling as she thoroughly kissed him.

Freya grinned wickedly when she sat back saying, "Thanks Zidane, you're not too bad looking yourself. For a monkey-tailed bastard."

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It was a solid wall of hardened flesh and white teeth in a mouth that belched out a sickly green mist. Zidane stared at it and quietly cursed. He had no idea what the creature was, but it sure as hell wasn't what he was expecting to face when he'd come back to Treno to finish the store's challenge.

"Zidane," Dagger's voice wavered uncertainly above him, "are you sure you want to-"

Zidane forced himself to laugh and sound more confident than he really was, "Of course! This is nothing, I'll be finished in a few minutes."

There was a soft snort directly above him and he could almost feel Freya's amused stare, "I have no doubt about that. At least we still have a few phoenix downs."

The monster snorted, blowing up a cloud of dust mixed with it's breath and began to lumber forward. Zidane snapped his daggers up to the ready. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. It was big and mean looking, but moved too slow. It wouldn't take much for him to-

Zidane grunted as he hit the wall and bounced off it landing unsteadily on his feet. His chest burned and he could feel blood slowly soaking his torn shirt. The monster tossed it's head and turned back to charge again. Zidane scrambled, barely avoiding another hit and completely failing to hit it himself. So maybe the monster wasn't as slow as he thought it would be. He could still do this! Maybe.

"Don't worry," Eiko shouted through the bars, "I can practice using Cure on you when you're done!"

Somehow, that failed to encourage him.

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Love isn't for him. Love took one look at the hulking figure of Amarant Coral, his wicked looking claws, and had run away in fear. Which was fair enough, Amarant wanted nothing to do with love either.

Freya had been relieved when he told that to her.

Love had hounded Freya Crescent, not letting her outrun it or forget it was there. It had torn her apart and left her bleeding on the ground, Freya never wanted to deal with it again.

Amarant reassured her that what they had was not love.

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Freya had been in love once before. She’d been young then, and dead certain that she had found her other half.

She would wait for him outside the King’s council everyday, even though it was only for a moment that he would stop to talk with her. Sir Fratley was a very busy man with an unimaginable burden of duty on him, so those moments he would speak to her were precious beyond anything. They spoke quickly, with formal words that said nothing and shy glances that said everything.

Freya is still in love with the Fratley she so clearly remembers. Even though she is older now, and less certain about that love. After all, how can she claim to love him when she can barely stand to look at him? To look at the wraith of the man who wears her dear Fratley's body so well, but doesn't even remember her name. How can that be love?

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"Huh," Amarant finally grunted.

It was the least expressive word in his vocabulary, and the most he'd spoken to anyone since he'd strolled into the wedding party five hours ago. Freya knew because Amarant had spent three of those hours on a balcony with her. As far away from the ballroom where Zidane and Dagger entertained their guests as they could get.

They weren't being unsociable --well, Freya wasn't-- as much as taking a break. The wedding of a Queen was always an event. Something to be attended by more nobles and royalty than the entire planet really needed. A group like that got very tiring, very quickly.

"What?" Freya turned towards him and tried to read what little of his face the hair and darkness didn't conceal. Futile, but she had little else to go on. "If you're out of drink you can go find your own bottle, mine's almost empty."

Amarant snorted and tilted the bottle he held enough for it to slosh. Bastard had to have at least half of it left, and now he wouldn't share it with her. He turned his head enough for her to see more of his nose, and a ghostly impression of one eye.

"Your clothes," one big hand reached out and tugged the sleeve of her jacket, stretching the cloth out so that the moon glinted off the gold threads woven into it. "They're yellow, Rat."

"It's a uniform," Freya slapped his hand away and straightened the cloth. Zidane's first reaction upon seeing her had been to curl up on the floor and laugh. The uniform did look rather ridiculous on her, the bright yellow turning her hair sallow, but she didn't think it was that bad. She certainly didn't think it'd warranted the hours of running commentary from Zidane and Eiko she'd had to deal with for the rest of the day.

"My uniform for formal occasions and ceremonies. Such as the wedding of royalty," Freya reached out and pointedly tugged at the rough cloth that made up Amarant's usual ensemble. "Unlike your outfit, my normal clothes are not multi-purpose."

"Course they are," Amarant took a healthy swig from his bottle, which upon closer inspection didn't seem to be the vintage that was being served at the party. "'sides, red suits you better'n yellow."

"Maybe," Freya drained what little liquid remained in her bottle. The dregs had a touch of bitterness that made her grimace. The bottle was from a winery that was well known for being able to produce large quantities of wine, good wine, but obviously something had to be sacrificed for it.

"No 'maybe' about it. You look best in red," Amarant quickly replied. Freya felt her lips twitch but didn't smile. Bringing attention to the off-handed compliment would only make Amarant pricklier than usual.

"Fine," Freya admitted. She was sick of wearing the uniform and hearing Zidane laugh anyway. "I want to spar. Get two more bottles of that," Freya clicked one claw against the bottle Amarant had most certainly taken from Dagger's private wine cellar, "and meet me at the practice yards."

"What happened to 'find your own bottle?'"

"I have to change," Freya said over her shoulder as she walked back into the castle. "You did say you preferred me in red, right?"

It might have been a trick of the light, or even her own imagination, but Freya thought she saw Amarant smile before she turned towards her room.

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The rat was begging to be hurt.

Freya was nothing more than a red ball of cloth and snickers in the corner. Amarant shot a glare her way from over his-- Hell, he didn't know what drink number he was on anymore. Whatever the number, it wasn't high enough for him to deal with this shit yet.

Amarant downed the mug and shoved it back across the counter to be filled. While that was being done he took the opportunity to properly glare at the rat.

Freya wheezed, one hand smacking the ground as tiny beads of tears rolled down her face.

"Bitch!" Amarant turned at the clink and chugged the mug. Pure fire blazed a line straight from his throat to his stomach. He coughed once before shoving the mug back to the bewildered bartender. "More o' that. Hell, gimme the whole damn bottle!"

"I'm so incredibly sorry!" The dark haired girl said. Again. She was averaging an apology for every mug Amarant managed to down. "I didn't mean to-"

"Shut up!" Amarant reached across the bar and took the bottle from the barkeep. The man wisely said nothing after one fierce glare from Amarant. He brought the bottle up and managed to suck down a quarter of it before having to stop and cough the fire from his lungs. Whatever it was, it was seriously good shit.

"If I knew the spell was going to-"

"Shut up!" Amarant whirled on the witchy girl who quailed before him. She really was sorry, and was beating herself up good for what she'd done. Doing a much better job than Amarant could anyway. That's why he wasn't killing her. It wasn't that she looked too much like Dagger. Nope, not at all. "Just, don't talk."

The girl nodded wildly, making a big commotion as she waved the barkeep back. Trying her best to indicate, without speaking, that the bottle Amarant had taken should be put on her tab too. Just like every other drink he'd downed so far. Maybe he shouldn't've told her to keep her yap shut. She was more annoying now.

"...." Amarant was going to take back his last words when a hollow thunk drew his attention past the girl. Her boy still looked like he was in pain. Head planted firmly on the counter and both hands gripping it tightly. As he watched the guy turned one agonized gaze towards the girl. "You got him pregnant!?"

The girl froze, hands fluttering over another bottle she was attempting to pay for. The bartender's eyes went wide. A fresh bought of laughter erupted from Freya in the corner. Amarant felt his temper boil over --again-- and carefully put the bottle down.

The little witch was safe from Amarant, but the leather-clad boy who followed her most certainly wasn't. It was with a sense of extreme relief that Amarant reached over the girl and punched the boy.

Freya laughed and laughed and laughed.

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