Old Bonds

THIS IS AWKWARD.

Amelia and I are lying in bed together, clad in our pajamas, our backs lightly pressed to each other. We finished dinner in her desk earlier, with even Amelia eating at my behest, and we hit the hay right after.

The problem is, this is a single bed. I did propose to bring mine from my room, but Amelia refused, saying it was too much of a hassle. Xana had barely agreed to the idea as it was, and she’d have thrown a fit if she’d seen us moving furniture around.

And well, this is how things turned out. Amelia is lying right next to me, her body heat melding into my back. She’s nice and soft, too, and smells pretty good. That spells trouble, because I’m still a healthy man, and I was left hungry for more after making out with Xana last night.

Heck, even Cerys kissed me earlier, so the horndog in me is quietly whispering to turn around and try my luck with Amelia. Of course, she’d beat the crap out of me if I did, so I have no choice but to stay put, feeling blue.

Still, I can’t sleep like this, and neither can Amelia, by the looks of it. My senses are sharper than they used to be, so it’s easy to pick up the sound of her heart pounding away in her chest. That said, I don’t know if she’s nervous about me, or just anguished about Silvano’s warning.

“Say, Amelia,” I called.

“What is it?” she replied, her voice unusually subdued.

“Are you close to anyone in Anathema?” I asked the pressing question.

It’s not strange to see Amelia have reservations about picking a fight with a fellow adventuring party, but Anathema in particular seemed to be a sore spot for her.

“No,” she replied, pausing for a moment before adding, “… not anymore.”

“What happened?” I pressed her. It’s a delicate topic for sure, but I want to know.

Silence.

Man, it’s uncomfortable.

“I used to serve with several members of my family,” Amelia finally replied, “back when I was a paladin of the Order of the Silver Shield. Among them, I was close with my older cousin, Mirabelle.”

Ah, I’ve heard the name. She’s a member of Anathema.

“We used to be inseparable,” Amelia reminisced. “My father taught me how to use the sword, but Mirabelle helped me master it. We trained and worked together all the time, even with Cerys and Xana when duty allowed it. Until that day...”

Her voice trailed off.

“When King Cedric was ambushed,” she continued, “Mirabelle was grievously injured, and she barely made it alive. I was the one to give her first aid, and I personally took her to the Temple of Maladriel for healing.”

I didn’t know any of this. It’s no wonder Amelia was rattled by Silvano.

“I visited daily,” Amelia recalled. “As she convalesced, we exchanged promises to reform our unit stronger than ever before, to exact vengeance for the King. But that day never came. Soon after the attack, my father was tried for treason by the King’s council, and the Order of the Silver Shield failed to defend him. He was imprisoned, and my family and I were expelled from the Order.”

“When I told Mirabelle,” Amelia’s voice tightened, “she yelled at me. She said horrible things I don’t want to remember. I tried to reason with her, but she wouldn’t listen, and we haven’t talked again since then. We just… drifted off, like strangers.”

Shit.

The story is bad as it is, but now Silvano is pointing Amelia at Mirabelle’s party. It’s no freaking wonder she’s getting dragged in the mud by this.

“They’ve really done a number on you,” I replied. “The Cult of Croxas, I mean.”

Frustrating as it is, there’s nothing good I can say about the broken friendship with her cousin. I’ll just dig deeper into Amelia’s wound if I try, so I switched the topic to the Cult instead. Better be angry at them and vent, instead of crying over Mirabelle.

“They have,” Amelia said, her voice stone cold. “They’ve cost me everything.”

Almost everything. She still has comrades.

“The bastards gotta be on everyone’s shit list by now,” I noted. “They sure as hell are in mine, and everyone else’s in our inner circle. Even Anathema, I’d bet.”

“To serve a Demon Lord…” Amelia muttered. “I can’t imagine what kind of scum one has to be to do such a thing.”

Heavy words, especially coming from a paladin.

“They probably have some sick excuse, if we were to ask them,” I wagered. “Back when I mind wiped the cultist who ambushed you, I caught a glimpse of his feelings at the time. His head was filled with this strange… devotion, like he served a purpose higher than his own.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Amelia dismissed. “There’s an entire pantheon of benevolent Gods one can pledge themselves to. But out of everyone, they had to go for Croxas.”

“Hey, I’m not justifying them,” I clarified. “I’m just saying, they might be misled. For example, take Mirabelle. She got angry at you, even though you did nothing wrong, and I’m sure your father didn’t either. But in the heat of the moment, she said some things she might have come to regret, and now… things are awkward.”

“What are you trying to get at, John?” Amelia asked, turning around to face me.

I did the same, turning to her.

“What I’m saying is that, even if Silvano pointed his finger at them, Anathema isn’t necessarily an enemy. You know them better than I do, and even Cerys vouched for them. So, if we play our cards right, we can turn this around. We can sniff out the Cult’s scheme to divide us, and come out of it stronger, as allies.”

In other words, we could use this to mend the broken relationship with Mirabelle.

“Do you think we can?” Amelia asked, her eyes fixed on me.

“We’ll make it happen,” I replied. “You’re not alone, Amelia. You’ve got me, and Cerys, and Xana. Even Silvano reached out to us, with no concern about any incidents of the past. As for Mirabelle… I get the feeling that, if we could look into her heart, we’d find plenty of regret about the things she said back then. Friendships like that don’t just snap and vanish in a heartbeat. You know better than this.”

Amelia bit her lip, frowning as she fell quiet for a moment.

Then…

“Say, John… Would you pray with me?” she asked. It was a timid, heartfelt request. A rare display of vulnerability, in the otherwise impervious heart of a paladin.

“Of course,” I replied, without hesitating. “Though I’ve never prayed to Faydan before. I’m afraid you’ll have to teach me from scratch.”

“You do it like this,” she said, softly holding my hands together.

Then, we began reciting a humble, earnest prayer for better days to come.