* IV *

- Nightingale -

What sound this is,

floats so softly there.

Pours in sweet,

through midnight air.

Found these ears,

a song so fair,

and flows in waves,

in the curls of her hair.

And hazel mirrors,

catch a lovely stare,

as her voice still lingers,

in that midnight air.

*

The darkness shrouded him as he stood alone in silence, yet it wavered as though it was but a curtain blowing in a dull breeze. He wondered if it was tangible, this thick black that surrounded him, and he reached a wary hand out to touch it. With some surprise, his fingers tore through the shadow's skin as though his hand wore daggers, splitting the darkness wide open. Light charged through the gaps in heavy roaring rays, beating on the lenses of his eyes, his daggered hand lifting to block this unwelcome brightness. But there was something more to this light than he knew, and it tugged on him, inviting him in. He could think of no other choice but to follow, and so he stepped through the tear in this curtain, making his way into the unknown. As he came out on the other side, he realized the mistake he had made.

No. Not again!

There he stood, alone with his fears as his reflection gazed at him through crystal tiles and walls, stained red with the blood of Mysidia. The bodies were gone, but the blood remained, pooled in a massive puddle before him and he couldn't help but stare in anger at the sight. This room, once so pure and untainted, was now filled with visions of death and the acrid smell of blood. And it was all because of him.

Not here! This can't be happening!

He knew it was a dream, or a nightmare as he would've rather thought of it, but it felt so real, the emotions it ripped out of him, and the smell of death so pungent. It was like he was truly standing there in that chamber back in Mysidia, and all of the trauma that had settled there was coming back to take its revenge on him.

I have to wake up, his thoughts poured into this dream, but he felt as though he had no control of it. Dreams are supposed to be shaped the way you want, but it wasn't working that way this time, and the panic button was repeatedly being set off, Wake up!

It was of no use. He could not force himself out of this nightmare, and he watched with utter horror as things started to change for the worst. His eyes caught sight of the rostrum, standing tall in the middle of this enlightened chamber, and for a moment he couldn't believe what he was seeing. His eyes stretched wide open in a look of pure terror as small streams of crimson started leaking from the ivory structure, running down its white surface. It was coming from the pillow that was resting upon the rostrum, from the crystal that lay there in a mass of blood pouring out of it. Quickly, the silent streams of red fell down the pale surface as he watched, petrified in all of his fear. He wanted to close his eyes so badly, but something inside of him made him watch this scene, and the pain of seeing this was driving him insane. Worse still was the silence, which sent earthquakes up and down his spine.

I can't take this! It's too much!

His silent pleas for mercy went unheard as the nightmare continued to rupture the barriers of his sanity, and the words "too much" took on new meaning. As soon as the blood of the crystal touched the floor, Cecil's ears were filled with the screams of every man, woman, and child that had lost more than just a precious relic that day. Men howling as they're lives were taken viciously from them in a swift second, women screaming as their husbands fell to their knees in a wallow of their own blood, and children crying as their fathers lay lifeless on cold crystal tiles. Pain of an unimaginable magnitude coursed through his head, through his veins, and he felt as though he would burst open in a fit of spontaneous combustion.

He had managed to close his eyes for only a moment as the sudden onslaught of noise had hit him, but they were forced open once more, and the sight was more than he could bear. All around him were the bodies of those slain there in the chamber, and the relatives of those men and women were standing over them, weeping over their family, torn so ruthlessly heartless. Cecil didn't even have the strength to keep himself upright, and his legs gave out from beneath him. His knees hit with a hard crash on the tiles, but the pain was so insignificant to what he was feeling, what he was absorbing from this nightmare. He hadn't noticed it, but as he turned his eyes to the floor in hopes of escaping a bit of the pain, he saw that he was kneeling in a scarlet lake that began to spread like wildfire across the crystal floor. Soon the entire room was engulfed in a shade of dark red, as the walls mirrored the blood that consumed the floor. Everyone had vanished, and he was once again left alone with all of his pain in silence, his legs soaked with the lives of all those who had died. If he had the strength to let his tears go he would send them raging down his cheeks, but he was too stricken with an emptiness he had never felt before.

Why?

The question had never seemed so distant and worthless as it did in that moment. This scene was becoming all too real, and it was digging deeper into his mind with every passing second. He could feel the blood still warm on his shins, as though the deaths of these people were still fresh on his conscience. Even worse, he began to feel the warmth running down his arms, down his back, and down his throat. He couldn't help but to look at his arms, and he reeled back at the sight of blood pouring down his skin. He soon realized that this was not his own, but that of those who had been murdered, and he could feel them tearing at every fiber of his being. They wanted to kill him, to drown him in their suffering, and he soon tasted their death as the blood ran down his forehead and into his mouth agape. The stale acid stung every bud of his tongue and ran hot down his throat, choking him. He couldn't breathe, and he began to struggle as his blood soaked hands reached around his neck to try and make himself take in the air around him. But it was to no avail, as the blood was thick in his lungs and sealed them shut, giving only enough wind to have his last words.

Please, just make it--

"Stop!!" Cecil's last word came flying from his dry throat with a rough scratch as he came out of his sleep sitting upright, the sheets disheveled about the bed. He had finally torn himself from that nightmare, but he had no trouble remembering every bit of it. The blood, the screams, the taste of all of their pain and agony. He could still taste it as he took a deep swallow to take the lump in his throat back down into his stomach. His fingers grazed his lips and they soon found the warmth coming from a small gash in the soft flesh. He had bitten his lower lip sometime during his dream; no doubt trying to bite back all of the thoughts of letting his screams erupt from within. He couldn't stand the taste, but he sucked in his lip and took it, in spite of his own mind.

His face was burning hot as his hands ran down the skin, moist in all the sweat that leaked down his forehead. He threw what was left of the sheets aside and pulled his legs over the bed, dropping his feet harshly on the floor. This time he could feel the stinging cold as the soles of his feet rested on the stone. It sent a run of discomfort through him, but he took it all, as if to punish himself for everything, as if it would ever be enough. He slowly managed to pull himself from the soft mattress, reluctant to leave the comfort of the warm cushion. As he finally was able to hold himself upright, his legs still feeling a little shaky, he began to make his way across the dim lit bedchamber. His shadow went from a small dwarf of a man, to a looming giant that stretched from the floor to across the ceiling, only to shrink once again as he made his way past the candle sitting peacefully on the table. He didn't even bother to reach for it, his mind only focused on making his way to the washbowl across the room, to have that refreshing cold on his skin.

His reflection in the dark mirror was barely visible as the candlelight struggled to reach him, but it didn't matter to him, for the darkness suited him so much better. He welcomed the man in the mirror as his true self showing through the face he wore so well. It was rather frightening to notice such a thing, but he found it easier to believe it than to deny it.

"This is what I am..." his voice fell weak to the wind, the cloth undergarments he wore leaving his skin rather unprotected to the light breeze flowing in through the window. The candlelight fluttered a bit, casting streaks of light across his face, caught in blue reflections on his eyes. His hands reached for the carafe, tilting it over the washbowl to fill it with the water needed. He quickly laid it back down as he was satisfied with what filled the bowl, and his hands dove freely into the water's tender cold. Cupping a small pool of it in his hands, he lifted it up as his face fell to meet it. The water splashed over his skin and sprayed all about the table and on the floor, being no concern of his that he had been so careless. He just stood there over the rippled waters for a moment, taking in the chill of the rolling drops charging down his face. He was beginning to remember how he had been standing there just like this the morning before, staring down into his own quivering reflection. And just as he did before, he once more looked into the mirror and gazed upon that frail man on the other side of the glass.

"I am a Dark Knight. A Knight held under the Order of the Dark Sword. By its grace, and the power vested in His Majesty, I am deified above all other knights within the kingdom of Baron. It is my duty to serve and protect my King, no matter the cost of others beneath him, including myself. My judgments are second to..." Cecil trailed off at those last words, as if coming to some painful revelation that struck his words down before they could even be voiced. He knew that his judgments came second to those of the King, but Cecil didn't even feel like he could believe such a thing anymore. He had already broken that promise to the King, and it didn't even sound right to say it, though he tried to choke it out with what strength he had left, "...second to..."

Those words were beating upon his head with a relentless fervor, and they echoed as though his mind was a hollow canyon. He could still feel the pain of his nightmares taking their toll as they ran circles around his mind, and a swift vision came to him as he shut his eyes tight in an attempt to seal it away. He saw the Elder's eyes, those eyes that begged for him to show mercy, to go no further in his conquest over the Mysidian village. Those eyes burned in the back of his eyelids, and he couldn't bear to watch it anymore, his eyes opening wide once more to the darkness that stretched so perfectly across his features. He could see the soft glow in his eyes as the tears welled up, prepared to overflow down his face at any moment. He fought them back with every bit of strength he could've possibly found in his empty shell, and it was almost as painful to realize that he was so weak. But he would not give in, for he was a Knight of Baron, and he would never fall to such emotions as these that haunted him so mercilessly.

"I am a Dark Knight. A Knight held under..." he stopped again, feeling the tears built up against the dam, and he could feel it beginning to crack, "I am a Dark Knight..." the first tear managed to spill over the edge, and it was a surprising realization he felt as it traveled slowly down his cheek, "I am..." another tear, his voice falling shorter every time, and it was so hard for him to even say what he wanted, so he said what he needed to instead, "...nothing."

That was it; he had given in to the pain, to the nightmare...to himself. He couldn't even bear to look at himself anymore as the silent streams left glowing streaks down his face. It brought so much shame to him to see his weaknesses showing through so easily, but it was all he could do to keep him from breaking down completely. But that wasn't good enough for him, and he still felt as though he had just let everything go, letting not only himself down, but letting down everyone he knew in some way. His pain was beginning to fade away with the tears flowing freely now, but in its place rose the heat of his anger as his face flushed a fiery red.

"I am nothing!"

His fist rose quickly before falling heavily back down onto the small table, the force of the blow sending the carafe into a tumble. As it tipped over, the water began to spill onto the floor, splashing loud as it spread wildly across the stone. He could feel it on his feet as it puddled around the table, rogue droplets safely landing on the skin. The carafe began to roll towards the corner of the table, threatening to fall, but Cecil didn't even care, and if he did he would've pushed it over the edge himself. But the slender bottle stopped just on the corner, taunting him, begging for him to give it a final push to its dissolution. He turned away from the whole scene, leaving the carafe to decide its own fate, and he made his way back across the room, across the candle's fearless flame. There he sat upon the feather-filled mattress that had been waiting so patiently for him. The carafe teetered a bit on the edge before moving slightly away from the corner, resting peacefully on its side upon the table, a few drops of water still dripping from its gaping mouth.

"How could I have let this happen?" he whispered to an illusionary conscience that he thought might be able to answer him. But it only made him realize that his conscience was just as weak as he, for it had never made any true efforts to stop him, "Now...Mysidia's crystal...was it so necessary for us to tear it from them with our swords? Was their blood the only acceptable price for our orders?"

Cecil's undeniable exhaustion had led him to the point of talking to himself, as if to somehow better understand his thoughts. He was simply too tired to think. All the nagging thoughts of this whole mission, the King's orders, and on top of all that His Majesty's outrageous reaction would not easily be peeled from his brain. They would not let go as they hung tight with claws that scraped across the barren plains of his mind. He finally made himself get back into his bed, slipping under the sheets once more, although not feeling the same warmth as he had before. He could feel damp spots placed erratically about the cloth, the smell of his sweat still lingering a bit as it evaporated into the chill of the night. There he laid, unbearably broken, mind withering away slowly as the monsters inside torn him to pieces. These monsters, the questions that ravaged him, continued to fester, and he only wanted the answers, but of course none even dared to present themselves. With no way to stop them, the questions effortlessly poured in like a leaky faucet, and no matter how hard he turned the knob, it just kept dripping. This was the mind of this Dark Knight, and the water kept drip, drip, dripping in the pool of his mind, the ripples feeling like earthquakes, monsoons, tsunamis, and anything else that he could possibly think of. He closed his eyes as though to maybe find a way to force these monsters away, but it only allowed him to focus on the pain that much more, and it stung like hell all over. The only comfort he could think of was her voice, which called softly to him in that dark passage he had walked earlier.

Cecil...

It sounded so peaceful, so serene, and he wanted to hold it close to him as though it were a child he would fear losing some day. The sound of her voice brought almost as much pleasure to him as seeing her, and he somehow managed to send his monsters away with it, as if the voice was actually upon him, surrounding him. That's the way it felt, but he knew it was just a memory, just his mind trying it's best to defend against the demons that were currently trying to invade it. The voice echoed down the dark corridors of his soul, and he could still feel them, even after they had trailed off into a whisper.

Cecil...

There it was again, although a bit louder than before, feeling strangely closer than before. It was almost as if she were actually here with him, bearing his pain and sorrow at his side. He wanted to reach out into the emptiness in hopes that perhaps he would find her hand to hold on to. But for some reason his mind would not allow it, keeping him locked up to only have her voice to comfort him. That was all he really needed anyway.

Cecil!

It was so close, as though she was but a few feet away, and it rang with incredible splendor through him. He wanted to open his eyes and look around as though she might actually be here, for he could almost smell the sweet perfume she always wore. He loved that scent, and it stood the hairs of his nose on end as it filled his nostrils so soft. It had become more than just an illusion to his mind, and he knew she was there, standing over him as his guardian angel.

"Cecil. Are you awake?" she questioned quietly creeping towards his bed across the candlelight. Cecil opened his eyes to the embodiment of perfection gliding across his bedchamber, glowing amorously. She noticed his eyes gazing over her as she stepped closer, the light catching a reflection in the endless oceans, "Oh, Cecil. I hope I didn't disturb you."

"No..." was all that he could manage from his dry desert of a throat. But the fact that it hurt to speak a word didn't even compare to the sheer emotion that her voice brought out of him. The sound was so pure that it made him want to stop thinking altogether and just listen. She approached gracefully, and her face came together before him in a puzzle of beauty. Her eyes were so wondrous, so gentle, and it took everything he had to turn away from it, to keep her from seeing through him this one time. He spoke now to the cold stone wall at his bedside, Rosa coming to kneel next to him, "...of course not. I was just thinking."

"Thinking about what?" she lightly pried at the jumbled mess of emotions lying on the bed before her. She reached a gentle hand out to stroke a stray strand of darkened silver hair from his cheek, tickling his ear as she reeled it in. It caused waves of relaxation to wash over him, and nearly brought his eyes around with it, but he still had a look of pain stretched over his features. He couldn't possibly let her see how broken he was. She still pursued, though unaware just what she was pursuing, "Is everything okay?"

"No. It's nothing," Cecil replied, still facing the wall. Though the wall surely could see every bit of his struggle, he knew that Rosa could still feel it, seeing it as though the wall was but a mirror for her. Her hand was still running through his hair, delicately, and he wondered if she truly felt him, "I'm fine."

"Then please...don't look away."

Her voice was so sweet, so dulcet as it fell upon his ears that it pulled at his heart. It made him want to pour it out to her, and tell her everything as though she would willingly carry it all for him. Though his mind begged him not to, his heart commanded his body to its will and he turned his eyes away from the lonely grey to meet her. She had the most wonderful eyes a man could ever stare into, those beautiful hazel eyes that caught the candle light so perfect. She looked angelic.

"What's wrong?" she asked with worried eyes and words alike, her hand soothingly resting upon his newly exposed cheek. She immediately saw through him, seeing the tears he had shed, seeing the immeasurable pain and guilt that was put into each one of them. Cecil could see it in her face that she had penetrated every wall he had put up for her, and he had completely opened up without ever saying a word, "What happened?"

"In Mysidia..." Cecil began his confession, though taking a pause as if to make sure he was ready. But he knew someone had to know, someone that would surely understand why this was so hard on him. Who better to open up to than the one he loved, "I watched innocent lives fall to our swords today, and I did nothing. I just as well killed them myself. Worse still, I robbed them of the only thing they held sacred."

"Oh God, Cecil. I'm sorry"

"Please, save your apologies for those who died in Mysidia," Cecil responded rather coldly, though he truly didn't mean for the words to come out that way. He could only hope that she knew that, and by the look in her eyes he could tell that she did. She gazed upon him with every bit of sympathy she could find in her heart, and it was more than enough for Cecil as he sat up, positioning himself to face her and continue his exposition with that strength she always gave him, "They are such simple people, farmers and magicians...a commune. They have had little to worry about in the world until now."

"Cecil, it's okay. It's not your fault." she tried to make him realize this as she reached her hands for his, taking them into her warm grasp. It felt wonderful, but along with this bliss came the fall of his emotional barriers and he was forced to close his eyes from her for a moment. He could feel her fingers intertwine with his own, feeding him the strength to go on, and he bit back every tear that threatened to show itself upon his face.

"I stole their crystal, the one thing that meant everything to everyone in that town. All for what?" Cecil's eyes tumbled open with his question as though she might be hiding the answer somewhere within. But knew she didn't have the answers. No one ever did. He simply felt at ease to ask her, just relieving the stress from his mind overflowing, "Are we justified to do something like this just because we are from the 'mighty' kingdom of Baron? Does the King's command resonate that far and wide over the world? I fail to see how something like this could ever be exonerated."

"Cecil, I understand what you're going through, but--"

"Do you?" Cecil came back quickly, and to his own surprise rather fiercely. He immediately changed his tone from that quick snap to something less harsh, "Do you really understand what has happened today? The King is insane, Rosa. Our orders were to take this crystal by force, no negotiations, no questions, no hostile opposition left behind. We were ordered to slaughter innocent people for a bauble, a worthless artifact."

"Listen Cecil, there are always going to be things in life that you don't want to do. I'm sure His Majesty had his reasons."

"I just don't know anymore, Rosa," Cecil conceded as he felt his head fall along with the lids falling over his eyes. He had not even the strength to keep his head up anymore, even with Rosa's warmth giving him life through his hands. No longer could he hold himself up with his heart, for it was fighting a losing battle with his mind, "It's as if my heart has become as dark as my armor."

"You're not like that," Rosa declared, her hands leaving his to hold his lonely face. She guided his eyes up to hers, forcing him to stare into her commanding gaze. She looked worried and annoyed at the same time, the way she sometimes looked when she picked up one of her attitudes she was so well known for. But even with the light of only a single candle barely keeping the room alive from darkness, he could see that she was trying to give him her love. If only he had it in his heart to respond, he would, "I know you too well, and this just doesn't sound like you."

"It just isn't the same as it used to be," Cecil tried to explain to her hungry eyes, her hands warm on his face as she held his head up for him. Those hands eventually trailed back behind his ears, through the strained silk of his hair, and down his neck to rest upon his shoulders. He kept his eyes locked on her, as though she might vanish into thin air if he happened to lose sight of her again, "When I first took command of the Red Wings it was nothing like this. We helped others in need, not rob them for our own selfish profits. We were peacekeepers, not the King's call for a war."

"You're not starting a war, Cecil," Rosa took advantage of that slight exaggeration that slipped from Cecil's mouth, "I don't know what the King wants, but I'm sure he's not trying to start another war. We learned from that mistake a long time ago, and I hear Eblana still will not accept our offers to help them rebuild their kingdom. His Majesty was crushed by the results of that war; you know that better than anyone."

"I'm not sure if he's the same man he was twenty years ago," Cecil admitted, though he knew the King so well, but he had seen something, some change in His Majesty's face upon his return; kneeling before him at the throne, staring into his dark, powerful eyes, and seeing something completely different in his place. It wasn't the same as it used to be, when the King would offer a bold smile and a shake of the hand for a mission well done. These realizations were quickly beginning to dawn on him, now that he had a clear head to think about it, "The King has changed a great deal over the years, and more so I believe in recent weeks. But it's not just him, it's me. The fact that I would ever follow such orders puts me to shame."

"Don't say such things, Cecil," Rosa tried to snap some sense into him as she lightly squeezed his shoulders, assuring him that she was still here with him. Though his eyes were upon her, he looked as if he were looking through her, looking for something beyond this room, into the outside air. She wanted him to find whatever it was he was looking for, but she had to have his attention. She once more picked up his hands, this time standing up before him and lifted his arms with her. He followed her lead and stood up, and her arms fell around his neck tightly as she buried her face in his strong chest. He soon had his arms around her waist, taking in the heavenly warmth from her body. It was then that he realized she was wearing practically nothing, aside from her robes. Unfortunately, he knew he would have to send her home tonight, for he simply had to be alone with his mind. He didn't want any of his tormented soul mixing with hers, which shined bright with purity. He held her close, and he felt her squeezing even tighter to him, as though they could possibly become one in the same body. She mumbled muffled words into the cloth garment covering his chest, "Don't ever think you're less of a person just because of something like this. You're too strong for that."

"Rosa, I'm just a dark knight," he explained, though he knew she wouldn't want to hear such a thing. He could feel her grip loosening a bit, as though she was about to let go. Though he never wanted her to leave, he actually felt it to be for the best...just this once, "I'm just a pawn for His Majesty to use at his whim...nothing more."

It came as a bit of a shock, but the more he said it the more realistic it seemed to him. He started to see what he had become. What the King had made him. He didn't want to believe it, but that's what he came to realize after all of this. His words hit him harder than anyone would know, but they hit Rosa with just as much trouble. She would never believe what he had said. She was simply too stubborn. She let her arms unravel from around his neck to come to rest on his shoulders, pushing her head away to where she could look him in the eye, and give him the eye of death. She wasn't about ready to let this go, and he could see it as the flame of the candle behind her gave off a devilish glare in her wake.

"The Cecil I know would never whimper like that," Rosa pointed out rather scornfully, as if to straighten him out of a tantrum he was going through, "Not the Cecil I love."

That caught his attention and he looked at her with a shy stroke of awe as she gazed deeply into his eyes. It was as if she were searching for something, perhaps the Cecil she once knew. He immediately felt ashamed that he had said such things to her, especially knowing that she would not have it. He found so many emotions in her hazel eyes, swirling in such a beautiful mixture, though giving off an aura of something lost. He didn't want to think that she had lost him, for that would be the last thing to ever happen. She meant more to him than anything, and it would be his dying day before she ever lost him.

"I'm sorry, Rosa. I..." Cecil couldn't finish as he felt her squeezing his shoulders again, as though she wanted him to stop. He reached for her hands and led them down to the empty space between them, holding her dear tender skin ever so softly, "I don't mean to lay all of this on you. You'll understand if I tell you that it'd be better for you to go home tonight? I've got too much on my mind after all that has happened. Even more so, I've got another mission to worry about tomorrow morning."

"So soon? Where on earth are you going?" she asked, most obviously worried about such an abrupt turn of events. Cecil usually was allowed a week of leave before setting off again for another mission.

"Kain and I are heading to Mist tomorrow morning," Cecil explained, though leaving out details that she probably wouldn't care to know anyway. She'd be even more worried if she knew he was out slaying some crazy "Phantom Beasts" in the Mist Valley.

"Well you two had better be careful, and don't let Kain get you into any trouble."

"Don't worry," Cecil replied with a smile, laughing inside at her last words, for she knew Kain would never cause trouble. It was more often than not that Cecil was the one causing trouble around the kingdom, and Kain just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, "I'll be fine."

"I know you'll be fine, but please be careful. For my sake."

"I will. You have my word."

Her arms were instantly tied around his waist, her face dug deep into his warm body. They held each other tight for a moment, a moment that felt like an eternity, and there they stood in the pale candlelight. They both shared the same faint glow, softly illuminated against shadowed grey stone. She could feel his heart beating steady through his ribs, and it nearly lulled her to sleep in his arms. He basked in her enlightening energy, and he felt more alive than he had all day, having this one moment to take in all of her love. He wondered if he would ever let go, if he ever wanted to let go, and it felt as though it would never happen. She meant so much to him, and he meant so much to her. They were a perfect union held together by pure love, and it was something neither of them had come to fully recognize. All they knew was that there was love here, and that was something they would never leave behind..

"I love you." she whispered to the air.

I love you, too.