The joy of our heart has ceased; our dance was turned to mourning" EZEQUIEL, 7:18
♫Cleaners From Venus - Mariette♫
Past Tense
May 1773
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When I knew Lenneth, she was still in shape.
I was in shape too. Wearing a Knight's coat meant something. Without it, we were almost nothing. I was nothing, a nobody. Near that woman, I felt complete. Something in me was empty, very unquiet. I stood quiet all time, didn't knew what to say. How's the weather? Well, it's raining, so Lenneth would reply. I felt something in my chest, despite a childish fear. A Dragoon doesn't feel fear, but sometimes we forget that there is someone inside, other than a shell left behind. I felt like inside of a shell, hearing my own echoes, before I came to be and after I became a Knight of respect, or have some respect in hands. I wore a skin other than the one I had been born with, and yet I still relied on my fists. On training, I talked with same. I never could hold that hand without feeling a need to puke. It was too much.
Too much that someone took my place. A man by the name of Bartholomew, of the Brandford family. He worked with everything, since artist to potato carrier to blacksmith, the last which he used to make a spear for Lenneth. A light weighted one, made to be used by left-handed, given that all stabbing weapons are meant to be holded mainly by the right one. For some reason, Lenneth heard it all, accepted the gift, and each day they met each other. That was Bart's first lie, and I never lied to her. Only to myself. I never saw that lady improve, but it wasn't alike the first days where she almost lost her toes. And I, well, tried my best so she used her right arm away. Lenneth refused, said that she just got used of it. I understood. I was there to give advices, solve problems, hear her voice... ignore the sweet of her voice and hear the pleas instead.
Not that she could solve them on her own. How she could... Formidable, agile, a bit spiteful yet kind at the end, didn't smiled very much unless you made it to, but I wasn't there for it. I didn't became a Dragoon so I could receive some cheers and feel amused for that. Well, a side of me wanted. I wanted someone, other than being something. If the sun let a sparkle fell out of the clouds, it would shine alike this hair; it could had been me who said that. It would be against the rules, the moral and my sanity. Though, I saw many couples around the Jugend, Dragoons new and old building nests to this day. I had nobody, not even a family member. They usually do not help either, only put the blame at your shouders. Guess I was doing the same to Lenneth, for doing what she done to me, but it was only me. Only me.
Lenneth... We would never do right to each other.
...
August 1778
...
A new King was crowned.
I don't see any change, besides appearance. And a plenty of stories to be told later on, around the table. A place reserved for Kings, Sirs, Counts, or someone very important, worthy a title. Our majesty lost its tail in war, and got a new one made of steel. I saw many boys without a home, or a tail to take care, and none of them could afford such privilege. What makes Gabriel related to them is that he lost its father, and the way he died always sounds a bit heroic. Well, not for me. The dinner was great, althought something in my mouth tasted bad. No wonder they call me by brown nose at my back. Also, Lenneth wasn't there. Well, a few other Knights weren't, but Lenneth... not that I cared for others, but mainly her. Well, why she would be there, wearing such heavy armory with that unconfortable bump?
A Knight would dare to cut its own hand to prove its loyalty, but these are other times, older than I. I heard that Lenneth stood at home, still fulfilling her duty of bringing life instead of death. She brought it for herself, and a new member for the family. I came to pay a visit, and I was grated by Bart, now her husband, cooking meal at the kitchen. I talked to him briefly at the table, we discussed about the new King, we laughed at some jokes so we felt better to ourselves. I also asked what did he prepared for Lenneth, it was a nice meal, this before I knew it was Lenneth's own. To think I ate her own placenta... no, the placenta belongs to the baby, is shared to its mother. Yuck. Oh, and the newborn's name is Freya, so I heard, and saw too. A pinky, almost jelly being, bitting its mother while asking for milk, instead of blood.
To think I was like that. Lenneth too, before she came to have a name, or to bring names. While she took care of dolls, I took care of her, but she already have a name. As for me, I was knew and called by dormouse, as if I was a kind. Now they know me as a Dragoon Knight, a Sir, and someone you can't talk whatever you want on its face. I said nothing, feeling discomfort with a mother feeding its son. Guess Lenna was the one who felt less comfort, exposed like a chewed plum, unable to move her legs, but I know she would get out. It happened once, and I saw Jack out the window, playing with its friends. Well, he hanged on a dead salamander, which wasn't dead at all, crawled on someone's leg... kid's stuff. I never found myself feeling like them, or even sharing of my feelings or a bit of gratitude for Lenna.
Without her, I wouldn't be what I am. With her, I feel weird, a reminiscensce of when she took a bath on her own, and I stood on the other side of the door, with my thoughts alone. I was sort of a imaginary friend, whom only that girl could hear, but most the time, I was only a creature raised from mud, while she was shaped in clay. Each time I think about it, I might feel sick, and relieved as well. I once fought in the garden in front of her house, before I knew it was her house. A boy hurted me so bad, but I was happy because someone cried for me. I stood below the cold rain, while a warm tear went on my face, belonging to another face. I saw myself on that face. You in me, and me in you. We were children, seeds awaiting to grow into same trees. At the exit, I said goodbye to Bart, when I could have said 'take care of her'.
Freya Crescent... shouldn't had been Brandford instead? Well, I always knew that Lenneth had dominance over other's lifes. A month later, and I see her around the market, carrying the little one in an arm and a basket on another. I took the basket full of bread in hands, but still I couldn't take away the pain in the middle of legs. Surprising how Lenneth could walk, despite feeling such pain and the amount of blood lost. Her skin was pale as that hair, and the milk that came out to feed her daughter. I couldn't even look to her face, but when I did, it looked like she sucked a lemon in disgust. Her eyes were still purple, and I never said anything about them, how they looked like gems, nothing. I wondered which color the little one's eyes would become, when I only knew that her skin would be gray, and that the ribbon at her tail is orange, alike the ones wrapping her mother's hair.
I once wrapped them when she was a little girl. Was too close of ears to whisper, but I didn't wanted to say what I felt when touching her hair, comb with my claws. Lenneth said what she wanted to with a kiss, the only one she ever gave to me. It's because I didn't asked afterwards. Didn't insisted to take her out to a dinner, but I already knew her, so much that I didn't wanted to stay forever. But fate makes us cross paths, like when I got my arm and nose broken, near that house, where this same woman used to live. Now that place is in ruins, a former shell of its glory. Accidents happen, but sometimes, when you want something to happen, you have to make it happen. At the way home, I was still carrying that basket while Lenneth carried her daughter, who only felt its mother's heat instead of her pain. And when I was about to feel my own, Lenneth said:
— I still feel pain. But this also means that I'm still alive, right?
I'm glad that you are.
...
December 1780
...
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Fog.
Hot air coming out of the south collides against the cold walls of Burmecia, resulting in the worst of the fogs to cover my sight, and everyone's. Children are nowhere to be seem, and heat comes out of candles and lamp oils burning in yellow. Lenneth is with her children, and Freya grew enough to see, but with this fog in the way, she sees everything as it began. Her life is already a gift brought outside yuletide, which this fog makes me forget about. I shouldn't worry for them, but myself. I hear doors being open at my back, and no lights at all. Must be burglars, who only appear at night, or when unseen. I hear a couple discuss, and no fear or bluff on the voice of the man who threatened to not allow her to leave the door. Should I interfere? Then a window cracks and some shards fall on me. I step over, seeing the water turn red beneath my feet. Beneath that body, fallen and broken alike brick.
It's yuletide, and I broke the jaw of a man. Before, he came out the front door, as if nothing happened. Well, with me on the way, something did. I also felt my arm disjoint when it collided against the ground meat face. Just a feeling, whom I can't blame the fog for. I walk unafraid, in the middle of thick curtains of cold air, to a specific place. Yes, the corner where I was born and the borders outside, where I was raised. Before I came to knew Lenneth, and when I did, I never told to her or anyone that I was a thief. Imagine the turmoir of someone like me, a Dragoon Knight, once a thief in a past life? As if being a being of another color was not already a target of calumny and difamation, both I can sue someone against. But I didn't came here to punish anyone, or myself. Or even say that I miss this place, that I was lucky to get out.
Then I hear a cry, not mine. I didn't came here for it too. I don't even know why, but that cry gave me a reason why. It has been two years since Lenneth gave birth, and half an hour since someone abandoned this baby. In flesh ahd dirt, it screamed as if its skin was set on fire. Only the skin, pinkish and irritated. At old times, before Burmecia came to exist, a tribe of warriors that came to be part of our heritage only raised warriors in the family. When the newborn seemed weak for their sight, what they did was to abandon them at the pit of a mountain, so it was devoured or died of hunger; anyway, that thing shouldn't exist. But nowadays, everyone has a second chance. A Dragoon lives to make others live, yet what I felt on that moment wasn't what a Dragoon feels. I took my escutcheon out, so I could open my coat, and place that thing near my chest.
That thing still screamed, but I felt better with myself. What I was doing was the right thing to do, out of the many wrong paths I took. For a moment, I didn't knew where to go. It was a girl, with no name, or a mother, or a father to take care of. Just the streets to teach, and to learn with. She's still young to learn something, but she knows that something was wrong. That's why she cried, and that's why I began to call her by 'she' instead of 'creature'. I didn't had a name in mind yet, but following the way outside the alley, I came in to Lenneth's house. Jack was playing marbles with Dan, while Freya was on sleep within the crib, and Bart was somewhere, guiding people throught the fog like a ferryman in change of a few bucks. That should had been my work, so said Lenneth. I said that she was already following her duty by maintaning these kids inside.
What happens in the fog doesn't stay only at the fog. But that girl didn't only stood at my mind, but my arms. It was her, or the coat of arms. I can only borrow one. Besides asking for a ribbon, I also wanted to know which name would I choose to her. She is pretty strong to have survived this enough, like a warrior. So, I already had a name in mind, a gift for someone I cared about... a warrior by the name of Hrist.
Future of Past Tense
July 17, 1794
...
— For how long had you been doing headstands, Dan?
— Headstand, you mean. Not for a long ago, but I'll get in there.
— Is that what you do on your free time?
— There is no free time. When the body gets tired, your thoughts do not. I just cut a man's arm's off. I should had been feeling bad by now, but I do not. It's part of my training, like a surgeon who ignores the screech of its patients. How do you feel, Freya?
— I don't know what I feel. So many things...
— Like what?
— Longing.
— Someday my kids will long for me too. It'll take long to get in there, for sure. You see, I used to do headstand without wearing pants...
— With someone watching?
— Not only the rain puts out the fire, so you know.
— I didn't wanted.
— Well, live and learn
— I'll just life to know. There are other things to learn.
— A lot of them. Did you've mentioned something about surface tension?
— Yes. Hrist does it a lot when near me.
— I heard that they force Knights to walk over spikes.
— Spikes!?
— Well, kind of. Don't worry, Freya. I had been throught worse, and believe or not, I once found myself inside an Antlion. A pretty huge one, at the desert while on training. A friend of mine lost its arm, and that bug lost its life in return. I got myself covered in green blood, and it ain't less brutal than the red we both shed. Have you been at the desert once?
— No. I had a nursemaid by the name of Otterley. She was born at Cleyra. Now my brother is with her, and they had a son.
— And what?
— Well, didn't I said she was my nursemaid?
— So Jack fell for the woman who took care and grew with him throught its life? And she's a cleyran too? Well, each one of us always dreamt of sleeping together with a cleyran as a boy. Like, they wear those flowery dresses, share of huge strands, golden earrings, exposed bellies... uh, sorry if this may have sounded nasty to you.
— It doesn't. Unfortunately.
— Guess you always knew how our heads worked alike.
— And there's nothing that can fix them.
— Only time to tell...
— Goodbye, Dan.
— See ya.
Freya Crescent...
Now, at the year 1794 of our Lord Bahamut, you're officialy a member of the Dragoon unit.
Congratulations.
...And so I thought they would say something alike. Nothing at all can be said by papers. A lot of them, with the same signature of Ezekiel. I don't even have my own, despite the name of many families in me, with the Crescents who stood out of the rest of being Dragoon Knights. I changed my clothes to something more comfortable a while ago. Mother used to say that I never learned to walk, but run instead. Run like a boy, wearing same clothes. It takes a while to sew a dress, or for your birthday to come and for you to receive clothes from relatives. If you want a toy, make your own, or ask for your father to bring some wood. A twig can become a fishing rod, it naturally is for some fishes who dare to jump outside the surface of a lake to eat some berries, but for it to happen while you own a twig, you must have patience. A lot of it, which I couldn't afford.
As much as father wasn't there to follow me to the lake. Jack was, but instead of fishing, he and his few friends swimmed there, wearing nothing. Can you feed a fish you a strawberry? I didn't understood, but now that I do... sigh. I just got it, like all dirty words mom never told us, even when suffering of such pain. Dan didn't liked how she felt, outside her offspring of two. When I wore clothes like his, he and Jack used to hunt basilisks, which can still be found around if you have a keen eye, or misfortune to stand near one, unable to run. They bring shivers to the spine, and after you look at their eyes, you feel nothing. Stones do not feel, despite being watered by rain and bird poo. Well, a basilisk can't look to another, so they hunt blindly for preys when in groups, which's something rare to see.
You can't kill a stone, but you can use a stone to kill. Jack had a slingshot on its pocket, and Dan had the stones. As for me, I was a witness most the time, like Learie. My brother joked that her bad breath could kill a basilisk in an instant, which Dan replied with a slap on his face, and only one to be kissed by the end of the day. It's so silly how boys behave in front of a girl, or in front of each other without anything on their way but themselves. Jack used to call Dan by piece of shit most the time, yet they were friends despite cousins. Try to understand... to this day, I'm trying to. The heart ain't easy to be understood, but same can't be said when it's broken. When Jack began to kill birds at trees, mom forbide him of using the slingshot, or ever attracting basilisks on that way. It was the first time mom called my brotehr by fool. She said something like a wise finds strenght on himself, while the fool uses another's strenght.
Well, Jack had Dan to use, and Dan on the other had my brother to follow, instead of its own. How he hated them, not because they were older, but because they began to live by themselves. Dan lost its father before I did, and knew how I felt when I lost my own. Then I lost my tooth when I ate bread at morning, the least of my worries. With the tip of my tongue, I felt, besides lips covered in cocoa butter due cold, the cavity where my tooth once stood. Soft, fleshy, pinky, and empty like the chair he used to sat upon, and the baby's chair with no more use other than bring a feeling of what if. What if my father had been alive? If mom had been there to save his life? Or to say a goodbye? If something so horrible and meaningless can happen to anyone, what does prevents it from happening again?
Only men can shave their hair and become soldiers, while women let them grow and become something that doesn't have anything to do with death, but life. To be a Dragoon is to bring life, whether or not you do not live enough for it.
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