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Ruggiero

Many years ago, from a time before my rise to Peership, before the war that would sweep the continent in fire and ash, I was admittedly a very arrogant man. Youthful hubris guided my actions then, for I was among the most skilled in the nation called Moors: a land of green, of wood and nature, yet also constant technological advancement.

We were proud to call ourselves pioneers in the Crystological study, or the Holy Gems as the Franks called it. We thought of them differently than our religious neighbors. To us, the crystals were not tears of some divine being; but rather a natural geological phenomenon that formed from the ambient energy seeping from our world's core. Different environments begot different crystals with fascinating effects.

It was thanks to the scholars and Crystologists that our nation thrived as a leader in producing new magical instruments, and I was among the honored few to be considered an authority in the field despite my adolescence. None my age could match my talent, neither in intellect nor in invention.

It pains me to admit, but it was because of that status that I grew to become an… eccentric sort, to put it politely. Temperamental if you asked my fellow colleagues. But I cared not what they called me. Selfish, egotistical, a mad genius destined to die alone—none of their insults mattered, for I was only concerned with rising higher, grander, to become the most praised in the land.

And I had nearly done so with the creation of my most prized design: the Hippogriff Express. The Crystologists thought it an impossible task: a flying machine? One that could surpass the speed of a thunderbird, carry a thousand strong within its metal frame, and withstand even the most deadly of incantations? They called my schematic a wasteful effort, but I proved them all wrong on the advent of my eighteenth birthday. I unveiled the Hippogriff for all to see at the annual Inventors' Summit and proudly boasted its capabilities. I was destined to become Savant of the Year… that was, until Francia's declaration of war overshadowed my achievement.

From then on, the Moors devolved from a peaceful nation of advancement into one that cared only for producing weapons of mass destruction. The change was done unanimously, and with grim acceptance; for it was the only way we could defend ourselves against the overwhelming forces of the Franks.

Being the naive fool I was, I happily volunteered to take command over an elite squadron of Crystologists. We were trained in the art of combat instead of science, and I once again proved myself a prodigy: one wielding both blade and magic with deadly aptitude. The Hippogriff, once intended to be a vehicle for mass transport, was remodeled into an aerial weapon capable of bombardment.

Thus, with confidence and a conceited pride, I set forth for the battlefield.

And returned a scarred man.

I saw, for the first time, the terrifying encroach of death. It laid its creeping hands upon all on the moist soil, whispered its coming, inevitable arrival. I saw both men and women, Frank and Moor alike, ripped apart without a care. All those years of life, the relationships built and good done for the world… gone with neither fanfare nor tolling bell to bid them departure. They merely sprawled limp, a nameless number to add to the growing casualties.

I felt, for the first time, the insignificance of my being. Were it not for the Hippogriff's safety, I, too, would have become just like them, another corpse to the pile. My inventions which I built to further our prosperity instead became soaked in splatters upon splatters of blood; and over time, the light in my eyes was replaced by a dull grey. I did not wish to see it anymore — the despair, the slaughter, the gazes of those who feared me. Both from foe and those I called allies.

I cursed, for the first time, my incompetence. I could not put an end to the war, nor could I stop the ever-advancing wave of the Franks. They pushed on, more desperate with each new campaign, but I saw in them a reluctance not so dissimilar to our own. These people did not wish for this. As their blades fell upon my kinds' flesh, they wept with grief as if they had just lost one of their own.

It was then that I came to a depressing truth: we were all but pawns to the game of one man. All of us, from Frank to Moor to the other nations still under siege, had bled for the sake of a single monster's ambition.

There would be no victory, no matter who triumphed in the end. For we all had lost far too much.

When I came to this truth, and I felt my mind break down from the hopelessness of it all, I met a woman.

She called herself Bradamante, one of the new commanders sent to lead the Moorish invasion efforts. I thought her like all the rest and picked up my blade, but… she was different. Bradamante approached me, and reached out her hand.

"This tragedy has gone on long enough," she whispered with the same hollowness I felt inside my own heart. "I can't disobey the Emperor's command, but maybe we can find a different path out of this madness. Put a stop to these needless deaths. Will you help me, Sir Atlantes?"

Atlantes… long had anyone called me by that name. The Franks abhorred me as the Winged Terror of the Skies. The Moors regarded me as the Bloody Guardian. Atlantes was a faint remnant of who I once was, a past I thought forgotten, but here was a woman who pulled that poor boy back. Who saved him from drowning in the pits of his guilt.

And I experienced, for the first time, what it was like to fall in love.

Bradamante and I devised a ruse to fool the emperor's sight. Whilst we still engaged in combat, it was more akin to theatre play than actual battle. We ordered our subordinates to stay at the back, and we clashed with each other whilst flying amidst the bright purple sky. We feinted injuries, insults, proclaimed the other mortal enemies we would cross heaven and earth to slay. But hidden under our helms was a light smile and a relief that no other would need to perish any more.

Eventually, the Franks succeeded in the conquests of the other nations. This stalemate between Bradamante and I could no longer continue, but rather than resist, I instructed my forces to surrender — much to the parliament's ire. They wanted to maintain our defense, to force our weary warriors to die for a cause already fated for doom.

And so I disobeyed, even when they proclaimed me a coward and banished me from my home.

There was nowhere left I could go. Forsaken by my people, loathed by my enemies… it was only natural that I would be brought toward the gallows. But I didn't despair, for this was the end I had always thought awaited me.

However, when my execution was all but certain, Bradamante stood before the emperor and pleaded for my release. I could not understand why she would go to such risks for the sake of one like me—why she shed tears in my name and fought fiercely against her former comrades. I begged her to stop, but she merely took my hand and brought me into her embrace. "You haven't done anything wrong, Atlantes," she said. "It is okay to chase after your own happiness."

To my surprise, the emperor accepted her request thanks to the counsel of Sir Ganelon. Why the High Tribunal chose to grant me pardon, I knew not. But that day was the birth of a new man. They agreed to make me a paladin of Francia so long that I adopted a Frankish name. Atlantes became Ruggiero, and so it was that my old identity was to be burned away, forgotten to the Stars.

Bradamante pitied me then, but I told her that it was of no importance to me. A name was simply a name. If becoming Ruggiero allowed me to stay by her side, then I would have happily forsaken even a thousand names.

But now, after twenty long years, I… have come to mourn the Atlantes that couldn't be. I still love Bradamante with all my heart, but my efforts to become welcomed among the Franks, all the times I've groveled and flattered the paladins so that our love could one day be freely shown — it has sired not even a single fruit. I am still ever the same foreigner they begrudgingly recognized at the war's end. I have not taken a single step forward from that time.

Now, I am here, alone, in my cottage. There is not much for me to do but ponder over what could have been. If I had tried harder, bowed my head even deeper in servitude, would I still be here today? Confined like a mutt. Regarded as an outsider.

I cannot even walk out onto the grass, for to do so would ruin the measly reputation I've garnered. Ganelon would use my leaving as an excuse to further frame me as an untrustworthy lout. I am stuck. I am trapped.

The only light amongst this unbearable darkness is the woman who has never once forsaken me, even after all this time.

I am sorry, Bradamante. If it were not for me, you would have lived a much happier life: fallen in love with a far better man. I am the chains holding you back, and yet I cannot bring myself to let you go, for to do otherwise would lead me back into that terrifying abyss of self-loathing and resentment. I am too afraid, and too treacherous. A coward who still thinks only of himself.

And so it shall be until my final breath.

… But as I mire myself in gloom, a sudden noise alerts my attention. Are those shouts? Screams? Something is amiss within the city.

I rush to my window and gaze out, only to see a vast expanse of flame covering the horizon. The skies darken in foreboding, and a rhythmic tremor pounds fiercely—louder, and louder, with the sound of countless boots stomping in unison. No, even more. It is as if the entire city is marching at this moment.

This is no time for inaction. I grab my blade and make for the door, fully intent on violating Ganelon's imprisonment order. What use is there in reputation if the citizens are in danger? I may be many things, but I will never again allow a tragedy to unfold before my eyes. Not if I have the power to stop it.

Right as I turn the knob, however, a force hurdles into me and sends my body stumbling back.

"What is…" I mumble.

I have not the time to react before a pair of hands grab my shoulders and lift me up. There, I see the face of my beloved, her ginger hair shining with the same luster as our youth. Her expression is far from pleasant, however. It is desperate, fearful, and I can only stand in shock as she speaks with a low panic I have never once heard from her before.

"You have to get out of here, Ruggiero," she says, attempting to lead me out of the cottage. But I stand firm, still somewhat dazed, and try to make sense of this odd circumstance.

"Whatever is the matter, dear?" I ask, rubbing my eyes. "What is that smoke over the city?"

She bites her lip, and reluctantly answers. "It's… the people. That dirty cur, Ganelon, must have leaked it, but they know what you did to Ogier. A mob will arrive at any moment now. Sir Roland is trying to calm them down, but they're—they're calling for your execution."

I've never seen Bradamante so shaken before. Her body trembles, terrified of what soon awaits, but it is not out of concern for her own safety. It is for me.

I have always been the cause of her worries.

"It's only a matter of time before they breach the gate," she continues. "We must escape, beloved. Who knows what they'll do to you if they somehow make it to the cottage? Court order be damned! This isn't the time for politics."

She grabs my hand again, but rather than follow her, I breathe a sigh of relief and sit down on my chair. "Ah… so the people are safe. That is good."

Bradamante leers at me a confused expression and stammers. "What do you mean? Ruggiero, your life is at stake here. How could you possibly think this is good?"

"Not their riot. Heavens, no. But if it is true this commotion is naught of invasion, then I can rest at ease knowing there is no peril."

"No peril—my love, they are going to kill you! What about that do you not understand?"

"... Then if I were to leave, what then?"

My lips twist into a sad smile, and I wave out toward the ever-approaching sea of fire. "They already believe me to be a traitor. The years I have spent among them, my duty and service and sacrifice to this nation… none of it matters. If I were to flee now, they would only be given further cause to smear my name."

Bradamante tries to reply, but her words become caught in her throat. She curses and turns her head away, unwilling to look me in the eye.

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"Even so, you would still be alive," she muttered. "They can shout and scream and believe you to be the vilest scourge in the world, but you would still be with me. We can still be together even if no one else will accept it."

"And that is why I must stay here."

Bradamante stiffens, and I can see the betrayal coursing through her eyes. It pains me. It pains me ever so much, but I must do this. If not for my sake, then at least for her.

"You… do not want to be with me?" she chokes out.

"Even if the Lord were to separate us Themself, I would still yearn for your embrace."

"Then why?"

"Because my love is your curse."

I want you to be the happiest woman in the world: my love, my dearly beloved darling. And that shall never come true for as long as I stay by your side. I will not let my failings drag you down. Even if the Franks were to wring my neck and place my head upon pike, I would pass on without a regret knowing that the people would still love and cherish you just as you deserve.

From the very beginning, we were never meant to be.

Bradamante glares at me, her fury taking hold of where words normally would, and she soon summons her golden lance and points it at my chest. I sense no real animosity in her intent, but I admit it is a fearsome sight nonetheless.

"Then I will take you by force," she says, low and threatening.

I chuckle, albeit nervously for I know she truly means it, but also hold my ground and meet her with a stern challenge of my own. "And I will resist you to the very end."

Bradamante's lips quiver, and it would not surprise me if she were to come rushing in right this instant, but instead she closes her eyes. Her lance disappears, and she walks up to me, tears streaming down her fair cheeks.

Instead of blade or wrath, my beloved reaches out, and she wraps her hands around my body. I can feel her warmth. And her sadness, her despair toward our God for this cruel, cruel reality.

"Why must it be this way?" she whispers. "Haven't we suffered enough? Is it so impossible to wish for our own happy ending?"

I have no answer to give her, no matter how much I desire to say otherwise.

After a moment, Bradamante breaks away, and she beholds me with heartache, burning my image into her memory as if this shall be the last we ever see of each other.

"I will… stop them somehow," she says, unable to believe in her own words. "This day will end in our triumph. We will see tomorrow, Ruggiero. Together."

"I wonder if that will truly be the case."

The love of my life bids me a final, trembling sigh, before disappearing into the scarlet expanse.

I am alone again, but now I no longer need to reflect. I can see it: the conclusion to this long, tiresome life. There is no more uncertainty, no more prostrating to be had.

In the end, I could not escape those eyes so filled with prejudice. But that is just fine. I am too tired, and too hurt to continue on. My only wish, when the mob arrives and burns my flesh to cinders, is that Bradamante need not see the wretch I become. Let her forget every memory of me, so that she may move on to find her own happiness.

And I will watch over her from above, finally at peace in the realm of the Lord.

… Strange, the door creaks open. It is too soon for them to arrive. I hear not the shouts of the people nor the smell of soot. Has Bradamante come back to see me?

I turn to look, but it is not the appearance of my beloved I discover. No, it is of a certain gentleman.

"You've found yourself in a terrible situation, haven't you?"

I stare at him with my mouth open wide in disbelief. "Sir Lucius?"

"Indeed. How do you do, my friend? Although, I have a feeling you aren't particularly swell."

Before I know it, I break out into a loud laugh. Even now, with the chaos outside, Sir Lucius appears just as composed and refined as I've always seen him.

"You would be correct," I reply, gesturing for him to take a seat. "But how did you get through the gate?"

The man shrugs. "I walked. Was I not supposed to?"

"Well, I imagine the mob out there would have made it quite difficult."

"Such things pose no trouble to me. Besides, how could I possibly forego the chance to visit you during these interesting times?"

Ah, I see. He, too, is here to bring me away. While it saddens me to disappoint the gentleman, I must remain firm in my resolve.

"... Whatever you intend to say, know that I shall not take a single step out of this cottage," I declare. "Please, head to safety, Lucius. I have made peace with my fate. There is no need to convince me of a possibility bound for failure."

The man tilts his head, curious, and responds with a surprisingly calm tone. "That is not what I am here for, Sir Ruggiero."

"Is that so?" I cannot possibly fathom what other reason there could be. "Then would you enlighten me as to the real reason?"

Lucius ponders to himself for a bit, tapping his foot on the ground, before eventually reaching into his suit and pulling out… a mask? It's a peculiar floral mask, one with a rose covering the right eye.

"What do you first think of when you see a mask?" Lucius says, donning the rather unsettling thing to his face.

I am taken aback for a moment, but a strange feeling compels me to answer him. The Lucius I see here is different from before. I cannot express it exactly, but… it is as if I am in the presence of an unfathomable being. One who can see into the very depths of my soul.

"... I think of hiding one's identity," I reply. "The mask covers your face. It veils your features and prevents others from seeing what lies hidden underneath."

"Is that so?" he says, beholding me with a vastness I can not even begin to comprehend. "Then allow me to ask you another question: does a mask need to be physical? A material thing?"

"I suppose not. There are those who conceal their true intentions despite baring their appearance for all to see. Sir Ganelon, for example, is a much more deceitful man than his friendly words portray."

"And what about yourself?"

I hesitate, and clench my fist.

Lucius clasps his hands together and leans forward, closing the space and cornering me until I have no room to escape. "You have always presented yourself as a gentle, understanding man. You hesitate not to help when another asks for your aid, nor do you shy away from tasks seen as beneath your status. You shrink, and demean, and lower yourself so that no one would ever be given reason to fault you. However…"

Lucius snaps forward and clutches me by the shoulder. My face pales; sweat drips down my brow in slow, agonizingly long drops. But I do not try to break free. I cannot, for his gravitas has seized both my body and mind.

"That is not the true you, is it?" Lucius utters.

I stammer and trip over my words, pitifully stringing along a feeble excuse. "I do not know what you mean. I merely take joy in supporting my fellows."

"Lies. Even now, you refuse to take off your mask."

My heart sinks in dread. Why must he do this? I have accepted my fate. There is no reason to… to bring out the vileness in my heart.

"But it is necessary," Lucius says, as if reading my mind. "You will never be truly free unless you say it. Declare it. Bellow with all your might."

I—

"What is your mask? What is it that you have hidden behind for all these years?"

It is—

"Say it."

I must not.

"Release it."

I do not want to disappoint her. I do not want to sully her memory of who she believes me to be.

"Break free from your bindings."

I… I have fought for so long to be accepted. I thought that by practicing the Frankish customs, dedicating myself to their religion, begging, groveling, disgracing my pride for even the smallest scrap of recognition, that I could finally walk among them as equals.

And so I assumed a mask meant to bury away the traces of who I used to be: of that man from the Moors, the prodigious inventor whose arrogance could rival the Stars.

I buried it all under a name I could never see as mine.

"Ruggiero," I mutter, covering my face with my hands. "I hid myself under the name of Ruggiero. And even though I despised every moment I forced myself to bear this hideous thing, this ever-constant reminder of the leash the former emperor shackled upon me, I persisted nonetheless in the hopes that it would all be worth it. That, one day, I would come to recognize it as my own. But I never could. The future I envisioned never came to be, and so all I was left with was resentment, and hate: burning, growing, unending hate."

I hated the people of this land for treating me as filth. I hated myself for believing I could ever find harmony with those who never intended to regard me as a person. I hated them all. I loathed them all.

And yet, even when my rage threatened to escape, I pushed it down under the delusion that this was right. Practice Chivalry, as Ruggiero. Show honor, as Ruggiero. Bleed for the nation. Suffer for the nation. Dedicate every last morsel of your being for the sake of the nation, the very root of your misery.

I was expected to follow it all without hesitation, even when it led to no reward, no salvation.

Ruggiero, oh Ruggiero… that was never me.

I am Atlantes. I am an ugly, vengeful creature that only ever wished to find a place of their own: one where they could be welcomed without prejudice. I could not find that place in my birth land, nor in this foreign land called Francia.

I have been an outcast ever since my first breath. That is the true me.

"Were you ever sincere in your desire for acceptance?" Lucius asks.

"I was… at the beginning," I reply, my mind slowly unraveling from the scum escaping my mask. "For the first year or two, I truly believed there was hope. But no matter how desperately I tried, the gap between I and Frankishmen could never be closed."

"Do you believe this fate to be fair, then?"

"No. Why must I be the one to shoulder all this malice? I protected the paladins. I slayed Ogier so that they could go back into the embraces of a family I was never given the right to have."

"Then what will you do now?"

Lucius reclines back into his seat, and then points at me with his finger as if to cast my soul onto the scales of judgement. What I say now will decide everything.

"I…"

For so long I have toiled, bereft of even the slightest hint at progress.

"I will…"

And during all that time, I had not a soul to help me — to give me comfort in my time of need.

"I will show…"

Except, that isn't true, is it?

There was one person. A loving woman who was there by my side.

"No, wait…"

She hugged me when all felt lost. She smothered me in her love when the nation's wrathful eyes became too much to bear.

"Hah… haha..."

She was and, even now, is proof that love can blossom amongst even the most unlikely of people.

"I've been such a fool, haven't I?"

I tried to shun her out of fear that I would expose the spite hidden behind my mask. I wished, even if I were to perish, that only the righteous side, the good side, would remain in her memory.

That, however, is not me. The true me is selfish, a beaten scoundrel who has long given up on the world.

But even so, I want to chase after that hope: that slim, but ever alluring possibility, that our differences can one day be celebrated rather than feared. That the grudges of our past will not define the future we pave for those after.

Is it foolish to want so insurmountable a dream? Perhaps so, and yet I cherish it nonetheless. The lonely soldier back then had no time for dreams. All I could see was a hazy, dark fog, an inevitable misfortune I sought not to avoid nor even hate; and I would remain that way even as I walked up the steps to my doom. It was impermeable, that shroud of death. Near what I thought were my final moments, there was no fear, or anger, or even regret. All my life I suffered from the prejudiced eyes of others. What did it matter then, if I was alone? That was simply how it had always been.

So when the darkness was blown away by light, and I met the eyes of a bright, radiant woman who saw me—who yearned to hear stories of my homeland, held dear all my little quirks and habits so different from her own, and loved me for who I was rather than what others wished of me—I thought to myself.. ah, how powerful, and how overwhelmingly euphoric, it is to be not just accepted but welcomed and even encouraged to flaunt that which made me unique.

I wanted to share this happiness. I wished to tell every forlorn soul out there, to all those scattered across the land struggling with the very despair I once felt, that there is hope. Someday, somewhere, there will be a person you need not repress yourself around whether it be a friend or lover; and you will feel joy spreading across your body, so sweet, like the kiss of morning dew. Perhaps it will take much time before that person appears. But they will come, eventually. If no one should appear... then I will inspire the land to do so. I will preach to closed-off ears, and I will spread the same compassion Bradamante once showed me. I will do this and all, knowing that I was once lost as well and that the sin in one's heart is not all that defines them.

The true me is hideous, but even so I do not wish to deny it. It is a part of me, just like how my experiences as Ruggiero are a part of me as well. We are two and the same: both sides of a single man. For all the bitterness I felt as a Frank, there were delights, and bonds, and opportunities I would have never experienced had I not donned the name. There are pleasant people just as there are scornful ones. With the wisdom of my time as both Frank and Moor, I hope to show that our traits need not be ashamed of.

So I will accept Ruggiero just as I accept Atlantes. And together, we will strive for a tomorrow full of happiness.

"Thank you, Lucius. And forgive my late answer," I say to him, standing up and walking toward the cottage's exit. "What I will do now… is believe in the promise our people hold. Just as Bradamante and I found our other halves amongst each other, I hope that, someday, a couple like us shall flourish their love unburdened by the prejudice we had to face. And so I will fight to make that possibility a reality, no matter how slowly it must come."

"... The road will be long and painful," Lucius replies after a moment. "Will you still commit yourself to this pledge, even knowing the difficulty it shall bring?"

I bid the gentleman a wide, honest smile. "If even one person out there has their view changed this day, then it will all be worth it."

The true me is ever changing. It is both good and bad, embarrassing to admit and at times a pride to display, and that is why I must look out to the horizon. For the sake of the little boy of yesteryear, the scholar, the paladin, and all who I shall embody in the years to come, I will no longer imprison myself in imaginary chains.

Rather than resentment, let kindness lead my way forward.

Lucius takes off his mask, and he greets me with a smile of his own. He stands up before I can react and wraps my body in a tight embrace, one filled with a boundless fount of love that I cannot fully describe. But I can feel it. Sincerity, pride, joy... and most of all, satisfaction. The warmth in his eyes is one of a parent bidding their child goodbye onto a new chapter, a story yet written.

"Go, my friend," he says. "For the man I see now is the most beautiful of them all."

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