Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and make no money off of the Final Fantasy Tactics game.

Notes: I had a big epic story planned out for this game. It didn't work out(gee what a surprise). This was part of it but had no place in the fic but I liked it too much to ignore. It's already been established that I cannot title fics worth a damn, so forgive this crappy title.

Scars by fairady

Ramza knows he is lucky to be alive. He does not remember much after the explosion that took Delita and Tita, but he knows that is a good thing. Sometimes he hears Kitty talk of the long night that had followed. How they did not think he would live long enough for Vector to regain enough strength to cast a healing spell.

Vector's magic had been strong, but the wounds had sat too long before being Healed. The scars are faint but unmistakably there. Mostly along the left side of his chest and a few stripes up the outside of his left arm. They used to stand out starkly against his pale skin, but now they are starting to blend in with the new scars.

Each battle always seems to leave a new mark on him now. A half inch line on his lower back where a thief's blade had slid through the joints of his armor. A jagged tear down his forearm that had burned with the poison of the beast's claws. A rough patch of scar hidden by his hair, which caused it to grow at a slightly different angle after being burned off by Peiliene's miscast spell.

Somedays he can recount every battle his people have been in just by looking at his body. This scar for that pass, that mark from that town. Other times he looks at a scar and can't remember what caused it, let alone the circumstances around it. That scares him, but not as much as it used to. He has been in so many fights and he knows he will be in a lot more soon. A little forgetfulness seems like a blessing now.

Except he cannot forget. He cannot ever forget anything. The scream of a girl. The flames that first marked his skin and his heart. The burning loss/hatred/grief that still lingers long after the initial betrayal. The utter confusion that now rules his life where friends and foes are the same and death holds as little meaning as life.

They all want him to do so many different things. All he can do against the barrage is hold his own. Fighting and doing what he thinks is right. The one thing everyone else seems to not want him to do.

He hopes feverently he is doing right. So many are against him he wonders if he really is doing good. The only ones who agree with him are his people. His dear friends who stuck with him from the beginning, and the few souls who joined him later. They trust his judgment completely and follow him without question where ever he leads.

It is all that grounds him sometimes. The faith these people have in him is the one constant in his life. He would be lost without them. So he does his best to be worthy of their faith. Does his best to make amends for the wrongs he has done them all.

And he has wronged them, despite their protests to the contrary. If it were not for him they would not have been branded heretics and be forced to hide their faces in cities. It will only get worse the longer they stay. He is glad that they stayed with him. He needs all the sanity he can get.

The fire bathes the clearing in a soft glow. Pieliene and Ratha sit next to it giggling as they take their turn to prepare the group's meal. Malak argues feverently with a bemused Vector over the semantics of something. Whatever it is they have lost the interest of Agrias and Simon who both silently begin to clean their armor. Ramza's sister and the princess have both retired to one of the tents. Mustadio sits next to him oiling his weapon.

Ramza inhales the scent of oil. The light flickers over the old burn scar on his forearm bringing back memories that aren't quite so painful anymore. Not in the fire's soft glow surrounded by the only people that still matter to him.