Disclaimer- I don't own Final Fantasy Tactics.
The fire danced and licked at the night, a warrior battling endless odds. A moth, its lone companion, wove an endless corona around it, trying not to come too close and yet staying within the light.
Agrias Oaks leaned into an oak tree (she realized the irony, of course), her sword at her side, her eyes closed for a moment, but her body not at rest. It had been another hard day, crossing through monster infested lands. No casualties, as was Ramza's usual style, but enough injuries to slow them down for some time.
Ramza... her eyes cracked open, finding the young Beoulve as he always was, in the center of the camp, watching over his soldiers- friends, he would rather say- with his careful eyes, always encouraging, reprimanding, caring.
With this band, he had conquered soldiers, mages, demons, no force could stand against the forces of Ramza Beoulve.
In this boy was the living proof that the Beoulve family truly were the greatest generals of their times.
The Holy Knight was well used to his endearing yet almost too persistent inquiries into the health of every soldier, from the way his eyes softened when he came across a nasty wound, to the hollow humor he held the moment later.
His eyes, she mused, were where you could find the truth behind this enigma of a soldier. Watch only his movements, his actions, and one would become befuddled by his ways. A young man who loved justice, and yet who slew any who opposed him and his way.
Gentle to his friends, terrible to his enemies.
Somehow unable to cancel this train of thought, Agrias spared Ramza another glance, this time focusing on those telltale eyes.
They changed too often, in ways that were often frightening. From the way they would dance and flicker with laughter as he talked with his friends, to the storm within as they entered a battle. They could flare up with incomprehensible rage, filled with terrible justice as he fought on.
In those eyes was the essence of fire. Passionate, bringing destruction and comfort in one movement, able to protect and yet annihilate.
And she found herself the moth, dancing in front of him, unable to pull away.