Categories > Games > Final Fantasy XII > Claret Sky
7. That which drowns
Bal/Vaan, post-canon
Disclaimers still apply.
Hmm... Another short interlude, very short, before we move on with the plot.
--
The Royal Palace of Rabanastre is solemn in Vaan's absence.
Of course, Balthier corrects himself, the man's presence would not liven, either, the way he carries on lately as if he bears the world on his shoulders like that hero of Nabradian legend. Balthier remembers not the name, and he dismisses the thought.
The Queen cannot shirk her duties for long, and Balthier has seen barely a hair on her head of late, though she catches his eye at times, and her features are heavy with poorly-concealed worry.
Balthier wishes not to hear another half-frantic discussion on Vaan's safety between Penelo and Larsa, and so he shuts himself into his room and waits.
The man is more than capable of fending for himself.
It is the irritated flick of Fran's ear and the very nearly exasperated "Balthier" that alerts him to his own pacing.
"If you worry, then seek," Fran says when he stops.
Balthier does not apologize because it is Fran, and Fran knows. He nods, and he leaves the palace. He walks, and in the end, it is Old Dalan who regards him strangely and says, without hesitation, "Look to the desert."
--
It is the scent of blood that draws Balthier to the Zertinan Caverns.
He sees the Wolves before he sees the hunched figure on the ground, surrounded by mauled, half-eaten corpses. Vaan's shoulders are streaked with blood and dust, and he cannot see if they move with breath. He smothers the thought, steps quickly over the exposed rib-cage of a fallen Mallicant, and he raises his weapon.
He puts shot through the skulls of the beasts before they can do more than whimper, and he crouches down to press the fingers of a hand against Vaan's neck.
Balthier is half-expecting the reaction, given the number of dead creatures surrounding the man, and so he blocks the quick slash toward his shoulder by slapping his forearm into Vaan's wrist and knocking the sword from his hand.
The punch to his chest that follows winds him, and Balthier stumbles back, raising his arms, but Vaan is motionless, squinting at him as if he has not opened his eyes for days.
"Balthier?" he says hoarsely.
Balthier does not reply, but he scowls blackly and throws a waterskin toward Vaan's head.
"What's this?"
"What does it look like?" Balthier snaps. "Drink the water. You have been missing for three days, and I am willing to wager the Strahl that you have not had anything to eat or drink here. You are not yet a Cactuar, Vaan."
Vaan pulls a face, and he uncorks the skin. "The springs—"
"Are poisoned by Mist and monster. You know that as well as I do, you simpleton. Now drink, and we return to Rabanastre."
Water trickles down the side of Vaan's chin, leaving pale tracks in the dirt. "Balthier, I—"
"Did not kill the woman."
Vaan looks at him. "I have plenty of blood on my hands, Balthier."
"Yes, we are all quite aware. Do you think me an innocent?"
"I—"
"No," Balthier says sharply, and waves an agitated hand. "Do you think so little of your comrades that you believe we care?"
"You do," Vaan says quietly. He wipes his mouth with a filthy hand, and he stands, his spine cracking into place in a ghastly cacophony. He glances up at Balthier's impatient stare, and he looks down. "Not yet," he says. "I want..."
Balthier sighs. He does so often lately. "Do what you must."
--
The dust hangs through the air like a curtain in the Undershore, roiling and shifting, and Balthier can nearly see shapes in the shades.
His eyes flick to Vaan, and the man is staring into the billowing sand as if entranced.
Balthier feels it settling upon his skin, and he wonders if the caves will be buried before too long, smothered by grey dust.
"Where do you think the dead go after they die?" Vaan says suddenly, his voice muffled by the hiss of sifting sand.
Balthier thinks for a moment. It is not the question he would have expected, but he is discovering, more and more, that Vaan is nothing if not unpredictable. "The Wood Viera believe that the dead return to the Wood, and they are visible in the motes of light that weave in the trees," he says. "Myself, I prefer the nursery tale that permits the dead to become stars in the sky."
"You believe this?"
Balthier watches a plume of sand reach out and settle, sliding a phantom finger down Vaan's cheek. "No," he says. "But I enjoy the story."
Vaan turns to look at him, something unreadable upon his face. He sways slightly as he steps forward, and he leans until his forehead rests against Balthier's collar.
Balthier feels the feverish heat through his clothing, and he exhales lightly, his breath stirring up the dust.
--
TBC
Bal/Vaan, post-canon
Disclaimers still apply.
Hmm... Another short interlude, very short, before we move on with the plot.
--
The Royal Palace of Rabanastre is solemn in Vaan's absence.
Of course, Balthier corrects himself, the man's presence would not liven, either, the way he carries on lately as if he bears the world on his shoulders like that hero of Nabradian legend. Balthier remembers not the name, and he dismisses the thought.
The Queen cannot shirk her duties for long, and Balthier has seen barely a hair on her head of late, though she catches his eye at times, and her features are heavy with poorly-concealed worry.
Balthier wishes not to hear another half-frantic discussion on Vaan's safety between Penelo and Larsa, and so he shuts himself into his room and waits.
The man is more than capable of fending for himself.
It is the irritated flick of Fran's ear and the very nearly exasperated "Balthier" that alerts him to his own pacing.
"If you worry, then seek," Fran says when he stops.
Balthier does not apologize because it is Fran, and Fran knows. He nods, and he leaves the palace. He walks, and in the end, it is Old Dalan who regards him strangely and says, without hesitation, "Look to the desert."
--
It is the scent of blood that draws Balthier to the Zertinan Caverns.
He sees the Wolves before he sees the hunched figure on the ground, surrounded by mauled, half-eaten corpses. Vaan's shoulders are streaked with blood and dust, and he cannot see if they move with breath. He smothers the thought, steps quickly over the exposed rib-cage of a fallen Mallicant, and he raises his weapon.
He puts shot through the skulls of the beasts before they can do more than whimper, and he crouches down to press the fingers of a hand against Vaan's neck.
Balthier is half-expecting the reaction, given the number of dead creatures surrounding the man, and so he blocks the quick slash toward his shoulder by slapping his forearm into Vaan's wrist and knocking the sword from his hand.
The punch to his chest that follows winds him, and Balthier stumbles back, raising his arms, but Vaan is motionless, squinting at him as if he has not opened his eyes for days.
"Balthier?" he says hoarsely.
Balthier does not reply, but he scowls blackly and throws a waterskin toward Vaan's head.
"What's this?"
"What does it look like?" Balthier snaps. "Drink the water. You have been missing for three days, and I am willing to wager the Strahl that you have not had anything to eat or drink here. You are not yet a Cactuar, Vaan."
Vaan pulls a face, and he uncorks the skin. "The springs—"
"Are poisoned by Mist and monster. You know that as well as I do, you simpleton. Now drink, and we return to Rabanastre."
Water trickles down the side of Vaan's chin, leaving pale tracks in the dirt. "Balthier, I—"
"Did not kill the woman."
Vaan looks at him. "I have plenty of blood on my hands, Balthier."
"Yes, we are all quite aware. Do you think me an innocent?"
"I—"
"No," Balthier says sharply, and waves an agitated hand. "Do you think so little of your comrades that you believe we care?"
"You do," Vaan says quietly. He wipes his mouth with a filthy hand, and he stands, his spine cracking into place in a ghastly cacophony. He glances up at Balthier's impatient stare, and he looks down. "Not yet," he says. "I want..."
Balthier sighs. He does so often lately. "Do what you must."
--
The dust hangs through the air like a curtain in the Undershore, roiling and shifting, and Balthier can nearly see shapes in the shades.
His eyes flick to Vaan, and the man is staring into the billowing sand as if entranced.
Balthier feels it settling upon his skin, and he wonders if the caves will be buried before too long, smothered by grey dust.
"Where do you think the dead go after they die?" Vaan says suddenly, his voice muffled by the hiss of sifting sand.
Balthier thinks for a moment. It is not the question he would have expected, but he is discovering, more and more, that Vaan is nothing if not unpredictable. "The Wood Viera believe that the dead return to the Wood, and they are visible in the motes of light that weave in the trees," he says. "Myself, I prefer the nursery tale that permits the dead to become stars in the sky."
"You believe this?"
Balthier watches a plume of sand reach out and settle, sliding a phantom finger down Vaan's cheek. "No," he says. "But I enjoy the story."
Vaan turns to look at him, something unreadable upon his face. He sways slightly as he steps forward, and he leans until his forehead rests against Balthier's collar.
Balthier feels the feverish heat through his clothing, and he exhales lightly, his breath stirring up the dust.
--
TBC
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