Categories > Games > Final Fantasy XII > Claret Sky
Epilogue: This sky
Balthier/Vaan - post-canon
Disclaimer still applies.
Much love to you guys.
--
Vaan's ship is small, but she is fast, and they arrive a full night in advance.
She sits on a wide bank overlooking the Tchita Uplands, and she is quiet around the narrow berth that folds up into her tail.
Balthier tucks an arm under his head as he lies on his side, and the warm ridge of Vaan's spine is pressed to his chest. He listens to the tap of rain over his head and the sound of Vaan's breath.
He frowns. "Can't sleep?"
It is quiet for a moment. "I guess."
"You do know that it is not inculpation that he would seek?"
"I know."
He falls silent, and Balthier tries again. "Vaan, if you do not wish to be here, I'm quite sure they will understand."
"I know. I do. Sorry."
Balthier sighs.
Vaan twists to look at him, and he offers Balthier a crooked smile. "It's okay."
"Stop that," Balthier says.
Vaan's skin is soft under his fingers, and the muscles are tense as he drags his hand down the plane of his belly. Balthier traces a ragged scar at his hipbone, and he flattens his lips to the column of Vaan's neck.
Vaan is quiet under his hand, but he arches to press himself into the touch. He exhales, long and strained, at the gentle tug of Balthier's knuckle sliding up his length.
It is slick and messy, and the oil Balthier pours over his hand drips down the ridges between his rings and pools between his legs. Vaan's mouth is open, and his sharp breaths slip over Balthier's lips as he pushes back into Balthier's thrusts.
He digs rough fingers into Balthier's scalp as his back curves, and Balthier sees when his eyes slide shut, lashes pale against his dusty skin, covering the sliver of grey.
--
It is an official visit, and the fanfare is loud and long.
The Uplands are damp from rain, and the boots of armoured guards turn the ground quickly to mud.
The speeches drone, and there is much talk of honour, duty, and love of country. Archadia especially seems to have spared no expense, and there is a flag, its crest bright red against the grey sky, lain over the empty sarcophagus.
There are lilies in the wreath, Balthier sees, the white ones that grow wild now, amongst the ruins of Landis. He thinks they are Larsa's doing.
When a Dalmascan captain, the scars on his face causing his whiskers to grow in clumped bristles, stands by the ceremonial paraphernalia and takes the place of an Archadian general, Vaan presses his fingers into the back of Balthier's wrist, and he glances back over his shoulder as he slips away, Penelo preceding him.
Balthier catches Fran's eye, and he tilts his head.
--
The stone is squat and misshapen, barely more than an upright slab.
It is in a quiet corner of the Uplands, sheltered by a cliff at its back and moulting trees at its side.
Vaan and Penelo stand side by side, looking down at the patch of flat earth, and Balthier steps around a clump of flowering weeds that have grown over it.
There are quiet footsteps, and he looks up to see Ashe approach, picking her way past upraised roots in her impractical official garb.
"Should you truly be sneaking away from the funeral of your own knight?" Balthier says.
Ashe's lips curve, but there is reluctance to it.
Larsa braces a hand against a tree as he steps over a flat, jagged boulder. "We will not be missed for some time. I believe even the pallbearers drift off as the good captain speaks. As well, my guards remember him, and they know where I go."
"Besides which," Ashe says, "it isn't him, over there."
She stands at the stone, now, and she looks down upon the grave. She bends down then, and traces her fingers over the deep scratches in the marker. They are angular and uneven, etched by a knife that dulled by the end.
A drop of water, left clinging by the rain, runs down the scrapes.
"Did you do this, Vaan?" Larsa says without lifting his eyes.
Balthier slants his head, and he reads the words.
"Here lies."
It breaks off, a blank where the name is to be.
"Yeah," Vaan says. He shifts his feet, and his eyes dart to Larsa and away again. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to write 'Gabranth', and I couldn't really write 'Basch'. He said it would be too dangerous. If his identity got out."
"It is safe now," Ashe says. "We will erect a fitting monument. We will remember him the way he deserves."
Larsa places his hand on the dark stone, and he shakes his head. "No," he says. "Please leave it."
--
Balthier shifts the Strahl's wings, and he sees the copse that hides the grave when he glances down in the sky. Above him, Vaan's ship banks a wide circle, and the sun flickers off her hull.
--
End.
Balthier/Vaan - post-canon
Disclaimer still applies.
Much love to you guys.
--
Vaan's ship is small, but she is fast, and they arrive a full night in advance.
She sits on a wide bank overlooking the Tchita Uplands, and she is quiet around the narrow berth that folds up into her tail.
Balthier tucks an arm under his head as he lies on his side, and the warm ridge of Vaan's spine is pressed to his chest. He listens to the tap of rain over his head and the sound of Vaan's breath.
He frowns. "Can't sleep?"
It is quiet for a moment. "I guess."
"You do know that it is not inculpation that he would seek?"
"I know."
He falls silent, and Balthier tries again. "Vaan, if you do not wish to be here, I'm quite sure they will understand."
"I know. I do. Sorry."
Balthier sighs.
Vaan twists to look at him, and he offers Balthier a crooked smile. "It's okay."
"Stop that," Balthier says.
Vaan's skin is soft under his fingers, and the muscles are tense as he drags his hand down the plane of his belly. Balthier traces a ragged scar at his hipbone, and he flattens his lips to the column of Vaan's neck.
Vaan is quiet under his hand, but he arches to press himself into the touch. He exhales, long and strained, at the gentle tug of Balthier's knuckle sliding up his length.
It is slick and messy, and the oil Balthier pours over his hand drips down the ridges between his rings and pools between his legs. Vaan's mouth is open, and his sharp breaths slip over Balthier's lips as he pushes back into Balthier's thrusts.
He digs rough fingers into Balthier's scalp as his back curves, and Balthier sees when his eyes slide shut, lashes pale against his dusty skin, covering the sliver of grey.
--
It is an official visit, and the fanfare is loud and long.
The Uplands are damp from rain, and the boots of armoured guards turn the ground quickly to mud.
The speeches drone, and there is much talk of honour, duty, and love of country. Archadia especially seems to have spared no expense, and there is a flag, its crest bright red against the grey sky, lain over the empty sarcophagus.
There are lilies in the wreath, Balthier sees, the white ones that grow wild now, amongst the ruins of Landis. He thinks they are Larsa's doing.
When a Dalmascan captain, the scars on his face causing his whiskers to grow in clumped bristles, stands by the ceremonial paraphernalia and takes the place of an Archadian general, Vaan presses his fingers into the back of Balthier's wrist, and he glances back over his shoulder as he slips away, Penelo preceding him.
Balthier catches Fran's eye, and he tilts his head.
--
The stone is squat and misshapen, barely more than an upright slab.
It is in a quiet corner of the Uplands, sheltered by a cliff at its back and moulting trees at its side.
Vaan and Penelo stand side by side, looking down at the patch of flat earth, and Balthier steps around a clump of flowering weeds that have grown over it.
There are quiet footsteps, and he looks up to see Ashe approach, picking her way past upraised roots in her impractical official garb.
"Should you truly be sneaking away from the funeral of your own knight?" Balthier says.
Ashe's lips curve, but there is reluctance to it.
Larsa braces a hand against a tree as he steps over a flat, jagged boulder. "We will not be missed for some time. I believe even the pallbearers drift off as the good captain speaks. As well, my guards remember him, and they know where I go."
"Besides which," Ashe says, "it isn't him, over there."
She stands at the stone, now, and she looks down upon the grave. She bends down then, and traces her fingers over the deep scratches in the marker. They are angular and uneven, etched by a knife that dulled by the end.
A drop of water, left clinging by the rain, runs down the scrapes.
"Did you do this, Vaan?" Larsa says without lifting his eyes.
Balthier slants his head, and he reads the words.
"Here lies."
It breaks off, a blank where the name is to be.
"Yeah," Vaan says. He shifts his feet, and his eyes dart to Larsa and away again. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to write 'Gabranth', and I couldn't really write 'Basch'. He said it would be too dangerous. If his identity got out."
"It is safe now," Ashe says. "We will erect a fitting monument. We will remember him the way he deserves."
Larsa places his hand on the dark stone, and he shakes his head. "No," he says. "Please leave it."
--
Balthier shifts the Strahl's wings, and he sees the copse that hides the grave when he glances down in the sky. Above him, Vaan's ship banks a wide circle, and the sun flickers off her hull.
--
End.
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