[Crossover, Final Fantasy Tactics/Final Fantasy XII] Visitation
Characters: Delita, Venat
Rating: G
Warnings: Spoilers for both games.
Notes: Written for the February 2008 round of LJ springkink. Props to mithrigil for the bit about the palings, which has wormed its way into my headcanon and refuses to leave.
Summary: Delita finds something unexpected in the library.
Word Count: 453
Beta: None
The builders who had constructed Duke Larg's seat had done an ill job indeed; it was drafty even beyond most structures of its ilk. Delita pulled his cloak closer around his shoulders and drew the candelabra closer to the curling, yellowed parchments before him. He leaned forward, struggling to make out the densely packed, intricate lines of script. He had unearthed the scrolls in a corner of Duke Larg's library and had spent the past week translating the Old Archadian. He was fairly certain that the scrolls dated from the reign of the last Archadian Emperor, Larsa Solidor, but he had yet to positively identify their author.
He caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned swiftly. He could see naught save the bookshelves, and the flickering of candle flames.
He returned his attention to the scroll before him and traced the line he had been reading previously. ...investigation headed by the Ninth Bureau's Judge Aktascha, found that the palings had not been undermined or sabotaged in any way; rather they appeared to simply collapse, for no reason that we were able to discern.
Again that flicker, just outside the range of his vision. He looked up, and saw a shimmer hanging midair. It flickered, then seemed to steady-with some part of his mind he noted that there seemed to be two eyes, like unto glowing coals, near the top of the illusion, and with the rest of his mind he wondered what fell spirit had found its way here, and to what end. His right hand dropped beneath the table and wrapped round the hilt of the dagger at his belt.
"What knowledge dost thou seek within these scrolls?" it inquired, in a voice that echoed strangely, as though it spoke with multiple voices at once.
Delita pushed his chair back a handspan or two, ready to spring forward and strike if this apparition should display ill intent. "Knowledge of history," he said calmly, "the better to understand the present."
"Thou seek'st to understand, or yet to change?" It floated nearer.
Delita considered his answer for long moments before he spoke. "A commoner has little to do with changing history," he said at last, though he intended to change that if he could.
"From tower high and city old Occuria once ruled the weave of hist'ry's cloth, but gone those spirits since the fall of realms by nethicite held."
Delita's hand relaxed slightly, though he did not let go of the dagger. "What would you have of me?" he asked.
"To lead a man who sees the possibilities of what he could accomplish if he but seized the reins of hist'ry in his own hands."
Delita's hand dropped to his side. "Then let us speak."
Rating: G
Warnings: Spoilers for both games.
Notes: Written for the February 2008 round of LJ springkink. Props to mithrigil for the bit about the palings, which has wormed its way into my headcanon and refuses to leave.
Summary: Delita finds something unexpected in the library.
Word Count: 453
Beta: None
The builders who had constructed Duke Larg's seat had done an ill job indeed; it was drafty even beyond most structures of its ilk. Delita pulled his cloak closer around his shoulders and drew the candelabra closer to the curling, yellowed parchments before him. He leaned forward, struggling to make out the densely packed, intricate lines of script. He had unearthed the scrolls in a corner of Duke Larg's library and had spent the past week translating the Old Archadian. He was fairly certain that the scrolls dated from the reign of the last Archadian Emperor, Larsa Solidor, but he had yet to positively identify their author.
He caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned swiftly. He could see naught save the bookshelves, and the flickering of candle flames.
He returned his attention to the scroll before him and traced the line he had been reading previously. ...investigation headed by the Ninth Bureau's Judge Aktascha, found that the palings had not been undermined or sabotaged in any way; rather they appeared to simply collapse, for no reason that we were able to discern.
Again that flicker, just outside the range of his vision. He looked up, and saw a shimmer hanging midair. It flickered, then seemed to steady-with some part of his mind he noted that there seemed to be two eyes, like unto glowing coals, near the top of the illusion, and with the rest of his mind he wondered what fell spirit had found its way here, and to what end. His right hand dropped beneath the table and wrapped round the hilt of the dagger at his belt.
"What knowledge dost thou seek within these scrolls?" it inquired, in a voice that echoed strangely, as though it spoke with multiple voices at once.
Delita pushed his chair back a handspan or two, ready to spring forward and strike if this apparition should display ill intent. "Knowledge of history," he said calmly, "the better to understand the present."
"Thou seek'st to understand, or yet to change?" It floated nearer.
Delita considered his answer for long moments before he spoke. "A commoner has little to do with changing history," he said at last, though he intended to change that if he could.
"From tower high and city old Occuria once ruled the weave of hist'ry's cloth, but gone those spirits since the fall of realms by nethicite held."
Delita's hand relaxed slightly, though he did not let go of the dagger. "What would you have of me?" he asked.
"To lead a man who sees the possibilities of what he could accomplish if he but seized the reins of hist'ry in his own hands."
Delita's hand dropped to his side. "Then let us speak."