FFXII: No Answer
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII
Pairing: None
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: Cid hasn't thought enough of what to do about Ffamran, lately. For lassarina. Thank you to feywood for much help with it.
"If it's freedom he wants," the Occuria says, like a breath in Cid's ear, "perhaps it would be best..."
For a moment Cid pays no attention -- surely he can have just a moment to think about what to do about Ffamran and his dreams of becoming a sky pirate. He hasn't really thought about the boy in too long: the boy's nearly a man now, of course, and... He senses a movement he might term impatient, as Venat stirs, and drops the thought.
"Perhaps he needs reining in, rather than letting go," Cid says, thoughtfully. He closes his eyes. "Do you truly think...?"
"His life should be his own."
"That," Cid says, opening his eyes again and looking up at Venat, "is no answer."
"Even so."
"You think he should be free to make his own choices? An odd thing, for you." Cid turns to look out of the window, up at the sky -- he can imagine how it must appeal to Ffamran, an existence so wild and free, and yet -- and yet Ffamran has a great destiny before him, if he can be persuaded to take it.
"One given what they want will be the more willing in times to come, perhaps," the Occuria says, with a hint of what Cid has always believed is slyness.
----
Cid knows Ffamran is going, before he is quite gone, and he can watch through the window the take off -- the escape, the cutting of the ties. He tries to imagine the look on Ffamran's face: tries and fails.
"T'would seem I was mistaken," Venat says, without a trace of true apology or even regret.
Cid's hand curls into a loose fist: useless, he thinks, useless. What could an Occuria know of how to raise a son? He takes a deep breath and Venat goes on, smoothly, talking about loyalties and necessities and who knows what else. But he isn't listening, and his eyes are on the small shape that dwindles with every moment. For the last time, looking at the tiny dot that is Ffamran's airship now, Cid lets himself think: that's my son. And then he lets it go.
"You are right, of course," he says, and perhaps Venat is startled, though the emotion does not show. "There are others in the world besides him, others that can play his part."
Pairing: None
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: Cid hasn't thought enough of what to do about Ffamran, lately. For lassarina. Thank you to feywood for much help with it.
"If it's freedom he wants," the Occuria says, like a breath in Cid's ear, "perhaps it would be best..."
For a moment Cid pays no attention -- surely he can have just a moment to think about what to do about Ffamran and his dreams of becoming a sky pirate. He hasn't really thought about the boy in too long: the boy's nearly a man now, of course, and... He senses a movement he might term impatient, as Venat stirs, and drops the thought.
"Perhaps he needs reining in, rather than letting go," Cid says, thoughtfully. He closes his eyes. "Do you truly think...?"
"His life should be his own."
"That," Cid says, opening his eyes again and looking up at Venat, "is no answer."
"Even so."
"You think he should be free to make his own choices? An odd thing, for you." Cid turns to look out of the window, up at the sky -- he can imagine how it must appeal to Ffamran, an existence so wild and free, and yet -- and yet Ffamran has a great destiny before him, if he can be persuaded to take it.
"One given what they want will be the more willing in times to come, perhaps," the Occuria says, with a hint of what Cid has always believed is slyness.
----
Cid knows Ffamran is going, before he is quite gone, and he can watch through the window the take off -- the escape, the cutting of the ties. He tries to imagine the look on Ffamran's face: tries and fails.
"T'would seem I was mistaken," Venat says, without a trace of true apology or even regret.
Cid's hand curls into a loose fist: useless, he thinks, useless. What could an Occuria know of how to raise a son? He takes a deep breath and Venat goes on, smoothly, talking about loyalties and necessities and who knows what else. But he isn't listening, and his eyes are on the small shape that dwindles with every moment. For the last time, looking at the tiny dot that is Ffamran's airship now, Cid lets himself think: that's my son. And then he lets it go.
"You are right, of course," he says, and perhaps Venat is startled, though the emotion does not show. "There are others in the world besides him, others that can play his part."