Dreams Come True [Penelo]
Canon Status: Strictly canon, nonspecific.
Genre: Introspection.
Rating: G.
Characters: Penelo, supporting bands.
Pairing: None.
Warnings: May or may not be Revenant Wings-compliant (I wouldn't know).
Notes: Written for and originally posted to femgenficathon. Betaed by mariagoner.
Summary: Of Penelo's dreams, those she lost and those she found again.
Penelo liked to think of herself as a realistic person.
It hadn’t always been that way; before the war, “practical”, “realistic”, and “sensible” had been the direst insults in her vocabulary. Used by adults, they all meant the same thing: that Penelo could be counted on to stay out of the sewers in Lowtown, avoid falling off the roof, and generally have none of the adventures that filled a child’s life. Since Penelo did do all of those things, often and enthusiastically (except for falling off the roof, which she did not repeat), she tried very hard to avoid even the accusation of sensibility.
But then the war came, and the plague, and the death, and everything changed, including the meanings of words. Suddenly being practical meant not getting arrested, not starving, and not attracting the wrong sort of attention. It was a compliment. So Penelo stopped restraining her common sense. She needed it all to manage Vaan, who was not then nor had ever been anything like practical, and keep him from following his thoughtless dreams into more trouble than she or Migelo could get him out of.
Being the realistic one had its drawbacks, of course. It meant that there was no time to spare for dreams like Vaan’s. She used to have her own dreams, back when she could afford them. She was going to be a famous dancer, so beautiful that the Prince himself would fall in love with her and make her his Princess. Then she was going to be the best Queen there ever was, and Dalmasca would be a paradise, all thanks to her. Everyone would love her, and she would have three daughters and three sons, all of whom would be wonderful, if not quite as wonderful as their mother.
Dalmasca ran out of princes at about the time “practical” stopped being an insult.
There was nothing she could do, so Penelo put her dreams on a shelf in the back of her mind and ignored them. It was all very well to dream about the future, but they had to eat today. Invisible airships might fill their minds, but their stomachs needed something more substantial.
She danced in the bazaar for extra money, which made it hard to let go of all her most cherished childhood hopes. As long as she was dancing, it wasn’t quite impossible that someone might notice her and make her famous. On the other hand, she knew quite well that any attention she might attract there would be entirely the wrong kind, the kind that ended up with her hiding from public sight until the man watching her went back to Archadia with the rest of his company. So that dream died too.
And if not even that dream, which was almost possible, couldn’t come true, her dream of being a Princess was worse than ridiculous. Not that it would have made a difference; she didn’t want to marry the only Prince of any kind left in Dalmasca, anyway. He was too old, for one thing, and had commanded the army that had killed her brothers, for another.
She worried a bit that abandoning her own dreams had made her less than understanding about others’. Sometimes she laughed at Vaan and his big dreams, more often she scolded him for his carelessness in pursuit of them, but secretly she was a little bit jealous of him, who could still find the energy to think about tomorrow. She herself forgot for days at a time that the future might be unlike the present, as the present was unlike the past. When she did remember it, she feared that, like the present to the past, the future would be worse than the present. It seemed a reasonable conclusion that, since nothing had gotten better in two years since the end of the war, nothing would.
Then it seemed that all at once all her fears and none of her dreams came true: Vaan was caught and dragged off to Nalbina, Imperials were pacing the streets looking suspiciously in every shadow, and at last Penelo herself was kidnapped and dragged off to goodness-knew-where to be bait for someone whose name she didn’t even know. If this was what Vaan’s dreams had gotten them, she was very nearly glad not to have any of her own.
It seemed nothing short of miraculous that she survived the next month, even more so that Vaan did too. It was not until everything was over and the pieces being cleared away, and after the most hectic and nerve-wracking parts of that too, that Penelo even had a breathing space to think about everything that had happened.
It seemed that Vaan was happy: he had everything he’d ever wanted, except for the dead to come back, and in a way they all had that in their reborn Princess-turned-Resistance-fighter-turned-adventurer-turned-Queen. He had what he’d dreamed of so strongly. A free Dalmasca was restored, he had had a chance to fight the man who’d taken everything from him, and he could be a sky pirate. What more could he ask for?
Undoubtedly Vaan had something more to ask for, as always. That was Vaan: since their earliest childhood, he had taken each goal achieved and turned it into a stepping stone to a new one. Still, Penelo found it hard to think of what he could possibly be in search of now.
As for herself, what did she have? A few things she’d never allowed herself to hope for, and a shelf full of dreams she’d never tried to make come true.
But they’d come true all the same, in a strange way. True, her dancing hadn’t had much to do with meeting the sweetest, most terrifying little Prince (now Emperor) in the world, but she had met him. She was a long way from being a Princess, but the orders of nobility foisted on her by a grateful Queen Ashelia were almost as good and less dependant on a husband’s goodwill. Dalmasca was well on the road to recovery from the occupation, which was partly her doing. And as for children, well, the other war orphans were all the children she could handle, to say nothing of Vaan, who was well on the way to wearing out her maternal instincts before she even developed them properly.
Maybe, she thought, dreams really did come true, if not in the way she’d expected. They certainly didn’t seem to hurt, and she had to wonder if everything she’d ever wanted was hers for the taking, as long as she kept wanting it. Maybe she could have had what she’d dreamed of all along. Maybe she still could.
The best thing about dreams was that there were always new ones. And this time, Penelo wasn’t going to let them go.
Genre: Introspection.
Rating: G.
Characters: Penelo, supporting bands.
Pairing: None.
Warnings: May or may not be Revenant Wings-compliant (I wouldn't know).
Notes: Written for and originally posted to femgenficathon. Betaed by mariagoner.
Summary: Of Penelo's dreams, those she lost and those she found again.
Penelo liked to think of herself as a realistic person.
It hadn’t always been that way; before the war, “practical”, “realistic”, and “sensible” had been the direst insults in her vocabulary. Used by adults, they all meant the same thing: that Penelo could be counted on to stay out of the sewers in Lowtown, avoid falling off the roof, and generally have none of the adventures that filled a child’s life. Since Penelo did do all of those things, often and enthusiastically (except for falling off the roof, which she did not repeat), she tried very hard to avoid even the accusation of sensibility.
But then the war came, and the plague, and the death, and everything changed, including the meanings of words. Suddenly being practical meant not getting arrested, not starving, and not attracting the wrong sort of attention. It was a compliment. So Penelo stopped restraining her common sense. She needed it all to manage Vaan, who was not then nor had ever been anything like practical, and keep him from following his thoughtless dreams into more trouble than she or Migelo could get him out of.
Being the realistic one had its drawbacks, of course. It meant that there was no time to spare for dreams like Vaan’s. She used to have her own dreams, back when she could afford them. She was going to be a famous dancer, so beautiful that the Prince himself would fall in love with her and make her his Princess. Then she was going to be the best Queen there ever was, and Dalmasca would be a paradise, all thanks to her. Everyone would love her, and she would have three daughters and three sons, all of whom would be wonderful, if not quite as wonderful as their mother.
Dalmasca ran out of princes at about the time “practical” stopped being an insult.
There was nothing she could do, so Penelo put her dreams on a shelf in the back of her mind and ignored them. It was all very well to dream about the future, but they had to eat today. Invisible airships might fill their minds, but their stomachs needed something more substantial.
She danced in the bazaar for extra money, which made it hard to let go of all her most cherished childhood hopes. As long as she was dancing, it wasn’t quite impossible that someone might notice her and make her famous. On the other hand, she knew quite well that any attention she might attract there would be entirely the wrong kind, the kind that ended up with her hiding from public sight until the man watching her went back to Archadia with the rest of his company. So that dream died too.
And if not even that dream, which was almost possible, couldn’t come true, her dream of being a Princess was worse than ridiculous. Not that it would have made a difference; she didn’t want to marry the only Prince of any kind left in Dalmasca, anyway. He was too old, for one thing, and had commanded the army that had killed her brothers, for another.
She worried a bit that abandoning her own dreams had made her less than understanding about others’. Sometimes she laughed at Vaan and his big dreams, more often she scolded him for his carelessness in pursuit of them, but secretly she was a little bit jealous of him, who could still find the energy to think about tomorrow. She herself forgot for days at a time that the future might be unlike the present, as the present was unlike the past. When she did remember it, she feared that, like the present to the past, the future would be worse than the present. It seemed a reasonable conclusion that, since nothing had gotten better in two years since the end of the war, nothing would.
Then it seemed that all at once all her fears and none of her dreams came true: Vaan was caught and dragged off to Nalbina, Imperials were pacing the streets looking suspiciously in every shadow, and at last Penelo herself was kidnapped and dragged off to goodness-knew-where to be bait for someone whose name she didn’t even know. If this was what Vaan’s dreams had gotten them, she was very nearly glad not to have any of her own.
It seemed nothing short of miraculous that she survived the next month, even more so that Vaan did too. It was not until everything was over and the pieces being cleared away, and after the most hectic and nerve-wracking parts of that too, that Penelo even had a breathing space to think about everything that had happened.
It seemed that Vaan was happy: he had everything he’d ever wanted, except for the dead to come back, and in a way they all had that in their reborn Princess-turned-Resistance-fighter-turned-adventurer-turned-Queen. He had what he’d dreamed of so strongly. A free Dalmasca was restored, he had had a chance to fight the man who’d taken everything from him, and he could be a sky pirate. What more could he ask for?
Undoubtedly Vaan had something more to ask for, as always. That was Vaan: since their earliest childhood, he had taken each goal achieved and turned it into a stepping stone to a new one. Still, Penelo found it hard to think of what he could possibly be in search of now.
As for herself, what did she have? A few things she’d never allowed herself to hope for, and a shelf full of dreams she’d never tried to make come true.
But they’d come true all the same, in a strange way. True, her dancing hadn’t had much to do with meeting the sweetest, most terrifying little Prince (now Emperor) in the world, but she had met him. She was a long way from being a Princess, but the orders of nobility foisted on her by a grateful Queen Ashelia were almost as good and less dependant on a husband’s goodwill. Dalmasca was well on the road to recovery from the occupation, which was partly her doing. And as for children, well, the other war orphans were all the children she could handle, to say nothing of Vaan, who was well on the way to wearing out her maternal instincts before she even developed them properly.
Maybe, she thought, dreams really did come true, if not in the way she’d expected. They certainly didn’t seem to hurt, and she had to wonder if everything she’d ever wanted was hers for the taking, as long as she kept wanting it. Maybe she could have had what she’d dreamed of all along. Maybe she still could.
The best thing about dreams was that there were always new ones. And this time, Penelo wasn’t going to let them go.