Fic: Reins of History - Cid/Fran - FFXII
Title: Reins of History (1/30) aka: The History of the Decline and Fall of Doctor Cidolfus Demen Bunansa
author: PookaSeraph
pairing/characters: Cid/Fran, Ffamran
rating: PG-13
disclaimer: Not mine, Never will be
warning: Spoilers for all of FFXII, odd pairing
summary: Long before Rabanastre fell, Fran left the Wood, in search of her destiny. Instead she found strange hume ways and imperial politics -- and her soulmate Cid Bunansa. Years later, she and her son are put at odds with an empire, entangled in a war they never intended to fight.
Chapter 1
Fran waited quietly in one of the many shaded glades usually set aside for the males to meditate. A few days ago, Fran had felt a pull drawing her to seek out the glade. Her sister, Jote, had explained this was the way that a viera was first called to her service of the Wood.
Now she sat back against one of the many trees, dressed in the traditional green robes set aside for such days. She would hear the voice of the Wood clearly for the first time and it would call her to her fated service.
It was a day of celebration for all viera when a sister came to her chosen task, appointed to her duty, to her service of the Wood. The males of her species heard the Wood intuitively, naturally; they were tied more closely to the Wood. The females heard only soft whispers until they were called.
But as the hours past uneventfully Fran began to think she was mistaken, that perhaps the Wood had not called her to her destiny so soon. As dusk began to fall, she felt wind ruffling her short hair with the soft rustling she had come to know as the Wood.
Fran, the voice was soft and comforting, perhaps like a mother’s. Fran sat frozen, not knowing if she was supposed to call out or remain silent. The wind rustled again, a soft sort of chuckle wrapped around her. Thoughts or voice are all as one to me, daughter.
Fran straightened to attention, waiting for the Wood to tell her the path her life was to take. Her sister, Jote, had already taken her place among the Wood-warders and was well regarded. Her younger sister, Mjrn, still a child, was well liked and known for her skill with a sword and bow.
She knew her path was likely to be among the Wood-warders as well, like her sister and her mother, but a part of her longed for something greater than being just another member of her family to walk the same path.
She was embarrassed by her vanity as soon as the thought crossed her mind. She felt the Wood chuckle again.
There are two paths before you, my child. One path lies among the Wood-warders. Your skill with bow and steel will be unmatched. In the years to come you may even rival your sister. This path will not be difficult. You will walk it easily and among your village. The second path you may walk will be far harder yet far more rewarding, but you will walk it alone, far from village and Wood. In the end, the choice is yours. I will not force your hand, my daughter.
Fran found herself confused; in all those who had come to offer her their congratulations for her being called to the Wood’s service none had spoken of a choice. They spoke only of the certainty of their calling. She could not deny the idea of a calling beyond the Wood intrigued her.
“But we begin as part of the Wood,” Fran protested.
The Wood is not the only path you may choose.
“What other path is before me if I choose not the Wood?”
If you choose to forsake the village, you will wander among the humes. In a land they call Archades. You will meet your soulmate. He is called Cidolfus Demen Bunansa and, by him you will have a child. Such a path will be hard, far harder than a life here among your sisters but if you crave adventure, no other path will find you more.
“The Wood herself asks me to betray the Green Law. I cannot make a choice such as this in so few hours.”
Think on it, my daughter, but do not think too long. When you speak of our conversation to your sisters, tell them of your path among the Wood-warders.
Fran felt wind ruffle her hair and after a few moments she felt the Wood’s presence leave. She sat alone with her thoughts for many moments. It seemed more than strange that she would be asked to take on a task that would take her away from the forest and village. But Fran was certain it was the Wood who had spoken to her. She recognized Her gentle melody and presence.
The village would be prepared to celebrate her entry into adulthood by now. Fran stood, working out a kink that had formed in her back while she’d sat and returned to the terraces along the trees. There were fires lit in the lamps lining the walkways, and Fran found her way to the Fane of the Path to where her sisters stood waiting.
Jote stood, cradling an intricately tooled leather helmet, dyed black in the manner of a Wood-warder.
“So certain were you that the Wood would choose for me the warder’s path?” Fran asked when she saw the helm.
“The Wood, she spoke to me and told me of your path,” Jote answered, as if that made things any clearer for Fran.
Did her sister know the Wood had told her that she might leave the village to find her soul mate? Fran bowed instead. Her sister placed the helmet gently on her head.
It was strange to wear. It rested snuggly around her ears, yet Fran caught sight of it out of the corner of her eye, resting on her cheekbones and against her temples. She ran her fingers over it, feeling the work that had gone into producing the beautiful helm.
“The rest of your armor waits for you in your home, sister. Seek it out and change before we are to celebrate your majority,” Jote instructed her. Fran only nodded, still deep in thought. The walk to her home was interrupted several times by viera offering their congratulations for her call. They gave her no chance to think on the choice that had been set down for her.
Although it had been presented as choice, Fran knew that the Wood meant for her to leave, meant for her to take up her task. Fran had wondered if other viera had been offered the twofold path but had refused. It had been many years since the last viera took up her charge to the Wood, and none had left from under her boughs. It seemed odd that she would be the one to do this. That the Wood would ask her to set aside the Green Law and enter into the land of humes. But so had the Wood asked.
In her hut, Fran found gauntlets, boots, and pieces of armor for her torso. She donned them quickly, knowing her sister would not want her to hesitate over the task. The celebration would begin as soon as she arrived and last through the night.
Her dress removed and her armor equipped she ventured out into the cool night. There was dancing and music and firelight casting shadows across every walkway. Fran closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of the trees and the fires and the warmth of her embrace. She opened her eyes and drank in the sights of her home where she had lived since her birth. Was she to abandon all this for a hume?
Her sister, Mjrn, ran up to her and grabbed tightly around Fran’s wrist.
“Come sister, the party will not start without you!” Fran chuckled for a moment at her sister’s exuberance. Mjrn was still a child by viera standards; she had not been old enough to remember the last viera who had come into service of the Wood. Her eyes were alight with the curiosity of what the celebration would hold.
Fran let herself be dragged into the celebration but paid small heed the rest of the night. Her task set, but her resolve wavering she waited for the next day to bring her clarity.
The following morning Fran awoke no more sure of her task than she had been the night before. She spent her morning training among the warders. That afternoon she sought out her father, hoping that he might have wisdom to offer her.
Her father, along with all other male viera, communed more directly with the Wood and would meditate, listening to the voice of the Wood as she whispered of all things from across all of the world. When Jote and Fran were younger, her father would often tell them stories of the lands beyond their forest home, lands beyond the Feywood and Golmore, the only lands Fran knew. He would speak of plains and cities and mountains covered in ice and snow, and beyond those, spans of water vaster than the entirety of the forest Fran knew.
Jote found little joy or excitement in the stories and stopped listening long before she was called to the Wood’s service. Fran listened to her father’s stories every day she was able and imagined walking those lands to this day.
She found him, set apart from the others in a corner of a glade overgrown with moss and small trees.
“My daughter,” he greeted her warmly. Fran nodded in acknowledgement and sat down by his side. “You are now truly of the village, a warder of the Wood for the rest of your days?”
“Thus the Wood spoke to me,” Fran answered, disliking the half-lie that she told. She could not tell how she could tell, but she knew he saw the half-truth for what it was.
“She spoke of nothing beyond her boughs?” he asked, a subtle note of amusement in his voice. Not for the first time Fran wondered how her father seemed to have a sense of humor that her sisters did not understand.
“She spoke to me of things beyond the Wood as well,” Fran admitted, easily enough.
“I have seen and heard of far reaches of the world, Ivalice. The Wood is the only path I may chose to see these wonders. She is not the only path by which you may walk the world, Fran.” Her father explained things so simply sometimes.
“She said something similar to me. I do not know what could be more of a reward than to protect the forest from those who would harm her. But she spoke as though I would find even more beyond her trees. I can’t even imagine it.” Her father seemed to understand instantly.
“If you leave the Wood, daughter, you will be as a hume. You will hear their harsh speech and vicious cruelty, their avarice and their intrigue. But you will feel their love, their loyalty, and the excitement that only comes when each day is more precious because of how few days they have to them. They hold each day more precious than we hold seasons. That is the strength of humes,” Fran looked at her father, clearly wondered why her father would know such things. “The Wood, she speaks to me of such things.”
“I would not hear Her voice again, were I to become as a hume. I would not hear the Green Law and be cast forever from the village. My past cut away, no longer viera, no longer your daughter,” Fran spoke quietly, she could not understand why, for the viera had no secrets from each other. She had never held a secret, hardly recognized it for what it was. She knew only that to speak of her thoughts out loud where the others could hear would make them doubt and question her, and so she spoke softly to her father.
“I could not speak on that. I have heard the voice of the Wood since the day I was born. She has been my constant companion and I could no more stop hearing Her than I could stop drawing breath. If you leave Her, I believe you will find a place among humes. The viera leave the Wood far too often for me to believe there is nothing beyond Her for them.”
“That is only a small comfort, father.” Fran tried to keep a tone of petulance and complaint from her voice, but she was still young even by hume standards -- as she understood them -- so she allowed herself a hint of whine. “Would that I could be certain.”
“There is nothing certain in all of Ivalice.” As soon as he said it, Fran knew it for the truth it was. Her place among the Wood-warders was no more certain than her place in the life of her soul mate. It was only a matter of which she wanted for herself. The Wood had been clear on that: one path among Wood and village, one among metal and city.
In that moment, she decided that she would see every mile of Ivalice she could reach.
“I will leave.” Fran knew that he did not misunderstand.
“Goodbye my daughter, the Wood whispers that I may see you one more time before I pass beyond.” Fran looked up, startled.
“She gives me hope then,” Fran answered calmly.
Fran walked out of the glade and to her home. She would speak on this to Jote and Mjrn and then she would leave, cut away her past and be viera no longer.
author: PookaSeraph
pairing/characters: Cid/Fran, Ffamran
rating: PG-13
disclaimer: Not mine, Never will be
warning: Spoilers for all of FFXII, odd pairing
summary: Long before Rabanastre fell, Fran left the Wood, in search of her destiny. Instead she found strange hume ways and imperial politics -- and her soulmate Cid Bunansa. Years later, she and her son are put at odds with an empire, entangled in a war they never intended to fight.
Chapter 1
Fran waited quietly in one of the many shaded glades usually set aside for the males to meditate. A few days ago, Fran had felt a pull drawing her to seek out the glade. Her sister, Jote, had explained this was the way that a viera was first called to her service of the Wood.
Now she sat back against one of the many trees, dressed in the traditional green robes set aside for such days. She would hear the voice of the Wood clearly for the first time and it would call her to her fated service.
It was a day of celebration for all viera when a sister came to her chosen task, appointed to her duty, to her service of the Wood. The males of her species heard the Wood intuitively, naturally; they were tied more closely to the Wood. The females heard only soft whispers until they were called.
But as the hours past uneventfully Fran began to think she was mistaken, that perhaps the Wood had not called her to her destiny so soon. As dusk began to fall, she felt wind ruffling her short hair with the soft rustling she had come to know as the Wood.
Fran, the voice was soft and comforting, perhaps like a mother’s. Fran sat frozen, not knowing if she was supposed to call out or remain silent. The wind rustled again, a soft sort of chuckle wrapped around her. Thoughts or voice are all as one to me, daughter.
Fran straightened to attention, waiting for the Wood to tell her the path her life was to take. Her sister, Jote, had already taken her place among the Wood-warders and was well regarded. Her younger sister, Mjrn, still a child, was well liked and known for her skill with a sword and bow.
She knew her path was likely to be among the Wood-warders as well, like her sister and her mother, but a part of her longed for something greater than being just another member of her family to walk the same path.
She was embarrassed by her vanity as soon as the thought crossed her mind. She felt the Wood chuckle again.
There are two paths before you, my child. One path lies among the Wood-warders. Your skill with bow and steel will be unmatched. In the years to come you may even rival your sister. This path will not be difficult. You will walk it easily and among your village. The second path you may walk will be far harder yet far more rewarding, but you will walk it alone, far from village and Wood. In the end, the choice is yours. I will not force your hand, my daughter.
Fran found herself confused; in all those who had come to offer her their congratulations for her being called to the Wood’s service none had spoken of a choice. They spoke only of the certainty of their calling. She could not deny the idea of a calling beyond the Wood intrigued her.
“But we begin as part of the Wood,” Fran protested.
The Wood is not the only path you may choose.
“What other path is before me if I choose not the Wood?”
If you choose to forsake the village, you will wander among the humes. In a land they call Archades. You will meet your soulmate. He is called Cidolfus Demen Bunansa and, by him you will have a child. Such a path will be hard, far harder than a life here among your sisters but if you crave adventure, no other path will find you more.
“The Wood herself asks me to betray the Green Law. I cannot make a choice such as this in so few hours.”
Think on it, my daughter, but do not think too long. When you speak of our conversation to your sisters, tell them of your path among the Wood-warders.
Fran felt wind ruffle her hair and after a few moments she felt the Wood’s presence leave. She sat alone with her thoughts for many moments. It seemed more than strange that she would be asked to take on a task that would take her away from the forest and village. But Fran was certain it was the Wood who had spoken to her. She recognized Her gentle melody and presence.
The village would be prepared to celebrate her entry into adulthood by now. Fran stood, working out a kink that had formed in her back while she’d sat and returned to the terraces along the trees. There were fires lit in the lamps lining the walkways, and Fran found her way to the Fane of the Path to where her sisters stood waiting.
Jote stood, cradling an intricately tooled leather helmet, dyed black in the manner of a Wood-warder.
“So certain were you that the Wood would choose for me the warder’s path?” Fran asked when she saw the helm.
“The Wood, she spoke to me and told me of your path,” Jote answered, as if that made things any clearer for Fran.
Did her sister know the Wood had told her that she might leave the village to find her soul mate? Fran bowed instead. Her sister placed the helmet gently on her head.
It was strange to wear. It rested snuggly around her ears, yet Fran caught sight of it out of the corner of her eye, resting on her cheekbones and against her temples. She ran her fingers over it, feeling the work that had gone into producing the beautiful helm.
“The rest of your armor waits for you in your home, sister. Seek it out and change before we are to celebrate your majority,” Jote instructed her. Fran only nodded, still deep in thought. The walk to her home was interrupted several times by viera offering their congratulations for her call. They gave her no chance to think on the choice that had been set down for her.
Although it had been presented as choice, Fran knew that the Wood meant for her to leave, meant for her to take up her task. Fran had wondered if other viera had been offered the twofold path but had refused. It had been many years since the last viera took up her charge to the Wood, and none had left from under her boughs. It seemed odd that she would be the one to do this. That the Wood would ask her to set aside the Green Law and enter into the land of humes. But so had the Wood asked.
In her hut, Fran found gauntlets, boots, and pieces of armor for her torso. She donned them quickly, knowing her sister would not want her to hesitate over the task. The celebration would begin as soon as she arrived and last through the night.
Her dress removed and her armor equipped she ventured out into the cool night. There was dancing and music and firelight casting shadows across every walkway. Fran closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of the trees and the fires and the warmth of her embrace. She opened her eyes and drank in the sights of her home where she had lived since her birth. Was she to abandon all this for a hume?
Her sister, Mjrn, ran up to her and grabbed tightly around Fran’s wrist.
“Come sister, the party will not start without you!” Fran chuckled for a moment at her sister’s exuberance. Mjrn was still a child by viera standards; she had not been old enough to remember the last viera who had come into service of the Wood. Her eyes were alight with the curiosity of what the celebration would hold.
Fran let herself be dragged into the celebration but paid small heed the rest of the night. Her task set, but her resolve wavering she waited for the next day to bring her clarity.
The following morning Fran awoke no more sure of her task than she had been the night before. She spent her morning training among the warders. That afternoon she sought out her father, hoping that he might have wisdom to offer her.
Her father, along with all other male viera, communed more directly with the Wood and would meditate, listening to the voice of the Wood as she whispered of all things from across all of the world. When Jote and Fran were younger, her father would often tell them stories of the lands beyond their forest home, lands beyond the Feywood and Golmore, the only lands Fran knew. He would speak of plains and cities and mountains covered in ice and snow, and beyond those, spans of water vaster than the entirety of the forest Fran knew.
Jote found little joy or excitement in the stories and stopped listening long before she was called to the Wood’s service. Fran listened to her father’s stories every day she was able and imagined walking those lands to this day.
She found him, set apart from the others in a corner of a glade overgrown with moss and small trees.
“My daughter,” he greeted her warmly. Fran nodded in acknowledgement and sat down by his side. “You are now truly of the village, a warder of the Wood for the rest of your days?”
“Thus the Wood spoke to me,” Fran answered, disliking the half-lie that she told. She could not tell how she could tell, but she knew he saw the half-truth for what it was.
“She spoke of nothing beyond her boughs?” he asked, a subtle note of amusement in his voice. Not for the first time Fran wondered how her father seemed to have a sense of humor that her sisters did not understand.
“She spoke to me of things beyond the Wood as well,” Fran admitted, easily enough.
“I have seen and heard of far reaches of the world, Ivalice. The Wood is the only path I may chose to see these wonders. She is not the only path by which you may walk the world, Fran.” Her father explained things so simply sometimes.
“She said something similar to me. I do not know what could be more of a reward than to protect the forest from those who would harm her. But she spoke as though I would find even more beyond her trees. I can’t even imagine it.” Her father seemed to understand instantly.
“If you leave the Wood, daughter, you will be as a hume. You will hear their harsh speech and vicious cruelty, their avarice and their intrigue. But you will feel their love, their loyalty, and the excitement that only comes when each day is more precious because of how few days they have to them. They hold each day more precious than we hold seasons. That is the strength of humes,” Fran looked at her father, clearly wondered why her father would know such things. “The Wood, she speaks to me of such things.”
“I would not hear Her voice again, were I to become as a hume. I would not hear the Green Law and be cast forever from the village. My past cut away, no longer viera, no longer your daughter,” Fran spoke quietly, she could not understand why, for the viera had no secrets from each other. She had never held a secret, hardly recognized it for what it was. She knew only that to speak of her thoughts out loud where the others could hear would make them doubt and question her, and so she spoke softly to her father.
“I could not speak on that. I have heard the voice of the Wood since the day I was born. She has been my constant companion and I could no more stop hearing Her than I could stop drawing breath. If you leave Her, I believe you will find a place among humes. The viera leave the Wood far too often for me to believe there is nothing beyond Her for them.”
“That is only a small comfort, father.” Fran tried to keep a tone of petulance and complaint from her voice, but she was still young even by hume standards -- as she understood them -- so she allowed herself a hint of whine. “Would that I could be certain.”
“There is nothing certain in all of Ivalice.” As soon as he said it, Fran knew it for the truth it was. Her place among the Wood-warders was no more certain than her place in the life of her soul mate. It was only a matter of which she wanted for herself. The Wood had been clear on that: one path among Wood and village, one among metal and city.
In that moment, she decided that she would see every mile of Ivalice she could reach.
“I will leave.” Fran knew that he did not misunderstand.
“Goodbye my daughter, the Wood whispers that I may see you one more time before I pass beyond.” Fran looked up, startled.
“She gives me hope then,” Fran answered calmly.
Fran walked out of the glade and to her home. She would speak on this to Jote and Mjrn and then she would leave, cut away her past and be viera no longer.