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Crysiana (![[info]](http://www.journalfen.net/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} crysiana) wrote,@ 2007-05-31 03:08:00 |
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[fic] [ffxii]Lost
Title: Lost
Warnings: Spoilers for FFXII for various info on Balthier and Fran
Notes: Fran started talking, so I started listening. It's a very melancholy piece.
Summary: Fran thinks on decisions she made, and the life she's forged for herself.
Though he is older for a hume, she meets him when he is a bare boy-child, full of ambition and anger, heedless of danger and rushing to embrace what the world will send at him. It has been some time since she has left her home, has left the voice of the Wood and the voices of her sisters, and he reminds her of herself, when she left, in many ways. She does and does not regret her choice; she still seeks. There is a purpose to her leaving, one that she felt burn within her, even louder than the voice of the Wood, and perhaps this is another stepping stone on the way to discovering that.
It is, she comes to realize, a very hume thought. She watches him practice with a gun she procured for him, eager to learn and eager to please. He fancies himself a ladies' man, and he will be quite the charmer once he has learned somewhat, but she anticipates that she will still see him as the gangly boy-child she knew when she met him. He believed that he could speak with his father, find a way to wake the man to what was real. He thought he could serve Archades to give his life purpose. And yet, she remembers, for Viera, there was always a purpose in the Wood. One moved with the seasons, calm and unchanging even as they completed their yearly round, and there was meaning in everything in the Wood. The Viera lived for the Wood as the Wood cared for the Viera.
Humes have no such certainty. He had no guide to tell him that he would need to pull away from Archades; he has only his own heart and head to guide him, and those are poor substitutes for the loving mother such as the Wood. And she, like him now, searches for an answer beyond the tranquil melodies of her mother's voice. It is why the Viera who leave the Wood look lost, she thinks. It is not the deafness brought by the noise of the hume voices, but the sense that they have journeyed far without a compass, and now have no choice but to accept that they are lost.
She has learned, in the past years, of airships and their workings, and she is the one who teaches him. He is an eager student in this, for it is an escape from the world he has been trapped in. For a hume, she knows, he had a certain future, and yet he chose to give that up for a life where he could barely make it by. It is not the same, but it is similar, and though she would never tell him, it is also a comfort. They have both made sacrifices to be where and who they are.
Until she returns home and can hear nothing, she does not truly think on whether what she has gained has been enough. And yet, when Jote answers her question so, she cannot help but think that all is not lost, even so. The Wood may not forgive, but she does not totally censure her daughters for their weaknesses. It is fit, even for the ones such as her, who will always be lost.
Title: Lost
Warnings: Spoilers for FFXII for various info on Balthier and Fran
Notes: Fran started talking, so I started listening. It's a very melancholy piece.
Summary: Fran thinks on decisions she made, and the life she's forged for herself.
Though he is older for a hume, she meets him when he is a bare boy-child, full of ambition and anger, heedless of danger and rushing to embrace what the world will send at him. It has been some time since she has left her home, has left the voice of the Wood and the voices of her sisters, and he reminds her of herself, when she left, in many ways. She does and does not regret her choice; she still seeks. There is a purpose to her leaving, one that she felt burn within her, even louder than the voice of the Wood, and perhaps this is another stepping stone on the way to discovering that.
It is, she comes to realize, a very hume thought. She watches him practice with a gun she procured for him, eager to learn and eager to please. He fancies himself a ladies' man, and he will be quite the charmer once he has learned somewhat, but she anticipates that she will still see him as the gangly boy-child she knew when she met him. He believed that he could speak with his father, find a way to wake the man to what was real. He thought he could serve Archades to give his life purpose. And yet, she remembers, for Viera, there was always a purpose in the Wood. One moved with the seasons, calm and unchanging even as they completed their yearly round, and there was meaning in everything in the Wood. The Viera lived for the Wood as the Wood cared for the Viera.
Humes have no such certainty. He had no guide to tell him that he would need to pull away from Archades; he has only his own heart and head to guide him, and those are poor substitutes for the loving mother such as the Wood. And she, like him now, searches for an answer beyond the tranquil melodies of her mother's voice. It is why the Viera who leave the Wood look lost, she thinks. It is not the deafness brought by the noise of the hume voices, but the sense that they have journeyed far without a compass, and now have no choice but to accept that they are lost.
She has learned, in the past years, of airships and their workings, and she is the one who teaches him. He is an eager student in this, for it is an escape from the world he has been trapped in. For a hume, she knows, he had a certain future, and yet he chose to give that up for a life where he could barely make it by. It is not the same, but it is similar, and though she would never tell him, it is also a comfort. They have both made sacrifices to be where and who they are.
Until she returns home and can hear nothing, she does not truly think on whether what she has gained has been enough. And yet, when Jote answers her question so, she cannot help but think that all is not lost, even so. The Wood may not forgive, but she does not totally censure her daughters for their weaknesses. It is fit, even for the ones such as her, who will always be lost.
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