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edenfallingThis is a request ficlet for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
yuenoclow. The prompt was: Um, how about something for Mercverse? 'Cause I seriously never get tired of those... Le'see... I can't help but wonder what happened the first time Cloud met one of the Cetra. Did they recognize who Cloud's father likely is? And if they did, how did they react? *tilts her head* What do you think?
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Pilgrim's Passage
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The little boy, blond and slight and sharp-boned, sits on the narrow suspension footbridge over a gorge and swings his feet through the air. The ground is nearly fifty meters below him, more than enough for a fall to be fatal, but he is unafraid.
A traveler approaches the bridge, walking toward Nibelheim along the upland trail, the one that winds through mountain villages and is often barely wide enough for two men to pass each other. "Hello," he says softly, not wanting to startle the boy and make him fall.
"Hi!" the boy says, scrambling to his feet. "You're not from Eifelheim, or Jotunberg, or even Eigerspitze. How'd you find the trail?" He is quite sure of this. He knows everyone who lives within three villages of Nibelheim in all directions; his mother likes to travel during the summers, and the boy is something of a local curiosity, so the villagers are always interested in seeing how he's grown.
This man, with his moss-green eyes, his sharp-boned face, his slender hands, his long brown hair, doesn't look like the solid, steady people of the mountains. He doesn't feel like other people; something about him makes the boy's spine and fingers tingle, like the pressure before a bolt of lightning.
"I like the mountains," the traveler says, which is not precisely an answer. "I'm a healer," he adds. "I work with animals, trying to fix some of the great war's more subtle effects."
"The monsters?" asks the boy.
"Yes," the traveler says. "They were ordinary animals once, before magic twisted them. Sometimes I can heal them before the changes go too far, and if I can't heal them, I can tell people which animals not to breed." It's his private penance, for his part in the war, for his people's unforgivable pride, but he keeps that to himself. He doesn't want any worship or hatred from the humans he walks among.
The traveler steps onto the bridge, feeling the planks sway. The boy balances effortlessly against the motion, but the traveler clings to the rope hand-line for safety.
"You really aren't from around here," the boys says, laughing. He scrambles to the end of the bridge, sending a vertical wave thrashing through the planks. The traveler freezes, waits for equilibrium to return, and then shuffles forward once more.
"It's better if you run," the boy advises him.
"I think I'll keep on this way," the traveler says. After a minute, he reaches solid ground and sighs in relief.
"Are you going to Nibelheim?" the boy asks.
"Yes," says the traveler.
"I know a shortcut!" the boy informs him. "Do you want to come with me? We can have lunch with my mother, and you can stay with us. There isn't always room to stay in the village." He offers his hand.
The traveler looks down at the earnest boy, considers the trust so easily extended to a stranger -- such a rarity in this war-ravaged world -- and smiles. "I'd be glad to meet your mother," he says, and he reaches out to grasp the boy's hand.
The tingle jolts through the boy's body; his breath escapes in a gasp. The traveler's green eyes widen in shock, and his fingers tighten around the small hand.
"You! But she had only three sons..." He stares at the boy, shifting from amusement to suspicion. Perhaps there is no trust. Perhaps this is a trap. He lets go, steps back, raises his hands in preparation for soul-stripping magic.
"My mother only has one son, and that's me," the boy says, confusion painted across his face and in his clear blue eyes. "But my uncle wants her to marry Lord Malfoy, so maybe I'll have little brothers soon. Or a sister -- I'd like a sister."
"Who is your mother?" the traveler asks, still wary.
"Lady Shinra!" the boy says promptly. "Everybody knows that." Then he frowns. "I wish I knew who my father was, too, but she won't tell me. I think he must be dead, though, because sometimes she cries at night when she thinks I'm sleeping."
"I see," the traveler says. He lowers his hands; this boy may be the child of Jenova's spawn, but he seems ignorant of his heritage, and whatever power sleeps in his blood may never wake. The war is finished. There's no need to restart it over a child, not when the boy's very existence is, in many ways, his own people's fault.
He will not take another innocent life.
"Let's go visit your mother. I think we both could use some lunch," the traveler says, and offers his hand again. The boy takes it, never realizing how close he came to death.
They walk toward Nibelheim together.
---------------------------------------------
End of Story
original post and comments
yuenoclow. The prompt was: Um, how about something for Mercverse? 'Cause I seriously never get tired of those... Le'see... I can't help but wonder what happened the first time Cloud met one of the Cetra. Did they recognize who Cloud's father likely is? And if they did, how did they react? *tilts her head* What do you think?---------------------------------------------
Pilgrim's Passage
---------------------------------------------
The little boy, blond and slight and sharp-boned, sits on the narrow suspension footbridge over a gorge and swings his feet through the air. The ground is nearly fifty meters below him, more than enough for a fall to be fatal, but he is unafraid.
A traveler approaches the bridge, walking toward Nibelheim along the upland trail, the one that winds through mountain villages and is often barely wide enough for two men to pass each other. "Hello," he says softly, not wanting to startle the boy and make him fall.
"Hi!" the boy says, scrambling to his feet. "You're not from Eifelheim, or Jotunberg, or even Eigerspitze. How'd you find the trail?" He is quite sure of this. He knows everyone who lives within three villages of Nibelheim in all directions; his mother likes to travel during the summers, and the boy is something of a local curiosity, so the villagers are always interested in seeing how he's grown.
This man, with his moss-green eyes, his sharp-boned face, his slender hands, his long brown hair, doesn't look like the solid, steady people of the mountains. He doesn't feel like other people; something about him makes the boy's spine and fingers tingle, like the pressure before a bolt of lightning.
"I like the mountains," the traveler says, which is not precisely an answer. "I'm a healer," he adds. "I work with animals, trying to fix some of the great war's more subtle effects."
"The monsters?" asks the boy.
"Yes," the traveler says. "They were ordinary animals once, before magic twisted them. Sometimes I can heal them before the changes go too far, and if I can't heal them, I can tell people which animals not to breed." It's his private penance, for his part in the war, for his people's unforgivable pride, but he keeps that to himself. He doesn't want any worship or hatred from the humans he walks among.
The traveler steps onto the bridge, feeling the planks sway. The boy balances effortlessly against the motion, but the traveler clings to the rope hand-line for safety.
"You really aren't from around here," the boys says, laughing. He scrambles to the end of the bridge, sending a vertical wave thrashing through the planks. The traveler freezes, waits for equilibrium to return, and then shuffles forward once more.
"It's better if you run," the boy advises him.
"I think I'll keep on this way," the traveler says. After a minute, he reaches solid ground and sighs in relief.
"Are you going to Nibelheim?" the boy asks.
"Yes," says the traveler.
"I know a shortcut!" the boy informs him. "Do you want to come with me? We can have lunch with my mother, and you can stay with us. There isn't always room to stay in the village." He offers his hand.
The traveler looks down at the earnest boy, considers the trust so easily extended to a stranger -- such a rarity in this war-ravaged world -- and smiles. "I'd be glad to meet your mother," he says, and he reaches out to grasp the boy's hand.
The tingle jolts through the boy's body; his breath escapes in a gasp. The traveler's green eyes widen in shock, and his fingers tighten around the small hand.
"You! But she had only three sons..." He stares at the boy, shifting from amusement to suspicion. Perhaps there is no trust. Perhaps this is a trap. He lets go, steps back, raises his hands in preparation for soul-stripping magic.
"My mother only has one son, and that's me," the boy says, confusion painted across his face and in his clear blue eyes. "But my uncle wants her to marry Lord Malfoy, so maybe I'll have little brothers soon. Or a sister -- I'd like a sister."
"Who is your mother?" the traveler asks, still wary.
"Lady Shinra!" the boy says promptly. "Everybody knows that." Then he frowns. "I wish I knew who my father was, too, but she won't tell me. I think he must be dead, though, because sometimes she cries at night when she thinks I'm sleeping."
"I see," the traveler says. He lowers his hands; this boy may be the child of Jenova's spawn, but he seems ignorant of his heritage, and whatever power sleeps in his blood may never wake. The war is finished. There's no need to restart it over a child, not when the boy's very existence is, in many ways, his own people's fault.
He will not take another innocent life.
"Let's go visit your mother. I think we both could use some lunch," the traveler says, and offers his hand again. The boy takes it, never realizing how close he came to death.
They walk toward Nibelheim together.
---------------------------------------------
End of Story
original post and comments
