Behold what comes to me when I am sick. The things the voices whisper to me…Anyway, sad little fic, here ya go! Sorry if it's not all that great, not so good with one-shots, especially when I can't keep my head straight! Read and Review, and make me feel better!
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The crowd was roaring loudly around him, beating on his eardrums as the imperial soldier led him to the scaffold where all in the sad alley could see him. The blond boy looked at the ragged condition of the crowd, wondering why exactly it was happening here. But as he thought of the times he had spent with the royalties of the countries, he couldn't help but believe it was something to do with politics more than anything. Of course, they had moved his date without Larsa's knowledge. They didn't want to give him the chance of the appeal he so rightly deserved, at least not the member of the newly instated senate that he had so offended.
The sun shined mockingly above him, as if daring him to say anything or do anything. Not that he could. He was bound could and tight, the ropes around his wrists, his wrists behind his back, the imperial soldier keeping a good grip lest he slip away. He was led up the stage, and his heart hammered away, defying all that was happening, refusing to be silenced as they around him hoped it would. But he knew in his head that it was in vain, and the soldier forced him to his knees.
There was a shout from the crowd, and Vaan looked up, recognizing the voice instantly. Penelo was trying to push her way through the crowd, face distraught, even from this distance. He tried to give the subtlest shake of the head. What point was any of this if she came back into harm's way? He gave a slight jolt, difficult under the soldier's continued pressure against him. There was Balthier and Fran, being led by his partner. A sudden bitterness overtook him, but it quickly changed to gratitude. He'd get to see them again, of only once.
The soldier was saying something, but Vann couldn't figure the words. His brain wasn't focusing on it, instead drifting to everything he had done. All the people he had met. The great Sky pirates Balthier and, the 'kinslayer' Basch, The Princess and now Queen Ashelia…
She had tried to save him, both her and Larsa, but the members of the senate were thirsty for blood. The Draklor Labs gone, they needed means to take out their frustration. Or revenge. Or that he was just there, a sky pirate, at the wrong place, the wrong time. When they cornered them at the mines, he and Penelo had had the ill luck for them to remember that they were there when it happened. On false charges of illegal trade and smuggling goods , they tried to capture them. But Penelo had gotten away…He managed to save her….
He looked at her, noticing her tear stained face, feeling proud and guilty for what was about to happen. She had come so far, and he hoped that she could keep going. Farther and farther. He tried to tell her everything with that look; he made his eyes as intense as he could, to make her see that love. "I will go instead…" he mouthed to her.
Vaan chanced a look at Fran, and was surprised to see her usually calm demeanor shaken. Was it anger in her that he saw? Sadness? Frustration? All of it? It twisted her face somehow, but there was a warmth in his heart despite of it. "Thank you for caring."
His knees were starting to ache now, but the soldier was finishing up. Vaan did not look as the blade was raised above his head, but chose to seek his master. Here was his apprentice by accident, near the end, and there was nothing he could do. Balthier's face too, was twisted in a way. Almost as if he was denying all that he saw, that it wasn't real. Wasn't happening. Vaan couldn't help but think of Balthier as running again, running as he had from his father, and now how he himself had tried to run from death. They were both running, but couldn't escape.
'No…' Vaan thought, 'Only I can't…' The leading man? Balthier was one, and had tried to dub him thus. He had said that the leading man never dies because it would ruin the story, and no one wants that. There was bitterness, quickly replaced by that understanding warmth he had come to know as he walked down those steps, up to these, and faced this crowd. He couldn't help but smile, all the bitterness and love and care in it, and mouthed the words as the soldier swung the blade down,
"Not all leading men get a happy ending…"