Author's Notes: So here I am posting my drabble from a few years back. Deeply philosophical and confusing, but perhaps one or two people will find enjoyment in it. This was more or less my reaction to all the angst Ike/Soren fics of the time, which I thought were pretty over the top.
For those of you wondering, "fuistī" is a conjugation of the Latin "to be" verb. The general meaning of the word is "you have been." This fic was thought up while I was leafing through my Latin dictionary, so it's bound to be incomprehensible. The meaning behind the story is pretty much in that word, though, so maybe readers can figure it out anyway.
Fuistī
"Fuistī... fuistī... et erat satis... mei."
It was raining. A light, delicate rain, soothing to the touch as it relieved the thirst of the earth. All the birds and beasts were quiet now, having returned to their nests and dens early at the onset of the storm. The people of the village had also chosen to withdraw indoors and gather around a strong fire than remain in the cold, moist atmosphere. It was the very beginning of the winter season and still a touch too warm for snow, so instead a chilling rain was showering upon the world.
One soul, however, lingered in the rain. Up, a little above the foot of the nearby mountain, trees sparsely clung to the rocky terrain, their branches spread up and out to the nurturing elements around them. A small boulder, nothing more than a large rock, had tumbled down the cliff side above to the base of one of these trees, which it now leaned against. On this natural chair a small figure was seated.
Clothed in voluminous robes of a light, almost white color, all that was readily apparent was the petite build of the figure. A few long strands of fine, black hair escaped from the drawn hood and pooled, wet and limp, around a slender neck. The hooded head tilted up towards the sky, and the hood slid back slightly, revealing blood red eyes and the pale, not quite sharp features of a young boy. A small hand, with a fragile looking wrist, drew itself out of the spacious sleeves of the robe and palm up towards the sky.
After a few moments, when droplets glistened from the thin fingers, the boy retracted his hand and gazed at it silently. Watching the moisture gather at the tips and eventually plummet to the soil beneath his feet, he seemed inattentive, a dreamlike expression veiling his thoughts. His mind was not focused on the scenery that surrounded him, but another place, in a different time. Not on himself, but someone else. Someone that was dearer to him than the sun now hidden behind the clouds. Someone he loved. Someone who was no longer.
That was the way of all things, the youth knew. This storm existed now, but it would end. Plants and trees will one day die. The lives of all things eventually end. Everything that exists will ultimately cease. He, too, would someday die. For now, however, that was a point in a far off, unknown future, and held little bearing on the direction of his life now.
Redirecting his gaze to the sky, the dark haired child observed the clouds as they slowly began to shift, and spoke to himself softly.
"I am… alive, and alone. Yet… that is not how it always was. Once I was not alone… and though I am now… that cannot change how things once were. What things were. They will always… have been."
The clouds in the distance started to break, and red eyes watched passively as a shaft of sunlight illuminated the horizon.
"You have been. … You have been… and that is enough… for me."