Hello, everyone! :) This is a oneshot for SasukeBlade's challenge, "The Sleepwalker", over at The Myrrh Tree forum. It uses the characters from my (sort-of) oneshot collection, Wherever the Wind May Blow. This is a "slight AU" from that, because no one sleepwalks in the caravan in Wherever the Wind May Blow. (Though I admit I'm having second thoughts about it being an AU twist after writing this...) You don't really need to have read that story to understand this one, though you might want to take a peek at the opening author's note in the first "chapter" – it gives the appearances of the characters (which are the same as from the game). On a side note, this is my first time writing in second-person, so I hope it goes okay. Anyway… I'll stop talking and let you get to the story. XD After the note and disclaimer, read on!
Note: Please excuse the spaces between exclamation points and question marks when they're together. The site keeps removing whichever one is second, so I'm forced to do it this way.
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy: Crystal Chronicles. And… Nope, I still don't know what else to put in here. :P
When it happens, you're in the middle of the most peculiar yet pleasant dream: in a field of those yellow-orange blossoms that grow in the soft grass around myrrh trees, you reach out and join your hands with him, your eyes focused on the way the wind tosses his chestnut hair, your ears tuned to the sound of his joyous laughter, and you're so happy because you've found him, you've finally found him, and everything can be right again-
And then you're waking up in the darkness of the caravan.
You have no idea why you've woken up, and can't help feeling disappointed. He had been right within reach, and it hadn't even been real... Still, there's the odd question of why you've woken up without any reason. It's the middle of the night, everyone is asleep, and it's quiet...
And then it hits you.
It's quiet.
No snores to lull you to sleep.
Your hand darts behind you, awkward from the angle, but you already know that your fingertips won't connect with a cotton shirt or iron plate (you keep telling him to not wear it to bed, but it's one of very few things he gets stubborn and refuses to listen to you about) or tied up leafy hair. Deep down in your heart, you know why he isn't there, but the idea is too horrid to imagine. Instead, you sit up, trying to keep the panic from suffocating you. You don't waste time with your coat, nor do you search for your shoes. If your fears are correct, there will be no time to waste.
You met him when you were five years old.
When the Hane family moved into Tipa, you were so eager to meet them that you could hardly stand it. You'd never seen Lilties or alchemists, and they were both. Feet light, you had practically floated towards the (now) eastern-most residence. Nervousness had blossomed in your chest at the sight of Roland conversing with what had to be a Lilty man - you like Roland a lot, but you were shy around adults at that age, and you didn't want to be a bother anyway - but curiosity pushed you forward.
You were surprised to find that the man wasn't much taller than you. At the time, you'd thought all adults would tower over you, but not that Lilty. A bit of timidity tried to creep inside you again, but you pushed it away; these people were something you had to learn more of. You would be polite in your approach, but you refused to be ignorant of the world.
Your shoulders jerked a little when the Lilty became aware of your presence - but all hesitation melted away as he gave you a warm smile, almost reminding you of your father, before returning to his conversation.
Having gotten closer, you could now see the others behind him - a Lilty woman and boy, who are also small (the boy was about two inches shorter than who you presumed to be his mother), and to the side of them, a tiny little child with a round body, rounder head, and even rounder eyes...
Eyes that had suddenly locked on to you.
"Hello." Without preamble, you smiled and bowed as you introduced yourself, the way you'd done ever since your mother told you it's how you greet people. "I'm Amelia." You couldn't remember your last name right then, but it always got caught on your tongue, and it didn't matter because you'd barely heard anyone refer to themselves that way anyway. "What's your name?"
He had blinked at you, seeming confused about why you would greet him. After a long pause, he finally said his name. "... Ellarick."
Well, if your own name had given you trouble, his certainly did. "El- ea- elick..." Letting out a small groan of frustration, you thought to yourself for a minute, and then smiled as you remembered the tales of your great-great-grandfather - but more importantly at that moment, his name. "I'm calling you Erik!" And you'd laughed happily, taking his small hands in your own.
He blushed and sputtered. "That's not my name-"
"But your name is too hard to say, and I have to call you something if we're going to be friends!"
Within the year, everyone - even his own family - is calling him Erik, and he barely leaves your side.
Your feet pad across the caravan floorboards, hands gripping your bare elbows so hard that you can see how pale it makes them without even really looking. It's cold, and with your short shirt sleeves, you slightly regret not grabbing your coat - but there's no time. Even with the panicked thought, you continue to deny it.
He's going to be fine. He'll be out there, and he'll probably have started up the campfire again. He'll either be hungry or have had a nightmare and you'll scold him or comfort him and everything will be fine.
Because the alternative is unthinkable. He hasn't done that in ages. You've slept over at his house, and he at yours, countless times in the past several years, and he didn't do it even once. He's big now; he's outgrown it. He's fine. He's fine.
But you know it in your heart. Because you know him better than you know yourself.
You push aside the curtain at the back of the caravan, your voice tentative as his name softly escapes from you. "Erik?"
Your answer is silence and fireless night.
You're ten when you learn that some people are cruel.
It's also the day that you learn why Erik's family moved to Tipa in the first place.
A family of Clavatian alchemists was visiting Tipa. You knew that they came from the Vale of Alfitaria, but didn't know the exact location or even the reason for their visit. All you knew is that as soon as you stepped out of the forge, you saw them talking with Erik's family.
With the way they're talking so eagerly to Erik's father, you think that maybe they've gotten together to talk about their discoveries.
It wasn't till you'd gotten close, listened to what the strangers are saying, and seen the humiliated glare on Geracht's face, that you realized the Clavats were taunting them.
Your own face flushed, part embarrassment and part anger, as you heard the Clavat man go on and on about all of the formulas he'd come up with since they'd last met, how his own son was practically a prodigy. From anyone else it could have been an almost genial conversation - but every word the alchemist said to Geracht was a sneer, every word a strategic dagger of condescension. But at that moment, he wasn't the only Clavat going against his expected nature - the man's words made your blood boil.
And then your eyes darted to what was going on behind everyone - the foreign alchemist's son had Erik cornered.
Quickly, you made your way towards them, your steps hurried, coming up on them just in time to hear the Clavat boy saying, "-and it isn't any wonder that your father left town, tail between his legs. A bunch of idiot onions like you shouldn't even be bothering with alchemy."
Erik didn't bother with alchemy - he lived it. He always had a smudge on his face from an earlier experiment that had blown up, but that you knew he'd be working on again with his father before the day was done; he always kept a rucksack with him, to carry books in, so he could study complicated things you didn't understand in between playing; a Thunder magicite stone held an almost constant residence in his jacket pocket, not really to be used but to observe the electricity visibly crackling in its blue-purple depths, and sometimes he'd rub his thumb over it repeatedly for good luck; and the way he'd come up to you at the crack of dawn, practically bouncing so high off his heels that it almost brought you two to eye level, chattering on excitedly about some new breakthrough...
Tears had already started to build in Erik's eyes from the slur, and the first one hasn't even had the chance to fall before you shriek and throw yourself at the Clavat boy, clawing at his stupid jerk face and neck, your fingernails leaving red marks on his (ugly) too-pale skin.
It was the first time you'd wanted or tried to kill anything.
"Erik!" You practically leap off the backboard, landing badly but ignoring the pain in both of your ankles. "Erik, where are you? !" You pray that the others are rousing from your screaming.
There is still no response.
This prompts you to nearly turn the camp upside down in your search, but you come away with no sign of him.
You spend approximately five seconds in pained indecision. You cannot simply take the crystal chalice and search for him; precious as Erik is to you, the other six caravanners inside are still your friends - your family - and taking the chalice to search the area around the campsite will kill them in their sleep without a doubt. However, Erik is nowhere to be found, meaning he's out in the miasma, and if you're lucky you have four to five minutes to find him before he dies. Waking your companions for help could take as much as one to two minutes.
And then you remember a miracle, and dash for the spot where everyone's bags of belongings are piled together.
It's the same day as the incident with the Clavatian alchemists when you find out about it.
Night had fallen. Shortly after you'd unleashed your attack, Roland had kicked the (racist) alchemists out of the village. You were under punishment for it, but you hadn't been ignorant of the proud look your father gave you out of the corner of his eye. Still, your mother allowed Erik to sleep over, saying that even if you'd misbehaved and were being punished for it, this was a time that Erik desperately needed a friend.
You're never really sure what it was that woke you up. But something had roused you, and you'd sat up in bed - only to find Erik wandering around in your room. You almost called out to him, but then he turned towards you - and you saw that his eyes were closed.
... He was sleepwalking, of all things.
Holding back a giggle, you watched as he murmured and walked around in circles. When he started heading for the wall, you crept out of bed, reaching for and taking his hand. Softly, you said, "Erik."
He made a half-startled noise in the back of his throat, blinking awake suddenly. "Wha...?" He looked around, not seeming very sure of where he was.
"It's me, Erik. You were sleepwalking." You grasped both of his hands. "Are you okay?"
He flushed the same red as his hair. "Y-yeah." His voice was still a little thick with sleep. "Sorry, 'melia..."
You'd laughed lightly, ruffled his hair. "Don't worry about it."
You had thought it was cute, at the time. Just Erik being Erik.
You tear through the bags, searching for the one that belongs to Aryllis. The Yuke girl, always cleanly, will perhaps scold you later for making such a mess. But if everything returns to normalcy - if Erik is alive and well - you'll be positively ecstatic to being reprimanded.
On the day they set out, Aryllis' father had given her a treasure he'd come across during his trading, something of incredible rarity and value, something all of them had hoped would have no use beyond being a lovely gift.
A Tiny Crystal.
It doesn't have the power or range of the chalice crystal, but it should be enough to get you through the miasma, long enough to find Erik. You pray that it's enough, because it's your last chance; now that you've used up the time to scrounge for it, it's this strategy or nothing. In hindsight, waking up the others would've been a wiser choice. But in your panicked state, you'd blindly grasped for a solution, and this is what you came up with. If it turns out alright, you won't need to worry about the results of other choices you could've decided on. If it turns out wrong, you will have to live with the consequences.
... If things go bad, your only hope is that you won't have to live very long.
A sob heaves out of your chest, escaping against your will, as you continue looking for the crystal, wondering for a brief and horrified moment if Aryllis had placed it somewhere else- but then your fingers brush against a cool and smooth surface, and you hold onto it hard as you yank your hands from the bag. You open your fist, making sure that you've taken the correct item.
The small thing shines up at you, its light blue and beautiful and pure.
It's small, but it will try its hardest to protect you.
Just like Erik.
With determination, you push out of the caravan, jumping once again off the board at its back.
Your landing is much better this time. You've scraped your knee, but your foot is fine. You can deal with the pain. If your feet had hobbled you, that would have been another story. But you can work through discomfort.
Pushing off from the ground, you dash into the abyss-like darkness of the night, Tiny Crystal held high over your head.
You discover later that the sleepwalking is not cute at all.
About a week after the first time, you woke in the same fashion. Except that Erik was not only absent from his bed, but not in your room at all. You had slipped out from underneath the blankets, beginning to search your house in confusion.
Icy terror flooded your veins at the sight of your front door hanging open. You knew that he wasn't in the house.
You had fled outside, rushing for a reason you couldn't explain. You had run for the cliff - your cliff - even though you didn't know why.
Later, you always liked to think it was because Erik is your best friend. And you know him better than you know yourself.
You would find him at your cliff, and save him from nearly and unintentionally killing himself.
It would take hours for him to stop holding you.
Branch and root and stone and gravel - they cut your feet, leaving them bloody and more than a little injured. But you can still run on them, for now, and that's all that matters to you.
The Tiny Crystal has done its job well; you can still breathe, which is the important part. But you can feel the presence of miasma. The weight of it, heavy on your shoulders. Hanging above and around you, like ocean waves about to crash into you at any moment. And the oddest: it... almost feels like it's laughing at you, strange as it sounds. As if it knows what it can do to you, and is making fun of your attempts to stop it.
You don't care. All that matters is finding him.
And you wonder if someone has heard your idle musings and had pity on you - because suddenly, you hear a cough on your right.
You run.
You remember the day before you joined the caravan.
You'd been sitting on the edge of your bed, polishing the shield of your great-great-grandfather, Eric. It's seen better days to be sure, but it will do what it needs to. Everyone in your family that's been in the caravan has used the shield of whoever came before them, using it for at least a year or two before having a new one crafted - and the new shield would become their legacy, passed down when the time came once again.
You'd held history in both of your hands, and you had felt proud.
But it had done nothing to smother your trepidation.
You wouldn't deny that you'd had misgivings and fear - not to anyone (you're nothing if not open), but especially not to yourself. Responsibility never bothered you before, but the weight of an entire village is a heavy burden indeed. And you didn't know how well you'd hold up against monsters - your father is a blacksmith, so you know weapons and armor better than anyone, and you've even practiced with wooden swords before (and gotten good). But as your best friend always says, it's one thing to do something in theory, and another to do it for real.
Speaking of which... You heard small footsteps climbing the stairs. You knew that it was neither your sister nor your brother; it wasn't their walking pattern, but one of someone else you knew just as well. A second later, a tentative knock hit your bedroom door.
"Come in."
The door pushed open, and his small figure walked through; after closing it behind him, he gave you a measured look. "... So, you're serious, then." It wasn't a question.
But you answered anyway. "Yes."
"Amelia... I know you, so I know you genuinely want to keep Tipa safe." Erik cleared his throat. "But... Is one of the reasons you're doing this to find him?"
Your hand froze in its polishing movements. Him... "... Yes." There was no point in denying it. And you would never want to lie to Erik anyway. It's true, it's your other reason for going. He had been missing for years now, with no trace. You're tired of waiting on everyone else to bring news of his whereabouts. Going out into the world yourself would undoubtedly be your best chance of finding him.
"... I'm coming with you."
It had taken all of your willpower to not drop the shield in your shock. "What?"
"You heard me. I'm coming with you." He stepped over to your bed, taking a seat on it beside you.
"Y-you- You can't. You- But-"
"But what?" He snapped at you, his bitter undertone stunning you into silence. "I'm too short? I'm an alchemist? I'm a Lilty?" He sucked in a breath, trying to even out his voice. "… But what, Amelia?"
"... But, you're my friend..." Tears spilled out of your eyes, plopping onto your knuckles. Your fingers clenched tightly on the shield, turning white. You had at last realized one of your greatest fears about this whole ordeal - you were afraid of dying. And now, even more than that, you were afraid of Erik dying.
"And we do everything together, remember?" His eyes had become soft, his smile tender. "Do you think I could really stay here, apart from you? Waiting for you to come back, only getting to see you for a few days out of the year, when we've spent practically every day together since I came here? And... What if you got hurt out there - even killed - and I had no idea? Or... What if you went missing... like... like him? And I wouldn't even know." (And it suddenly became clear to you that you weren't the only one that missed him either.) "... I'm sorry, Amelia. I couldn't live like that. I wouldn't expect you to do that, either." He placed his hand over yours. "I've known since the day I met you... The only place I belong is right at your side."
You find him sitting with his back against a leafless tree, its gray bark almost matching the color of his iron plate.
You all but throw yourself at him, feeling something unclench inside your chest as you hear him take in a gasping breath. He's alive. He's alive.
You grab his face with your free hand, tapping his cheek lightly. "Erik... Erik?" You try to keep the hysteria out of your voice. Even if you're panicked, that doesn't mean he has to be. "… Ellarick?" You haven't called him that in years.
"Amelia..." His voice is scratchy, but is still undeniably his.
"It's me." You let your forehead fall against his. You feel like you're drowning in relief.
You feel his gauntled hand land over yours, holding it tight. "I... knew you'd come for me..."
Dawn is breaking.
You know this only for two reasons - Hannah came over, pushing hair out of your face (just like you always do to her when she's sleeping), and told you so. And you could see the sunlight hitting Erik's leafy hair.
After carrying him back to the caravan, you had draped your coat over Erik before curling around him on the floorboards, and you haven't moved since then (unless quiet explanations of the night's events counted). Aryllis and Elias had some knowledge of treatment for miasma exposure, and had set to work on caring for Erik immediately. He hadn't been out in it too long - two and a half minutes at the most - so he would pull through, despite being weak for the first few days. Aryllis had not reprimanded you for taking her Tiny Crystal; she had yet to take it back.
Even as you lay here, it seems surreal. He really survived...
He's stirring. You go still as he squirms a bit before opening his eyes, looking to the side and finding you. "Amelia..."
"You're safe." You lay a hand on him, feeling the reassuring rise and fall of his chest through your coat. "... I think we might need to find a way to tie you down when you go to sleep, though."
He laughs, as you'd hoped, and your heart leaps with joy. For those few minutes last night, you'd thought you would never hear that sound again.
He's stopped laughing now, though he's still happy. "Amelia..."
"Yes?"
And then he's sitting up with his elbows - not weak at all - and starts talking rapidly, "I think I finally figured it out! While I was dreaming- you remember that formula for the scroll I was telling you about yesterday-?"
Everything is the way it should be.
… And it's done! :D … I was hoping it would come out better than this. D: Well… I suppose it was okay in some parts, and it mostly stuck to my original idea… I've been looking forward to fleshing out the characters of both Amelia and Erik, and I think I at least pulled that off to some degree. Not very romantic for Valentine's Day, but… Erik does have a crush on Amelia, even if it isn't as obvious as it is in Wherever the Wind May Blow, but maybe it counts in some strange way? *nervous laughter* Anyway… If you can, please review and let me know what you thought about it! :) I don't really have much else to say, so… Thanks for reading! :D