The Happiest Moment
Posted to 31 January 2007
Characters and 'verse owned by Square.
Spoilers thru the end of the game.
No pairings. Features Dr. Cid, and Ffamran, as well as the entire Solidor family.
Rated M for mature situations and themes, some harsh language, violence.
Chapter One: Solidarity
Vayne's relationship with his father had always been one of business. He understood that his creation was a business transaction between his father and his mother; his father provided greater standing to his mother's house, and his mother provided his father with a son. Vayne's relationship with his mother was non-existent; she died as a result of that same business transaction. He had always felt a certain distance from everyone around him; the servants and house staff treated him as their young master, his father treated him with complete formality or open hostility, and his brothers treated him as a nuisance.
Touch-starved, he grew sickly at first; he was often taken ill, and spent much time reading. This created an even larger gap between he and his brothers, as both of his brothers were formidable sportsmen and warriors. His eldest brother, Leonalt, was no great loss, as Vayne had always found him unspeakably dull; but his middle brother, Royen, only seven years older than he, was the object of all his aspirations. He dearly wished to be just like his middle brother when he grew up.
Royen wanted to be emperor when he grew up. He made this abundantly clear, whenever anyone asked him about his future plans. He was going to create a federally-administrated healthcare system, bring steel industries to Archadia to employ the Lower Archadians, build schools for the poor—and require all ladies to wear clothes appropriate to their build. Which, in Royen's opinion, required fat women to cover up and shapely women to not.
Vayne had always thought of Royen as the comedian and the brain of the family, but he quickly learned that he was just a little bit smarter than both of his brothers. He kept that fact to himself, thinking that it would only put more distance between himself and his honoured lord brothers.
He avoided his father at all costs. Whenever possible, he would remove himself from his father's presence or cling to Royen's side, hoping to be ignored. When he was not ignored, usually he was punished for something he did not do—often enough, his brothers had framed him for whatever it was (missing cookies, a mess in the library, fingerprints tarnished into the shining blades of swords), but he did not begrudge them the fact.
Often enough, it was corporal punishment that rewarded him for forgiving his brothers. His father was often wont to use a belt or cane on his sons, but he would easily order the house staff to do so. "If they act outside of their realm," he once told the stablemaster, "do not be afraid to whip them. Only do it not on their faces or hands."
And they were provided with clothes that covered all but their faces and hands, even in warm weather.
It was after one of these beatings that he first ran away from his father's house.
He had first gone to his middle brother's room, not knowing what else to do. He crept out of his room, knowing that his father would flay him if he knew he was out of his quarters again after curfew; he crept down the hall, sneaking so quietly that, had anyone actually been in the hallway, they would not have heard him. He tapped gently on Royen's door.
There was a formal call from the other side of the door. "Come."
Timidly, Vayne reached for the doorknob, trying to twist it; but the blood on his tiny hands made his grip slip. He growled at himself impatiently, trying again, but to no avail.
A moment later, Royen cracked open the door and glanced with annoyance at his ten-year-old brother. "What are you doing about? Get back to your quarters and wash up. Our Lord Father will skin you alive if he finds you."
Vayne trembled a little, and opened his mouth to try and beg, but the words never materialized. Instead, he looked to his feet and sniffled pitifully.
"Oh, now, dear brother," Royen sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, a gesture which from him signalled irritation. "Are you not too old for tears, now?" He knelt down and pulled his brother to him briefly and stiffly, as if unaccustomed to such a display. After a moment, he released him and pried the clinging hands from his arms. "Now get you back. Father will be furious if you are out of your room."
Vayne sniffled again, and ran back to his room, disregarding his previous use of stealth, and slammed his door. He cried and cried, but as he did, a part of him separated, distanced; this part candidly directed him to clean his hands and face, to put some clothes and the little money he personally possessed into a travel sack, and to exit his room through the window. Even as he continued to sob, he made his way over the balcony rail, along the façade moulding, and dropped into the ornamental shrubs. The fall did not hurt him, but the thorns of the shrub did; this he ignored. He hid in the shadows while one part of him wondered why not even his own brother cared to know that he was hurt, and the other plotted his escape.
A carriage sat out front; it was not one of the gaudy, bird-pulled carriages currently in fashion, but a magicite-powered creation of metal and smooth lines. He could catch a ride out in that, if he stowed away.
He scurried out into the light of the drive in front of the house, jerked open the back door, and shoved himself into the floorboard, closing the door behind him as quickly and as quietly as possible.
He waited. And waited. His tears stopped, and his breathing steadied. He could feel blood drying on his arms, but he still felt it on his back. He tried to keep it off of the interior of the car. He waited longer. Soon, he felt his eyelids drooping, his breath deepening. He was exhausted from the events of the evening. Surely he would awake when the driver of the carriage returned.
No such luck. He next awoke to a familiar man hovering over him, glasses drooping over his nose, carriage door held open at arm's length. "Well, well," the man exclaimed quietly. "What do we have here?"
Vayne peered up in sleepy-eyed terror, knowing that this man—Cid? Doctor Cid Bunansa; he had heard the house staff announce him as such. This man worked for his father. A scientist. He had no idea what kind of reaction a man in the employ of his father might have. Fear twisted around his insides. He felt the need to puke, but instead, he just stared at the ground and whispered, "If you let me go, I'll not bother you again. Only do not tell my father."
Cid whistled softly in amazement or amusement. He knelt beside the carriage. "It would be unwise to run off, little Solidor. Your father will find you, one way or another."
"I myself have already begun to reconsider the wisdom of my actions," he muttered emotionlessly.
The man laughed a little, eyes smiling. "You're sharp for such a young boy. Come out of the carriage, let's have a look at you." He reached into the floorboard of the carriage and wrapped his hands around Vayne's arms, meaning to help him out. His hands pressed the material of Vayne's sleeves against Vayne's arms, and the off-white material quickly soaked in the half-clotted blood. He sat back, expression suddenly dark. "Oh yes," he mumbled to himself, gaze on Vayne. "Yes, of course."
The boy looked away in shame, cursing himself for not washing more thoroughly before he left the house. Now, he was folded uncomfortably in the back of a carriage and he had just bled all over a strange man. Again, he bit back the need to vomit.
When Cid spoke again, his voice was soft, and his gaze was gentle. "Let's get you inside and get you cleaned up, shall we? Then we shall decide what to tell your Lord Father." He reached into the carriage and gathered Vayne up, blood and all, and carried him into the house. He called instructions to the manservant at the door; park the carriage, and draw a bath.
Vayne clung to the man desperately, his face buried in the broad shoulder presented to him. He did not cry, nor did he throw up, nor did he even sniffle. He would not allow himself that.
Cid quietly called for Ffamran's nursemaid to join them in the washroom, and to bring a change of clothes. She appeared as a silent and unobtrusive shadow, helping to remove Vayne's boots, trousers, vest, and shirt. It was only after he stood, in shorts only, that the full extent of the damage became apparent.
The boy screwed his eyes shut and felt the cold seeping into his skin, the blood oozing over his back, and the eyes of the stranger he just knew was going to ask what he had done to deserve it, why he was so much trouble and why had he come here? He finally began to cry.
He found himself quickly embraced again, and he heard Cid's voice muttering comforting things at him. He grasped the man's collar and cried until he could cry no more, hiding in the deceptively cushy arms and wishing to every god that would hear him that the entire world that he could die in that moment.
It took minutes to calm Vayne down again, but eventually, between Cid and Ffamran's nanny, they got him cleaned up, bandaged, dressed, and tucked him in to sleep on a pallet bed in Ffamran's room. The five year old did not awake when they quietly prepared a place for Vayne, but once Vayne was settled, Cid awoke him gently. Vayne listened to their exchange, heart twisting, and he quietly wished his father was more like Cid.
"Ffamran?"
"Mm…"
"Ffamran, we have a visitor staying in the house tonight. He's going to sleep on the floor next to your bed."
"'s a lil boy, too?" Ffamran's five-year-old grammar did not seem to clear as he awoke.
"Yes. His name is Vayne."
"Is he gonna be my lil brover?"
Cid chuckled. "No, but he may be spending time here from now on. He'll be like a big brother, I hope."
Vayne's heart lodged in his throat, and he stared at Cid with a wild hope.
Cid nodded to him, understanding.
"Oh," Ffamran sounded disappointed, but treated the news with a sophisticated (long-suffering) acceptance. "A big brover. 's better than no brover, I suppose."
Cid chuckled and kissed his son on the forehead. "I love you, Ffamran. I will see you at breakfast."
"Mmkay," the boy yawned widely. "Love you too, daddy."
The man smiled, tucking the blankets around his son's shoulders, and stood. He paused, and stooped for a moment.
Vayne felt a hand rest on his shoulder, and he looked up, exhausted and numb.
"You will always be safe here," Cid whispered, then left him to sleep, closing the door to the hall after him.
Vayne Solidor slept more soundly on that pile of blankets on the floor than he ever had in his bed in the imperial palace.