Peace of Mind
A FF9 Fanfiction
By Penultima
He still smiles.
There's a simple little curve pasted onto his face, sweet and pleasant, given to anyone who would want it or deserve it. It's not genuine, though.
We all know he's not over his grieving, and there's a lot more than just loss eating away at his sanity. I'm part of that small group of people who notice. The problem? There was no way to help him out of this one. The 'him' we know is a person who'd come to someone and say, "I miss her a lot, and it's driving me crazy. Help." He's not doing that.
He's not even crying.
There's a pattern now, to the things he does. Usually he's so unpredictable, jumping here and there, one time inside his chambers looking over papers(unlike what he was years ago), and then outside palace walls in his thief clothes looking at what was going on(with her at his side). Now, he rises early in the morning and sits by the window, still in his bedclothes watching the city(and the sun) rise. At sunset, he sits again at the same place, and he loses yet another bit of himself.
We all insisted he share the burden with us. But then,(take your pride out of the way) he'd put on an unknowing façade and say, "I don't know what you're talking about." When he does that, even I need someone to hold me back(need to slam him to the wall, scream at him) and help me not to boil over. I wanted to make him weep the way he should be. Grieving over her like he should. There's a thick pane of glass(sleek, transparent—your perfect hideaway) separating him from the rest of the world. We used to be beside him, inside that glass cage—and we still are, there's just another one(more transparent, way stronger, unyielding) tightly sealing itself around him.
And there is way no way we can help. Nothing to do.
"Hey, your highness," his voice is soft, carefully chosen and spoken. The addressed person quickly turns, honey-brown hair awash in gold under the sunset glow, perched lightly on the roof like he was on holiday whilst weaker hearts would have gone faint. He smiles lightly in response(clueless of what nausea it churns in the other). "They say watching the sun set isn't a good way to end your day." He laughs, not rash and loud as he used to, but gently considered and musical, almost. This wasn't the person he was years ago.
"And why would that be, Sir Blank?" his lifetime friend grins in response, and takes a seat beside the brooding ruler of Alexandria. The silence following was bubble thin, maintained by the constant breeze lightly picking up in the air and the still-falling sun sinking down the horizon. If it were anyone else, Blank would have thought the king would break the silence and whine, even shout and weep at everything he'd lost. No—that wasn't what Zidane Triball was—he kept smiling, staring off into the distance where the sun bled gold and an almost blood-like red into the sky, melting away into a deep, limitless midnight painting, thinking his own thoughts and keeping them—as always, lately—to himself.
"Zidane—"
"—I know what you're going to say." His words almost forced Blank to whip his head round in response. Instead, he froze, watching from the corner of his covered eye as the gold head lowered, slightly, staring down at his own hands. "no, Blank, I'm not grieving. I'm over it already. There was no way to stop it, and I'm not blaming anyone. The only man to blame is dead, so is she, nothing more to talk about." Ocean-deep eyes drill their way through his soul, fixed on a pair of other eyes he can't see. "Really, stop worrying."
"How do you suppose I do that?" his friend let out a light sigh, his tail curling round his one folded knee as he contemplated the question.
"How can I assure you I'm alright?" the question elicits no answer from the sword-bearing Tantalus. "I can't tell you what's wrong if there is nothing wrong." (Lies)
"If you keep lying, how can I assume you're okay?" Zidane looked away almost guiltily. "I know you better than you think." Blank stood up, brushing away the nonexistent dust on his clothes. His stern voice grows soft, as his face turns to lock eyes with the other. "Even if you won't tell me, I'm hoping you'll tell someone else." (Break, fall apart and shatter. We're here to catch you as you fall)
"There's nothing to say." (or have you fallen farther beyond what we can even see?) "But if I need you, I'll come to you right away." (When would that be?) He looks away, eyes half-closed, lulled by the passing breeze as the town ceased nearly all trade and mothers tucked their children to sleep. All of a sudden, he throws his friend a glance. "Right now, I've not much on my mind." (I was beginning to think you'd already lost it.)
Both men look straight back to the horizon, where the sun is no more(and where are you?), where all the purple and the crimson and gold of the skies were disappearing to, like the gate of another dimension closing to an ever eternal end(taking you away). The darkness fell over them and hushed the whole city, twinkling in its lights as the splendor of the castle changed; from an overseeing image of power, to a romantic background of shining white and gold lights. Blank couldn't notice less, he tried to suppress himself from shaking or gritting his teeth, but he couldn't stop the latter. Still, Zidane continued to smile, eyes locked on a place somewhere no one else could locate. A place where, perhaps, his thoughts may be understood, and his worries and sorrow, shared at last.
...and he, for once(as always), could do nothing.