Title: Word of the Day v. FFIV
Author: Garnet Eyes
Archived: fanfiction .net, livejournal .com
Last Updated: 19 Apr 2011
Summary: 02 May 2000 edition.
Rating: K+
Characters/Pairings: Cecil, Rosa
Author Notes: kismet, noun;
1. Destiny; fate.
Disclaimers: Final Fantasy IV is owned by Square-Enix and I in no way, shape, or form profit off of my writing. This is simply for my own pleasure, and may at any time be removed and/or modified as I see fit.

...

Rosa had always cited her mother's love of white magic and desire to become a mage that might stand by her husband as her reason for taking up the art. While that was, indeed, a major factor, there was something else that she'd seen that had spurred her on when her apprenticeship became almost overwhelming. The adopted prince had, for the vast majority of his childhood, been able to cast white magic. He had an amazing repertoire of spells – more than many of the graduated white mages of Baron – and he was good at those that he knew. The surprising thing was that he had an innate skill, and those spells had never been formally taught to him. No one even knew how he knew them. Still, the bloodless prince had plenty of practice with them, what with spending so much time with Kain and her, and it was a comfort to be out adventuring and know that healing was nearby. Kain, especially, was pleased, because having Cecil around greatly reduced the restrictions he'd placed on himself and he was even more reckless than before. The sweet little prince was happy to aid any who asked it of him, and became rather renown through Baron's courts as a little prodigy.

Then the king had asked him to take up the dark sword, and the adopted prince humbly complied. He did his best, and trained hard, and worked to make himself into what His Majesty desired. One by one, he started losing the ability to cast his spells, and, although it clearly devastated him, Cecil pressed on in his quest to take up the dark sword because that was what had been asked of him and it was his duty to serve his liege. Rosa clearly recalled his face the first time he'd attempted to cast what was, to him, a simple spell, and it hadn't worked. He'd looked near tears, and the young blonde only had to recall that expression and she shore up her courage and shook herself from the weight of feeling as though she would never get her skills up to par. Cecil was losing a part of himself to become a dark knight, and she could very well train to exhaustion in an effort to gain abilities. Her mother hadn't given up, Cecil wasn't giving up, and Rosa very well wouldn't be giving up.