A/N: Tenth part is up. The story is almost complete, but I hope you all enjoy what's left of it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy XII.
Part ten
Through the hazy shade came a figure. A contour with fringy edges, that settled in his vision. He tried to focus on it as if watching gave him an anchor to consciousness. But it was not easy. The figure moved, hurtled hither and thither. It was without heed for his condition. He wanted to speak up. Tell it to stay still so that may see what it was. But no sound emanated from between his lips.
Then; a hard slap bore down on his cheek.
"Ffamran!"
It was as thought he'd forgotten to breath, and only the shock of the slap, the sharp yell, could startle him into drawing his first breath. It was shallow and shaky. As he gulped down big lungfuls of air, the word grew brighter. The shadow of Venat retreating.
… Venat… Cid, Fran. What was going on…?
Shaking his head, he struggled to focus. His mouth opened and closed like a fish on dry land, but slowly the world stopped spinning.
"Ffamran, please…"
He saw her clearly now. A shadow no longer, but plain as day. She was no longer hurtling, but held still in the grip of Cid's mighty hands. Strong fingers closing in on her lithe throat. Even thought she was lethal, she appeared so breakable in his touch.
Despite the crushing hands and lack of air, she kept whispering his name.
"Ffamran," she whispered. Over and over.
Why was she calling him? He could not comprehend. The answer where right there, right underneath the surface. But his mind was still too hazy and shaken by that darkness to understand what she wanted him to do.
Rolling about on the floor, struggling up on his knees, something hard protruded into his belly. Breaking Fran's intent stare, he gazed down slowly. A sword…. There was a sword hanging at his side, pressing unyieldingly into him.
Slowly something clicked into place.
"Ffamran…"
His hand flew to the hilt. Pushing himself upright (it was a struggle), he drew the sword. His arms and legs felt like all wobbly, but he manage to stay on his feet. He didn't quite know where to go from there, but standing seemed to be a good place to start.
Bracing himself, cursing the armor more than ever before, he lifted the sword to take his stance. He took the first precarious step, making an effort not to fall. The next question then, was where to attack.
It seemed pointless going after a shadow, even if it had been able to strangle him. Cid was after all the one doing Fran damage, but still… he was unwilling to injure his father. However, if he did not decide soon Fran would surely die.
Another step. He made up his mind, directing his way towards Cid. The adrenaline that surged through his body made it easier to stand. In fact, the rush was so strong that he had trouble holding back.
A third step; he felt quite alright now. More than alright. He was angry. Raging, in fact. As he lifted the sword, his vision was covered by a red haze. Standing right in front of them both, his sword bore down without aim.
He could have hit Fran. He could have hit his father. Maybe he could even have killed them both. But Venat had more loyalty than he gave him credit for. As his sword came bearing down on them, the shadow filled his path once more.
If he'd thought a shadow could not be injured he was wrong. Well, perhaps not injured, but momentarily incapacitated. It crumpled, diminished, as his blade buried itself in the darkness that was his form. As the sword sank deeper and deeper in, he could spot the two others on the other side. Still pumped on adrenaline, he let his instincts lead the way and followed them through the lessened mist.
His blow to Venat proved one thing. If he had been unwilling to admit to it before, he now clearly saw the connection between the two. Just as Venat was unable to stop him, so was his father.
His hands still rested on Fran's throat, but loose now. His head was slumped down on her shoulder, his labored breathing sending a gush of wind over her hair. It looked as thought the only thing keeping him upright was the Viera. She in turn, was trapped between his heavy frame and the shadow.
As Ffamran stepped out of the shade, his first act was to remove the hands violating her perfect skin.
"Are you alright?"
She could only nod, still not able to speak from the strain. Yet that was the only outward sign that she had almost been choked to death. Once he'd given his father a thorough push so that he slumped to the hangar-deck, she straightened at once. Her posture was its usual upright, her face calm and collected.
The nod was enough for him. Though he sorely wanted to see them both to safety, there was another feeling growing just as strong. Could it be revenge, or perhaps years of pent up anger and frustration?
He sidestepped the Viera and knelt down by the doctors limp body. Cid was awake. His body may have been incapacitated by the blow to Venat, but his eyelids fluttered in panic. They revealed a blatant fear for the son who sat beside him, taking his hand. He stared down at the man at his mercy.
'I just wanted you to hear me …' he thought. 'Surely that was not so much to ask? I just wanted you to look up and see me, your son. Not these invisible things, the secrets I can't partake in. I am my own person, but you are my father, and I am also your son. Surely that count for something?'
But he knew it didn't. There was no recognition of family bonds in his father's hateful stare. Well then, this would be it.
"I will be parting now. And you and I will never know one another again. I am no longer your son, and you are no longer my father."
He may have had a spark of hope that his words would hurt. That they would wound a father as much as the sharp blade of his sword. But once again he was mistaken. If there was a change of expression, it could only be of relief; he knew Ffamran would not kill him.
"But rest assured," he continued, "I will see to it that you face justice. You and that Vayne Solidor will pay for the crimes you have committed." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Remember, I am the judge. Not an assassin, not the doctor's son, but a bringer of justice. And believe me, I will see you pay, even if it should cost me my life."
At the edge of his vision he became aware of a turquoise light growing. It emanated from Fran. He turned his head, wincing at the pain he'd momentarily forgotten in his adrenaline fit. Round about her hands danced a bright light. Her slender fingers met as the light grew. It was a sleeping-spell. A strong one. It would put his father out for hours.
The turquoise mist burst and flowed about the figure on the floor, seeping into him. She could have conjured any spell. She could have killed him easily. But, Ffamran realized, she knew this was a battle between him and his father. It had lasted eighteen years, and would not be concluded so easily. So she put him to sleep. As Cid's eyes slid shut, Venat dissipated completely, now only a weak presence in the room.
Grateful for her understanding and presence, that he was not alone in this, he rose and put a hand to her shoulder. She turned her stoic features towards him, a shadow of a smile playing about her lips. She understood.
But in their state of grateful relief, they had both forgotten about Vayne.
Ffamran's mind was torn between making a quick getaway now or give her a kiss before they boarded the airship. As he settled on the last, leaning in to capture her lips with his, he was interrupted in the most unpleasant way.
No sharp blow to his stomach, no strangling hands around his neck, but a seeping, fleeting waive that froze his muscles. Before he knew it, he was unable to move. He must have appeared quite peculiar where he stood, frozen in the action of kissing her. His body leaned forward, his lips slightly pursed. She looked at him for a long second before understanding.
"I'm afraid you may never be able to practice that noble justice of yours," a slow, leering voice filled the quiet hangar. Vayne had reached them, using his techniques to paralyze him.
"I do of course not expect you, a sponger of your father's skill, or that fool Drace to understand. There are some sacrifices that simply need to be made. Killing my brothers was…for the greater good, if you will."
Another waive, this one directed at Fran. He could not see the attacker, but Vayne's smug triumph could be felt all in the air about him. He stared at Fran, at his friend, dreading the moment when she who was so full of life would freeze. And then what would come? His mind produced vivid images of his friend, bathed in her own blood, the light in her eyes fading. How she would look as her body gave in and she sank to the floor, bathed in the red river that was flowing from her chest.
The thought conjured a livid rage, a burning anger that made him throw himself at the mental bonds that kept him still. But they would not yield.
As the waive hit and he expected to see his friend turned to marble, another light burst forth. It reflected the spell back at its caster. As Vayne's body froze, the spell that had held Ffamran let go. He was free.
He was about to turn to her, declare how magnificent she was, but was cut of.
"No more lingering. Come."
With that she drew him unceremoniously towards the airship. Not sparing a glance at his father or Vayne, he pushed the button and the door came down. They wasted no time in running inside, closing the door behind them.
Luckily Ffamran new the design of the ship. If not, he would not have been able to guide them through the first corridor, past the machine-room and into the cockpit. It was all sleek and elegant. The design perfect, he had no trouble owning up to that. And the empire really spared no money where technology and weapons where concerned.
The problems hit first when they where seated in the cockpit, facing the multitudes of levers and buttons.
"If you recall, I inquired if you had any experience with airships?"
"I do," she nodded.
"And?" he encouraged her on.
"I don't."
"Ah… well, I suppose a little experimentation is in order."
With that he leaned forward and turned what he hoped was the upstart button. The hum of the engines and slight shake of his chair told him it was the right one.
Pulling another lever, they shot forth out of the hangar.
***
The first thing to greet them once they had embarked was the radiating sun of an archadian summers day. The light stood in sharp contrast to the darkness of the hangar. But as the speed increased with the altitude, they embraced the light of day.
Shooting through the sky like a cannonball, the city underneath them passed in a blur. The cloudless sky was reflected off of the top of the tall buildings. Glittering surfaces and shining windows pierced their eyes when they dared look down.
Ffamran had never seen his city from this far above. It truly was beautiful. Grand and jolting; the city that never slept. He would not miss it.
Quickly locating the maneuvering lever, he stayed clear of the other ships. It was hardly difficult. The speed of the ship far out won the others, and they shot up above them. There where no one faster. They owned the air. It gave him a pulsing thrill that only kissing the Viera next to him could mach.
But there was one more thing that needed to be done before his freedom was complete.
"Take this lever, will you," he commanded, while jumping out of his chair. "And hold her steady."
"Her? I was not aware that this machine was of the female gender," she said solemnly, while taking over the steering.
"It's a human tradition to name ships after women. Just hold her steady. Yes, like that."
As he spoke, he began to undress. First tearing of his cape, then shedding the gauntlets. As garment after garment came of, Fran slowly turned her gaze towards him.
"Ffamran, I do not think this is the appropriate moment to engage in-"
"No, no!" he cut her off, freezing with his chest plate halfway of. "It is simply that I cannot stand this armor. Relax, will you... And watch the sky!"
Fran turned and quickly changed course, just barely avoiding collision with a passing ship. Having shed his armor, only wearing the shirt and pants underneath (an altogether too simple attire for someone of his vanity. They would have to make a stop for new clothes soon), he returned to the controls. He felt a growing fondness for the machine already.
"So, what are we going to name her?"
He, who had hoped to call it 'Fran', of perhaps even 'Aurelia' after his mother, realized that this would not go to down well with his companion.
"Strahl," she said. It was no suggestion, but her decision and he was not to argue.
Sighing, he concurred. "Strahl, then. That is a good name. But what does it mean?"
"Speed," she explained, pointing to the city already far behind them, as if to illustrate her point.
"You will need a new name too."
"You don't like 'Ffamran'"
"I find it perfectly adequate. However, you are no longer the doctor's son. You have declared yourself fatherless, and need a new name to go with the change."
"I suppose that's true."
He sidestepped another ship, bringing the Strahl even higher. They shot through the sky, Archadies soon but a little dot on the horizon. He bright blue of the Phon Coast lay before them in a heartbeat. Glittering water and snow white beaches.
"Feel like taking a swim?"
"Vieras don't swim."
"Well, humes do."
But he didn't press his point, continuing on their steady course. They wouldn't have to stop there. They didn't have to stop anywhere (except at a marked. He sorely needed a new vest). They could travel Ivalice forever, he realized. Nothing holding them back or tying them down. No demanding fathers or tiresome duties, no prison cells or scaffolds. They where completely and utterly free.
"Alright then. Where to?"