Final Fantasy IV 100 Themes

2: Youth

Sometimes it was difficult for Captain Johanson to believe that the squire before him was barely a day over fifteen years old. It was in the way he fought with a blade, the way he seemed to become one with the weapon, fighting with graceful finese. He was a prodigy, Captain Johanson marveled, watching as the youthful deckhand preformed drills with Lieutenant Monroe.

"We're not far from the Adamant Isle now, Captain," came the voice of the Second Lieutenant from behind him. "We're less than two knots away."

"Alert Harvey," Johanson ordered. "Have him up here as soon as possible."

Like clockwork, the young man approached him, standing at rigid attention with his left wrist clasped securly behind his back. His bright green eyes stared straight ahead, past Johanson and at the ever steady horizon.

"Today is the day you recieve your Knght's Crest," Johanson said, pacing in front of the squire to attempt to throw him off gaurd; there was no visible change in his expression. "However, there is a trial, which I am sure you've heard of."

He waited to see if Harvey would respond, but the young man had been trained too well, and he did not interupt his superior. Instead, he patiently waited for Johanson to continue speaking.

"You will enter the Adamant Grotto and traverse through the cave alone to retrieve the Knight's Crest and return, however..." he paused. "There's a catch. You will enter the cave tomorrow, on the full moon."

The young man still gazed ahead unflinchingly, though Johanson thought he saw something move behind the squire's eyes; a sure sign that he understood the full moon's implications.

"Sir!" called Lieutenant Monroe, "we're approaching the Isle!"

"All hands to stations! Prepare for landing!" he bellowed, and everyone on the ship scrambled to obey his orders.

Young Harvey immedeatly moved to help the men on the ship. Though his frame was small he handled the ship like he handled the sword, his hands guiding ropes with deft confidence.

Johanson stroked his chin, thinking about the young man who had been sent here to become a Knight, and a member of his Red Wings. This was not a boy, though he had a youthful face, barely changed. He had the will and maturity of a man, and he was a hard worker. Nothing could get in the way of young Harvey as he scaled the ladder of the military. His humble, serious personality and ablility to follow orders as well as give them made him an ideal to most of the commanders.

Johanson placed both his hands on his hips and smiled inwardly that it was he who had been entrusted with the young squire. The prince, my future king, he thought, staring at the young one as he worked side by side with the Red Wings, falling into an easy groove.

Of course, that he was the prince was never officially announced, but everyone knew it to be ture; exept the boy, it seemed. He was the perfect prince, and all the commanders loved the young man, even Commander Highwind had, before his passing.

Soon enough the mighty red Albatross touched upon the ground, her propellers slowing to a dead halt as the gangplank hit the grass. The men surged off of the ship and immedeatly went to work again, setting up their nightly camp.

Johanson noticed that Cecil had gone off with the newest Knight upon the ship, young Lord Highwind, who was attempting to revive the fallen Dragoons. Highwind, the son of the late Lord Richard, had undergone the trial only a month before. As Johanson remembered it, the boy had excelled. When he exited the cavern he had nary a scratch upon him, though he looked physically tired, and was clasping the mummified mouses' tail in his hand. He'd had a smirk upon his face and a glint of assured confiedence in his eyes, as if he'd known that he could tackle whatever lay on the road ahead. Johanson had no dobut that he could. Young Harvey was the same as Highwind in that he had the determination and will to suceed in anything he attempted.

Those two were stubbron peas in the same pod, as far as Johanson was concerned. Harvey and Highwind did everything together, and since Sir Richard had passed the two even inhabited the same living space, young Sir Highwind having moved into the palace. Infact, they had graduated from primary school in the same year, though Harvey was a year younger.

Johanson fondly remebered the time the two young cadets had taken on an older, more experienced, group of soldiers and completely dominated them. He could not remeber the exact dispute, but he was fairly positive that it was Private Pangdorr who had provoked Harvey; not suprising as the two had a history of getting into scuffles. Highwind, fed up with Pangdorr and his group of thugs, came to his friend's defense. The two young scamps had been reprimended for starting a fight, but it had been a slap on the wrist compared to the punishment that Pangdorr had recieved for assaulting minors.

Yes, Johanson thought, life was good. He had the two most talented youths in the entire army underneath his tutelage, and one day they would become the two greatest men in Baron's history. He was honored to train them.

"Is it difficult?" Cecil asked as he picked his way around some bushes, though he did not look up at the one he addressed.

"For anyone other than you or I? Likely," Kain Highwind responded, "but you will doubtless find it a triffling thing."

"So I don't need to worry? About the full moon?" Cecil looked up at the sky as he said this, looking unearthly in the glow of moonlight.

"No," Kain paused to look at his friend, hand on his hip, his eyebrows cocked, "but why ask such a foolish question?"

"Rosa was worried about it. I figured that there was no one who would be more of an expert than one who suceeded in passing the trial," Cecil responded, looking back at Kain.

"That girl," Kain sighed, shaking his head. "One of these days she will kill herself with all her worrying."

Cecil chuckled, running one hand through his hair and smiling fondly, "indeed she will. Rosa is quite the fussbudget."

The two did not speak for awhile, both their young minds concentrated on the maiden who awaited their safe return to the castle.

"Just concentrate on the task at hand and you will be fine," Kain said after a little while, coming to stand beside his companion. "Now, let us concentrate on the task at hand."

"Yes, I know," Cecil nodded slowly, stooping low to pick up what would soon become kindling from the grassy earth below.

The two remained silent as they dilgently set to their task, their minds wandering far from the Adamant Isle (a side note - when Cecil is on the Adamant Isle in the DS version he does not know where he is, but because of FFIV:The After he is said to have gone there already. Obviously a lack of forethought by the planners).

Kain thought of Rosa, the beautiful maiden who had been his friend since childhood, and how she had seemed so upset when he had refused to go to his own father's wake. She still was not speaking to him, and that upset hiim. What she failed to understand was that not attending his wake had been a sign of respect for his father. His father was not an emotional man, and going there to have his emotions spill out of him like a font would have soiled the memory of the man who'd driven him so hard. It seemed Kain had not properly appreciated his father in life, but in death Sir Richard Highwind became an ideal of the perfect Dragoon for the ambitious young soldier to aspire to.

Cecil's mind was far away from anything of Baron or even of Rosa, who his mind frequently lighted on. His mind was with, as it seldom was, his birth parents. Cecil oft had more important things to concentrate on than his biological origins, but tonight he could not help but wonder who had created him. It was widly known that children appeared as their parents most of the time, and that they inherited certain traits from them regardless of whether or not their visage could be likened to them. What had they been like? Cecil found hiimself wondering as his body executed the motions of a faithful little soldier. Who had sired him? What was the woman like who had carried him to term?

But other questions also haunted his mind, the inevitable questions that every orphan faced at some point in their lives. Hadn't they wanted him? Didn't they love him enough to keep him?

Cecil, however, vowed that he would not let things like this get in the way of his being a sucsessful soldier. Everything depended on it. In order to repay his debt to the man who had taken him in and the people who had given him a place he was determined to, nay he would, suceed in the path set out for him. Cecil would ascend the ranks of Baron's complex military, would arm himself with a blade forged of darkness, and then he would replaced Captain Johanson as Lord Captain of the Red Wings.

So while one thought of becoming like his father the other thought of becoming the perfect killing machine.

Blind in youth's ambtion, neither yet realized where their paths would take them.

A/n: I will eventually continue with the Adamant Isle Saga outlining Cecil's journey ther, but we will end this here for now. I hope to take a break from the regular Cecil-centric ficlets, how Cecil views himself, and maybe concentrate on how others view Cecil. It will be interesting to work on relationships.