[Final Fantasy XII] Close
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rose_in_winterCharacters: Vayne Solidor, OCs
Rating: PG
Contains: Unkind pranks/claustrophobia
Wordcount: 883
Notes: Written formithrigil in a prompt meme.
Betas: N/A
Summary: Vayne's brothers play a prank, but he will not bow to this; he is a son of Solidor.
"Nurse says you're afraid of the dark." Hieron drapes himself over the back of the chair, prodding Vayne's shoulder sharply.
"You'd think he'd be at home there," Feris drawls, "given he has little sense of the world around him." He stands across the table from Vayne, hands spread over the book Vayne had been reading.
Vayne doesn't see it, but knows Hieron is rolling his eyes. "You've a poor grasp of witty repartee," Hieron says.
"And why is it that younger brother is so afraid of the dark, mmm?" Feris is grinning, and Vayne does not trust the edge to his smile. Gone is the brother who would slip him candy or take Vayne on wild chocobo rides that made the Judges clutch their heads in fear for the youngest imperial son; Feris has of late become a vicious creature, prone to moody sulks and fits of cruelty.
"Fear ill befits a son of Solidor," Hieron says.
"It would be best if you conquered this fear ere the Senate learns of it," Feris remarks, and reaches out to smooth back Vayne's hair. Vayne cannot help himself; he flinches from the touch.
"We would not care to have the Senate acquire greater leverage against our family." Hieron straightens and adopts a pedantic tone. "You could bring disgrace on the family, and you do not wish that, do you?"
"No," Vayne mutters, staring at the table.
"Good," Hieron says, leaning forward again.
Feris moves lightning-quick when he wishes. Before Vayne truly realizes what is happening, he is slung over Feris's shoulder and hauled out of the chamber. He does not shout, nor struggle, for such conduct would not befit a son of Solidor, and any child of Archades knows that to show weakness is to invite the assassin's blade from his own family if not his enemies.
They hurry down the hall, ducking out of sight of the Judge who patrols the corridor outside Vayne's rooms.
"Wait," Hieron hisses, and Feris stops. Dangling upside-down and half-dizzy from it, Vayne watches as Hieron wrenches open a narrow door concealed within the hallway's paneling. Feris shrugs Vayne off his shoulders like an unwanted cloak and shoves him forward into pitch blackness. The door slams shut behind him.
"Do not exit until you have learned to behave appropriately," Feris says.
Vayne scrambles to his feet and shoves at the door, but it does not budge. Hieron laughs and thumps the door with his fist. "Do not think to trick me, brother; I know you have not overcome your fears so quickly!"
Vayne shoves at it again, but Hieron is full-grown and strong as a slaven, where Vayne is but eight years old. He keeps trying, throwing himself against the door, desperate to do anything to get out of the darkness, all to no avail.
At length he sinks down on the floor, gasping for air. The walls are so close he fancies he can feel them squeezing inward to crush him in their unrelenting grasp, yet he must reach his hands out to both sides to feel the wood beneath his palms. He curls into a ball on the floor, checking every so often to ensure that the walls have not in fact been sneaking up on him.
He does not know how long he is there when he sees a dim light off in the distance, away from the door. He crawls toward it, knowing he should be on his feet and yet unable to summon the will to stand. It grows brighter, dazzling his eyes, and he can only dimly make out the figure holding the lamp.
"Prince Vayne!" It is a high voice, feminine. He thinks it is the maid who cleans his chambers. "What on earth are you doing in the servants' passage? Half the palace has been searching for you!"
She does not wait for an answer, but bundles him under her arm (and that shows how frantic the search for him must be, that she does not think of propriety) and drags him to the door. It opens at her quick shove—when had Hieron moved? He does not recall hearing the footsteps—and she takes him directly to his father's study.
Vayne stares at the carpet while Gramis dismisses the maid, ashamed of himself for not finding a better way out of the darkness and the pressing walls.
"The servants' passages are not for playing in, Vayne," Gramis says sternly.
"Yes, sir." Vayne forces himself not to squirm under the Emperor's intense regard.
"Did your brothers talk you into it?" Gramis asks, and Vayne glances up wide-eyed before he can stop himself. "No," Gramis says, frowning, "I think it more like they sought some mischief by flinging you into the dark by yourself. Had you chosen to play there on your own, you would have thought to bring magicite to light your way."
Vayne hunches his shoulders and bows his head to stare at the floor again. He did not mean to tell on his brothers; surely they will only make things worse, after this?
He admits to a certain cruel pleasure in seeing his brothers chastised thoroughly and stripped of many privileges, but it is years before Vayne will willingly enter a small room alone.
Rating: PG
Contains: Unkind pranks/claustrophobia
Wordcount: 883
Notes: Written for
mithrigil in a prompt meme.Betas: N/A
Summary: Vayne's brothers play a prank, but he will not bow to this; he is a son of Solidor.
"Nurse says you're afraid of the dark." Hieron drapes himself over the back of the chair, prodding Vayne's shoulder sharply.
"You'd think he'd be at home there," Feris drawls, "given he has little sense of the world around him." He stands across the table from Vayne, hands spread over the book Vayne had been reading.
Vayne doesn't see it, but knows Hieron is rolling his eyes. "You've a poor grasp of witty repartee," Hieron says.
"And why is it that younger brother is so afraid of the dark, mmm?" Feris is grinning, and Vayne does not trust the edge to his smile. Gone is the brother who would slip him candy or take Vayne on wild chocobo rides that made the Judges clutch their heads in fear for the youngest imperial son; Feris has of late become a vicious creature, prone to moody sulks and fits of cruelty.
"Fear ill befits a son of Solidor," Hieron says.
"It would be best if you conquered this fear ere the Senate learns of it," Feris remarks, and reaches out to smooth back Vayne's hair. Vayne cannot help himself; he flinches from the touch.
"We would not care to have the Senate acquire greater leverage against our family." Hieron straightens and adopts a pedantic tone. "You could bring disgrace on the family, and you do not wish that, do you?"
"No," Vayne mutters, staring at the table.
"Good," Hieron says, leaning forward again.
Feris moves lightning-quick when he wishes. Before Vayne truly realizes what is happening, he is slung over Feris's shoulder and hauled out of the chamber. He does not shout, nor struggle, for such conduct would not befit a son of Solidor, and any child of Archades knows that to show weakness is to invite the assassin's blade from his own family if not his enemies.
They hurry down the hall, ducking out of sight of the Judge who patrols the corridor outside Vayne's rooms.
"Wait," Hieron hisses, and Feris stops. Dangling upside-down and half-dizzy from it, Vayne watches as Hieron wrenches open a narrow door concealed within the hallway's paneling. Feris shrugs Vayne off his shoulders like an unwanted cloak and shoves him forward into pitch blackness. The door slams shut behind him.
"Do not exit until you have learned to behave appropriately," Feris says.
Vayne scrambles to his feet and shoves at the door, but it does not budge. Hieron laughs and thumps the door with his fist. "Do not think to trick me, brother; I know you have not overcome your fears so quickly!"
Vayne shoves at it again, but Hieron is full-grown and strong as a slaven, where Vayne is but eight years old. He keeps trying, throwing himself against the door, desperate to do anything to get out of the darkness, all to no avail.
At length he sinks down on the floor, gasping for air. The walls are so close he fancies he can feel them squeezing inward to crush him in their unrelenting grasp, yet he must reach his hands out to both sides to feel the wood beneath his palms. He curls into a ball on the floor, checking every so often to ensure that the walls have not in fact been sneaking up on him.
He does not know how long he is there when he sees a dim light off in the distance, away from the door. He crawls toward it, knowing he should be on his feet and yet unable to summon the will to stand. It grows brighter, dazzling his eyes, and he can only dimly make out the figure holding the lamp.
"Prince Vayne!" It is a high voice, feminine. He thinks it is the maid who cleans his chambers. "What on earth are you doing in the servants' passage? Half the palace has been searching for you!"
She does not wait for an answer, but bundles him under her arm (and that shows how frantic the search for him must be, that she does not think of propriety) and drags him to the door. It opens at her quick shove—when had Hieron moved? He does not recall hearing the footsteps—and she takes him directly to his father's study.
Vayne stares at the carpet while Gramis dismisses the maid, ashamed of himself for not finding a better way out of the darkness and the pressing walls.
"The servants' passages are not for playing in, Vayne," Gramis says sternly.
"Yes, sir." Vayne forces himself not to squirm under the Emperor's intense regard.
"Did your brothers talk you into it?" Gramis asks, and Vayne glances up wide-eyed before he can stop himself. "No," Gramis says, frowning, "I think it more like they sought some mischief by flinging you into the dark by yourself. Had you chosen to play there on your own, you would have thought to bring magicite to light your way."
Vayne hunches his shoulders and bows his head to stare at the floor again. He did not mean to tell on his brothers; surely they will only make things worse, after this?
He admits to a certain cruel pleasure in seeing his brothers chastised thoroughly and stripped of many privileges, but it is years before Vayne will willingly enter a small room alone.