[Final Fantasy VI] Night Watch
Mar. 18th, 2012 06:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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rose_in_winterCharacters: Celes, Cyan
Rating: G
Contains: Minor spoilers for early game.
Wordcount: 750
Notes: Written forareyougame, with the prompt Distrust - you are a murderer.
Betas: None
Summary: During a night watch, Celes and Cyan throw down gauntlets at each other regarding mutual distrust.
The night after they departed Kohlingen, Celes volunteered to take the first watch. Watches had been unnecessary for the Chocobo-sped trip between Narshe and Figaro, and it had been the guards' problem while the castle traveled underground, but now they were in unfamiliar lands. Edgar and Locke agreed easily enough; Cyan only grunted and gave her a distrustful look before volunteering for second watch.
Edgar and Locke were quick to bundle up in their bedrolls and fall asleep, with enthusiastic snores to prove it. She moved a little outside the circle of firelight to protect her vision and her hearing, and paced slowly around the exterior of the camp at a measured beat. Cyan sat by the fire with his sword unsheathed across his lap and watched her warily.
She was used to men staring at her; her soldiers watched her for orders, and others for less admirable purposes. His glare gave her a distinct sense of unease; not a direct threat, not yet, but contemptuous in a way she had never experienced.
"If you prefer to rest, I can wake you for your watch," she offered after her fifth measured circuit. She tipped her head back to judge the stars, and found that not even an hour had passed. Edgar and Locke remained asleep.
"I trust thee not," Cyan said.
At least he made no effort to hide his meaning. "You have made that quite obvious," she said. She paced another circuit and searched the darkness for threats. "If I meant to do you harm, would I not have done it before now?" She did not look back at him; firelight would ruin her vision.
"Thou art a murderer," Cyan said. "Babes in arms slaughtered, an entire city burned—and for what?"
"You're a warrior of Doma," she said, choosing to parry questions with questions, "and you were raised to that life, weren't you? Did you never question your orders?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his formidable scowl. "Of course I did not question my orders," he snarled, "for they were honourable."
She nodded, and kept walking. "I, too, was raised to my life," she said, "and I had nothing to compare the Emperor's orders against. If he told me that Maranda was a threat, how should I know differently?" She paused, staring into the night without seeing. "I know now, of course," she continued, "and it does not bring back the lives I took."
He grunted, which she took as acknowledgment of all of her points, and she continued her measured circuit.
The silence spun out, from heavy and tense to a thinner, more fragile thing. "Maranda isn't why you hate me," she said, when it had become almost comfortable.
"Of course it is. Thy deeds there were known even in Doma."
She smiled thinly, her face turned away where he would not see. "Soldiers talk, and word spreads. If it was only that, or the betrayal of my oaths of service, you would distrust me, but you wouldn't hate me." It had taken her a long time to piece it together: the way he watched her when they ate their meals, the slow and regular pace of his boots outside her door in Figaro, the fact that he always rode or walked behind her with his gaze a weight on her skin.
"Why do I hate you, then?" he asked, in a tone that was only barely short of sneering.
"Because another Imperial general used poison, and it cost you everything."
She ignored his hiss of indrawn breath and held herself still, watching the shimmer of moonlight on the gently rolling hills. The wind ruffled the long grasses, blurring the outlines.
"Poison is a coward's weapon," she said after a while. "If I were to fight you, it would be face to face. There is no victory in a strike to the back, only dishonor." She thought of General Leo's patient explanations of battle tactics, tailored to a child of eight.
Still silence.
"Stay up and keep watch on my watch, if you like," she said, letting an edge of contempt into her voice, "but take care it does not affect your ability to do battle. The rest of us rely on your skills as well."
She strode into the darkness, and took up her circuit beyond the glow of the firelight. She would return when the moon marked the start of his watch. Until then, let him seethe; she knew her course of action, and only time would prove it.
Rating: G
Contains: Minor spoilers for early game.
Wordcount: 750
Notes: Written for
areyougame, with the prompt Distrust - you are a murderer.Betas: None
Summary: During a night watch, Celes and Cyan throw down gauntlets at each other regarding mutual distrust.
The night after they departed Kohlingen, Celes volunteered to take the first watch. Watches had been unnecessary for the Chocobo-sped trip between Narshe and Figaro, and it had been the guards' problem while the castle traveled underground, but now they were in unfamiliar lands. Edgar and Locke agreed easily enough; Cyan only grunted and gave her a distrustful look before volunteering for second watch.
Edgar and Locke were quick to bundle up in their bedrolls and fall asleep, with enthusiastic snores to prove it. She moved a little outside the circle of firelight to protect her vision and her hearing, and paced slowly around the exterior of the camp at a measured beat. Cyan sat by the fire with his sword unsheathed across his lap and watched her warily.
She was used to men staring at her; her soldiers watched her for orders, and others for less admirable purposes. His glare gave her a distinct sense of unease; not a direct threat, not yet, but contemptuous in a way she had never experienced.
"If you prefer to rest, I can wake you for your watch," she offered after her fifth measured circuit. She tipped her head back to judge the stars, and found that not even an hour had passed. Edgar and Locke remained asleep.
"I trust thee not," Cyan said.
At least he made no effort to hide his meaning. "You have made that quite obvious," she said. She paced another circuit and searched the darkness for threats. "If I meant to do you harm, would I not have done it before now?" She did not look back at him; firelight would ruin her vision.
"Thou art a murderer," Cyan said. "Babes in arms slaughtered, an entire city burned—and for what?"
"You're a warrior of Doma," she said, choosing to parry questions with questions, "and you were raised to that life, weren't you? Did you never question your orders?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his formidable scowl. "Of course I did not question my orders," he snarled, "for they were honourable."
She nodded, and kept walking. "I, too, was raised to my life," she said, "and I had nothing to compare the Emperor's orders against. If he told me that Maranda was a threat, how should I know differently?" She paused, staring into the night without seeing. "I know now, of course," she continued, "and it does not bring back the lives I took."
He grunted, which she took as acknowledgment of all of her points, and she continued her measured circuit.
The silence spun out, from heavy and tense to a thinner, more fragile thing. "Maranda isn't why you hate me," she said, when it had become almost comfortable.
"Of course it is. Thy deeds there were known even in Doma."
She smiled thinly, her face turned away where he would not see. "Soldiers talk, and word spreads. If it was only that, or the betrayal of my oaths of service, you would distrust me, but you wouldn't hate me." It had taken her a long time to piece it together: the way he watched her when they ate their meals, the slow and regular pace of his boots outside her door in Figaro, the fact that he always rode or walked behind her with his gaze a weight on her skin.
"Why do I hate you, then?" he asked, in a tone that was only barely short of sneering.
"Because another Imperial general used poison, and it cost you everything."
She ignored his hiss of indrawn breath and held herself still, watching the shimmer of moonlight on the gently rolling hills. The wind ruffled the long grasses, blurring the outlines.
"Poison is a coward's weapon," she said after a while. "If I were to fight you, it would be face to face. There is no victory in a strike to the back, only dishonor." She thought of General Leo's patient explanations of battle tactics, tailored to a child of eight.
Still silence.
"Stay up and keep watch on my watch, if you like," she said, letting an edge of contempt into her voice, "but take care it does not affect your ability to do battle. The rest of us rely on your skills as well."
She strode into the darkness, and took up her circuit beyond the glow of the firelight. She would return when the moon marked the start of his watch. Until then, let him seethe; she knew her course of action, and only time would prove it.