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[FFXIII] Candlelight (1724 words)
Title: Candlelight
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIII
Character/Pairing(s): Vanille, Hope
Rating: G
Warning: bonding stuff
Summary: A candle to light the way home.
“They last longer,” Vanille explained while they were searching through Oerba for anything that could be useful. Nights on Gran Pulse were pitch black, a shade that Hope had never encountered before and much darker than anything he could have ever imagined, darker than closing his eyes and trying to shut out all light. Cocoon was always bright, even at nighttime (compared to Gran Pulse, anyway), while the planet below was... To be honest, it was somewhat terrifying, especially the first night they had to spend down in the Mah’habara, where even the brightness of stars couldn’t seep through the layers of earth. As none of the Cocoon born l’Cie could sleep without a slight illumination, there had always been a few embers left for the one standing guard. Fires would burn too bright and attract too much attention, yet no one outside of Fang and Vanille could feel comfortable enough to drift to sleep in the complete dark.
The orange-haired girl was holding up a milky wax candle, smiling as Hope followed along behind her, arms full of broken wood from old furniture and whatever supplies he could scavenge: oils and gears, trinkets and ropes. If it had lasted the hundreds of years, it should be sturdy enough for whatever they might need it for... right?
“And it’s not too bright; not like the fires you always build.” There was a teasing tone in her voice, and Hope could feel his cheeks heat up despite the roll of his eyes. “If we could find a few more of these, we’d be able to save our fire spells for when we really need it. Casting magic all night isn’t good for you, you know! It’s bound to drain your energy even if you don’t think it does.”
“It’s not like we cast all the time,” Hope mumbled in protest, still a bit embarrassed by her teasing. “It needs something to burn.”
They reached the old and rusted house which had been their base for the past day quick enough, having been tasked with searching the houses closest to their hideout while the others went a little further out. Hope pretended that he didn’t understand the motivations behind that decision, not liking to linger on the thought of being treated like a child.
“Well, at least you know not to burn wet wood now!” Vanille agreed enthusiastically. “Was that really your first time building a fire?”
They pushed through the doorway, Vanille bouncing in and announcing their presence cheerfully while Hope lingered behind a bit to close the door quietly around the bundle in his arms. No one else had gotten back yet, but he hadn’t expected any of them to when they would have had further to go.
“Kids aren’t supposed to play around with fire,” Hope explained as they set their loot down at a corner of the room, spreading it out on the rickety desk. “And where would I have gotten a chance?”
He leaned in to examine the candles that Vanille had found scattered through the premises, though, curious. It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen candles before— his mom liked them and would burn one from time to time, although he never really understood why. Maybe it was just something she liked because it looked nice, or maybe it was just a girl thing.
“The candles could be useful,” he conceded, “do you think we should go looking for more?”
“I’m sure there will be more around if we need it,” Vanille responded mysteriously. “Everyone had some, you know. Just in case of a power outage.”
It was a concept Hope might have had a hard time comprehending a while ago, since power never went out on Cocoon. He wouldn’t have been able to imagine a time without power... except with the journey down to Pulse, the group had to survive without any sort of power for the past several nights already, and his imagination had enough to work with that he could see the scenario where that might occur.
“I thought they were just for decoration.” He admitted somewhat reluctantly.
Vanille’s smile brightened at his admission, and Hope couldn’t help but smile back. “Well, everything around here has a purpose, you know! Even if it just looks pretty, it was also really useful in certain situations.”
Maybe that was the thing on Cocoon— because they had been protected from just about... everything, they had forgotten the use of items.
“And even things people don’t really think useful,” Vanille admitted in a quieter voice, looking just a bit abashed. “For traditions and such. Sometimes people lit candles to light the way home for those who were lost, or for the loved ones that they miss.”
She placed the candles down on the table to the side of all the metal pieces that Hope had gathered, and sat next to him on the bench, elbows on the table with her hands supporting her chin in a rather girlish manner. Hope held his breath as her arm brushed against his, quelling the urge to squirm in his seat as her heat permeated through his sleeves and side.
“Sometimes you could see a sea of candles,” she said, voice hushed as if sharing some great secret, her smile turning soft and wistful. “During the nights dedicated to the fallen warriors. It always looked like a miracle... little lights flickering on pathways and stairs and in windows, so their spirits could follow the glow home.”
Hope wondered how that would look like. Maybe something like the Parade of Lights in Nautilus? But those lights looked different from this. There was no flickering, no wavering and swaying under the slightest breath. He would have scoffed before at the thought of lights bringing in spirits, but paying attention to the candle before him, Hope could believe it.
Vanille must have noticed his silence, because she squirmed to the side and brought over two untouched candles, smiling brightly at him before handing him a long and tapered milky stick.
“It’s a good thing we’re up in the buildings.” She said brightly as he curled his fingers over the candle. “Cie’th don’t really care about light, anyway, so we can actually burn as many of these as we want. No animals to attract, see?”
Hope nodded dumbly, wondering where she was going with that. He had assumed that earlier, with how enthusiastic Vanille had gotten and the amount of candles she had picked up. She handed one of the candles to him, and he accepted with a murmured thanks, although he didn’t quite know why.
“Sometimes,” Vanille told him, bringing up one of the smaller sticks that they had salvaged, and began carving something into the base of the candle she was holding. “We would use these to remember the dead. Not to guide their souls back, but to show them that we’re thinking of them still. Those times, we carve names in the candles. Just so they would know it’s for them.”
She lifted the wax candle and blew carefully at the bits she carved off, then turned and smiled at him. “I’m sure the others won’t mind if we light a few more.”
Vanille leaned to brush shoulder to shoulder with him, and offered the stick. Hope hesitated, an unnamed emotion thick in his throat as he studied the thin branch with the smoothed bark and crooked points, one in particular filed to a point. He knew what she was saying, understood that she was trying to offer him comfort in her own way. But he wasn’t sure he wanted it, not when he had been doing so well to not think upon the events.
Focus on the what was in front of him. Keep his concentration on the battles, on the journey, on keeping alive and keeping up with everyone else. That was what got him through the days down on Pulse.
(He didn’t want to think about his mom, or his dad, or what happened in Palumpolum or anything else. Just one foot in front of the other.)
Seeing his hesitation, Vanille reached over to press the stick (more a twig than anything else) into his palm, and then curled his fingers over it, dropping her own unlit candle in her lap. Hope marveled at the warmth of her hands, at the strength in her slender fingers against his own.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to light it.” She told him, tone gentle. “It’s okay to not think about it at all.”
“I know.” He said, and looked up from the stick at her again, this time smiling. Even if he had a hard time thinking back, Hope wasn’t going to upset Vanille if he could help it. He didn’t like seeing her upset, and if doing this would make her happy, then… well, it would make it easier for him.
He took a quick breath and forced his mind to blank even as he carved out the letters of his mom’s name in shaky blocks, fingers feeling stiff and unwieldy. Vanille hummed happily in response and turned her attention away (probably to give him a little bit or privacy) as she dipped her candle wick into the tiny flame of the already lit candle. She stayed seated next to him the entire time, however, holding her own candle steadily while she lent him the warmth (the courage) to continue.
He looked outside the window after he was done, eyes catching the russet colors of sunset and the lingering warmth of the day. The night will be cold, he knows, and the others would be back soon with parts and with food to combat the coolness of the evening air. They would all huddle up together in one room, the room Vanille had chosen for them, speaking and laughing and warding off the chill, the past, the future. Hope would fall asleep against someone’s shoulder or side, close to the fire and close to the others to draw in their warmth.
But for right now, before the others got back, Hope would light a candle with his mom’s name carved on the bottom, and let the glow both illuminate the way home for the others and travel the distance to wherever she was now, telling her just how much he missed her.
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIII
Character/Pairing(s): Vanille, Hope
Rating: G
Warning: bonding stuff
Summary: A candle to light the way home.
“They last longer,” Vanille explained while they were searching through Oerba for anything that could be useful. Nights on Gran Pulse were pitch black, a shade that Hope had never encountered before and much darker than anything he could have ever imagined, darker than closing his eyes and trying to shut out all light. Cocoon was always bright, even at nighttime (compared to Gran Pulse, anyway), while the planet below was... To be honest, it was somewhat terrifying, especially the first night they had to spend down in the Mah’habara, where even the brightness of stars couldn’t seep through the layers of earth. As none of the Cocoon born l’Cie could sleep without a slight illumination, there had always been a few embers left for the one standing guard. Fires would burn too bright and attract too much attention, yet no one outside of Fang and Vanille could feel comfortable enough to drift to sleep in the complete dark.
The orange-haired girl was holding up a milky wax candle, smiling as Hope followed along behind her, arms full of broken wood from old furniture and whatever supplies he could scavenge: oils and gears, trinkets and ropes. If it had lasted the hundreds of years, it should be sturdy enough for whatever they might need it for... right?
“And it’s not too bright; not like the fires you always build.” There was a teasing tone in her voice, and Hope could feel his cheeks heat up despite the roll of his eyes. “If we could find a few more of these, we’d be able to save our fire spells for when we really need it. Casting magic all night isn’t good for you, you know! It’s bound to drain your energy even if you don’t think it does.”
“It’s not like we cast all the time,” Hope mumbled in protest, still a bit embarrassed by her teasing. “It needs something to burn.”
They reached the old and rusted house which had been their base for the past day quick enough, having been tasked with searching the houses closest to their hideout while the others went a little further out. Hope pretended that he didn’t understand the motivations behind that decision, not liking to linger on the thought of being treated like a child.
“Well, at least you know not to burn wet wood now!” Vanille agreed enthusiastically. “Was that really your first time building a fire?”
They pushed through the doorway, Vanille bouncing in and announcing their presence cheerfully while Hope lingered behind a bit to close the door quietly around the bundle in his arms. No one else had gotten back yet, but he hadn’t expected any of them to when they would have had further to go.
“Kids aren’t supposed to play around with fire,” Hope explained as they set their loot down at a corner of the room, spreading it out on the rickety desk. “And where would I have gotten a chance?”
He leaned in to examine the candles that Vanille had found scattered through the premises, though, curious. It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen candles before— his mom liked them and would burn one from time to time, although he never really understood why. Maybe it was just something she liked because it looked nice, or maybe it was just a girl thing.
“The candles could be useful,” he conceded, “do you think we should go looking for more?”
“I’m sure there will be more around if we need it,” Vanille responded mysteriously. “Everyone had some, you know. Just in case of a power outage.”
It was a concept Hope might have had a hard time comprehending a while ago, since power never went out on Cocoon. He wouldn’t have been able to imagine a time without power... except with the journey down to Pulse, the group had to survive without any sort of power for the past several nights already, and his imagination had enough to work with that he could see the scenario where that might occur.
“I thought they were just for decoration.” He admitted somewhat reluctantly.
Vanille’s smile brightened at his admission, and Hope couldn’t help but smile back. “Well, everything around here has a purpose, you know! Even if it just looks pretty, it was also really useful in certain situations.”
Maybe that was the thing on Cocoon— because they had been protected from just about... everything, they had forgotten the use of items.
“And even things people don’t really think useful,” Vanille admitted in a quieter voice, looking just a bit abashed. “For traditions and such. Sometimes people lit candles to light the way home for those who were lost, or for the loved ones that they miss.”
She placed the candles down on the table to the side of all the metal pieces that Hope had gathered, and sat next to him on the bench, elbows on the table with her hands supporting her chin in a rather girlish manner. Hope held his breath as her arm brushed against his, quelling the urge to squirm in his seat as her heat permeated through his sleeves and side.
“Sometimes you could see a sea of candles,” she said, voice hushed as if sharing some great secret, her smile turning soft and wistful. “During the nights dedicated to the fallen warriors. It always looked like a miracle... little lights flickering on pathways and stairs and in windows, so their spirits could follow the glow home.”
Hope wondered how that would look like. Maybe something like the Parade of Lights in Nautilus? But those lights looked different from this. There was no flickering, no wavering and swaying under the slightest breath. He would have scoffed before at the thought of lights bringing in spirits, but paying attention to the candle before him, Hope could believe it.
Vanille must have noticed his silence, because she squirmed to the side and brought over two untouched candles, smiling brightly at him before handing him a long and tapered milky stick.
“It’s a good thing we’re up in the buildings.” She said brightly as he curled his fingers over the candle. “Cie’th don’t really care about light, anyway, so we can actually burn as many of these as we want. No animals to attract, see?”
Hope nodded dumbly, wondering where she was going with that. He had assumed that earlier, with how enthusiastic Vanille had gotten and the amount of candles she had picked up. She handed one of the candles to him, and he accepted with a murmured thanks, although he didn’t quite know why.
“Sometimes,” Vanille told him, bringing up one of the smaller sticks that they had salvaged, and began carving something into the base of the candle she was holding. “We would use these to remember the dead. Not to guide their souls back, but to show them that we’re thinking of them still. Those times, we carve names in the candles. Just so they would know it’s for them.”
She lifted the wax candle and blew carefully at the bits she carved off, then turned and smiled at him. “I’m sure the others won’t mind if we light a few more.”
Vanille leaned to brush shoulder to shoulder with him, and offered the stick. Hope hesitated, an unnamed emotion thick in his throat as he studied the thin branch with the smoothed bark and crooked points, one in particular filed to a point. He knew what she was saying, understood that she was trying to offer him comfort in her own way. But he wasn’t sure he wanted it, not when he had been doing so well to not think upon the events.
Focus on the what was in front of him. Keep his concentration on the battles, on the journey, on keeping alive and keeping up with everyone else. That was what got him through the days down on Pulse.
(He didn’t want to think about his mom, or his dad, or what happened in Palumpolum or anything else. Just one foot in front of the other.)
Seeing his hesitation, Vanille reached over to press the stick (more a twig than anything else) into his palm, and then curled his fingers over it, dropping her own unlit candle in her lap. Hope marveled at the warmth of her hands, at the strength in her slender fingers against his own.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to light it.” She told him, tone gentle. “It’s okay to not think about it at all.”
“I know.” He said, and looked up from the stick at her again, this time smiling. Even if he had a hard time thinking back, Hope wasn’t going to upset Vanille if he could help it. He didn’t like seeing her upset, and if doing this would make her happy, then… well, it would make it easier for him.
He took a quick breath and forced his mind to blank even as he carved out the letters of his mom’s name in shaky blocks, fingers feeling stiff and unwieldy. Vanille hummed happily in response and turned her attention away (probably to give him a little bit or privacy) as she dipped her candle wick into the tiny flame of the already lit candle. She stayed seated next to him the entire time, however, holding her own candle steadily while she lent him the warmth (the courage) to continue.
He looked outside the window after he was done, eyes catching the russet colors of sunset and the lingering warmth of the day. The night will be cold, he knows, and the others would be back soon with parts and with food to combat the coolness of the evening air. They would all huddle up together in one room, the room Vanille had chosen for them, speaking and laughing and warding off the chill, the past, the future. Hope would fall asleep against someone’s shoulder or side, close to the fire and close to the others to draw in their warmth.
But for right now, before the others got back, Hope would light a candle with his mom’s name carved on the bottom, and let the glow both illuminate the way home for the others and travel the distance to wherever she was now, telling her just how much he missed her.