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Posting: The Reason
Title: The Reason
Fandom: FFX-2
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 470
Pairings: Beclem/Yuna
Spoilers: For the end of FFX only.
Notes: In the spirit of finishing things up before the end of the year, I caught up on transferring everything I've written this summer and fall to my archive, including my three Trick or Treat 2008 stories. Usually, when I participate in a fic battle, I don't post the ficlets individually in my journal, but I've been meaning to make an exception for these, and this one in particular. The prompt was "Beclem/Yuna, murder", and I was so strongly put in mind of "Aftermath" that I couldn't help but write a metafic for it. Set post-game (and so post-"Aftermath" as well).
"I had to kill them, you know."
Beclem looked up at the abrupt words. Yuna sat a few feet away, twiddling a blade of grass between her fingers. She had invited him to lunch, he presumed to bury the hatchet, and they had found a quiet spot for a picnic overlooking the Djose Shore. So far they had mostly eaten in silence; this sudden confession was the last thing he had expected. "Excuse me?"
"The aeons," she said calmly, even as she tore the blade of grass in half and shredded the remnants. "When we defeated Yu Yevon. In order to beat him, we had to kill them."
"I have heard the story." Beclem set his flagon of ale on the ground.
Yuna bowed her head. "They told me to do it. I felt, at the time, that I had no choice. But they were my friends, my companions, my allies, and I killed them all. And it felt like murder. I grieved for a long time." She opened her clenched fists and let the tiny bits of grass free; caught by the afternoon breeze, they floated up and away, into the sky. Beclem turned to watch them go, then returned his eyes to Yuna, who had drawn up her knees. She hugged them to herself, and she suddenly looked young and vulnerable, not the confident High Summoner Beclem had thought he knew.
For just a moment, he hesitated. But finally he reached out to her, laying his hand on her arm. "I'm sorry." He closed his fingers in a sympathetic squeeze; she met his eyes and smiled shyly.
Suddenly very aware of the softness of her skin, he dropped his hand and leaned away. "But, why are you telling me this?"
She sat up a little straighter. "We haven't always been on the best of terms, and I know that you were angry that I didn't take a stronger role in the leadership of Spira at the beginning of the Calm. I thought, if you had a better understanding of why, maybe we could become better friends."
"Ah." Beclem dipped his head in a nod, then picked up his ale, controlling the blush that he felt creeping onto his cheeks. Who had told her about that? He took a drink and schooled his face before setting it aside again and clearing his throat. "Well. Yes. I think I do understand, now, better. Thank you."
"Thank you. For coming here to hear me out." Yuna smiled at him again; he looked back into her warm eyes and found that he couldn't look away.
Then the moment passed and she turned to the picnic basket. "Another sandwich?"
"Please." With a deep breath, Beclem shook his head to clear it, and busied himself with pouring another round of drinks.
Fandom: FFX-2
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 470
Pairings: Beclem/Yuna
Spoilers: For the end of FFX only.
Notes: In the spirit of finishing things up before the end of the year, I caught up on transferring everything I've written this summer and fall to my archive, including my three Trick or Treat 2008 stories. Usually, when I participate in a fic battle, I don't post the ficlets individually in my journal, but I've been meaning to make an exception for these, and this one in particular. The prompt was "Beclem/Yuna, murder", and I was so strongly put in mind of "Aftermath" that I couldn't help but write a metafic for it. Set post-game (and so post-"Aftermath" as well).
"I had to kill them, you know."
Beclem looked up at the abrupt words. Yuna sat a few feet away, twiddling a blade of grass between her fingers. She had invited him to lunch, he presumed to bury the hatchet, and they had found a quiet spot for a picnic overlooking the Djose Shore. So far they had mostly eaten in silence; this sudden confession was the last thing he had expected. "Excuse me?"
"The aeons," she said calmly, even as she tore the blade of grass in half and shredded the remnants. "When we defeated Yu Yevon. In order to beat him, we had to kill them."
"I have heard the story." Beclem set his flagon of ale on the ground.
Yuna bowed her head. "They told me to do it. I felt, at the time, that I had no choice. But they were my friends, my companions, my allies, and I killed them all. And it felt like murder. I grieved for a long time." She opened her clenched fists and let the tiny bits of grass free; caught by the afternoon breeze, they floated up and away, into the sky. Beclem turned to watch them go, then returned his eyes to Yuna, who had drawn up her knees. She hugged them to herself, and she suddenly looked young and vulnerable, not the confident High Summoner Beclem had thought he knew.
For just a moment, he hesitated. But finally he reached out to her, laying his hand on her arm. "I'm sorry." He closed his fingers in a sympathetic squeeze; she met his eyes and smiled shyly.
Suddenly very aware of the softness of her skin, he dropped his hand and leaned away. "But, why are you telling me this?"
She sat up a little straighter. "We haven't always been on the best of terms, and I know that you were angry that I didn't take a stronger role in the leadership of Spira at the beginning of the Calm. I thought, if you had a better understanding of why, maybe we could become better friends."
"Ah." Beclem dipped his head in a nod, then picked up his ale, controlling the blush that he felt creeping onto his cheeks. Who had told her about that? He took a drink and schooled his face before setting it aside again and clearing his throat. "Well. Yes. I think I do understand, now, better. Thank you."
"Thank you. For coming here to hear me out." Yuna smiled at him again; he looked back into her warm eyes and found that he couldn't look away.
Then the moment passed and she turned to the picnic basket. "Another sandwich?"
"Please." With a deep breath, Beclem shook his head to clear it, and busied himself with pouring another round of drinks.