"Mad World" - a Final Fantasy XII fanfic by Navie Chance
Rating: K/ PGA/N: This story contains SPOILERS for Mount Bur-Omisace. Taking any portion of this story and reusing it without the author's consent is plagiarism. And that's not nice.

Inspired by the song "Mad World" by Gary Jules.

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Penelo glanced back as she made her way to the sanctuary exit, the silhouette of a boy seeming to shrink before her eyes. At the announcement made by Al-Cid, Larsa's mouth had dangled open in shock, his expression unreadable to most in the room, save one. Penelo's throat formed tight knots as memories returned to her. She knew the way his body swayed so, staring blankly, his optimism shattered. As she gazed at the prince, his form twisted into her own, and instead she saw herself standing at the alter; a tiny hume-child left alone, broken, her whole world brought crashing all around her with little more than words.

They're gone.

The long-suppressed sensation threatened to reclaim her as it held the prince in its grasp, slowing time around him to a painful stop; Penelo's early attempts to comfort him had been met with only silence. Larsa took little notice as the Grand Kiltias Anastasis led him away in silence, a gnarled hand patting his slender shoulders, disappearing into the darkness. Somewhere behind her, Al-Cid had begun his rant once again, his thick accent cutting through her reverie with a sharpness that made her gasp. Turning back to her entourage, Penelo struggled to connect their words together as the weight of loss blossomed in her chest. Very little registered in her mind: the Stillshrine, the refugees, rest for a bit.

The cool breeze was enough to return her senses as she descended the shrine staircase, Kiltias blessing them all as they walked. Basch agreed upon an hour recess, after which they would meet at the shrine entrance and continue on to the Stillshrine and closer to Ashe's dream of power. At that moment, it seemed so irrelevant to Penelo. She suddenly missed her friend terribly as her traveling companions separated, each in their own direction. It seemed so fitting of the situation; and so Penelo turned and strolled. All around her was chaos. Kiltias and refugees scuttered about, prattling on in urgent voices as the Acolytes hummed their mantras to themselves. The world around her rushed by, yet she heard little more than her own footsteps on the weathered stone of Bur-Omisace as the sun dodged between clouds, flickering feebly. A glimmer caught her eye; she followed the source to find a figure in the distance, huddled on a balcony in the little remaining sunlight.

Without hesitation Penelo began to climb her way through the temple-maze, thankful for her martial arts training as she leapt across the crumbled stone. As she neared her destination, it became clear that it was indeed Larsa that she spied, sitting alone on a crumbling outcrop, his knees drawn to his chest, face sheltered in his arms. She approached quietly, hoping that her consolation would not be refused.

"...Larsa?"

The prince jolted as if waking from a dream, falling back in a defensive stance. His boyish face was stained with tears, his nose red and eyes bloodshot. He sniffed loudly as he tried to regain himself, bringing his already damp sleevecuffs to his cheeks.

"I d-didn't know you were there," he breathed as he tried in vain to hide his grief, wiping at his face. His efforts served only to accentuate the redness in his skin as he sniffled out an apology.

Penelo sat on the stone at his side, reaching out to touch his arm. "Are you alright?" It was a silly question, but she felt bound by an unsaid tradition to ask. It was a long while before he responded.

"...I will be fine," his voice was unsteady.

Penelo squeezed his arm. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he answered firmly. "I must be."

Though he did his best to act solid, Penelo could see his bottom lip begin to quiver, his pale blue eyes welling. The urge to reach out to him somehow consumed her as she bit her lip. How do you comfort one who has lost everything? She tried to remember the methods employed by Migelo and Vaan's parents when her life had been ripped from beneath her without warning. Penelo scooted closer to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and giving them a tug. He had once protected her; it was her turn to protect him.

"...It's okay if you want to cry," she told him. He gave her a puzzled glance.

"Really," she continued slowly, repeating the words that were spoken to her a few years prior. "Just... let it out. I know you want to be brave, but... bottling it up won't bring him back, y'know?"

Penelo's arms tightened around Larsa's shoulders, surprised by the wisdom of her own words. She could see them sinking beneath his skin, the color draining from his cheeks as reality set in. There was a moment when their eyes met in which an intense understanding flowed between them before Larsa flung himself at her, weeping openly against the blue leather of her bodice, his small fists balling and clenching at her sleeves. Penelo gathered him up in her lap, taken aback by how small and thin he truly was, stroking his baby-fine hair in a rhythmic fashion. How long they sat there, huddled together in the chill wind, she couldn't say. Over time his pained wailing subsided, his sniffling turning to quiet hiccups. He leaned heavily against her, completely drained.

Penelo rested her cheek against his hair and gave him a squeeze. Her own bravery had amazed her; she had fully expected to break down alongside him. Larsa hesitantly pulled away, rubbing his eyes with a gloved hand, exhaustion playing on every one of his delicate features.

"Thank you," his voice was meek, "for lending me your strength."

Penelo smiled softly. "What are friends for?"

She helped him to his feet, finally taking notice of the clouds that shrouded the mountain. Larsa gripped her hand, entwining his fingers with her own and holding fast. Somewhere in the back of her mind she could hear Vaan calling for her, but the heat of his hand in hers made her prior engagement seem unimportant. She pulled him into an embrace, the top of his head barely level with her nose. She could feel in her heart that the boy in her arms had taken one step closer to being a man that day as he wrapped his trembling arms around her waist. Before they parted, Penelo pressed a kiss against his forehead. His cheeks flushed pink as he bid her good luck and turned towards the inner sanctum to rejoin the Grand Kiltias. Penelo made her way back down the mountain, feeling the weight lift from her chest as she met Vaan's cocky smile. Perhaps she too had grown, if only a bit, aided by the flower of a prince she was proud to call a friend.