By: Reddo Meijisu
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy IV, its characters and places, belong to Square-Enix.
A/N: Originally written for the LiveJournal community, mount ordeals, as a one-shot. Might use it for story-fodder later post Sins of the Father.
Warning: Mentions of character death, and general angst-tragedy, with FFIV spoilers. You've been warned.
· · ·
He dreams, sometimes, right after he has begrudgingly told the Mysidian twins a bedtime saga of monsters and magic, and they're long asleep, illuminated by the firelight of camp. The peaceful expression on Porom's face makes his heart knock down the stormy barrier of resentment, and even the pouting, determined look Palom holds forces the dark clouds back, and beckons his locked thoughts free from their ephemeral prison:
Sometimes, he dreams about his lost wife. The Toroian-born woman dances in a ballroom of mist illuminated by the light of a red moon, her long purple hair in soft waves over her shoulders, and an exquisite gown to match. Often she will approach him, and reach for his hands, beckoning him to dance with her. Tellah had never liked such an activity, though now he will do it, if only to make her spirit laugh and smile.
Ultimately, though, he will see his daughter in his dreams. Sometimes, Anna will be a little girl, working tirelessly to perfect a fire spell. Other times, she will be in her teenaged years, questioning why she must perfect a lightning spell when she knew how to cast one already. Most often, however, she will be in a union gown of white and gold, kissing her beloved Edward as the searing ruby gem, the Crystal of Fire, behind them shines almost mockingly.
Her beautiful dress becomes that horrid color eventually, though, and she is dying once more in his arms, whispering good-bye before moving to join her mother on that misty floor - another life lost, and another sin collected in a world of ire.
Tellah always forces himself to open his eyes then, so close to tears, and dwell on the 'what-ifs,' attempting yet another sojourn from reality: He wanted to rewrite his child's ending; wanted to be there as the people of Damcyan throw the rice at the newlyweds, and spill forth the customary crimson blossom petals into the arid wind. He wanted to be there to take her hand, and whisper how beautiful she looked, how her mother - musing above the two on a cloud by the sun - would be proud, and how better off she would be without him nagging over her day and night. He would be eager for the grandchildren, instilling all the knowledge of arcane arts long past into their first born, and dying happily without remorse.
In his dreams, the Red Wings never came because he had no ill will to begin with. Tellah accepts Edward with opens arms, and thanks the world for his many blessings, instead of being close-minded and bringing sin about him. Broken tapestries rethread, added on with fresh color, and any doubts he had previously reworked with gentle care.
Watching the shards of vermillion dance, Tellah would drift off into the only place where he could secretly seek solace, only to be harshly awakened by a sleepy Cecil seemingly mere moments later, signifying the end of the Paladin's watch of the camp, and his to begin.
As Tellah stands up to guard their perimeter, he always catches the divine warrior's eye before looking down at the little mages. Yes, I know. I should wake them up, and get some rest myself. They're young yet, and not old. You do so much already…
The old magician never will, of course. He figures he should just let children be, before they grow up, and run away with wild ideas and whims of their own accord.