raskol: (sore feet)
Raskol ([personal profile] raskol) wrote2014-06-17 12:12 am

[ff5] lacuna -- galuf & lenna (pg)

Lacuna
500 words, PG, Galuf & Lenna
a/n: Takes place on their way to the Wind Shrine, before they get ambushed by goblins and rescued by Bartz.



She reminded him of someone.

Out of all the things that bothered Galuf about his amnesia, it was that. It seemed pointless to worry about his past for the most part, because dithering around wouldn't solve anything. He had a purpose; he felt it in his bones. There was a quest to be had, a journey to be taken, a Great, Big Something to be done, and even if he wasn't sure what it was all for, he knew enough about himself that it must be for a noble goal -- or at least, he hoped it was for a noble goal, 'cause he felt like a good guy, scruffy old man or no.

It was disquieting, though, the way she made him feel, and it made him prod at the gap in his memory like a tongue probing a gap in his teeth, pressing on the gum, hoping that the dull, achy pain would spark a memory. Galuf didn't know what it was: was it her youth, was it her mannerisms, her personality, her voice? Whatever it was, there was something about her that warmed his heart, made him want to tell her to go home and let him be the one to care of all this business, whatever "this" was. She was too young, he'd said to her jokingly on the road, but she knew where she was going, and he didn't, so there wasn't an argument to be had there.

Plus, Lenna had insisted, she wasn't too young. She was nineteen. Galuf had sworn that she was pulling his whiskers -- the young miss couldn't be older than fifteen by his reckoning -- but there was an earnestness in her eyes that'd convinced him of her sincerity.

There had been a determination in them too, the gentlest fire he'd ever seen -- or could remember seeing, anyways -- that'd told him that even if she were fifteen or thirteen or even ten, nothing would've changed; she still would've set out to the Wind Shrine all by her lonesome self.

It had made him want to ask if she had folks waiting for her back home -- she must, he knew -- but that thought had made his chest ache suddenly with a dull, deep pain, and he realized that he was of an age to have a daughter himself, maybe even a granddaughter, and he wondered if there was anyone he'd left behind, when he'd run off on a quest of his own, and if he'd ever see them again.

That was pointless to think about too: He hoped that wasn't the case; he hoped that there was no one waiting for him, but he knew that even good guys (scruffy old men or no) could make bad decisions, and he understood that even good guys -- especially good guys, perhaps -- could leave behind their loved ones to bear the weight of the world in their absence. He only hoped that he wasn't one of them.

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