UnShaekable (FFXII)

XXVI) Mount Bur-Omisace

The air is filled with a bitter chill that's all too familiar to my skin, bringing back flashes of chocobos and a young Dern and an even younger Jonan. Vaan and Penelo look absolutely miserable, hunched together and shivering against the freezing wind. I don't understand how Fran hasn't frozen completely in that tiny metal armor of hers. Even Ashe is shuddering, white snowflakes caught in her fair hair and battle-worn clothing. I shiver, hugging my arms closer to my body and hiding my face behind my hair to avoid the stinging wind.

"Are we ever g-gonna get th-there?" Vaan forces out, his eyes practically pleading Ashe for warmth. The princess sighs.

"I have no way of knowing," she replies, hiding a shiver. "The men at the entrance to the Rift told us to go this way."

"Northeast," I nod, sniffling. "To the south is the real Rift. Piles of bones and even worse chills." Huffing, I turn to Balthier's viera partner. "How are you not freezing?!"

"I do not feel the cold as you do," she answers calmly, her ear twitching. "That is not to say I do not feel it at all, but it is not quite as harsh on my skin as it is on a hume's."

"Balthier's the only one dressed for the occasion, it seems," Basch mutters, glancing back at the pirate. Balthier merely replies with a slight smile, scanning the snowy hills with his gun rested on his shoulder. I drag myself over to Larsa's side, teeth chattering and lips blue.

"How are you holding up?"

"It's quite cold," he shudders, shaking his head. "But I can't complain. At least my clothes don't have holes."

"They serve a purpose," I retort, rolling my eyes. "I'm used to the desert, remember?"

"What purpose?"

Conversation halts when we come to an upward slope, pausing upon seeing half-clothed, limping, bloodied refugees dragging themselves up the slippery, steep, snowy path as if it's their last hope. In these times, it probably is. Balthier sighs, resting his hands on his hips. Larsa and I stop in front of him, my stomach churning as a woman wails unabashedly, clutching her limp child to her chest with blue fingers.

"Empires parade down city streets, while refugees walk barefoot through the snow," Balthier murmurs. 

Larsa turns toward the pirate, his words coming as sharp as the wind.

"And so I sue for peace to stop short war and ease their suffering. My father will choose peace." But will he once Vayne's dagger has been pressed to his back? Vayne pulls the strings behind it all—despite Larsa's faith.

"Will he now?" Balthier fires back. "You sound sure of yourself." His green eyes fall dark, his face drained as he passes by stiffly. "You can never know another, not even your own father."

"Tell me about it," I mutter, shaking my head. Larsa frowns, brows pinched together as he stares out at the darkened horizon. Vaan comes up on his other side.

"Don't take it the wrong way, okay?"

Larsa says nothing, his pale blue eyes falling to the snow. I sigh, motioning for Vaan to leave before kneeling in the snow and taking hold of my brother's shoulders.

"Don't listen to him. He's undoubtedly had some troubles that drove him to piracy, just as I did. Have some faith in Father; he'll do what's right, I'm sure of it."

"And suppose he doesn't?" Larsa asks quietly, finally looking at me. "Suppose Vayne truly does fail me once and for all as you've said far too many times?" I press my lips together, fighting shivers, and shake my head.