june song

It's a queer sort of morning, warm and humid on the plains, vague breeze ruffling her hair. The sun is barely up, just sort of whispering off in the distance, and she is the only one awake. In the dim half-light of morning, Penelo dances.

It's been so long that she feels she must have forgotten the steps - what with chasing after Vaan and getting stuck in Bhujerba and finally all the wild events that have brought her here, to Ozmone, so familiar and yet alien to her - she feels that whole life slipping away, like pages in another book or scenes from some other world. She isn't the same girl she used to be, and that's as sad as it is exhilarating.

At first, she can't gain her footing, and for a moment, she fears that she's right, that her dances have drifted off with the little girl from Rabanastre. In the half-morning, she pauses and watches her companions sleep.

There is Basch, sleeping heavier than he would like, fingers light on his sword; and there's Ashe, not far from him, pale hair spread regally under her head. And close behind her is Balthier, clutching his pack, fingers straying too close to the Princess. At his feet is Fran, long white hair mixing with the black dirt and grayish-green of grass.

And then Vaan. Everyone else seems peacefully asleep, but Vaan is sprawled out, arm stretched, invading what had been her space, her blanket haphazardly over his legs where he stole it from her sometime in the middle of the night, one shoe missing, knife ten inches from his hand, mouth wide open. She smiles vaguely because Vaan hasn't really changed. Either because he grew up too fast before or is refusing to grow up now, she can't be entirely sure.

He's smarter than any of them give him credit for. She turns away from them, thinking of dance moves, of pirouettes and arabesques, of the absolute freedom she remembers. She tries to recapture that feeling, to pull the right steps out of the air, to simply makeit all come back to her, to will the movement back into her hands and feet, but they don't come. Defeated, she stops and sinks to the ground in disbelief.

What's wrong? What has she lost?

Her eyes drift to the campsite, to Vaan and her blanket, to Basch and his sword, Fran and her hair. And then to the distance, to the sun and the faraway mountains and the faint mist rising.

For several minutes, she watches the sunrise, then closes her eyes and, thinking of sleeping friends and far-off enemies, Penelo dances.

(The steps are clumsy with disuse and her form is less-than-perfect, but no one is awake to watch her, and for what seems like an eternity, she feels all alone and at ease, like nothing anyone says or does or any decisions some far-off king makes can touch her. For what seems like forever, she feels like a child again, a girl at her mother's feet learning dance steps to the poor man's symphony, nature's songs, dancing to birds and sunrise and freedom.)

(For what seems like forever, the entire world with all its faults simply melts away.)

When she opens her eyes, Ashe claps slowly, quietly. The princess-soon-to-be-queen smiles at her, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"I didn't know you were a dancer, Penelo," She says, "You'll have to teach me those steps sometime."