Fandom: Final Fantasy Tactics
On Going (WIP)/One-off/Series: One off
Classification(s): POV, Short Fic, Possible Deathfic
Warnings: Angst, Spoilers, Possible Suicidal Theme,
Pairing(s): Delita Heiral/Ovelia Atkascha
Word Count: 612
Author's Notes: This is my ideas/thoughts/written bits in regards to Princess Ovelia's side of things upto just the end of Final Fantasy Tactics: War of the Lions. It's also my very first time writing for Tactics, which is heady and intense.
My apologies to the cross posting.
Summary: Ovelia's thoughts on being a pawn during the war and probably a goodly part of her life.
During our travels he spoke of such things as creating a world for me but like many others in my life, he holds power and I grow weary of those in power. The mistrust I hold for them must border on being flagrantly obvious at times, of this I am certain.
My mind slips back to other travels I partook of with the now heretic, Ramza Beoulve, and my childhood companion Agrais. I felt lighter then, or perhaps, it was because I was able to speak candidly about my childhood with Agrais. Darker moments threaded its way through that conversation but it is one I look on with a light hearted fondness. Ser Ramza appeared to hold back speech and a sadness touched his eyes when he let his gaze sit upon me, even though he was able to better instruct me upon Alma's teachings of the grass blade whistle. My grass whistle was never as good as Ramza's, or Delita's.
Once more, Delita's words worm their way into my most inner thoughts and I stifle a sigh. Everything with him has been a whirlwind as though I am a child's spinning toy and I can only spin, and spin, and spin. Does he even see the full extent of his actions, or the consequences that might be dealt? Does he even see me for who I am?
There is no comfort for me here with him, nor in the words he speaks. Not anymore. Once more, my place is as a pawn on a board and oh how I loathe it. Anger and bitterness boil within my belly; anger at being used as a pawn, bitterness because this seems to be forever the life I must lead.
Am I to be forever shackled and caged? To be passed like currency tween men's hands for their own ends? Circumscribed among priests within their dark stoned monasteries, looking through windows unto the blue skies I could never reach until a time comes that I can serve some purpose for a man and to find myself caged yet again. Regent's hands had tried their mightiest to deal my death in shadows that reached like Lucavi demon's claws. Death dealers and puppet masters pulled at unseen strings; this was the way of a token princess.
Delita's words were once a honeyed balm to mine ears, a seeming light at the end of a darkened tunnel path. Words that buoyed me and lifted spirits so loftily. But how quick they are to become ash, how quick the wind blew to expose the barren and ugly truth. There was no truth there for me. For him, in his eyes and goals, I served him well. Elevated his status, help craft an obtainable world where his plans and devices could be executed. Only in my world would stone walls and a wedding band both be a shackle and a symbol of uselessness.
A false princess made into a false Queen, is still a figurehead of power, of a throne, of a country. A cornered pawn, tis all I am to the world. Honeyed words that held lies but never love or respect. One can never really love a tool, can they, as there is no reason for it.
I tire now of all of this: of promises of a kingdom worthy of me; of a world where my apparent light outshines the sun and that does not know darkness. No more of this weighty game nor bandied lies. I will partake no more. No longer will the earth be bathed by my bitter tears, no more will I bemoan my fate. By my hand, I will end this.