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It feels odd to be back here without the rest of the party, though the sorrow of that day is still as fresh as the moment it happened.
Sabatons clink softly, echoing throughout the Forgotten City, as crimson fabric trails behind him, Vincent quietly retracing his steps. Recalling how they raced to follow Aerith on her fated path, and also the final walk he had taken with her. It had been while the others were setting up camp, when they were still on the way to the Temple of Ancients, and Aerith had asked Vincent to come with her to gather firewood.
“She’s fond of you, you know.” Emerald eyes glittered knowingly as she held her hands behind her back as they walked, Aerith leaning her head on her shoulder as she peered up at the silent gunslinger. A giggle when he lowered his face into the collar of his cape, she could still see his ears turning a soft shade of pink, and knew he was hiding a blush. “She doesn’t tell us everything, but I can see it. The way she looks at you, how she fidgets with her necklace whenever she talks about you or you’re mentioned by someone else – and the color of it, too…”
“...I’m rather fond of her myself.” He hadn’t meant to admit it, the words had just slipped from his lips, but they were true. A glance beside him, expecting Aerith to start jumping and giggling, Vincent was surprised when she simply smiled, nodding.
“I know. That’s what I asked you out on this walk. Think of it as sisters looking out for each other,” she replied, pausing with a smile near a tree with lingering wisteria blooms. Reaching up, Aerith gently stroked the flowers, letting them run along her fingers. “I have an important favor to ask of you, and it has to do with her,” she murmured, taking a deep breath…
He gazes down the pathways leading to the center, to the giant conch shell that held the City itself below. Swallowing back a sudden wave of emotion, Vincent walks toward the shell, the ghostly feeling of his companions alongside him. The fear and anxieties of that day rise up again within him, but he remains calm as he walks down the steps, a glance aside at his right hand as he remembers her grabbing his cape in a subtle way of reaching for his hand.
“You’re certain.”
Finally turning away from the wisteria, Aerith meets Vincent’s solemn gaze with her own, crimson and emerald unmoving save for the sheen of unshed tears in Aerith’s eyes.
“She trusts you with her life, Vincent. We saw that with the very first meeting,” she said. “Gods, she refused to attack you when Galian first took over, despite Barret and Cloud hollering at her…” A soft laugh. “I teased her about that, you know. How I’m usually the healer, but she went and took my role, right up to the ‘damsel in distress’ bit, and then she told me that Galian never attacked her, either.”
“I-I uh… he was…” Vincent sighed, golden claws running through ebony locks as he tried to explain. “He thought he was protecting her from people who wanted to take her away. He… imprinted on her rather quickly.”
A giggle. “So he fell for her just like you did?” There was the playful tease, and Vincent turned away with an awkward cough, knowing he’d been caught. “So much makes sense now – but then you also understand why…”
He nodded; he had taken a silent promise to be her bodyguard after the near-incident on Mt. Nibel as well. This would simply make it official, as well as personal.
“You swear it…,” Aerith trailed off with a sheepish laugh. “I guess you’re supposed to say something like ‘until your dying day,’ but you said you’re…”
Vincent shook his head. “I swear it, until the end of time.” His gauntleted hand rose, fist pressed to the opposite shoulder, as he bowed his head.
A soft sob; glancing up, Vincent caught a tear running down Aerith’s cheek. Blinking, she wiped it away with another quiet laugh, her voice soft but strong. “Thank you, Vincent. Oh! And here…” turning back to the tree, Aerith plucked a bit of wisteria from it, handing the flower to Vincent. “She’ll love it, trust me…”
Smiling faintly under his collar, Vincent drops a pair of white lilies in the waters of the Forgotten City, feeling a single tear run down his cheek as well before he turns to leave.
He doesn’t need to remain in the company of ghosts right now.
-----
Stomping his boots again as he walks into his room in Icicle Inn, Vincent hangs his cape up in the coat closet, rolling his shoulders to warm himself up. A glance around the room – he had asked specifically for one with a fireplace and a writing desk – to see that his requests were fulfilled, Vincent nods to himself, walking over to the fireplace to warm himself. Looking out the window, it doesn’t surprise him much to see that yet another snowfall has begun, and he can’t help a faint chuckle at one memory from the past.
A shiver when he’s warmed up again, Vincent walks over to the desk, sitting down and opening up the largest drawer. A soft “hn” of approval when he sees the writing tablet, pens and pencils, and a small box of envelopes, he moves the chair just enough so he can lean over to the nightstand, turning on the radio.
Tuning it to a soft jazz station – yet another memory that he’ll muse upon another time – Vincent turns back to the desk, taking out the paper and uncapping a pen. A mild scribble on one of the hotel memo pads to test it out, and then he tosses his head, brushing hair from his eyes and over his shoulders, as he begins to write.
It doesn’t take long for the page to fill with his writing – a surpringly fine cursive that he often was teased for while in school – and Vincent flips to the next page, the words flowing like water. It has been a while since the last one, and there’s much to cover.
He pauses, wondering if he should mention his impromptu walk of remorse, and chooses his words carefully.
A soft smile as he signs his name, he flips to another page, setting the pen aside for a pencil.
-----
Dearest Reilena,
My apologies, as it’s been almost three weeks since I’ve last written you. I write you now from Icicle Inn, a place that still lives up to its name rather well, during my travels across the northern continent.
I visited the Forgotten City, and paid Aerith my respects. While there… I had a very clear memory of one of the last times I spoke to her. Do you remember when we were setting up camp in the woodlands near the Temple of the Ancients, when Aerith asked that I walk with her to gather firewood for that night?
I was nervous, as I didn’t know what her intentions were, and you and I certainly remember just how much she, Tifa, and Yuffie enjoyed teasing us. But Aerith… she had known, even then, what was going to happen. I don’t know if it was due to her Cetra blood, or simple intuition, but she had known even before stepping foot within the Temple, and she wanted to talk to me… about you.
Reilena… on that day, I swore an oath to Aerith, that I would protect you. It was a spoken oath, as I had already made my personal vow after that incident on Mt. Nibel, and reinforced it during that excursion across the Gaean plains and your fall through the ice, but Aerith had me swear to her as well, to be at your side, protect you, and be sure no harm came your way.
I felt her presence as I walked through the Forgotten City, though I paused before taking those steps toward that altar, paid my final respects, and left her an offering I think she would’ve appreciated.
I plan on seeing what remains of Modeoheim soon, before I start heading southward and back toward the western continent. From what I’ve heard, the place is abandoned now – if that is true, then I will head back to Bone Village, and decide where to go next.
Wherever I go next, I will be sure to write you as soon as I can. I still have the letters you’ve sent – I ran into Cid when I was in the Corel area before, and he gave me your latest one. The photo was beautiful, and reminds me of just how much I miss you. I know this is hard on you as well, but I appreciate your understanding, and I swear to you that I will be back.
Always yours,
Vincent