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How many times do I have to dream that I could be there?
Penelo is surprised to find Vaan and herself in the Ambervale of House Margrace, where a fete is being held to welcome Her Royal Highness Queen Ashelia Dalmasca as she visits the Rozarrian Empire. There are whispers of a possible trade deal in the works, along with rumors of a romance between Queen Ashe and Lord Al-Cid. Penelo can only wonder if there is truth to any of it.
Although their friendship with the newly crowned Queen has distanced in the year since their adventure to reclaim Dalmasca, Penelo and Vaan were invited to accompany her. Ashe can always use extra allies in a foreign land in case things don’t go well, Penelo supposes. She and Vaan are sky pirates now, after all; they can more than hold their own in a fight.
Sky pirate. It still sounds strange to call herself that. If anything, she feels more like an assistant, a mere co-pilot for Vaan; He is the real pirate. It’s Vaan who grins as they both soar through the skies; it’s Vaan whose heart pounds with exhilaration at the thought of their next venture. Although Penelo enjoys their journeys well enough, her mind is always preoccupied with visions of every possible way things could go wrong.
Maybe she just isn’t cut out for this role.
After finishing her plate, Penelo leaves the dining hall with Vaan in tow. There’s going to be a performance for tonight’s entertainment, and she doesn’t want to miss a second of it.
It’s a dance performance, to be precise.
Penelo’s heart skips a beat at the thought of it; she hasn’t seen a dance performance in four years.
The two pirates weave their way through the crowd of Rozarrians to find a clear spot to watch the performance. Vaan leads Penelo to a balcony on the second floor that overlooks the courtyard, securing a spot at the railing.
“Yes! Best seats in the house!” he exclaims.
The music is fiery- the violin sings a romantic melody while the guitar keeps a fast rhythm. Musicians and audience members alike use their own palms as percussion, clapping swift beats that echo in the courtyard.
Penelo sighs, resting her right cheek on her hand as she leans on the white stone railing. Arms around each other, the man and woman below dance together with both grace and vigor in harmonious unison, circling each other in a display of passion. The woman is vivacious and elegant; the dark curls of her hair are adorned with red flowers to go with her dress. The man is gallant, aggressive yet poised, leading his partner through the steps effortlessly.
Rozarrian ballroom dances are so beautiful.
Characteristic of this style of dance, the performers’ movements are swift and precise, and they hold each other so closely their faces almost touch. The dance tells a story of two lovers meeting for the first time and falling in love. The dancers look so happy, so free, so alive…
Penelo shamefully admits to herself that she’s jealous.
As she watches the man spin the woman in circles, smooth and swift, she imagines what it would be like to dance this routine in front of an audience.
“You should learn to dance like that, Pen,” Vaan says over the stirring vibrations of the guitar and violin.
Penelo shrugs. “I guess I could.”
It looks like fun, she thinks, but I miss Dalmascan dance.
“You totally could!” Vaan challenges, his smile encouraging, but it could not quell the shame burning in Penelo’s stomach. She can learn a dance like that, surely- she just… doesn’t have the opportunity to, is all. Not even traditional Dalmascan dance is an option at this point. Unfortunately, along with music, writing, crafting, sports, or anything that gave reason for Rabanastrans to form a group or organization, dance in Rabanastre withered away until not a trace of it was left. The Imperials made sure of that.
The woman’s crimson skirt billows out in waves, and Penelo remembers the costumes her mother used to sew for the dance troupes in Rabanastre, and how she would daydream about the day she too would wear such beautiful skirts.
But the arts are dead in Rabanastre. Dead like my mother. Dead like my father and brothers.
As the song reaches its end, the man dips the woman so low, her head almost touches the ground, and the audience erupts in applause. Penelo looks around to see smiling faces, families cheering, and the performers taking their bows. She feels the love, hope and happiness pouring out of everyone and pounding into her own heart.
Penelo has the sudden urge to cry; she hopes Vaan doesn’t notice the tears welling in her eyes.
I guess there is always the possibility that dance could be revived in Rabanastre. I could still be a professional dancer like I wanted to be when I was a kid. Before the war…
But how could I even accomplish that? Is it even possible?
Penelo shakes her head.
No. It’s too late now.
Time is here and she won't be waiting for me to find the easy way out
I've lost count of the days that were wasted
Penelo looks up at the stars the night of her eighteenth birthday.
Vaan, Balthier and Fran throw together a little celebration for her at Jahara: a stop on their way to the Zertinan Caverns. Penelo normally celebrates her birthday treating herself to dinner and drinks at the Sandsea, but this year she’ll have to break tradition, she supposes.
After a bonfire, roasted cockatrice, and a few drinks, the crowd of sky pirates and Garif part, and now Penelo is alone with her thoughts.
She sits on the ground and pulls her knees to her chest as she gazes into the night sky until she is lost in the glow of the stars. How old are these stars? She wonders. How many lives have gone and passed during their existence?
Penelo is rarely one to think on anything beyond her day-to-day matters, but tonight is another story, and perhaps she has the liquor to blame.
The stars seem to swirl in the sky, spinning, and Penelo remembers herself as a child: small, rambunctious and full of wondrous light, spinning until she got so dizzy she toppled over.
These days I’m only dizzy from moonshine, she thinks as she giggles to herself.
She continues watching the stars as she recalls her first dance lesson.
—
On her tenth birthday, her mother introduced her to a woman named Malikah.
“You said you wanted to learn to dance,” Penelo’s mother explained, “and I ran into Old Dalan. His niece is the leader of Shifting Sands!”
Malikah was tall, with glowing olive skin, feathery flaxen hair and an optimistic grin. She was beautiful, strong and poised: a vision of grace. Penelo felt honored to learn from her.
Penelo asked her mother why she was willing to take more costume commissions to pay for these private lessons.
“I want you to live your dreams,” her mother replied, “I want you to know that nothing can stop you.” Her smile was warm and so brimming with love, that Penelo was overwhelmed.
—-
“I miss you, Mom,” Penelo mouths the words she cannot voice: her throat swollen with grief. Gentle tears trickle down her face, and she feels sorry for herself. Sorry that she never fulfilled the dream she had as a little girl. The dream her mother supported so much.
I’m sorry.
Penelo looks up and wonders if her mother is somewhere in those stars, watching Penelo’s life unfold, disappointed that it’s not going the way it should.
Have I lost my way?
When Malikah was eighteen, she had nearly mastered traditional Dalmascan dance, and was even teaching others.
Penelo hasn’t taken instruction in four years. These days she dances for herself maybe once or twice a week at best. Undoubtedly she’s already lost some of the knowledge she acquired under Malikah’s training. She knows more about running a potions shop, casting spells, surviving the wild, and airship mechanics than dance. She feels so distanced from the little girl who wanted to grow up to wear her mother’s costumes on stage.
She wonders who she even is anymore.
I float on the streets that are empty
Penelo wanders through the Muthru Bazaar aimlessly, feeling like an airship with no destination. Perhaps she can look for Malikah? She wonders whatever happened to her former instructor, and if she feels just as lost without dance.
The streets of Muthru used to be numerous and filled with an abundance of diverse merchandise. During the Archadian occupation, however, they were left with simply the essentials. Trade with Rozarria was ceased entirely. The amount of crafts made and sold reflected the dwindling spirits of the artists who made them.
Now, a few merchants here and there are beginning to sell tapestries and pottery; one merchant sells homemade jewelry.
A small hope, but it’s nothing like before.
Rabanastre’s artists didn’t just disappear – so where are they? Where are the old dance troupes? The old man who used to play his reed flute at Muthru? The seamstresses, like her mother had been, who would make costumes for the dancers? Or the drummers, whose steady, uplifting beats once brought the entire city together for the wedding of Princess Ashe and Prince Rasler.
They are asleep - they must be! Just like I was… just like I still am.
The Imperials came and stifled their creativity with fear, and now they don’t remember how to awaken it. Surely there must be someone who can revive their artistic spirits? Ashe is the Queen – perhaps she can do something?
It could be you who wakes them up, a thought whispers to her.
It is a frightening thought, that she can actually do something to make a difference - that she can be responsible for the return of art to Rabanastre. She could try, and she could fail, and she would have to live with that disappointment…
Or she can try, and succeed, and actually see what she has wanted to see for so many years. She can lift others’ spirits with dance, just as those Rozarrian performers did for her.
Penelo wonders if someone as ordinary as her can be so impactful.
A beaded bracelet catches her eye, interrupting her thoughts. The vermilion hue of the stones reminds her of the skirt she saw on the Rozarrian dancer. She buys it for just 40 Gil – less than a potion at Migelo’s. That’s the value of art these days.
“Thank you!” The merchant’s grateful smile tells a story of a slow business day, and Penelo might just be the first person to buy a bracelet today.
Maybe I can do something; maybe I can go back to dance, she dares to think as she admires the bracelet on her wrist, turning it side to side so the carnelian stones can catch the amber sunlight.
The light of hope in her heart burns out as a thought occurs to her.
But I’m hardly ever in town these days. I’m a sky pirate now.
How is she supposed to do this and be Vaan’s co-pilot? How is she supposed to see her ideas come to fruition if she is fully dedicated to helping Vaan see his?
Is she wasting her time following someone else’s dream, even if it’s someone she cares about?
It's never the right time to find a new way
Am I selfish? She writes to Larsa, pausing to think if she should really bother him about any of this. He is the Emperor of Archadia, after all. No doubt he is way too busy to deal with her problems. But she couldn’t talk to Vaan about leaving Vaan’s side to pursue her own ambitions, and Larsa is always telling her she can talk to him about anything, and so she writes to him anyway.
There is nothing wrong with taking care of yourself, he replies to her a couple of days later. I believe you are doing the right thing. Pursuing your own path can bring more joy and energy in not only your life, but to those around you as well. You are a kind person, and you have always taken care of others. That is what I admire about you, Penelo. I understand that turning your eyes away from others to look inward feels against your nature; it does for me as well. However, you cannot help them if you have depleted yourself. I should take my own advice, honestly.
Penelo pauses to chuckle. She thinks about visiting Larsa soon, to make sure he does indeed take his own advice.
Vaan is a man grown now; worry not of him. Of all the people in Ivalice, it is he who would most understand your need for freedom. Penelo, I say this to you in full honesty, as your friend. If you wait until the right time, whenever that is to you, you will never move on, and you will wait forever. Now is the opportune time. You may not feel safe, but such is the nature of taking risks, and well: the world has never changed without someone taking such a necessary leap of faith.
Should you decide to carry on with your plan, know that you have my full support.
Penelo places the letter down on the table and sighs, her heart warm from his words. Larsa always knows what to say to make her feel better. She wonders how so much wisdom can come from someone so young.
She breathes, reclining in her chair to stare at the ceiling of her room.
Am I really going to do this?
Her heart races: a dance of both fear and exhilaration.
There's an answer in the sound of a train
The hum of the Strahl’s glossier rings has always been a welcome sound since the day Vaan and Penelo found the note revealing that Balthier and Fran were in fact, alive after the crashing of the Bahamut.
During the year the notorious sky pirates were presumed dead, it was as though a light had gone out in Vaan’s soul, and he spent his days roaming aimlessly through the skies searching: searching for something, anything, to get his mind off of them. Perhaps he was even hoping to find the pirates themselves flying somewhere in the clouds.
Penelo was so worried about him; she doesn’t think she’ll ever stop worrying about him.
Since reuniting, the four pirates always seemed to run into each other at someplace or another, and eventually they decided to team up on their more dangerous or complicated missions.
However, they’ve been teaming up more frequently these days: almost too frequently.
When did our duo become a quartet? Penelo wonders as she re-laces her boots on the floor of the hangar.
She looks up to glance at the top of steps to the airship, where Balthier and Vaan are clearly flirting with each other as they ignore the fact that Fran is waiting for them in the cockpit. And when did our quartet become a duo once again?
From her spot on the ground, Penelo can’t hear the words that flow out of the two men’s smirking lips; however, their blushing cheeks and intense eye contact speak loud enough.
Vaan snakes his hand around Balthier’s, and the older pirate doesn’t protest. Instead, his smirk melts into a bashful smile most would find uncharacteristic of him.
Penelo doesn’t intend to stare, but ever since the day Vaan confessed to her that he prefers men, she can’t help but go into mother Cluckatrice mode whenever a man gets that close to him.
But it’s not my job to protect his heart, she reminds herself. Vaan can handle himself, and Balthier has long ago proven that he is an honorable man who cares more than he likes to admit.
If those two become a more permanent duo… what will I do?
She returns her focus to her boots, trying not to think of such a future.
There is wisdom past the bridge on the bay
Seagull cries and gentle waves harmonize to sing a wistful song on the shores of Balfonheim Port. Penelo stares into the distant horizon of the Naldoan Sea, finding a relieving sense of calm in its cerulean waters.
Well, she is certainly trying to feel calm, at least.
Balthier, Vaan, and Fran are all likely having a pint or two of ale at the Whitecap, but Penelo doesn’t feel like joining them. During the past few weeks, her emotions, or something has been building up in her chest, and she feels that if she were to speak to anyone right now she was likely to burst.
Penelo breathes to the rhythm of the ocean, hoping the waves would carry away her sorrows.
Why does she continue to deny the truth? She can’t sail away from it, nor can she bury it in the sand beneath her toes. It is plain as day: she is losing Vaan. She is a girl who belongs on the ground, and she can’t keep up with Vaan’s skyward ambitions.
Will he leave her behind once he, too, accepts the truth?
Will they grow distant over the years, until they both forget how close they once were?
Will she lose him forever?
Her heart overflows, and the waves take her mournful sobs into the ocean.
There's a lifetime through the fog, in the rain
In one last ditch effort to understand just why she can’t seem to move forward, Penelo ventures down to Lowtown.
Old Dalan had taken such a liking to his underground home, he never returned to his former residence on the surface. He welcomes Penelo with a warm smile.
“Have you been feeling confused?” He asks.
“Yes,” Penelo nods.
“The answers you seek are within,” he says, “Please lie down and relax.”
Under the smoke of Old Dalan’s pipe, Penelo lies down and closes her eyes.
She hears drops of rain falling down, gently showering her senses in tranquility. However, it is not the rains of Giza that grace her ears, but the light tapping of the wooden zills attached to Old Dalan’s fingertips. Her eyes are closed, but she can smell the sandalwood oil that Old Dalan applies to her throat.
“You must let your thoughts and feelings be known,” Old Dalan says calmly, quiet, as he maintains a gentle touch on her throat. “You have held your tongue far too long, Penelo. You are neither communicating nor living your truth.”
Her truth? What did he mean by that? What is her truth, exactly?
A dancer, a teacher, a creator, whispers the hopeful part of her she had shoved to the depths of her mind long ago. A vision crosses her mind: she is dancing on a stage at night, with only fire to light her way. Gold and red flash as she sways her hips. Galbana lilies adorn her braided hair. A dozen dancers sway behind her.
A pressure builds in her throat, and it is not from Old Dalan, whose hands are hovering above her now. She breathes once- inhale, exhale - twice, then a third time. Penelo imagines a blue light glowing in the center of her throat, and the pressure eases.
She feels a touch on her chest, over her heart. “Accept your past,” Old Dalan says, “Accept that all your pain of loss is long over. Breathe in, and on the exhale, let go of all your grief,”
Penelo inhales, and in her mind’s eye she sees her mother, her father and brothers. She sees the shine of their blonde hair and the gleam in their bright smiles as they pose for a painter at Muthru. She exhales, and they disappear. Small tears trickle out from her eyes, and she is about to burst until the fading ghosts of her family are replaced with familiar faces: Vaan, Tomaj, Kytes, and Migelo, their smiles warm and comforting.
“Those you have lost are gone, but you are still here, and you still have a family. You are loved, and you give love in return.” Penelo tries not to cry at his words, breathing away her pain at the memory of her lost family. I am not alone, she repeats in her mind.
Old Dalan releases his hand, letting it hover just above her skin. “Have faith in the love others have for you. You need not cling to others so tightly. Let them go, and trust they will never leave you.”
How does he know? How does he always know exactly how I’m feeling even when I can’t express those feelings to myself?
Has she always been afraid of Vaan flying away and never coming back? That he doesn’t see her as a reason to come back?
But Vaan would never do that, she reminds herself. Vaan is always loyal to the people in his life. Vaan always comes back.
Penelo breathes, slow and steady. I am safe. I am loved. I will live my truth. She repeats this mantra in her head a few more times.
She imagines a green light filling her heart, healing her, until the pressure is off her chest.
That afternoon, Penelo exits Lowtown light on her toes, weightless.
There's a beauty in walking away
She was selling potions at Migelo’s when Vaan arrived to say goodbye.
It was difficult not to think about returning to the items shop as a step down, but Penelo had to remind herself that it was simply the first step towards the future she was meant to build for herself.
Vaan steps through the door, and Penelo struggles to maintain her customer service smile.
Migelo says his own goodbye, nearly crushing Vaan in a hug. He lets Penelo take a break, and she follows Vaan out to the street.
“Rozarria, huh?” Penelo says, “You better say hi to Lord Al-Cid for me.”
“Will do,” he replies, “Maybe I can even find those dancers and ask them to give you a lesson.” His grin is warm and healing, and Penelo loves him even more for thinking about her.
Penelo pulls him into a hug, trying not to grip too tightly. She doesn’t want to let him go, but she knows she has to.
“I’m gonna miss you, Vaan,” she says into his shoulder.
Penelo lifts her chin, looking into the sky, bright and hopeful. She closes her eyes, and through her lids sees an orange glow, the sun’s warmth calming her with its own embrace.
“I’ll miss you too, Pen. I’ll be back in a week.”
“I know you will,” Penelo chokes, and from then on she is unable to stop the tears from flowing.
Vaan lets go of her and steps back, and when Penelo opens her eyes, she sees he is crying, too.
“Thanks for being my sister,” he says, smiling through glossy eyes and trembling lips.
Penelo takes a deep breath. She will miss Vaan, and he will miss her. They once lived their lives side-by-side, but now, she can accept that they must go their separate ways. From now on, she can focus on her duty to live her own dreams.
For once, she feels, she will be alright on her own.