The Hand that Serves You
Title: The Hand that Serves You
Canon: FFXII Original
Characters: Larsa, Basch, Zargabaath
Rating: PG
Warnings: spoilers (general post-game)
Honor and Obligation. Two words that bind a Child Emperor, an Imposter and a Judge Magister to a man who continues to wield sway over their hearts even after he is gone.
***
Honor was a filthy word. It clung to other words as they escaped the mouth, burdening them with inescapable obligation. Obligation. That word was filthy too. It spoke of actions executed for the sole purpose of fulfilling a bond. If Larsa Ferrinas Solidor ever became powerful enough, he would strike those words out of history and use.
Those two words seeped into his skin every waking moment he saw him. Armor any other child his age would have found terrifying comforted the Child Emperor. After all, he had grown up surrounded by armor-clad men (and one woman of course) who had loved him in some way or another. No, the armor did not frighten him. The eyes that hid behind the armor did. The armor of a dead man feigned living by his twin brother. Bound by honor and obligation to protect the Child Emperor.
There lay a gargantuan difference between the fon Ronsenburg twins despite their identical appearances. Basch did his duty. Noah loved his.
Larsa refused to meet the older twin’s gaze. It had been a fatal mistake the first time he raised his head to look at him. Eyes the same blue overcast by rainclouds. Yet so very different in that Noah’s eyes were always warm when they met Larsa’s, whilst Basch’s eyes were as cold as the impending rain in them. Nothing. Devoid of all the affection the younger twin held for the youngest Solidor.
He knew of Basch’s concern for Her Majesty Ashelia. He knew how his heart twisted at every scrap of news brought into the palace concerning her. He knew he would leave for her side if not for the vow he swore to his dying brother. The brother Larsa loved. The brother who loved Larsa. The brother swallowed by death, just like Emperor Gramis. Just like Judge Magister Ghis, Drace and Bergan. Just like Consul Vayne Solidor.
The one ally he had left, Judge Magister Zargabaath, was hastily spirited away on duties that seemed suspiciously unending, by the reinstated Senate. It would never do, of course, if the Child Emperor was given hope that he was still loved. The Senate ill needed a confident Emperor.
An Emperor had to set aside all personal matters, sacrifice himself for the sake of his people. Death should prove a trifling matter compared to running an Empire. But the Emperor was only twelve, barely an adolescent let alone a man. In quick succession he lost all who were dear to him and even quicker was the burden of rule thrust upon his slender shoulders.
***
“You must sleep. Your schedule advises that you are to rouse at dawn in time for the morning conference.”
Larsa decided on brass colored stripes instead of copper for the squires. He signed the paper and set it aside. Faintly he heard Basch. A part of him remembered that Noah would have plucked the quill from his hand and simply carried the protesting boy to bed before giving a small lecture on sleep. A hint of a smile would be on those stern lips. One that would coax a tired smile from the boy, before he would plead five more minutes so he could slip away and kiss his brother goodnight. Childish, silly habits that Judge Magister Gabranth permitted for the young heir of House Solidor. Gods knew Larsa needed it.
An Emperor, however, had little place for childish behavior even if he was only twelve. And Basch certainly would not tolerate it. Noah’s pride and the Empire and Dalmasca. All rested on the shoulders of this child that his brother deemed worthy enough to give his life for.
“Excellency?” It irritated Basch whenever Larsa paid him no heed. He vowed to protect this child for the sake of family and country and the boy forgoing sleep, did little to further his quest for redemption. The boy had to grow up safely into a young man, be married to the chosen Rozarrian bride and then produce at least two healthy heirs. He had to.
“I will sleep once I have finished these papers.” Larsa answered curtly.
“I beg you reconsider,” Basch growled, fumbling for patience, “the hour is late and midnight approaches.”
“My duties are more important than sleep. These papers need to be finished.”
“Surely they can wait until morning?” Basch was glad a helmet prevented Larsa from seeing him grit his teeth.
“They cannot. The Senate never fails to remind me.”
“Excellency, you-“
“You are not my Gabranth so be quiet!” Larsa shot him a furious glare, childishly throwing his circlet at the Judge Magister. It made a sharp clank before skittering across the polished floor. He put the quill down, burying his face in his hands as shuddering breath was taken after shuddering breath. Weeping would not help the situation, he counseled himself. And besides, a grim smile on his lips, there is no one to comfort you.
“Do not order me again, Judge Magister. You may be pretending to be Gabranth for the sake of my life, but you are not to pretend as though you care like he did.” His eyes burned as they met those rainclouds housed behind the helmet. So alike and yet so different from his Gabranth. His Noah.
“Stand in the corner of a room when I am present. Sleep outside my room when I am inside it. Speak to me only if needed, not when compelled by your own frustration. That helmet never leaves your head when you are before me. Understood?” He laid out the conditions whilst those eyes burned into his own, until he was sure Basch could see through him to the trembling boy who wanted his goodnight story and kiss.
“Sire.” A brief jerk of the armored head, before the Judge Magister walked to stand in the corner of the room. When Larsa turned back to his papers, he hastily wiped at his eyes.
***
“Zargabaath!” Two years of dreariness vanished as the Emperor dashed down the platform. The Judge Magister barely had enough time to remove his deadly pointed helmet before he dropped it to catch the boy who had flung himself into his arms.
“Sire!” Zargabaath chuckled, “you must be more careful!”
“You’re finally back!” Larsa laughed, the sound so foreign to him after all this time. “How fare you, Judge Magister?”
“Bah.” The Judge scoffed, “I am far too old and far too important to be running such petty endless errands.”
Excitedly Larsa slipped his hand into that familiar grip. All the Judge Magisters he had loved. All he had lost, except for this one.
“Come come! There is to be a gathering for the Rozarrian ambassadors and I’ve naught any companions to sneak away with!”
“Larsa,” Zargabaath tisked, though he chuckled at the boy’s expression. “A boy might have been able to slip away but an Emperor is not easily lost in a crowd.”
“Then at least help me get dressed!” Larsa tugged, half running in his delight that a familiar face was back.
“Your Excellency, Judge Magister Zargabaath must-” A Senator looked indignant.
“-accompany me and help me prepare for the ambassadors.” Larsa declared in a tone filled with a confidence the Senate had not seen. This was dangerous.
***
“Sire! Slow down!” Zargabaath groaned, thankful to the Gods when they reached Larsa’s chambers. Behind he knew Gabranth followed closely.
“Oh you must tell me everything!” Larsa breathlessly pleaded as he slipped behind the intricate folding screen to toss over his morning robes.
“Dalmasca is prospering. Her Majesty Ashelia is well. There was a pesky sky pirate who managed to infiltrate the palace security to visit her. An acquaintance?” Zargabaath teased.
“Certainly not!” Mock horror from behind the screen.
“I thought not.” He cleared his throat and continued. “Rabanastre bodes well. Two years now sit behind us after Bahamut’s fall, and the once shaky peace between all our countries strengthens under your rule and hers.”
Larsa emerged in his formal robes, beaming. “You seem to have polished your knack for giving good news, Zargabaath. No news of conquering princes and brave maidens who risk everything for love?” He referred to days of the Judge Magister weaving tales from kingdoms in far far away worlds, to ‘report’ to a young Larsa.
“Alas no, but Gabranth was always the one with better reports. Afterall, he was in charge of retrieving information, before the task was given to me. Come now Gabranth!” Zargabaath looked over his shoulder to where the other Judge stood in the corner. “Give us news from the Ancient world of Terra and the life of the Genomes!”
“No.” Larsa shook his head, a small sad smile on his lips. “No Zargabaath. We haven’t the time now.”
***
The days crawled by. The papers seemed unending. The visits seemed to last hours. The speeches seemed repetitive. The promises seemed false. Duty after duty, crossed off a schedule as another day turned into another night. Larsa fancied himself stuck in a cruel cycle.
Zargabaath soon noticed something sorely amiss. He caught the Emperor reading over new treaties in the Drawing Room, Gabranth in the corner watching. The scene was wrong. Gabranth would never have stood in the corner, for that added precious seconds to the time it would take him to dash to Larsa’s side. Larsa would never be awake at this ungodly hour, even if the work was crucial.
And the light was gone from his eyes. When Zargabaath had returned from his unsavory errand of ‘observing’ Dalmasca, Larsa’s eyes were alit with the boisterous joy he was known for. But here in Gabranth’s presence they were empty; his figure slumped with weariness, his face hollow. Gabranth would never have permitted such a thing for his much beloved charge.
He watched Larsa carefully, noting how thin his wrist looked. How skeletal it appeared, with pallid skin wrapped tightly around it. How it trembled slightly. Larsa was ill, and Gabranth had not noticed? The thought sent a shiver down Zargabaath’s spine. Oh if Drace were around to see this, he thought, you’d be black and blue, Gabranth.
Larsa suddenly perked.
“Zargabaath?”
“Aye, sire.” He nodded, stepping into the doorway. A little light crept into Larsa’s tired eyes.
“Did the Senate send you running on foolish errands again?” He watched as the Judge walked to him and took his hand, kissing his knuckles fondly.
“They’ll drive me to an early grave.” He sighed, rubbing his temple. Larsa drew his hand back as if burnt, and it took Zargabaath a moment to realize the err of his wording. “Sire-”
“I forbid you to ever say such a thing in my presence.” Larsa’s lip trembled as he ordered him sternly. Zargabaath lowered his head in shame and compliance.
“Of course, Larsa.” The drop in formality permitted a tiny smile to replace Larsa’s quivering lip.
***
“You are not Gabranth.” Zargabaath noted, once the Emperor was sound asleep. The other Judge Magister stiffened.
“I am he.”
“Liar.” Zargabaath spat. “Gabranth would never neglect his duty.”
“Naught a day has passed when I have failed in my duty!” Gabranth hissed.
“His Excellency is ill! Gabranth would have noticed this within a heartbeat!”
The accusation hung in the air, tangible to touch.
“You may look exactly like Gabranth, but you are not him. Gabranth loves Larsa with more than dutiful obligation.” It made him uneasy, that this stranger shared Gabranth’s eyes. And his face. And his voice. But he knew, knew from the twelve joyous years of watching over Larsa, that this was not Gabranth.
“He must hate seeing you, Basch fon Ronsenburg.” The Judge shook his head, sighing tiredly. “You wear Gabranth’s clothing, his appearance and his voice. Yet you lack the love he gave Larsa blindly.”
Basch said nothing, finding the helmet suddenly stifling. He removed it and set it down on his lap.
“Only the body of armor is his. The original cape and helmet are kept in Noah’s old private chambers that were sealed off to all except Larsa. Larsa forbade me to ever enter or touch the items.”
“What does he keep them for?” The Judge ran a hand through his graying hair, watching the other man carefully.
“Sometimes he sneaks away into Noah’s room when I am sleeping. The next morning I will find him wrapped in Noah’s cape, his arms around his helmet.”
Tangible silence. Velvet heavy. Zargabaath felt his weary heart sink a few more levels.
“This does not worry you at all, Judge Magister?”
“It seems to help him sleep. He is well when I wake him, and he performs his duties flawlessly.”
“Flawlessly?” He echoed with an empty laugh. “When did he last eat a decent meal, Basch? When was the last time he wrote without his hands shaking? The last time he could sit in sunshine without a mound of papers on his lap?”
Basch opened his mouth but discovered no words forming. Zargabaath laughed bitterly.
“More importantly, Judge Magister- when was the last time he smiled for you?”
***
Never never never. Three days had passed and he still mulled over the final question Zargabaath asked. His own answer disturbed him.
Larsa had never smiled for him. Strange, when he had met the boy and noted how bubbly he was. Such was the burden of rule. It sucked the boy dry, when he had little spirit to spare after losing all he held dear.
“What would you do, Noah?” Basch asked as he watched the exhausted Emperor almost engulfed by the flamboyant linens of his robes, sitting at his desk.
Tea.
“A moment, sire.” Basch bowed, leaving the room after Larsa had tiredly waved him permission. He walked briskly to small kitchen that catered for refreshments on this particularly level of the palace. A maid curtsied.
“Judge Magister?”
“I want a cup of tea.” Basch’s words slipped out of their own accord.
“Sire.” She curtsied again, but before she could leave to start on the cup of tea he stopped her.
“No. I want to make it myself.”
“Oh, is it for Lord Larsa, Judge Magister Gabranth? The hour is late and my eyes are weary so I had forgotten t’was you had spoken. Do forgive me.” She curtsied low before bustling away.
So Gabranth made tea for Larsa, Basch noted, on a regular basis. But how did Larsa like his tea?
He began to pour the tea into a cup, before stirring in sugar. Maybe Larsa liked sugar? Did he like milk, too? He added a little milk.
No. Not like this.
“No. Not like this.” Basch poured the contents of the cup down the sink.
Honey.
“Honey.” He stirred a teaspoon of honey into a fresh cup of tea.
A dusting of cinnamon.
“Cinnamon.” Basch dusted cinnamon into the cup before stirring it a final time.
He carefully carried the saucer and cup with its steaming contents, before setting it atop the huge table littered with papers.
“Your Exc-”
Larsa.
“Larsa?”
The Emperor jerked his head up, blinking at Basch with mild surprise before looking at the cup of tea. He traced the rim of the cup. A plain cup, green with the Solidor sigil instead of the new fancy cups with his monogram.
“My favorite cup…” Larsa breathed, before taking a sip. His eyes stung not from the heat of the tea. “My favorite tea…”
His brows creased as he set the cup back on its saucer, before turning to Basch. A tiny, tired smile spread across his lips.
“Thank you Basch.” Inside his heart beat a little faster, as a flicker of warmth entered those cold raincloud eyes.
***
Please forgive me for the sorrow, for leaving you in fear
For the dreams we had to silence, that´s all they´ll ever be
Still I´ll be the hand that serves you
Though you´ll not see that it is me
-Within Temptation, ‘Hands of Sorrow’
*******
I always imagined there would be tensions between Larsa and Basch after the game. Think about it- Basch is more a Dalmascan Captain than a Judge Magister suited for politics. He is to Ashe what Gabranth was to Larsa- a guardian and close confidante. So imagine how torn he must be, giving up his watch over the little girl who had blossomed into a Queen, to watch over his brother's charge.
And Larsa. He's only twelve but his whole family, extended to the Judges bar Zargabath, are all dead. He must rule an Empire the world hates, and his people would pretty much think he is just like his brother- ruthless and cunning. Despite how strong he tries to be, inside his heart is still rather tender, with now no one to protect and cherish it.
I hope you all liked it, regardless of my waffling ^^;