Heart's Empire: Prologue
Title: Heart's Empire: Prologue
Fandom: FFXII
Characters: Larsa, Ensemble
Rating: PG
Format: Chaptered
Status: Complete, polished, spellchecked.
Words: 1310
Disclaimer: I don't claim ownership of characters or games, only themes within.
Summary: Small scene from FFXII, set right before the Golmore Jungle
Author's Note: Sometimes you write, and you don't have any purpose for writing it. Not a lot of great meaning. You just feel like writing. Or at least I do. ;) Here we go then. Cross posted to my journal, ffxii_fic, and larsaxpenelo.
Heart's Empire: Prologue
This was the empire, Larsa thought, sitting back against a firm rock, the fire flickering in the center of the circle they all made. This was why he continued to walk the world instead of returning to his father's side. Vaan was toasting the end of a stick, watching it slowly be eaten by the hot embers, as Penelo leaned up against his shoulder, her hand comfortably on his leg. They worked together well, said the sensible part of Larsa's brain. The rest of him thought that was a heap of unpalatable pig swill, and he looked away from the comforting scene the two closet to him in age provided.
He instead tried to focus on Basch and Ashe, where they were talking quietly and making plans for what they would do when they finally managed their ultimate goal of putting Ashe back into power. Was it traitorous to wish them luck? He still struggled with that. Would Vayne think it was? He bit the inside of his cheek and shifted his weight.
A soft murmur of cloth on cloth drew his gaze back to Penelo. Her eyes were closed and heavy, lips parted just the slightest with her deep breathing. Vaan was trying to rearrange her without waking her up; he shifted his arm around her waist to pull her close and she murmured in protest. Her hand pressed against Vaan's thigh and she grumbled, pulling up and away, her hair out of sorts and spiking up in her braids. Balthier leaned over without a word and handed her a comb and a mirror.
“You need to do something about your hair, Penelo,” Vaan said, and she flushed across the bridge of her nose before sticking her tongue out. Vaan's voice carried, distracting Basch and Ashe for a moment. The pair of insurgents flicked their gaze to the two blonds before going back to their conversation. Larsa sighed.
One thing this adventure had proved to him, certainly, was that the lower class were sometimes as surprising in their ability to be rude without realizing it as the upper class. There was just a difference in vocabulary.
He got to his knees and moved closer to Penelo as she sat back, crossing her legs. He took the comb from her hand and looked at her.
“May I?” he asked, and she tilted her head to one side, looking at him with confusion on her face. “I always wanted...”
Vaan was watching him guardedly.
“... a sister,” Larsa concluded, deciding that was perhaps the more diplomatic way of things. Penelo shrugged her shoulder.
“It might be nice,” she said as she shot Vaan a look, “to have some help instead of criticism.” Vaan rolled his eyes and relaxed back, his arms tucked behind his head, but Larsa felt the future-sky-pirate's eyes on him. He pulled the leather ties from Penelo's hair and brushed out the kinked blonde strands. Penelo's shoulders tensed and then relaxed, shoulders sagging a little. “Is there a bath house on the mountain?” she asked, a familiar plaintive tone to her voice he'd recognized in his pet cats when they wanted delicacies of caviar. He was grateful the back of her head was to him as the image of Penelo the pampered palace cat was an amusing one.
“You think too much about bathing,” Vaan said, “a guy would think you like looking like a dried prune or something.”
“There's nothing wrong with being clean,” Penelo said, “you might even get better jobs if you washed behind your ears with a little greater frequency.” Her words were more teasing than sharp, and Larsa began braiding her hair back up again, hoping to be unsuccessful as many times as possible. Or at least as many times before she became frustrated with him. Then he would do it correctly. Penelo turned her head a little and looked at him. “Tell him there's nothing wrong with being clean.”
Vaan made a noise of disgust, but Larsa repeated her words without hesitation;
“There is nothing wrong with being clean,” he said with a smile. Vaan rolled his eyes again.
"If you say so," he said, doubt heavy in his words. He relaxed further, resting his head against one pack and closing his eyes.
"There we are," Larsa said, tying off the last leather thong in her hair. She turned, torso twisting, and caught his hand as his fingers accidentally brushed her cheek. He froze.
"Thank you Larsa," she said, leaning up and forwards to kiss his cheek. Penelo pulled away to settle down besides Vaan, curling up against her childhood friend, and slowly blossoming sweetheart, Larsa thought with a pang.
"You're welcome," he said, but she was drifting already, head nestled on Vaan's chest, one arm slung across his waist in a comfortable, long-practiced pose. Larsa got to his feet, brushing the dust from his clothing, and went beyond the ring of light to where the Chocobos were tethered. He unfastened his own bedroll and brought it back to the fire, laying it out between where Vaan and Penelo were curled up on one side, and Balthier sharpened a small dagger on the other.
"There are some battles," Balthier said without looking up, "that are not worth the effort of fighting. Perhaps you understand my meaning?" Fran blinked sleepily, the light reflecting in her dilated pupils just beyond Balthier.
"Not really," she said, stretching as her spine popped audibly. Larsa smoothed the wrinkles in his bedroll, pulled his boots off, and slid into the semi-comfort of the wrapped blankets. The stars glinted above and he tried to search out every constellation he knew, but many were unfamiliar to him, as close to the mountain as they were.
"I understand your meaning, Balthier," Larsa said, turning on his side, the cushioning of the pillow underneath his head comforting; even if it did not have the familiar scents of home, at least it felt like it.
"The men of House Solidor were never known to back down from a challenge, nor battles that were weighed against them though, were they?" Balthier looked up from his work, clever gaze meeting Larsa's.
"No," Larsa said, trying to contain a yawn that was fighting hard to get out. He buried it behind his hand. "We have strict protocols about things such as backing down. It is quite frowned upon." Balthier's lips turned up at the corners and he shook his head, and Larsa answered it with a small smile of his own.
"I will wish you luck with that particular trial then." Balthier's blade pointed towards the curled pair, if his gaze did not. Larsa risked one more glance at the stars before closing his eyes.
"My thanks then, although I hope my victory has nothing to do with luck." The day was catching up with him with a speed he had anticipated.
"We all wish luck had nothing to do with victories, it would mean they would be fair, and that the winner truly did deserve his gains. But that might put me out of business, being a breaker of laws and a capitalizer of the elusive lady of luck myself."
"And who said that luck was a lady?" he heard Fran say as he drifted away on a many-petaled lotus, and the argument dulled in his ears. He thought he heard Balthier's pithy response, but it was lost in a sea of blonde hair and a quick, steady smile that enveloped him in his dreams. At least here, if no where else, he could indulge in his true desires, when waking up would mean a return of weighted, uncomfortable reality, and the mantle of power he was not ready to take on quite yet. This was the empire, his final fading thoughts were, and he meant to make her his empress.
Fandom: FFXII
Characters: Larsa, Ensemble
Rating: PG
Format: Chaptered
Status: Complete, polished, spellchecked.
Words: 1310
Disclaimer: I don't claim ownership of characters or games, only themes within.
Summary: Small scene from FFXII, set right before the Golmore Jungle
Author's Note: Sometimes you write, and you don't have any purpose for writing it. Not a lot of great meaning. You just feel like writing. Or at least I do. ;) Here we go then. Cross posted to my journal, ffxii_fic, and larsaxpenelo.
Heart's Empire: Prologue
This was the empire, Larsa thought, sitting back against a firm rock, the fire flickering in the center of the circle they all made. This was why he continued to walk the world instead of returning to his father's side. Vaan was toasting the end of a stick, watching it slowly be eaten by the hot embers, as Penelo leaned up against his shoulder, her hand comfortably on his leg. They worked together well, said the sensible part of Larsa's brain. The rest of him thought that was a heap of unpalatable pig swill, and he looked away from the comforting scene the two closet to him in age provided.
He instead tried to focus on Basch and Ashe, where they were talking quietly and making plans for what they would do when they finally managed their ultimate goal of putting Ashe back into power. Was it traitorous to wish them luck? He still struggled with that. Would Vayne think it was? He bit the inside of his cheek and shifted his weight.
A soft murmur of cloth on cloth drew his gaze back to Penelo. Her eyes were closed and heavy, lips parted just the slightest with her deep breathing. Vaan was trying to rearrange her without waking her up; he shifted his arm around her waist to pull her close and she murmured in protest. Her hand pressed against Vaan's thigh and she grumbled, pulling up and away, her hair out of sorts and spiking up in her braids. Balthier leaned over without a word and handed her a comb and a mirror.
“You need to do something about your hair, Penelo,” Vaan said, and she flushed across the bridge of her nose before sticking her tongue out. Vaan's voice carried, distracting Basch and Ashe for a moment. The pair of insurgents flicked their gaze to the two blonds before going back to their conversation. Larsa sighed.
One thing this adventure had proved to him, certainly, was that the lower class were sometimes as surprising in their ability to be rude without realizing it as the upper class. There was just a difference in vocabulary.
He got to his knees and moved closer to Penelo as she sat back, crossing her legs. He took the comb from her hand and looked at her.
“May I?” he asked, and she tilted her head to one side, looking at him with confusion on her face. “I always wanted...”
Vaan was watching him guardedly.
“... a sister,” Larsa concluded, deciding that was perhaps the more diplomatic way of things. Penelo shrugged her shoulder.
“It might be nice,” she said as she shot Vaan a look, “to have some help instead of criticism.” Vaan rolled his eyes and relaxed back, his arms tucked behind his head, but Larsa felt the future-sky-pirate's eyes on him. He pulled the leather ties from Penelo's hair and brushed out the kinked blonde strands. Penelo's shoulders tensed and then relaxed, shoulders sagging a little. “Is there a bath house on the mountain?” she asked, a familiar plaintive tone to her voice he'd recognized in his pet cats when they wanted delicacies of caviar. He was grateful the back of her head was to him as the image of Penelo the pampered palace cat was an amusing one.
“You think too much about bathing,” Vaan said, “a guy would think you like looking like a dried prune or something.”
“There's nothing wrong with being clean,” Penelo said, “you might even get better jobs if you washed behind your ears with a little greater frequency.” Her words were more teasing than sharp, and Larsa began braiding her hair back up again, hoping to be unsuccessful as many times as possible. Or at least as many times before she became frustrated with him. Then he would do it correctly. Penelo turned her head a little and looked at him. “Tell him there's nothing wrong with being clean.”
Vaan made a noise of disgust, but Larsa repeated her words without hesitation;
“There is nothing wrong with being clean,” he said with a smile. Vaan rolled his eyes again.
"If you say so," he said, doubt heavy in his words. He relaxed further, resting his head against one pack and closing his eyes.
"There we are," Larsa said, tying off the last leather thong in her hair. She turned, torso twisting, and caught his hand as his fingers accidentally brushed her cheek. He froze.
"Thank you Larsa," she said, leaning up and forwards to kiss his cheek. Penelo pulled away to settle down besides Vaan, curling up against her childhood friend, and slowly blossoming sweetheart, Larsa thought with a pang.
"You're welcome," he said, but she was drifting already, head nestled on Vaan's chest, one arm slung across his waist in a comfortable, long-practiced pose. Larsa got to his feet, brushing the dust from his clothing, and went beyond the ring of light to where the Chocobos were tethered. He unfastened his own bedroll and brought it back to the fire, laying it out between where Vaan and Penelo were curled up on one side, and Balthier sharpened a small dagger on the other.
"There are some battles," Balthier said without looking up, "that are not worth the effort of fighting. Perhaps you understand my meaning?" Fran blinked sleepily, the light reflecting in her dilated pupils just beyond Balthier.
"Not really," she said, stretching as her spine popped audibly. Larsa smoothed the wrinkles in his bedroll, pulled his boots off, and slid into the semi-comfort of the wrapped blankets. The stars glinted above and he tried to search out every constellation he knew, but many were unfamiliar to him, as close to the mountain as they were.
"I understand your meaning, Balthier," Larsa said, turning on his side, the cushioning of the pillow underneath his head comforting; even if it did not have the familiar scents of home, at least it felt like it.
"The men of House Solidor were never known to back down from a challenge, nor battles that were weighed against them though, were they?" Balthier looked up from his work, clever gaze meeting Larsa's.
"No," Larsa said, trying to contain a yawn that was fighting hard to get out. He buried it behind his hand. "We have strict protocols about things such as backing down. It is quite frowned upon." Balthier's lips turned up at the corners and he shook his head, and Larsa answered it with a small smile of his own.
"I will wish you luck with that particular trial then." Balthier's blade pointed towards the curled pair, if his gaze did not. Larsa risked one more glance at the stars before closing his eyes.
"My thanks then, although I hope my victory has nothing to do with luck." The day was catching up with him with a speed he had anticipated.
"We all wish luck had nothing to do with victories, it would mean they would be fair, and that the winner truly did deserve his gains. But that might put me out of business, being a breaker of laws and a capitalizer of the elusive lady of luck myself."
"And who said that luck was a lady?" he heard Fran say as he drifted away on a many-petaled lotus, and the argument dulled in his ears. He thought he heard Balthier's pithy response, but it was lost in a sea of blonde hair and a quick, steady smile that enveloped him in his dreams. At least here, if no where else, he could indulge in his true desires, when waking up would mean a return of weighted, uncomfortable reality, and the mantle of power he was not ready to take on quite yet. This was the empire, his final fading thoughts were, and he meant to make her his empress.