Disclaim it: I don't own it. Square Enix does.
Warnings: I have never played FF Revenant Wings. Too bad, but oh well. I've played FFXII, but not FFRW. I feel sad. Beware of the story's irrelevance to some places and total suspicions on a lot of characters' orientation.
Story Title: Charms
Summary: Years after the war, Basch has to make a decision: to return to Dalmasca and to Ashe, or to stay with Larsa. Restless hearts try to find each other and Basch slowly realizes that he wasn't quite as alone as he originally thought he was…
A/N:I am suddenly inspired to write an FFXII fanfic. This story'll probably be angsty, and it hurts my funny bone just thinking of the angst that I'll put Basch through. I'm such
a bastard.
Extra A/N: I know Basch and Noah's homelands was the Republic of Landis, but for the sake of all that is holy, let's just make it Nabradia. I'm using all the artistic liberties here…
Additional Warnings: Shounen-ai (meaning boy love), and a lot of other things that will be stated later. OH! Angst. Be warned that there will be angst.
Word goal: 1000
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Prologue – Cold Winds through Nabreus
The fog over took the lands, slowly creeping up on its hinges and crawling. Mist swirled over his body, and waters that was once pure, ran stagnant, stinking up what was once his homelands. Basch, head bent, reverently cradled his helmet to his chest, sinking his knees into the muddy waters of the Deadlands.
His younger brother, Noah fon Rosenburg, lay there. In that stinking pile of mist infested soil. And who was insane enough to lay a body there for rest? He was. Basch knew where his brother had wanted to be buried, and he did it. With his own bare hands, Basch dug a grave deep into the grounds, and despite the smell, temperature and emotional trauma he went through—
He didn't feel at all sad. Now he had a whole knew burden to bear upon his world weary shoulders. It was up to him, to take up his brother's stead of taking care of the young, naïve Solidor heir. It was up to him to raise the young, blooming boy and make sure he was brought up correctly. And in all honesty, he hadn't wanted any part of it.
At first, Basch wanted to scream at the look of utter resignation on Noah's face—but he was already aware that it was too late—his younger brother was dying. On that day, when Vayne Curadas Solidor had been blasted into oblivion, Basch had wanted to do nothing but curl up into his old room in Rabanastre and pretend that this whole adventure never happened.
But when cold hands clasped to his own, Basch was jolted back into reality. Sweat rolled down his face, and he stared. The hands he was holding were bloody and calloused from countless battles, and it comforted him to hear a familiar, hoarse voice rasping, "Not yet. Don't go." Dazed eyes cracked open, chipped brown staring up into his identical ones. "You must remember this brother: lose Larsa and we lose the empire. Protect him. I would entrust him to no other's care."
Basch only nodded, and gripped Noah's hands tightly. "I will keep him from harm. I promise you—for the Empire, and for Dalmasca."
A little chuckle escaped Noah's throat, and he smiled. It was ill-suited to his dying face, and Basch wanted to badly to remember this moment forever. Although he knew this memory would haunt him for days to come, Basch committed it to memory, savoring the last few seconds with his only kin. "Your words put me at ease, brother," Noah remarked softly, smile finally turning into a twisted grimace. "Sorry to leave you brother, but I am tired. Spare a weary soldier your mercy, please."
And then his younger brother had died in front of him. His chest had stopped, and his heart had halted, and then eyes closed and his breathing had evened out. Basch hated the Solidor family, then. For taking away his life, his twin—the only man that knew him inside and out. If he was truly honest with himself though, Basch only hated himself. His helpless, simpering self.
...And now that Basch reflected upon it, all he wanted to do was sleep forever.
To be reunited with his liege and his kin and kith seemed like a wonderful paradise. If only he could grasp that fleeting heaven into his hands.
"Brother," Basch whispered, placing a bundle of roughly-picked flowers onto a bulge in the ground. "I've come here for advice."
A wind blew, and Basch managed a small smile. "So you know, brother. I have come here to ask you about our lord. What am I to do with him? He is growing up and," Basch's smile faded, "I am growing old. No mother or father looks to lord Larsa with the same reverence and respect we do. What shall I do?"
The wind stayed there, gently blowing into Basch's face. It was as if his brother were saying, "Let the matter die. Follow what you know is right."
Basch's hands stiffened and his shoulders slumped.
"I will keep that in mind then, brother." With that, Basch abruptly stood up and stalked to where his liege was sitting, picking at the fine fabric of his tunic. Pale blue eyes regarded him, and a frown was on Larsa's striking visage.
"You took longer than last time, Basch," the young king-to-be noted. "Next time we are to visit your homelands, remind me to bring something to do."
"I apologize for my inconsistency, my lord," Basch instantly replied, bowing. "I shall keep in mind of the hour the next time we are to come here."
"No, no," Larsa waved a hand, and a corner of his lips lifted. "It is quite all right, Basch. I do not mind waiting. It's actually kind of refreshing."
Only someone like you would say that, Basch thought dryly, but instead said:
"As you wish, my lord."
Sweeping his cape to one side, Basch lifted the helmet back onto his head and turned, motioning to Larsa to follow him. The prince—otherwise king in two years—deftly followed, and not a word was exchanged as they boarded the newly constructed airship, Noah.
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A/N: And there you have it, the first chapter. Enjoy. ;)
Anyway, if you must know why it's so short, it's because this story is a prompt for me. It'll be a hurdle through my awful writing block! HURRAH!