Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy nor do I profit from the writing of this piece. It simply came to me one day.

Larsa stood on the balcony outside his personal chambers and let out the heaviest of sighs. He felt ill at ease since his return to Archades, though he had yet to understand why. Understandably, the death of his father had left him lost and adrift in a world that loved to devour and destroy the innocence of a young person such as himself. Larsa had already lost his mother and two elder brothers. One more death just seemed so . . . unfair, as it were, but it explained nothing of his feelings since his return. He leaned against the railing of the balcony, gazing out at the city he called home.

Perhaps his uneasiness had to do with his brother. For some reason yet to be explained, Vayne had become overly protective of him, not allowing him a single chance to roam freely. Gabranth followed him closely, sometimes with another Judge but mostly by himself. To Larsa, it seemed as if Vayne wanted to protect him from something terrible yet he could not deny what he had seen with his very eyes. In his mind, nothing was worse than Balthier's cutting words about the Empire on the way to Bur-Omisace or the sight that accompanied the sky pirate's harshness. They were words with the sting of truth, and Larsa could never, would never, deny such a thing. To do so would be dishonourable, and he tried to live his life as honourably as he could. It bothered Larsa to see those refugees trudging through the Paramina Rift, their feet nearly bare and their clothes ragged. It was why he insisted they protect the group from the creatures prowling the snow-covered lands. He truly wanted no more bloodshed. If his brother sought to protect him from something terrible, in Larsa's estimation, Vayne failed, and he had failed miserably.

Larsa shook his head. No. It was not Vayne's over-protectiveness that bothered him. It ran a little deeper, to something unnamable, intangible . . . something that lay beyond his grasp and comprehension. He closed his eyes.

Bergen had yet to return to Archades. Perhaps that was where his uneasiness lay. Judge Gabranth had not been alone when he arrived at Bur-Omisace, but he had left after Larsa agreed to return home. Bergen had not, and now rumours were abundant about Bergen's death along with those of the Grand Kiltias. Some were saying it was a group of bandits who entered the Grand Kiltias's temple and slew him, Bergen there to defend the Dream-Sage, but Larsa did not put much faith in such rumours. If what Gabranth had told him was true, and Larsa believed the Judge more than he did anyone else, it was Bergen who killed the Dream-Sage, and the Lady Ashe arrived too late to save him. Again, Larsa let out a sigh.

The Lady Ashe . . . he knew how much she had given up to protect the small group of people traveling with her. First it was the Dusk Shard, only Vaan had possession of it, and he handed it over to save the princess. Then it was the Dawn Shard, and she had handed it to Ghis to save Balthier. Only the Lady Ashe still carried it with her, the nethicite now devoid of power. On the journey through the Golmore Jungle, Larsa learned through Vaan and Penelo it was the Dawn Shard that destroyed the 8th Imperial Fleet along with a valued ally.

Hearing such news stirred feelings of anger and rage within Larsa, and he wanted to rally against the Gods and ask them why. Why this war? Why was it the Princess Ashe had to give up more and more just to protect her people? Why could his brother not see reason and treat with her? Why did so many people need to suffer and perish without cause or reason? Sure, most of the people in Archades were still well off, profiting from manufacturing weapons and armors for the Imperial army, but Larsa had seen first hand what had become of the people of Dalmasca who still opposed the Archadian Empire or who wished to flee it.

He did not understand the weaves of History's fabric, and he doubted he ever would. The confusion, the feelings of uneasiness, they were overwhelming, and Larsa wanted to beat his head against the nearest wall. From behind him, he heard footsteps, but he did not bother to turn around. He had enough on his mind. He did not want any more burdens to rest on his shoulders.

"Is everything all right, Larsa?"

"Yes, brother, I am just fine," he lied. Larsa refused, however, to even glance at his brother. His turmoil was his own, and he wanted to sift through his confusion on his own and in his own way. He felt a hand clasp his shoulder.

"I sense that you are not fine," Vayne replied. "The death of our father must weigh heavily upon you. You loved him, and he loved you quite dearly. So much so, he would do anything to protect you. As would I."

"I know, brother," Larsa murmured. He wanted to ask who would protect the people of Rabanastre and Dalmasca in general or even the people of Archades and the rest of Ivalice. However, he refrained from asking such questions. Penelo's words of how Vayne frightened her were suddenly in his mind, and he started to question his own safety with his brother around. Yet, he could not deny he still loved his brother. They were blood, and there was nothing in the world that could destroy such a bond. Even Gabranth still loved his brother to some extent, though they served opposing lords.

"I wish you could see his death as a blessing," Vayne said, his voice soft.

"Why would you say that?" Larsa whirled around, his eyes wide, and shock and outrage coursing through his blood. It was their father Vayne was talking about so casually. How could anyone's death be a blessing? Vayne regarded him with sadness and gentleness, the type reserved for siblings. "He's our father! How could his death be a blessing?"

"I say it because our father was quite ill before his untimely demise," he replied with great seriousness. "I spoke with him upon my return to Archades. Though he tried to hide it, I could see how his illness was taking its toll on him. It is a blessing for him, Larsa, for he is not suffering any longer. The pain has left him. He is free of this world."

A part of Larsa could see the truth in his brother's words. He wanted to rail against that truth, to deny everything passing Vayne's lips. However, as with Balthier's words and the sight of the refugees heading for Bur-Omisace, Larsa knew he could do no such thing. Before he left for the village of Jahara, he, too, had noticed the Emperor's decline in health. There was not a doctor nor an apothecary the Solidor patriarch had not visited. The Emperor wished to become better, to continue tutoring his son in what was expected of him should he and Vayne both die. Each visit remained the same. No one could save him from the inevitable. It was only a matter of time before the disease claimed Gramis's life. Larsa's shoulders slumped as the rage and shock fled his body, and he turned away from his brother.

"Of course, he was ill," Larsa murmured. "How silly of me to forget such a thing."

"You are not silly nor did you forget," Vayne said. "You were hoping for a miracle. You are a boy who wishes for his father to still be alive and to be in good health. In that respect, it makes you no different than any other child who has lost a parent. It makes you no different than myself."

As he spoke, Vayne slid an arm around Larsa's shoulder and pulled him close in a half hug. Warm lips brushed against Larsa's temple. Again, Vayne spoke only the truth to him yet his older brother had not even touched the surface of everything truly bothering him. Larsa did not even want to broach the subjects he wished to discuss. He felt exhausted, as if he had not slept in days.

"You are tired," Vayne commented. "Your journey to Bur-Omisace and return to Archades must have been tiring for you. It must have been a shock to learn of our father's death while you were away from home. I shall leave you to your rest."

"Yes," Larsa whispered. "I am tired."

"Then rest. Please . . . if there is anything you need of me, do not hesitate to ask," Vayne said. He hugged Larsa one more time then slowly left the room, leaving the young prince once again to his thoughts.

* * *

"He conspires against you," Cid murmured. "You are aware of that, yes?"

"He is young yet," Vayne said. "Someday, he will understand why I must do the things I have. I will not see him destroyed or sullied by the likes of the Senate or by this war."

"And of the Lady Ashe? What of her influence on him?" Cid asked. Vayne regarded his friend.

Lady Ashelia, in truth, was of little concern to Vayne where Larsa, and the kingdom of Dalmasca, was concerned. Though she carried with her the Dawn Shard and the Sword of Kings, she posed no threat to the plans Vayne had in mind for his younger brother and the kingdom of Dalmasca. In his mind, he and the Lady Ashe had much in common when it came to the people of Dalmasca, and he doubted she would become a threat to him in the near future. It was only a matter of time before she learned the truth, anyway.

'No,' he mused, 'that is not entirely true. She is a threat to my designs, but she is a threat that can be easily eliminated. I will allow her to roam around a little while longer before destroying her.'

"She is not as much of an influence on Larsa as you might believe," Vayne murmured. "If anything, he has probably influenced her more than the other way around."

"All the more reason to keep a closer eye on him," Cid said. "I know you do not wish for harm to come to your younger brother, but what should happen lest he decide to run off and join her again? What will you do if you have to fight your younger brother?"

"Pray that day will never come, Doctor," Vayne said. "For should that come to pass, the world as we know it will end, and it will not be a pretty picture. Besides, I have faith in Larsa. He will not disappoint me."

"I only hope your majesty is right," Cid said. Then he tilted his head and nodded. "Of course, of course. We are here for another purpose all together. It is about the Mid-Light Shard. We have good news for you, Lord Vayne, good news indeed!"