The dust had not yet settled from the war when Larsa's nightmares started. It was a predictable reaction, with the horror he had seen and experienced. Grown men would have had nightmares from the terrors of war and destruction, and Larsa was still but a boy. It was probably true that no child was a stranger to nightmares, and though his family had tried to shelter him from the truth of the world for much of his life, Larsa was not an exception. He did not often have them, but they had occurred when he was very small.
Back then, he had crept to his brother's room and slipped into his bed for safety. But Vayne was not always around, and Larsa did not feel close enough to his father to seek him out for comfort. Instead, if Vayne was gone, Larsa sought out the only other person who was a constant in his life – Judge Gabranth. It was not often that he would find Gabranth asleep, even if he was not on duty. Still, he would go to him. If here were on duty, it would only ever be in the walls at night. It was not until much later that Gabranth was sent on long missions away from the capitol (though it was only later that Larsa realized it was because neither Vayne nor his father fully trusted the man). Even if he were patrolling the halls, Larsa could always find him eventually. The boy was good at moving through the halls unnoticed. There was only once another Judge found him and made him return to his own room. After that, he learned to be more and more careful.
On the rare nights that Gabranth was in his chamber, Larsa would slide into his bed instead of Vayne's. Unlike Vayne, Gabranth did not stay long with him. Vayne would simply go back to sleep. Gabranth, however, would sit up until Larsa fell back asleep. If he ever slept after that, Larsa did not know, for he would be gone in the morning. Still, it was more comfort than being alone. And even with Gabranth's distant manner, Larsa could go back to sleep feeling safe from whatever plagued his dreams.
After the war, of course, there was no longer any chance Larsa would find comfort from his brother. The dead could not provide solace, after all. The first time after the fighting that Larsa woke afraid, he went to his brother's empty room anyway. But there was no comfort there. There was only emptiness, only a place that had once been familiar, now cold and empty. Larsa had been so angry at Vayne, and had stood against him, but he had not wished him dead. Halfway through the confrontation with Vayne, Larsa had realized that the only way to stop him was to kill him. He did not want it, and did not really assist in completing such a task, but he knew that was the way of it. Either Vayne or Ashe had to die that day, to end the fighting, and he had known it. He had stayed with Gabranth and escaped witnessing the final battle, but he had known the likely outcome. Vayne's empty room reminded him of that, and it only made the nightmares worse.
Sealing off Vayne's room did not stop the dreams, or the feeling of guilt. Unlike the nightmares he'd had as a very small child, these ones did not vanish with the dawn. They haunted his thoughts during the day, clouding his features when he thought no one was watching.
But there was one man who watched him very closely – perhaps closer than the man he shared a face with.
"My lord, there is something troubling you," Basch said, after a meeting with the new Senate ended. Larsa put up with the meetings as well as he could. He had much more patience than most boys his age, having learned it all his life, growing up with the expectation of politicking placed on him as soon as he could speak. He was used to listening to old men drone on about policies. Now, of course, there was an urgency to it – how to keep the Empire from collapsing, how to keep the citizenry happy, how to recoup the cost of Vayne's war and the loss of more ships than just theBahamut. It went on, as it had for the past weeks. Larsa did not go to all of the Senate meetings – only the ones where they tried to get something out of him. The Senators were all different now, having been elected anew, but politicians were much the same, and to their eyes, he was still a child. He was hard to manipulate, though, and they were learning that.
"It is nothing," Larsa answered, waving a hand and forcing a smile. He'd have done the same to anyone who had asked, of course. Basch was not the only one who wore a mask that did not quite suit him.
Basch did not answer right away. He was silent all the way down the hall to the room where they would wait for lunch. Larsa was in the habit of taking meals alone, leaving Basch to stand watch. More often than not, the young emperor asked the impostor Judge to eat with him. He considered Basch a friend, after all they had been through, and if they were alone, he treated him as such.
"You are a poor liar," Basch said, when the doors were closed and they were seated at the table.
Larsa stared at him, watching the man remove his helmet and set it on the table's corner. Their eyes met – Larsa's wide, surprised ones, and Basch's calm ones. It was Larsa who looked down first.
"It is nothing that can be helped, then. Is that better?"
"My lord, what is troubling you? It is not the Senators. I have seen it in your face other times – this same look." Of course, Basch was not a fool – and he was not a stranger to the horrors of war. He had lost family to it, as well. He had lost his parents when he was much younger, and he had lost his own brother twice over.
Larsa sighed, softly. He had not spoken to anyone of the dreams.
"I am not sleeping well," he said, carefully, choosing how much to reveal.
"That is understandable. But it wears on you during the day. If you would like, I can order a sleeping draught-"
"No," the boy interrupted, looking up again. "I would not be trapped in slumber."
It was Basch's turn to look surprised, but surprised was quickly replaced by understanding. "Are you sure there is nothing I can do to help you, Lord Larsa?" he asked.
Larsa smiled faintly at the sound of his name, though it still had the title attached to it. He was tired of titles, but it was a poor time to argue about it. He opened his mouth to turn down the offer of assistance, but then he shut it again. He looked away, swallowing a lump in his throat. Even with the scar, Basch looked so like the man whose armor he now wore, and the remembrance of Gabranth struck him suddenly.
"My lord?" asked Basch, starting to stand. Larsa stopped him with a hand.
"I am all right," he said, though it was untrue. "I beg your forgiveness, please, I just need a moment."
Basch sat back down, slowly. "As you say."
Silence stretched between them, long enough to grow uncomfortable, but they both endured it.
Finally, Larsa looked back to Basch, studying his face, convincing himself that Basch was not his twin's ghost.
"When I was very young, I would seek out Gabranth – Noah. My brother was not always at home, and he was the only person I felt I could trust." That was not the entire truth, for later there had been Drace, but she was not Gabranth. And she would not have understood, or so he'd felt. "In the night, I mean. If I was frightened, or...some such." Saying it aloud, he felt a little embarrassed. He tried so hard to be a man and not a boy, and he did not like to put his age so on display, as if it could have been forgotten. But Basch, of course, was not a Senator, and not really even a Judge. He was a friend, even if the nature of their friendship had been forced to change with their circumstances.
"If you desire my company, you have but to ask," Basch said, and meant it. "I cannot save you from your nightmares, but at least you will not have to suffer them alone."
When Larsa smiled at him this time, it was not forced. "I would...I would appreciate that."
Basch nodded.
Lunch arrived, and cut that conversation short. The tension faded with the meaningless lunch conversation, and Larsa was glad of that. Night would come too soon, offer of company or not.
And so it did, though when Basch walked him to his room that night, he did not leave entirely, as he usually did. After Larsa changed into his nightclothes and climbed into bed, Basch appeared in the doorway again.
"Shall I stay, my lord?" he asked, the words echoing in the helmet he wore.
Larsa hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, if you do not mind."
Basch stepped into the room and removed the helmet, leaving it on the table by the door. He sat on the edge of the boy's bed, a little uncertainly. It occurred to Larsa, then, that this was as new to him as anything. He had practiced to become his brother. Though many would not notice, due to their twin faces, there were some who might. Basch was not Noah, but he had learned all he could from Larsa's carefully written remembrances of the Judge Magister's mannerisms and habits. No one had questioned him thus far, but he would never be Judge Gabranth, no matter how many people now called him by that name.
"If you want to talk about what you dream..." he offered.
Larsa shook his head. "I spend enough time thinking on that," he said. "It is nothing you could not guess."
Basch nodded. "Is there something else, then?"
The boy considered. "Is all that armor actually comfortable?" he asked, after a moment. "If you're going to stay, you don't have to wear it.
"My lord, it wouldn't really be proper-"
"I don't care about that. I cannot imagine anyone within these walls is brave enough to come here, knowing you are here with me."
Basch regarded him carefully for a minute, before he stood to remove the black metal pieces. He was fully dressed underneath, of course, so it wasn't really improper so much as unheard of. "It is...heavy," he said, setting the last piece down gently on the floor. "Though I can carry it fine, there is much attached to it that I cannot."
Larsa looked down at the pile of armor, then over at the helmet without thinking about it. "Walking in your brother's shadow cannot be an easy task," he said.
"It is one whose weight you are familiar with," Basch said, coming to sit on the edge of the bed again.
"In a different way, I suppose you are right."
"Did you know him well?" Basch asked. "Noah, I mean."
Larsa lifted one shoulder in half a shrug. "I don't know that anyone knew him well. I've known him my entire life, but he was a hard man to know."
"He was a hard boy to know," Basch answered, a smile ghosting on his lips as he thought back. "I imagine he must have been more distant as a man grown."
"I did not know he had a brother until I saw you," Larsa said. "I knew nothing of his family, or where he was from. Even now, I feel I know nothing about him, and I..." He trailed off, eyebrows furrowing.
"You cared for him," Basch finished for him. It was not a question.
"I did. Very much so. I have heard he did terrible things. Unforgivable things."
"He did. I cannot deny that or defend it. But are we so different? I have done unforgivable things, following the orders of my superiors. I cannot say I would have acted differently, in his place. Though I do not bear the animosity toward the world that he did, I am still but a soldier."
"It is for the ones issuing orders not to condemn their subordinates to do unforgivable things, then," Larsa said, resolutely.
"Is it? A man makes his own choices. I would not blame the men who ordered me to murder others any more than I would blame one who stands to defend his home, regardless of the cost. I do not think that blame is so easy a thing to issue. The world is a more complicated place than that."
Larsa thought about that, letting the words wash over him. Basch was right, of course. Noah was following orders when he murdered the King of Dalmasca and framed Basch for it. But he could have chosen another path. He had chosen such a path the day he died, defending Larsa from Vayne and not from the small band of rebels that challenged Vayne's power. Larsa himself had chosen not to stand idle and let Vayne destroy Dalmasca, knowing that there could be terrible consequences. Perhaps those that gave the orders did not always wish to do so, either. Would he one day have to issue orders he could not stomach? He could only hope not. He had grown up knowing war and fighting, both within the Empire and outside of it. He longed now for peace.
"You are not really so alike," he finally said, changing the subject somewhat. "You are not so far from me that I cannot touch you."
"I am not my brother any more than you are yours," Basch answered.
"I do not wish you to be," Larsa said, shaking his head. He reached for Basch's gloved hand with both of his bare ones.
Basch watched the boy take his hand, almost in wonder.
"You will stay, until I fall asleep, won't you?"
Basch shook his head. "I'll stay until you wake up," he replied.
Larsa smiled at him, gratefully, and settled down to sleep, though he kept one small hand in Basch's much bigger one until he was too asleep to remember to hold on.
That was the first night since they'd returned to Archades that the young emperor managed to sleep without nightmares. He knew they would most likely return, but it was nice to be granted the reprieve. It was also the first night he woke up with Basch still at his side, sitting against the headboard of the bed, looking as if he'd just woken himself.
As he looked up at Basch's face, so like the Gabranth that had come before him, he realized again how different the two of them were. And he hoped it would not be the only time he woke to see Basch there beside him.