Tenacious Stray
by Chronic Guardian
A/N: Written for Twelve Shots of Summer, Week 4(Betrayal)
"So is it a one-shot or a novella?" Supposedly the first. Also supposedly worth your while. Before you start with canon objections, allow me to say that I did my best, but didn't have time to fully research/incorporate the the actual account of events as it is even more longwinded than the mess you have before you. In my defense, Ivalician politics have never been a simple matter, so it naturally follows that any tale involving them will be accordingly convoluted.
However, if you're interested in reading something more too the point, go have a gander at the other stories in the Twelve Shots of Summer C2 and Forum. We promise, they will be less bumbling and almost definitely a whole lot shorter.
Best Regards,
-CG
It was a stillborn morning that came softly. Thick clouds muted the rising sun and a chill had come down from the north to hush the shepherds fires strewn about the country side. To many of the younger children, it was then just as well that it was the day for temple. Spending a perfectly good morning indoors would've been a shame.
Landisian tradition tended to be long winded. Time was taken to delve deeply into scriptures and to explain the full significance of each line. Naturally, it was a good practice in discipline for the children. While the priest continued on and on about something or other, they would be watching each other in the pews to see who could go the longest without fidgeting.
Most of them, anyway.
Noah fon Ronsenburg sat with his family, eyes forward and back straight. The priest had taken the day's weather as divine permission to perform an especially long mass. Noah tried to follow, to keep his eyes from wandering to the vaulted ceilings or the stained glass windows lining the walls, but by the second hour he could do little more than focus on keeping his posture up and his eyes open.
Basch, his brother, sat beside him. Basch's gaze had long since slipped from the priest and onto the altar. Noah held back a wry smile. It was typical of his brother to look past the show and focus on the heart of the matter. They had studied the scriptures well enough that Basch was probably in the midst of his own conjecture about the day's teaching.
"...But let not your heart waver," the priest's voice interrupted Noah. "For he who is faithful must abandon all else for the cause of that he has enthralled himself to. Even as sacrifice looms, he finds sanctuary in his service, and rests there as all else is stripped away, faram. Thus I urge you, my children, consider to yourselves, to what have you devoted yourselves? To what unchanging rock do you cling to? Let not the fickle serve as your shelter, and seek not the haven of a sunken burrow..."
Noah frowned slightly and let his eyes also shift to the altar. What indeed? While the priest moved on, the Landisian boy let his mind ponder the question for the next hour and a half of sermon.
.o.0.o.
War came to Landis. Their father joined the front ranks immediately.
He didn't last long; nor did many of the other militiamen fresh from their fields with little knowledge of warfare save the shooing of local wolves and crows.
Basch left the next morning; not to the front lines, but to Dalmasca to learn the arts of soldiery. He vowed to return whence the ripening of his skills would lend full sway to their plight. So Noah remained, alone with their mother, waiting for the moment when Basch would come back and restore peace.
That never happened. The Archadians forced a surrender and Noah slowly came to accept that his brother had simply been seeking higher ground. Landis was weak, doomed to fall from the outset. Basch had used it as an excuse to flee to a better sanctuary, to find a better position to protect. Noah and their mother would only have been a burden on the journey south.
Noah stewed on it for months, even after he and his mother had moved to old Archades and accepted the rule of the imperialists. However, as it became apparent that his backwater upbringing was hardly sufficient to earn a living, he swallowed his pride and acted as a fully inducted Archadian citizen.
He joined their army.
.o.1.o.
Noah picked at the bland, imported mush served in the academy's mess hall and took another swipe at the bloody nose he'd gotten during training. Apparently the whole "naturalized citizenship" thing didn't mean much to the other cadets. They'd all grown up together, trained together, bonded together. They were Archadians, superiors, they didn't mix with conquered peoples unless it was to get an easy laugh.
Or, unwittingly, to teach tenacity.
It wasn't the first time he'd had backs turned to him, and he certainly suspected it wouldn't be the last. He was an outsider, a nationless curr without a hole to run home to to lick his wounds and whine over the unfairness of it all. Whining didn't soften sneers, and running didn't save loved ones.
So Noah stayed.
.o.2.o.
Noah stood at attention with the other men of his squad, minus one, facing their commanding officer. The commander, a stern man with deep lines on his face etched from both battle and age in equal measure, scowled back at them. At his side was the missing member of their squad, bound and forced to his knees with the commander's boot on his back.
"Congratulations, you bunch of Rozarian Wyrmlings," the commander growled, his scathing gaze roving their ranks. He emphasized each word with another thrust to the bound man's spine. "Splyns, 'ere has been branded a traitor and charged with treason for murder of a member of house Solidor. So then," he leaned forward, putting more pressure on Splyns' shoulders until they gave to his weight. "Who among you is man enough to come and prove your loyalty? Who's got the guts," the commander pushed off and sent the young man face first into the floor, "to execute a comrade turned traitor, mmm?"
Nobody moved. Half the men were looking away anyway. The air was thick with sweat. Splyns hadn't been the top of the class, or even entirely well liked; but he was one of them, an Archadian, a man with a people. He was lowborn, but so were the rest of the men in the squad. To spill his blood was out of the question.
For most of them.
Noah stepped forward and unsheathed his longsword. He hesitated only long enough for the commander to nod in approval.
That day, the rift between him and the others was completed, sealed in blood. They had started it, and now he had ended it. They didn't jeer at his back now though, they didn't try to stop him as he slid his sword again to ensure the deed was done. He was still an object of contempt, but he had also gained something from their petty actions.
Now, they feared him.
"And what is your name, soldier?" the commander asked Noah after he had cleaned and sheathed his sword.
"Noah," he answered slowly, and for a moment he pondered whether or not he should include the Landisian "fon Ronsenburg". No, he was an Archadian now. He would embrace his mother's line. "Noah Gabranth."
The commander smiled tightly, "The Empire thanks you for your service, Gabranth. May it continue to be so, Lieutenant Captain."
.o.3.o.
Apparently, the Archadians weren't commonly used to finding daggers for each other's backs (although they did see the use for it). Having someone else around to do it for them was thus a valued position, if unglorified.
The first attempt on his life came within a week. A group of Splyns' friends tried to avenge the traitor. There were four of them.
By the time Lt. Captain Gabranth's newly provided escort arrived at the scene, it was only to remove the bodies and apply minimal first aid. Noah had been faced with terrible odds throughout the academy, four armed men was but a sparse echo of the brawls he'd had to fight there.
"Did it trouble you at all?" his escort asked. "You did train with these, men, did you not?"
"It was no trouble because I trained with them," Noah said calmly, reapplying his armor. He had a war meeting to attend, not to mention an officer's manual he had to study. Whatever regret he was supposed to be feeling wasn't making itself apparent. The Empire wanted this, didn't they? A man unfettered by remorse? That was what he would give them.
His anchor was his duty. All other things he would forsake for it.
.o.4.o.
Years went by, Archadia again sought expansion. This time, Nabradia to the south was the battle ground. It was a sorry war, one plagued by poor conditions and well made defenses. Unlike Landis, Nabradia had a well organized standing military that knew how to use their homeland to their advantage.
Gabranth's company was assigned the honor of discovering the chink in the opposition's armor. In a way, it seemed like ritual suicide. They met stiff resistance at every turn and Gabranth couldn't help but wonder if perhaps his superiors meant for him to meet his end there; first in the Salikawood and then in the fenlands surrounding the lowroads to Nabudis. Not only were they facing calvary raids, but the local fauna had also taken a taste to antagonizing their efforts.
It was quite by accident that they finally stumbled upon their solution.
Well, more like 'were forced upon it', really. The Nabradians were attempting a flanking maneuver against the Archadian scouts. It was a routine Gabranth and this tired men had come accustomed to as the war dragged on; they would routinely be driven back to the wood's edge before the Nabradians would snort their satisfaction and pull out. Only this time, they weren't being driven away. They were being herded towards the Nabradian territory.
The Nabradian defensive line, as they had discovered, was adaptive. Their knowledge of land had allowed them to spread their contingents thinly but effectively. If the Nabradians were driving them forward, it could only mean the line was forming to meet them.
They were caught between the hammer and the anvil, Gabranth realized, and the hammer was closing quickly. If he was fully caught in the blow, it would be over. He had little choice but to attempt to break the anvil.
When he found it was a brigade of farmers waiting at the barricade, he thanked the heavens for his fortune and crushed the rocks that he was meant to be dashed upon without a second thought.
.o.5.o.
The ensuing victories, though failing to bring the war to an end, led Gabranth to yet another promotion. This time he'd been noticed by Emperor Gramis himself. On the Emperor's insistence, he was then made into a Judge Magister, the highest achievable position within the Archadian Military. He was received home with ceremony and honors more hollow to his ears than the Magister's armor he was to fill. He endured the fete held in light of his induction and accepted the Emperor's praise modestly as those who would now be his contemporaries watched on with measuring eyes. He stared back at them unflinching. He was a Judge Magister now; had they been searching for weakness, they'd come too late.
That night, in his private chambers, a messenger informed him that his mother had passed in his absence. Gabranth took a moment to light her a candle and write the order for her to be buried in Archadia under the name "Ronsenburg".
.o.6.o.
"You'd best watch your back 'round here."
Gabranth looked up from his studies on the latest intelligence gathered by the 9th bureau and studied the speaker, a middle-aged woman wearing cermonial armor similar to his own. Unlike most of the other Magisters, she had chosen to come to him without donning her helm. "Your Honor," he greeted her curtly with a nod, choosing the formal title over her name. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Personal concern," she replied, giving a small smile. "Nothing that must be filed and disseminated by you or the bureau."
He pursed his lips and swallowed a grunt. "Personal concern?" he echoed skeptically. That would make the first time he'd heard of the concept existing within Archadian borders without a malicious intent. Even then, part of him suspected she was attempting to butter him up anyway so he wasn't about to let his guard down.
If his response came off as coldly as it was intended to, his colleague didn't show it. "Yes, young Gabranth, personal concern," she said evenly. "Perhaps you've already grown into the perceived role of a heartless executioner, as I'm aware many see our kind, but I was hoping you hadn't just yet. I was hoping, Gabranth, that we might be allies."
Gabranth paused. He hadn't had much time to mingle and associate with the other Judge Magisters. Their general temperaments beyond their professional duties didn't strike him as an item of concern. He'd simply assumed that the Judges cooperated with each other as a matter of course.
But she was talking about more than just co-operation, she was talking about trust.
He set down his current reading material and sighed as he looked up at her face again.
"Be careful who you trust, Your Honor," he responded. "Not many in our ranks would speak so to a Landisian."
She simply offered her hand. "Better a Landisian than an honorless hound."
Although he took the hand, he later wondered which he truly was.
.o.7.o.
Gabranth soon became acutely aware that Drace was the best (indeed, the only) option to be had among the other Judge Magisters as an ally. In fact the entirety of Archadian Politics seemed almost wholly devoted to expelling its participating members by law or sword, whichever was presently most convenient. It was little wonder that such a nation was ever in an expansionary phase, turning the attention outwards slowed the internal power struggles, if only minutely.
"Ronsenburg," Judge Bergan's humorless voice echoed within his ornate helm. "It couldn't possibly be that Your Honor is related to the great Captain Basch fon Ronsenberg of Dalmasca, now could it? To bear ties to so great a thorn... Why, 'tis nearly unforgivable. Would his Excellency not agree?"
Gabranth held his tongue in favor of awaiting the Emperor's judgment. It would be ill-fitting of a hound to bay at such a taunt. He preferred to see what his master thought of the accusation.
Emperor Gramis, an ever serene man amidst the tumult of the Archadian political machine, was the other active piece Gabranth could rely upon. Judge Bergan was a spoiler for war and conflict of any kind, the Emperor could see through his eager remarks without so much as a blink.
"No, indeed," Beside the Emperor, his third son, Vayne spoke up. "In fact, I believe it shall prove a great boon to us."
Gabranth made no reaction but internally readied his guard. Vayne was not like his father. He was still calm, reasonable, and far faster to seek a profitable solution for his country than for himself; but he was also ruthless. It was rumored among the senate that he had orchestrated his elder brothers' demise.
Among the judges, it was known openly.
"And how do you propose this, my son?" the Emperor asked, his snowy rimmed mouth remaining impassive. His eyes gave away his interest though.
"Simple," Vayne continued on, a light smile that made Gabranth leery played at his lips. "Crush Ronsenburg with his own blood. Who should know better his weakness than his own brother? Unless, of course, His Honor has objections to slaying his own?"
Gabranth's heart seized, unsure of whether to be excited or alarmed. Outside though, he remained resolute. His brother had no weakness, he abandoned it back in Landis. But so too had he abandon his honor. "I should like nothing better."
"Good," Vayne's smile became open, congenial almost. "I look forward to your success, Magister Gabranth. Pray that we may become better acquainted in the future."
Beneath his helm, Gabranth smiled back. He was grateful to Vayne, really. He had shown him that the proximity of a relationship meant nothing for the intent of it.
"I'm certain it shall be so, mi'lord."
.o.8.o.
The Dalmascan's were a sturdy people, grown in the heart of the desert. Simply flying the Imperial flag over their capital wouldn't bring their knees to bend. They needed to be broken before they could be tamed.
King Raminas, however, was weary of war. When Vayne offered a peace treaty, the Dalmascan was quick to accept.
Predictably, Captain Basch fon Ronsenburg was quick to suspect. Vayne had ensured that rumor of his methods had reached the good captain's ears. He logically concluded it was a trap. What he failed to discern was who the trap had been laid for.
The king was killed on arrival. His escort was no match for a Judge Magister. Vayne needed a witness though, and he needed to obliterate the trust of the Dalmascan people in their heroes. He needed them to think they'd been betrayed.
Gabranth could almost care less. For the first time in years, his motives for being present were purely personal. It was ironic then that he had only shown his face now to pass it as another.
Basch eventually stumbled into the chamber after having fought through the garrison. He was alone, desperate and ragged. A perfect mirror of his younger brother.
His younger twin brother.
If it surprised him to see his own likeness approaching with sword in hand his face certainly didn't show it. Gabranth smirked humorlessly and brought his blade down. Basch parried and engaged without hesitation.
Truly, we are strangers now.
Suddenly, Basch pulled back, squinting at his opponent. "Noah?"
Unfaltering, Gabranth brought his sword in a broad arch that clipped Basch across the left brow.
"Gabranth," he answered, eyes boring into the captain's dawning shock. "My name is Gabranth."
Basch fell quickly.
After Vayne framed him for the King's murder, his reputation, and the hopes of Dalmasca, soon followed.
.o.9.o.
The official verdict was that Captain fon Ronsenburg had been executed as a traitor. The truth was carefully tucked away in an oubliette and emaciated for the next two years. Stationed with the occupying force in Dalmasca, Gabranth made certain to visit regularly.
Sometimes it was to taunt Basch, other times he simply came and stared at the shadow his brother had become. Where has your high ground gotten you now? He thought to himself in grim satisfaction.
Eventually, it simply became a game of providing information on the barely live Dalmascan resistance and watching for a reaction. It didn't hold much fun or sport, but Gabranth didn't care. All the regret for a country that wasn't even his own only fueled the Judge's contempt for the fallen captain.
And then one day, he was gone.
Not dead, not finally starved or given up the ghost. Just gone. Where he had hung for two years now only empty air sighed.
Gabranth was not amused.
His superiors were less so.
.o.10.o.
He was assigned then to the youngest member of House Solidor for a time. Larsa, Vayne's younger brother, had already out maneuvered Judge Magister Ghis, and it was soon concluded that a more focused handler was required. Drace had practically raised the boy as his tutor and guardian, but she was currently occupied with maintaining peace in the north. So it thus trickled down to Gabranth to look after the child.
Unfortunately, between the search for the lost captain and reporting to Gramis on Vayne's activities, Gabranth did little better than his predecessor at the task and the young lord slipped out of sight once again.
The flight back to Archadia was sobering. Gabranth could only wonder how Gramis would react to the loss, if he would perhaps finally abandon the stray hound he had favored for so long.
It was not Gramis who awaited him in the Emperor's chamber though, but Vayne. For the Emperor was dead.
"Assassinated by the senate," Vayne was explaining when Gabranth arrived on the scene. The other Judge Magisters were already assembled and present. "The vipers have already confessed their crime to me. As they have been soforth temporarily dissolved, it thus falls to me to rule the Empire until order has been restored."
Drace was unconvinced. "Spare me!" she spat. "What viper lays itself to die after its strike? The serpent lies not among the senate, I see it coiled here before me!"
Vayne cracked a wearily amused smile. "A bold accusation, Your Honor, and not one I'd say is worth risking your life over. Be I innocent or guilty, forget not that the murder of a member of House Solidor is still a crime."
"Enough of this mummer's farce!" Drace cried, drawing her sword. "The law offers no harbor to those hiding from justice!"
Three other swords unsheathed shortly.
Behind her, with his blade at her back, Bergan spoke. "He is the law now, Drace," the man stated, poorly hid anticipation coloring his tone. "To defy him is to renounce your duty as judge."
Gabranth stood frozen, his conscience and his survival instincts both vying to be heard. They hadn't noticed him yet; in fact, were he to remain silent Vayne and the other Judge Magisters probably would ignore him altogether.
But it was Drace, the one person he could truly trust in the Empire. He couldn't turn his back on her.
"Hold," Gabranth commanded, making his entrance and removing his helm. "What is the meaning of this?"
"Gabranth!" Drace's eyes lit as she registered his presence. "Gabranth, thank Heaven! Please, aid me in dealing with these trai—urk!" She was interrupted by Bergan forgoing the swordplay and lifting her by the neck, then slamming her into the ornate tile work making up the floor. There she remained; stunned, incapacitated, but still breathing.
"So the Emperor's hound returns," Vayne said slowly, circling around the scene to address Gabranth. As he passed Drace, he relieved her of her sword. "Come to beg scraps for the table, or to join the other insolent pup in barking at your new master?"
"..." Gabranth didn't move. His body had already betrayed his allegiance, involuntarily reaching out towards the downed Judge in alarm. Drace would probably suffer a concussion from the events, at the very least. At her age, treatment would need to come sooner rather than later, and Vayne was likely to deny it altogether.
"Or perhaps... you would serve me as well?" Vayne smiled thinly and offered the sword, Drace's sword, to Gabranth. He nodded his head towards its fallen owner and said casually, "Finish it for me, would you?"
Gabranth suddenly wished he hadn't removed his helm upon his entrance. It was a struggle simply to keep his face passive as he processed Vayne's proposal. Kill Drace? No, he'd sooner run the sword back through Vayne the moment it was in his hands. Better to die a true traitor than live a deceitful one.
From the floor, Drace slowly gathered herself enough to address him.
"Do it, Gabranth."
His breath caught. All heads turned to the woman, barely propped on one elbow, staring resolutely at him.
"Drace..."
"Do his will," she continued on, pleading. "Live."
Vayne tilted his head slightly and raised an eyebrow. "I don't believe you can argue with it then, Gabranth. Good thing, too. You were this close to being executed yourself."
Gabranth tried to prevent too much venom from seeping into his glare as he took the sword and reluctantly approached his fallen comrade.
She gave a hollow smile with only one eye open enough to see him. "Live, Gabranth," she repeated hoarsely."Protect Larsa from this madness."
Setting his jaw, Gabranth nodded and raised his blade. Beneath his armor, his body trembled.
"Do it quickly, please."
"...As you wish."
With one final whimper, Drace's form arched as it was pierced before going limp in his arms.
"Very good," Vayne said from where he now stood by the throne. "Now wash your hands of it. We have work to do."
.o.11.o.
Gabranth didn't care anymore. Vayne's ambitions, Bergan's contempt, even his pursuit of Basch seemed to fade into an empty shell of a world he'd once known. One that he knew every motion to, but no longer the faces. He'd erased his own long ago.
Eventually, he ran into Basch again. Twice. The first time was on orders from Vayne to track the newest thread of the Dalmascan resistance, lead by its princess. Basch had apparently joined her highness shortly after escaping prison. Even after years of defeat though, of rotting away in his own folley, Captain Ronsenburg still held his head high. And Gabranth hated him for it.
They fought, but Gabranth was out bested by the strength of six against one. He chastised himself for the failure, but the attempt felt hollow and meaningless. He was already a failure, and he knew it.
.o.12.o
The next time they crossed paths, Gabranth had been deliberately placed as an obstacle.
Vayne had resurrected the ancient weapon, the Sky Fortress Bahamut, and was making ready to annihilate any who opposed him. As had been foreseen by the new Emperor, Basch and his companions boarded the sky fortress in hopes of stopping him.
Gabranth had initially sought to have no part in it, but Vayne then decided to bring Larsa aboard to keep an eye on him. Naturally, Gabranth couldn't leave them alone.
It wasn't that he wanted to fight anymore. Not with the same passion that had burned in him in years passed. But it felt familiar to his groping mind, so he fell into step with it. When Basch and his company of oddhands finally came, he raised his blade and readied their end.
Not before a few answers though.
"How?" He demanded. "How can you who have had all stripped away, still live with honor? You failed both your homeland and those who adopted you, you failed your king and princess, you failed your own family! So how then do you yet live with yourself?"
Basch regarded him cooly, wary of the beast that wore his brother's face, his face, but unbroken by the scar on his brow. "I have failed, yes, but there is yet that which needs protecting, and while I am able, I shall do so."
"You're not worthy to do so!" Gabranth growled.
"I do as I must, brother, or is that not answer enough?"
Gabranth, unable to accept the truth of his brother's tenacity, charged.
But he was already too broken to ever win, even the stray had to someday accept defeat.
.o.13.o.
Larsa. Lord Larsa. His last duty, the final thread of whatever honor he had once possessed, cringed under his brother's assault.
Gabranth was bleeding badly, and his leg had acquired a limp, but he would not stand by and watch as Drace's wishes wilted before the false Emperor.
He became Larsa's shield. He felt his helm crack. He watched without the steel filter as Vayne struck again and again. But no blow would reach Larsa. Gabranth absorbed the hatred in his place.
Eventually, he would fall. By then Basch and the others had rallied to face Vayne.
Thrown to the ground, Judge Magister Gabranth laid down his blade for the last time.
.o.14.o.
The ground shook and shuddered. The Sky Fortress had met its end. Gabranth closed his eyes, expecting to vanish in the following inferno. Nothing would be left to mock save the last bits of a false Judge's armor. He had failed for the last time.
But someone he had long ago forgotten remembered him.
It was still too late, Vayne's blows had run their course true and there was little left to do but wait for the end.
But Basch found him, and carried his brother to the escape vessel.
"I've been a fool," Noah gritted. His chest rose and fell with labored breathing. All was lost, even his last promise had been broken.
"A servant to fools," Basch said as he applied what aid he could. Unfortunately, at this point that was only to kill the pain. "But, a faithful servant, in the end. You served your lord well."
From somewhere in the ship, Noah heard the familiar voice of the young Lord Larsa.
Alive.
A smile broke through the pain. A very small smile that still brought out tears as it ripped across his face. If nothing else, at least his broken life had yielded this one good.
"But he is a lord worth protecting, is he not, brother?" Noah asked hopefully.
Basch smiled quietly. "He is indeed, brother. He is indeed."
fin
A/N: Yes, okay, I'm aware that I've reshuffled the dialogue and almost completely rewrote some sections. Let's just use the ol' fall back and call it an AU, alright?
That said, I'm also aware of how horrendously long this is. You have my apologies. Everyone else was doing character transformation timelines and I wanted to get in on the fun. Unfortunately, that then gave birth to this. Aaand... yeah. Really, I think I've finally bitten off more than I can chew (sort of like the original, right?).
Better examples of what I'm talking about can (once again) be found at the Twelve Shots of Summer Community. Check out Tea Parties, Time Loops, and Fate by SoSaysL, Tea with a Stranger by Fahiru, True Strength by Airhead259, Academic Prowess by Aviantei, and
All Hangers All Hanging On by FullMentalPanic. Then you too shall know the depths of my despair as you see what I'm following. The moral of the story kids? Go first, following a good act is tough business!
Anyway, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it somehow. May you go in peace, faram.
Yours,
-CG