D I S C L A I M E R : ahem. Disclaimed.
A/N: So this has been tugging at my mind for way too long. ENCOURAGED BY MY FRIEND MIDORI. AI LAB YU.
If I have made you, my reader, smile, then I have succeded.
SUMMARY: Larsa had been one cluey child. But there's ONE question Gabranth –hadn't- see coming. He was just so tempted to say, I DON'T KNOW WHERE BABIES COME FROM, but apparently five-year-old Larsa wouldn't have anything but the truth. ::: .larsa&noah
:::
The flowers smelt beautiful and the early summer breeze carried their heady scents through the vast, palace grounds. The sky was blue and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. All was calm and peaceful, and just as it should be.
Larsa's hand gripped Gabranth's firmly; he wasn't wearing his armour today, so he seemed more relaxed than usual; his movements were loose and his gait fluid. The little boy had to skip to keep up with his guardian. Larsa took note of the space between his hand and Gabranth's; his hand was big, and Larsa wanted to get rid of all the extra room. He squeezed it tightly, and recoiled whenever Gabranth scolded him for 'cutting off his circulation'. The little boy hadn't a clue as to what that meant, but his guardian's glare was enough for him to loosen his grip.
He watched Gabranth's sword as it swung at his hip with every step, rocking back and forth with increasing momentum. The cool metal glinted underneath its holder, and it frightened Larsa to look at it too closely. It was a big sword - bigger than him - and Larsa refused to walk beside it in case it 'decided' to slice through his delicate white skin. He had come to the conclusion that anything bigger than him – apart from the Judge Magisters, his big brother, his father and Gabranth – was dangerous and had the potential of eating him, or leaving him to meet some other manner of morbid fate with similar consequence.
He swung Gabranth's hand energetically and pointed to the trees.
"What kind of trees are they?" he asked the blonde man. Gabranth scrutinized the bushes he was pointing too. Of course they looked like trees to Larsa's miniature body.
"They are Balleous bushes, famous for their sweet berries," Gabranth answered. Larsa let go of Gabranth's hand and scooted over to the bushes, inspecting it closely. He was thrilled to find his white gloves stained purple when he squashed a berry between his fingers. He put a finger to his mouth curiously and his eyes widened as the sharp taste met his little tongue.
"Fabulous!" he cried (it was his new favourite word at the moment, and he used it at any opportunity he could even if the context was incorrect; doubtless there would be a new word tomorrow), and continued to smash berries in his hands and press them to his mouth. It wasn't long before his face was purple. Gabranth sighed and pulled out a handkerchief from the pockets of his pants.
"Larsa, you silly child. Come here so I can clean you," he said gently. Larsa looked back reluctantly at the bush and approached his guardian tentatively.
"Am I in trouble?" he asked nervously, standing still and allowing Gabranth to gently wipe the juice off his face.
"It is a certainty that Judge Drace will be displeased upon sight of your soiled gloves," Gabranth said, trying to suppress a smile. Larsa pouted.
"So?" he demanded, "I learnt what Balla..la..um, berries are!" he cried indignantly, a pout crossing his little mouth. His guardian chuckled.
"Indeed, the proof is all over your face."
It wasn't long before Larsa's features were clean again, and he sped around like a mad fly, twirling on his toes and jumping up and down, yelling 'FABULOUS!' whenever he spotted something that was mildly interesting to him. Gabranth sighed and watched him tiredly, trudging slowly behind the energetic child and pulling him out whenever he got stuck in between a cluster of something-or-other.
Judge Ghis rode by quietly on his armour-covered chocobo, but Larsa was too busy observing the flapping wings of a ladybird to notice.
"Ghis! How do you fare this fine morning?" Gabranth called to the other man. He reigned in his chocobo and rode up to the pair. Larsa raised his eyebrows, left the ladybird to its own business and approached Ghis' armour-clad chocobo, pressing his hands to its beak. It squawked affectionately and nuzzled him for some Greens.
"Not bad. And you, Noah? Has his petite royal highness given you a migraine yet?" Ghis asked, smiling from behind his helm. Though Gabranth couldn't see it, he could hear it in his voice. The younger man rubbed the back of his head, and felt Larsa cling onto his other arm tightly.
"Not yet, but don't curse me," he said, rolling his eyes, "Larsa, say hello to Judge Ghis."
"GOOD MORNING SIR! YOU LOOK FABULOUS TODAY!"
"Good morning, your highness," Ghis greeted, "As do you, if not a little purple, dare I say."
Larsa looked at his hands guiltily and shot the armoured man a cheesy grin in response.
"Isn't purple a pretty colour?" he asked, trying to deter the conversation away from his purple-formerly-white gloves. Ghis sighed.
"It is indeed," he patted the neck of his chocobo and regarded Gabranth, "You are so patient, Noah. How is it you do not crumble under Larsa's questions?"
Noah shot him a lopsided grin. "Perhaps because he has not asked any… bad ones, as of yet." Ghis chuckled and shook the reins of his steed.
"Very well. I must be on my way. Grounds to patrol, people to intimidate," Ghis motioned his hand is if it were 'same old, same old'. Gabranth nodded, and Larsa waved heartily as the chocobo ran off. Gabranth continued walking, but after twelve paces or so, he realized Larsa was rooted in his place.
"What bothers you, your highness?" he asked, staring at the indignant child. Larsa glared at the ground.
"Why does everybody call me Highness? I mean," he took a few more steps and bent down to observe an ant, "I'm not high to you, or Judge Ghis, or my father or my brother. I'm very small, but people call me Highness." He stared at Gabranth and pouted. The man sighed.
"It is a title, Larsa. It is a form of respect."
Larsa pursed his lips.
"I want to be Fabulousness. Not Highness." He looked up at Gabranth with wide, grey eyes. Gabranth sighed.
"Very well, your fabulousness."
The two continued on in silence for a while, Larsa stopping every few minutes to ogle at a moving insect or chase a butterfly. A young boy of about seventeen ran along with a hoard of mastiffs, some still puppies. A potentially disobedient one approached Larsa and attempted to lick him to the death. Gabranth lifted Larsa onto his shoulders to escape him from the slobbery dog, and after exchanging an icy stare with an apology from the lanky boy, the dog was dragged off.
"Say, Gabranth," Larsa began, as he watched the puppy scamper onwards behind the boy, "Where do all small things come from?"
Gabranth was thankful that Larsa could not see his face at that moment, or else he may have asked if he had eating something off for breakfast.
"Define, small things, your fabulousness."
Larsa leaned his arms against Gabranth's messy blonde tufts of hair. "You know," he said, "Babies. Small things. Like me. Where did I come from?"
Gabranth blanched and tried to will the blood back into his face. His stomach did nervous flips and the headache he was longing to avoid began to ebb its way into his conscience.
"Your mama, of course," he answered simply. Larsa pulled a face from atop Gabranth's head and twisted a lock of flaxen hair, deep in thought.
"I know that," he said, "But how did I get in mama? Was I magicked in? Or maybe I was wrapped up and then given to mama? Or maybe mama ate me?" Gabranth tried not to laugh at the though of Larsa's mum eating … never mind.
"She didn't eat you, no," he said, shaking his head and racking his brains for a reason other than the truth. Larsa scowled.
"Then how did I get in mama?" he fumed, pulling Gabranth's hair brutally. Gabranth sighed, and attempted to tell him a fake story.
"All babies are made in the clouds and brought down to Ivalice by avion," Gabranth lied, "then you're sent to your mother."
Larsa snorted. "Yeah, right. There's more to it."
After six or seven more stories that involved cabbages, clouds, angry witches and the occasional combustion here or there, Gabranth gave up on lying.
"Fine, Larsa. But you have to promise not to tell anyone what I tell you. Ever. Do you promise?"
Larsa let Gabranth pick him up and put him on the ground.
"I swear on Archadia that I will not tell any one person what you tell me." He looked up at Gabranth eagerly, bursting with curiosity and anticipation. Gabranth let out an enormous sigh and gazed wearily at the little boy.
"Well, when a mama and papa love each other very much…"
:::
"Is he sleeping?"
Gabranth sipped his coffee on the dark table, listening to the fire crackling under the mantelpiece. Drace looked at him out of the corner of her eyes.
"He is."
Her rosy-brown hair was illuminated by the firelight, and she looked much younger than her age. Gabranth sipped the last of his coffee and observed the woman as she gazed outside the window.
"Something ails you, Drace," Gabranth said quietly. Drace raised an eyebrow.
"Has your guilty conscience not weighed you down yet?" she asked softly, a smile tugging at her red lips. Gabranth nearly choked on his coffee.
"What are you talking about, Drace?" he asked. The woman smiled.
"Was it not you who told Larsa how a child is conceived?"
The woman's eyes bored into Gabranth, and he had to set his mug down to avoid spilling it down himself.
"Yes. I did try to lie. I swear on the bones of Gramis, I did." Gabranth looked pleadingly at Drace, who merely rolled her eyes.
"I'll have you know Larsa has a new favourite word."
Gabranth pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Oh."
"Oh, indeed," Drace said, "Apparently you taught him how to spell it, as well."
Gabranth blushed. "He asked. I cannot deny a growing Emperor the truth."
"It matters not," she said, "I'll just be sure to tell everybody who taught Larsa how to say penis when he uses it in reference to every possible thing tomorrow. You are in charge of finding him a new word. Until then, stupidity comes not without humiliation."
Drace left the room and Gabranth watched her; surprisingly she was nimble and swift, even with all her armour on. He sighed, looked at the evaporated coffee in his mug and stopped resisting the migraine that was desperately breaking through his conscience.
This was the beginning of the end to Larsa's naïveté.
:::
And that is how Larsa is so super mature in the present day. Because he accepted how babies were born when he was … five. Even if he said the 'p word' every five seconds or so.
Please review, and thanks for reading!