Larsa was two years old when he learnt the scent of Heaven.
"Larsa behave yourself!" The woman laughed, extracting her precious veil from the tiny fingers that had ensnared it in their grasp. Elivius Giverny Solidor: the Empress of Archadia yet in this room such a fancy title held no meaning; in this room she was Elly, the proud mother of four boys- one of whom was proving to be rather mischievous that afternoon.
"Ma?" The boy clumsily attempted to 'wear' the handful of lace on his hair, mimicking the fall of lace from his mother's circlet. She only blessed him with another beautiful laugh and a kiss for his efforts. She smelled of Lily of the Valley and he decided that must be what angels smelled like.
*~*~*
Larsa was almost three years old when he learnt his place.
"Lamont, will you stop encouraging him?" The low growl from the second eldest brother as Lamont watched in amusement. The youngest Solidor was tugging very large boots over very small legs.
"Revenal don't be such a spoilsport." The young man sighed, scooping the toddler into his arms and tapping his nose. "Besides, he won't be filling in your shoes or mine in future. He'll be able to live a relatively normal life since he's far removed from the throne."
"We must keep it that way." Eighteen years of age and of brilliant mind; Vayne Carrudas Solidor.
"Aye." The young General nodded. "'Tis why brother is a Diplomat, I am a General and you a Consul in training."
*~*~*
Larsa was four years old when he learnt he did not like hide and seek.
"Dress him quickly! Hurry for Occuria's sake, hurry!" Vayne hissed, eyes darting to the door as the sound of clattering armour drew nearer. "Dress him faster or we will all be at his mercy!" The nursemaid wept as she removed the boy's clothing, replacing his neat attire with the attire of a young girl. His curls were arranged by his face as a bonnet was secured atop his head. He thought it a game, only games were usually fun and lacking in tears and awful red stains on his brother's hands and clothes.
"My Lord, we need to leave." His guardian said with urgency, removing him from the nursemaid's arms.
"Go! Go now and praytell he does not find you!" Vayne pushed them towards the hidden door.
"Brother?" Larsa asked fearfully, hands reaching for him. "Where's Lamont and Revenal?"
"They're gone, Larsa." His brother answered, eyes pained as he kissed his brow. "They're...hiding and you also need to hide from father."
"They're playing hide and seek?" The boy tilted his head, unsure as to why his brother looked so upset.
"Yes, they are and you are too. Gabranth will help you hide, isn't that right?"
"Aye sir." The man in armour nodded.
"Will you hide too?" Larsa touched his brother's cheek, trying to erase the worry from his face.
"Larsa, please go."
He never found two of his brothers after that night.
*~*~*
Larsa was six years old when he saw Vayne cry.
"Lord brother look! I am the Emperor!" Larsa laughed, holding his arms out for an embrace he decided was much warranted to reward his labour. "I put on his circlet too!" Said circlet was far too big, acting instead as a necklace instead of resting on his head.
"Larsa! What are you doing?!" The door slammed shut and Vayne rushed to him, distraught. The boy panicked, stepping back and tripping over the long robes.
"I-I wanted to try on Father's robes!" He explained, looking at the expensive finery dwarfing his tiny frame. "They're beautiful and important..."
"Larsa- Larsa no!" The man found it hard to speak as he tried to hurriedly yet carefully remove the borrowed clothing. "Larsa no." He repeated, biting his lip as he lifted the circlet and placed it back in its box.
"I was just playing..."
"Where is Gabranth? Where are your guardians, Larsa? How did you get in here?" Exasperated, Vayne tugged the boy into his arms. "They are supposed to be watching over you."
"I...I snuck out of my Global Economics lesson." The honest boy could not lie though he was shamed by his admission. "Besides, Father is away on business."
"The Emperor will be cross if he finds out you have been playing in his ceremonial robes, Larsa."
"Why do you not call him Father?"
Vayne does not answer, trying his best instead to fold the robes and return them as though they had not been touched.
"Never wear his clothing again, do you understand?" He grabbed the boy's shoulders and forced him to meet his eyes. "Never ever touch his clothing, Larsa Ferrinas Solidor."
"He never plays with me! I just wanted to try them on because they remind me of him when he's away!" The boy shouted, squirming in his hold.
"He is the Emperor and that man has no time for such frivolities- especially from a young Solidor who should know better than to act like the man he is not!" Vayne raised his voice and the boy found the words hurt more than the hands gripping his shoulders. He pursed his lips and stubbornly refused to cry though the urge was stronger than he'd ever felt.
"They're just robes, why are you so angry with me?"
"I am not angry, I am-" And he did an odd thing. He began to cry and Larsa suddenly felt ashamed for his earlier behaviour. Touching his cheek, he brushed the tears away before wrapping his arms around his neck.
"I am sorry, Lord brother. I shan't touch the robes ever again."
"You are not old enough to understand, brother, the weight of those robes." Vayne whispered, staring at the boxes with hatred. "Nor how hard I am trying to ensure there never comes a day when you do understand."
*~*~*
Larsa was six years and seven months old when he learnt the use of black clothing.
"Please hold still, Sire." The nursemaid asked of him, brushing creases from his black silk blouse before tucking it neatly into his breeches. He stood before the mirror, dressed entirely in black except for the brilliant red and gold embroidery curling at his cuffs and lapel. In his silk-gloved hand he held a sprig of Lily of the Valley; the other hand held the corner of a flag emblazoned with the intertwining swords of House Solidor.
"When the Emperor closes the casket, what do we do?" Vayne asked, crouching before him to fix his cravat.
"We put the flag over it." Larsa recited carefully. "And mother will rest in peace."
"Good." His brother offered the briefest wisp of a smile, fondly smoothing Larsa's hair before pressing a kiss to his brow; where his mother no longer could.
*~*~*
Larsa was seven years and eight months old when he learnt his dislike for stockings.
"I cannot understand why I cannot simply wear trousers." He sighed in frustration as Vayne chuckled. "You wear trousers, Father wears trousers and yet I have to wear stockings which are uncomfortable in this heat!"
"You wear the attire of nobility that befits your age, brother." Vayne answered firmly with no hint of mockery despite his smile. "I too wore such attire when I was young. Now do stop picking at them."
The boy sighed and picked up his pen, resuming his studies whilst resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at his brother.
*~*~*
Larsa was twelve years old when he learnt the feeling of freedom.
"Gabranth, do not worry. Judge Magister Ghis shall be accompanying my cortege." Larsa paused in lacing his boots, glancing over his shoulder at his concerned guardian. "Lord Brother needs me to do a little investigating and these new clothes will ensure I blend in." He was proud of his new appearance; the Heir now resembled a young boy on the cusp of adolesence like so many others of his age.
"I will rendezvous back at the Marquis' residence by tomorrow morning at the very latest." His guardian nodded in obedience despite the flicker of doubt in his eyes; he stayed silent despite the wariness in his heart. His charge, however, failed to see it in all his unbridled joy as he sauntered out of the room ready for adventure.
*~*~*
Larsa was twelve years and eleven months old when he learnt of desolation.
He wore all black and buried not only the man and woman he regarded as his true parents, but also the last member of his family. He cannot remember much about that day, only that the black attire he donned smelled of rain and Lily of the Valley. Larsa also recalled the last time he wore all black he had still been allowed to cry in public.
He was not permitted that at this age, despite the utter anguish buried beneath his dignified facade.
*~*~*
"He's so small." The seamstress sighed, before tutting at her assistant when she pricked her finger on the fine needle. "Careful with that, dear. These robes cost more than we will ever earn in our life." The young maid ducked her head in embarrassment before returning to embroidering the patch of fabric.
"We could not take in his father's robes- he's so small we've had to take the robes apart to sew newer, smaller ones." A part of her was unnerved as she held up the coronation attire. They would have fit her son who was the same age as the new Emperor of Archadia. "All this finery for a boy...Just a boy..."
"Lillian have you finished with the robes?" A man asked, poking his head into the room. "Rhuel told me to bring this to you. We've finally finished. We had to melt down a section of Emperor Gramis' circlet just to make it smaller!" An elaborate circlet that would rest on the boy's brow and crown him as ruler of an Empire.
She felt her stomach drop.
*~*~*
He stood before Basch as his guardian assisted him in arranging the folds of his layered robes. Though it was not hot, Larsa found he felt stifled and uneasy. Nerves, he told himself, just nerves.
"Your circlet, sire." The man handed him the band of gold. Larsa carefully put it on before stepping in front of the mirror.
A boy stared back at him; a boy playing in his father's heavy clothes. Tears pricked his eyes and he clenched his hands in an effort to steel emotions he no longer had the right to display.
His Imperial Majesty Emperor Larsa Ferrinas Solidor of Archadia: just shy of thirteen years old when he finally understood all his brother had whispered to him two thousand midnights ago.