A Play of Pawns
Summary: As one Judge Magister heads for Dalmasca, another prepares to commit high treason. And the fallout from both events will once more see a familiar group of heroes thrown into a quest they never asked for.
Author notes: Right so here's my first attempt at Final Fantasy XII fanfiction. First off, here's the general disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy XII. I only own original characters and locations. I don't apologize for spoilers. It's your fault for not finishing the game first.
Chapter 1 – A Royal Signiture
The hour was late yet still Larsa Solidor persisted. His workload was always immense, far more than he imagined it would be years ago. He was tired and tempted almost beyond restraint to retire for the evening. But that wasn't possible. The price of a few hours extra sleep would be another load of paper atop this one when the morning came. Archadia had to come first and she's an impatient mistress.
Still, surely even she would forgive him a few moments respite.
Rubbing his eyes, Larsa put his golden pen down beside his inkwell. The letter on the table, half written, fluttered slightly at the corners. A breeze came through the window, gently tickling his exposed face and lower arms. He must've opened it hours ago. Yes, the heat of the day had been stifling. It was only now he thought on it that he'd been here for hours. Larsa remembered not how many. He'd lost all perception of time in a haze of parchment and eloquently bandied words.
Seizing a small paperweight, Larsa placed it on the letter to the side where it wouldn't smudge the ink. Confident it wouldn't blow away he strolled past his desk towards the open window. The breeze whistled in his ears again, sending the curtains dancing. Larsa's hand rested on the frame. The breeze was pleasant; it helped clear away the cobwebs in his mind. His hand dropped back to his side and Larsa looked out over his domain.
Archadia was like an oyster, hard and strong. Within lay its pearl the royal city of Archades. For five generations before him, Larsa's ancestors had ruled it all from this room. To Larsa's eye the city was the finest in the world, even when shrouded by night. Its streets were clean, its citizens well fed and its citadel cast a shadow over all. Now the city sparkled with thousands upon thousands of golden lights, more even than in the skies above. He was proud to rule such a beautiful place.
He stood there, gazing out over the city, taking it all in and keeping his mind empty. He imagined that people of all ages and class were in those streets now, enjoying themselves with friends or family. The thought struck a chord. Here, at the top of the world, Larsa had neither. His family was dead, his so-called friends philanderers and charlatans all who saw not a man but advancement in Larsa. His only true friend in the whole of Archadia was gone – away on diplomatic business.
Gabranth departed southbound several days ago. It had been with a heavy heart that Larsa had sent him away but who better to treat with Dalmasca than a man who'd bled for her? He was sure Queen Ashe would've listened to any Archadian envoy, but when it had come down to it Larsa had remembered something Penelo once said.
"But still, I hope he comes back to Rabanastre, and Ashe, soon. She has to keep up appearances now, so she would never say it but I think she misses him."
Larsa was of the same mind. He also believed the feeling wasn't one sided. When Larsa had shown him that particular letter in the grounds of the palace two years ago, Gabranth hadn't said a word. But Larsa could see it clearly.
The official treaty signing seemed a delightful way to put an end to their suffering, if only for a while. Indeed, though he missed his friend, Larsa was smugly proud of himself. But if only he could put an end to his own loneliness…
No, he thought, he wouldn't think on that. It wouldn't make him feel any better if he did. Besides he had letters to write and another mistress as beautiful as Archadia he was very eager to lie with. Her name was bed, the only other woman Archadia would suffer in his life.
The chair was still warm when he sat down again. He picked up his pen, and looked at what he'd written so far.
To his Grace, Arinus Hartel, 6th Duke of Silisair,
I must give thanks for your recent correspondence. It was with great sadness that I read of the Lord Consul's assassination. He shall be interred with the highest of honours under the soil of his homeland at the request of his family. He shall be sorely missed
Alas that now leaves Landis without a Consul. It is my understanding that Lord Adrian has assumed the mantel until a new Consul is to be chosen. I have written another letter to the Lord informing him that his tenure is merely temporary. Being Archadian born, I think not that he would make a good replacement. It is my belief that the people of Landis desire a Consul from among their fellow countrymen, as Lord Leris was.
I believe that you, your Grace, are the best suited candidate for the position. I ask that you depart for Landisalia immediately and make your presence known. I recall that you have been a hero to your people since the war and your popularity remains undiminished. They will be encouraged by your presence. A royal herald shall arrive shortly in the city detailing your ascendancy. You shall be officially inaugurated in two months time with the coming of the New Year. I offer you my congratulations.
However I must confess that I have an ulterior motive for your promotion aside from your popularity. In reference to the other point you raised in the letter I am in agreement with you. The Insurgency is almost certainly behind this. I ask that you investigate into whatever leads you can find and unravel their schemes. I trust this task only to you.
Any traitors you find are to be arrested and sent to Archades to stand trial. Let all Ivalice see the fate that awaits the enemies of Archadia.
Larsa dipped the pen into the inkwell and added at the bottom:
Do not fail me.
Larsa Ferrinas Solidor, 24th Duke of Archades, Liege of the Archadian Empire and Lord High Protector of Landis and Nabradia.
P.S. I hope my last letter found Delana well. Ask her for me and give her my regards.
Now finished, Larsa set aside the letter and chose another from his left at random. He instantly recognised the handwriting on the envelope. It could be no other but the mayor of Old Archades. No doubt he would be subtly and respectfully deconstructing Larsa's efforts to aid the impoverished and offering 'suggestions' of how those efforts could be improved. All the man ever wanted was more money but he always had to make a song and dance about it. Still, better see what he wanted money for this time.
Galtea was merciful. Just as the wax seal broke, someone knocked at the door. He didn't recognise the knock but it was heavy and clearly made by an armoured fist. Most likely it was one of the Judges standing guard outside the door.
"Enter," Larsa said, throwing the letter back onto his desk.
It was a Judge but not one of the door sentries. Off-hand he didn't recognise the person. The armour was black and well polished, the helm simple and alien to him. The weapons at the Judge's belt caught Larsa's eye swiftly. A Morningstar, a rare though not unused weapon among the College of Magisters, hung on his left side, clearly his favoured weapon. On his right was a more conventional sword. Larsa presumed he was a minor Judge of a lesser bureau, probably sent to deliver a message.
The Judge stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
"Larsa Solidor," the Judge said. The voice was masculine. "Larsa Solidor..."
"Yes, I am Larsa Solidor," he said politely, ignoring the strange greeting. "I don't believe I've made your acquaintance."
The Judge didn't appear to hear him. "Larsa Solidor…"
The Judge sounded almost star-struck. As the most famous and powerful person in the empire Larsa was used to people acting in such a fashion around him. But never before had a Judge done so.
Larsa stood again. Though he had grown in the last three years, Larsa still didn't come close to the shoulder of this Judge. "Yes, I am he. But I ask again who are you? Which bureau do you belong to?"
The Judge finally turned to look at him. Larsa couldn't see the man's eyes but that wasn't uncommon. He could never see Gabranth's eyes when he wore his helm. Galtea knows how they managed to find their way around.
"You know me not little emperor? Oh but I know you. I know you very well. Larsa Solidor…"
Larsa didn't like the tone this Judge was taking. "State your name, bureau and business with me."
The Judge laughed. "Look at this. The child emperor a man almost grown, confident in himself in all ways, leader of men and the glorious Archadian Empire. Never before has Archadia known the peace it does today and never before has it known such power."
Another sycophant. Larsa sat down again and took the letter from the desk. "I'm very busy Judge Magister. Please state your name, bureau and business with me," he said, no longer looking at the Judge.
"My name, bureau and business? Very well child emperor, if you insist. My name… well your people shall know soon enough. As for my bureau, I am unaffiliated with any bureau of the College of Magisters. And my business. Oh my business is of immense interest to you, Larsa Solidor."
Larsa's eyes travelled back to the Judge. No bureau? A rogue Judge. Dangerous indeed, particularly armed in a room with a person who's only weapon to hand was a letter opener. Though it was blunt, he reached for it all the same. The weight of it in Larsa's hand was reassuring.
"What is your business then, Rogue?"
"Rogue?" the Judge paused, almost as though he had been wounded by the weight of Larsa's words. "Yes I suppose I am. But no matter. My business is very simple, Larsa Solidor."
The Judge drew his sword with his left hand.
"I am here to kill you."
Larsa's eyes wandered to the sword. His words made little impression on him, as though he had spoken in another language. But the first heavy step the Judge took towards him said all that needed to be said. He was deadly serious.
The Judge came towards the desk and Larsa jumped out of the chair. His shins gently touched the chair as he backed away. Larsa, without taking his eyes off the slowly approaching Judge, dodged behind it.
"An assassin who knocks. How polite," Larsa sneered sarcastically. "Guards!" The hand gripping the letter opener shook, the knuckles whitened. He held the useless length of metal defensively. The Judge laughed. At his comment or his weapon? It couldn't harm a normal person. What hope did Larsa have of wounding this heavily armoured Judge?
No wonder he laughed. And where were those guards?
"Indeed," the Judge answered. "One must follow the proper etiquette when one desires an audience with an emperor."
"Then you have broken with protocol on a horrendous scale. Nowhere, I think you will find is it considered good manners to draw steel in royal presence. Guards! Arrest this man."
"They won't help you. And perchance I have broken with protocol. But it hardly matters. Your offence shall die with you, Larsa Solidor."
The Judge stepped around the left side of the table, sword held carelessly aloft. Larsa seized his chance. Before the Judge could react, he darted out from the 'safety' of his chair. The sword swung at him but Larsa was too quick. He dodged the desk, ran to the door and pulled it open. He glimpsed the Judge begin towards him as he slammed the door.
Larsa quickly found the key. His fingers fumbled with it. The lock seemed to move away from the key. Finally with a jab he slotted it in. A turn of a key, a click and the door was locked.
And not a moment too soon. The handle was tried violently. The door shook in its frame. But the lock held. It wouldn't hold for long though. It would give Larsa just enough time to find his guards. He backed away a step then turned. He stopped dead in his tracks.
He knew where his guards were.
The two lesser Judges lay on the floor. One of them was face down, limps spread-eagled whereas the other was sat against the wall, head looking limply into his lap. There was a broken sword in his hand. When had this happened? Whenever it had, it was brutal. Blood pooled beneath them and was splattered on the wall.
Larsa tasted bile on his tongue. He wanted to wretch at the picture of violent destruction but he couldn't. The fear for his life was still too great. The assassin's Morningstar had started to work its way through the barrier. Long gashes had already been torn clear. It wouldn't last. He knelt besides the Judge lying face down.
The sword was still sheathed but it was lying partially under him. It would be difficult and it would be close, but Larsa was sure he'd be able to get it out in time, if it wasn't broken of course. The weight of the man and his armour kept the sword in place. Larsa wiggled it in its sheath. It came gradually, inch by inch. Another splinter was taken out of the door.
"Futile. You seek to stop me, Larsa Solidor?" he heard the Judge say. "You live on borrowed time. You should run while you can."
Larsa ignored him. Another inch of sword was worked free. Too slow. Beads of sweat trickled down Larsa's face. Exertion or fear? He didn't care. He worked the sword further. His fringe fell into his eyes. The door was almost demolished. Not much time now. Only half a foot of blade was free. Hopefully it would be enough. Larsa pulled with all his strength.
Another half foot came free. The tension on the blade was lessened and finally disappeared. No more lay beneath the late Judge. With one last pull, Larsa withdrew the sword. He staggered to his feet and took defensive stance, waiting. He kept the letter opener in his other hand. It could prove useful. But the door was half demolished. Larsa's nerve broke.
'I cannot face him alone.'
He took his hunter's advice. He ran.
The corridors of the Imperial Levels of the palace were quiet, even for the late hour. Larsa feared. What had befallen the staff of the palace? Were they safe, oblivious to the carnage in the drawing room? Or had they too paid witness to it? He had no time to think of anyone else. Nothing mattered now except getting to the guards barracks five floors down.
Larsa didn't dare look behind him. The legendary Pylraster could've been chasing him and he wouldn't have known. The fear excluded all around him. All he cared about was getting to safety. By now the assassin must've broken through the door. He'd be pursuing him without doubt. But he didn't dare look.
He rounded a corner, then another, then another. Larsa had no idea where he was. His mind drowned out the details. His feet found the way of their own accord. The steel in his hands weighed him down but Larsa didn't dare part with it. If he was caught, it was the only thing standing between him and the fate of his guards.
One more corner and he found the staircase. Not hesitating for a minute Larsa hurled himself down them, barely managing to stay on his feet. He passed two landings, then a third and a fourth. At the fifth he ducked through the passageway and found himself in the main corridor.
'Thank the gods!'
Judge Zargabaath was walking up the corridor towards him. He didn't seem to have noticed Larsa's entrance. Regardless he felt all the better knowing his most loyal defender was here.
"Zargabaath!" Larsa cried, dashing towards him.
The Judge looked up. He stopped where he was, bewildered perhaps. In moments Larsa was at his side. He bent over to catch his breath, staring at Zargabaath's boots.
"Judge Magister," Larsa started, still breathless. "Pray, I require… your aid. I am being… hunted. A Rogue Judge chases me. He has already drawn blood tonight. We must find him and put a stop to his foul deeds. Summon the guard."
With his breath back Larsa straightened again. Zargabaath was staring at him intently, even more confused than before most likely.
"…Larsa Solidor."
A year long pause.
"Magister?"
Before Larsa could react, Zargabaath's hand was at his throat. The cold metal squeezed the air from his lungs. He couldn't breathe. Good god what was happening? Larsa dropped his sword but held on to the letter opener. On impulse he slashed at the Judge's wrist. Nothing, not even a scratch. He tried again but this time Zargabaath wrenched the knife from his grasp and threw it to the side. Larsa watched it hit the wall and fall behind a statue of Emperor Jezal.
Larsa stared back into the impassive mask of the man he'd taken to be a loyal servant. There was no telling what Zargabaath was thinking. He tried to speak. He had no breath to do so. His sight was beginning to darken around the edges.
Just as he thought he'd breathed his last, Larsa was thrown to the ground. Air! Oh glorious air! He took in a deep, shuddering breath. It burned in his lungs but he didn't care. He could breathe again. With that though came a series of violent coughs. He rolled onto his side shuddering. He was alive though.
But the shadow loomed over him. Zargabaath stood there calm as the dead. He looked down at the young emperor and again Larsa felt fear take him. He slowly tried to crawl away, all the while looking at him and wondering why.
"You…" Larsa began coughing again. "You've betrayed me Zargabaath. You shall hang for this."
The threat was hardly likely to affect the Magister, Larsa knew. All the same his newly kindled hatred for Zargabaath raged inside him. He tried to reach for his sword. It was put a few inches from his reaching fingers.
Then the Magister crushed them beneath his armoured foot.
Larsa howled with pain. Lances of pain from his shattered fingers made their way up his arm and back again. Surely someone must have heard him. Aid must be forthcoming. Surely… Zargabaath removed his foot and Larsa cradled his wounded hand. Without doubt all four fingers were broken. Defiance wouldn't help him now.
"Zargabaath please. Don't do this. I'll give you whatever your heart desires. Anything."
Larsa despised himself. Begging for his life in such an undignified manner disgusted him. But he couldn't help it. He'd pay any price to live to see tomorrow. For a moment Larsa had the temerity to hope he'd appealed to Zargabaath. The Magister only looked at the emperor, his mask giving nothing away. He stooped down. His hand stretched towards him, palm upwards in charity. Larsa reached toward it.
Zargabaath was toying with him.
His palm inverted and grabbed the front of Larsa's tunic. Zargabaath grabbed the discarded sword and walked on once more, dragging Larsa along the floor behind him. Larsa felt shamed but again the urge of self-preservation overrode all else. All he cared about was survival. If only he hadn't dropped the damn sword.
In that moment Larsa swore a vow. There would be no more pleading, no more negotiation for it would avail him naught. He would salve his wounded pride and hold his words. He drained his face of all emotion and bit down on his tongue to stop himself screaming from the pain. Screaming would be pointless. He knew deep down that no-one would save him now.
Larsa was only half aware where he was being dragged too until they came to the stairs. With no apparent effort, Zargabaath hauled him up the stairs he'd fled down not five minutes before. He stared at the ceiling and tried to ignore the pain in his broken fingers. Why was this happening? Why had Zargabaath betrayed him?
They came out of the stairwell and before long Larsa was thrown to the floor once again. He glanced to his left and saw a body. The body of his slain guard. He'd been brought back to the drawing room.
"I hope you weren't too harsh with him."
The voice chilled Larsa to the core. It was the assassin. And this time there would be no escape.
"No, my lord," replied Zargabaath. His voice sounded a shade lower than usual to Larsa. "I applied only what force necessary to prevent Solidor from escaping."
"Good. After all," the helmet of the Judge came into Larsa's view. He was looking at him, "we need him… intact."
"What do you need me for, treacherous swine?" Larsa spat. His fear still shook him but his defiant streak no longer listened.
"Need of you? I need but one thing from you Larsa Solidor."
He was lifted up again, whether by Zargabaath or by the assassin Larsa neither knew nor cared. It was really just semantics either way. He tried to look his captors in the face but the world seemed to spin. He was thrown into something soft. His chair. Everything was as it had been left save the door. The letter from the Mayor of Old Archades was still on the desk.
The assassin slammed something down on his desk in front of him. A piece of parchment.
"Sign this," he ordered.
Larsa made a show of reading it. His brows rose in surprise. So this was what all this was about.
"Sign it," the assassin yelled.
Larsa smiled at him defiantly. "I can't." He held up his right hand, ignoring the pain. "Your servant broke my fingers."
The assassin pressed the pen into Larsa's left hand. "I don't care. Sign it."
"No."
"Sign it or what this idiot has done to you," he gestured at Zargabaath, "will be a veritable picnic compared to what I will do."
Larsa threw the pen at the assassin. It bounced off his helm. It pleased Larsa to see the assassin getting angrier and angrier.
"Very well, your signature can be forged," he said, snatching the letter to the Duke of Silisair off the desk. "Your sword, Zargabaath."
The traitor unsheathed his blade for the first time that evening and handed it dutifully to his new master. Larsa felt the defiance in him die. His fingernails dug into the arms of the chair.
"It was a pleasure to meet you Larsa Solidor."
There was no flourish, there was no finesse. It was quick, it was brutal and most of all it hurt like hell. Larsa barely comprehended the sword now pinning him to the chair. All he could feel was the pain. He watched listlessly as his blood gushed red over the blade, over the chair and over himself. He started to cough again. Blood trickled out of his mouth. Then the pain increased tenfold as the sword was removed.
'How much I must look like King Raminas.' What would his death cause, he wondered?
Larsa tried to stand. But he felt so tired, so drained. He fell onto his desk. The desk was good. He could rest his head here. Yes, rest. Then the pain would go away.
Still, he wished Penelo was here. She would look after him. Then once he recovered, he would thank her and show her his appreciation.
He closed his eyes.