A series of drabbles written for the LJ ff_fortnightly community providing a small window into Gabranth's life in Archades. Slice of life + defining moments. Reviews always welcomed. Enjoy. ^^
A New Assassin (695 O.V.)
Threads of woolen weave fray as Gabranth's cloak snags. Still, he slips out the window and falls into darkness. He dodges foes who do not exist. Leather-soled feet lead a blind dash through a garden, down to a lamp-lit road.
An inky black aircab hums and hovers. A door opens. Gabranth dives in.
Hushed acceleration presses him to his seat. Hands shake, breath shudders, pulse races; yet fear and regret melt into redress.
"My eldest brother is dead?" Vayne asks.
"Aye."
"Congratulations. Your training is complete. I will notify the Akademy and, certainly, the Ninth looks forward to hiring you."
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A Child's Tactics (701 O.V.)
Their lesson on tactics concluded, yet the emperor's youngest son stood still and waited until Gabranth finally spoke. "You have an audience with Ghis, I believe."
"I— I believe I do."
Lord Larsa's deference confused Gabranth. An emperor's son held automatic rights to speak, to dismiss, to leave.
"And—" Lord Larsa's small finger traced a line along the cover of his book. "I wonder if you would accompany me— walk with me, that is, to Magister Ghis's office."
"Of course." He could not refuse.
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The young lord's safety was the magistrate's responsibility whenever the boy was placed in their hands, yet the judicial wing's top corridor was safe, Larsa knew the way to Ghis's office. Gabranth did not understand, but it was his duty to meet and manage the whims of those who retained him.
"You needn't bother with the formalities of your helm," Larsa said.
"As you wish."
And as they walked down the sunlit corridor, Larsa chatted about the wonders of Bhujerba. He pulled Gabranth's hand and led him to a window. "There," he said, "airships like those fly beneath the sky city. What a wonder!"
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My Brother's Pride (704 O.V.)
Hoplites strike Basch as he crouches, argues, shouts. A heavy blow is required to send Basch sprawling to the treaty room floor. This could have been easier. Basch has always been proud and his pride brings trouble. Noah looks away.
"Keep him in solitary until the trial," Vayne orders a hoplite.
Noah knows the upcoming trial will be nothing but a morality play written for the conquered Galtean masses. Medics carry out the key witness: a young Dalmascan incapacitated by Noah's neurotoxic dagger.
Basch starts shouting again when guards strip him of armor, clothing, everything. Naked, Basch's fist hooks the metal chin of a guard's helm. He ducks another blow only to gag when the guard jerks the silver chain from Basch's neck.
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Noah removes the exacting replica of Basch's battle armor. Everything had been created for this mission—everything except a silver pendant Noah stopped wearing the day his mother died. He puts it away.
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Noah doesn't know what to say. He had requested permission to see Basch today. Tomorrow is the execution. Noah shifts, avoids Basch's eyes, and reaches for his hand. He presses the silver eagle of their family's crest into Basch's palm. He mumbles good-bye.
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