Though the airship was outfitted for the Emperor's ease, the journey from Dalmasca to Archadia had not been particularly comfortable.
As Tarachande tended to Faolyn, Kasan slept and Wulf, the Queen's newly appointed diplomat to Archadia, brooded darkly in the corner.
Wandering through the spacious airship and worrying over Faolyn, Noah's mind was reeling from the dramatically shifting events in Dalmasca. Ashe had toyed with his fate to satisfy her need to see him suffer. That part he could understand and accept. He would have taken much worse from her hand and not blinked. Death had been the expected end. It was the release that left him unsettled. She had tossed him back to the Empire without cost? Why? Such things are not resolved without price.
Basch had not spoken to him, had not even truly looked at him since the lady Ashe had released Noah to his keep. ... Noah wondered if but for Larsa Basch would have him in chains.
He stopped to watch Basch preparing Larsa for his homecoming, and somberly considered the child Emperor.
Never had Larsa assigned blame for the part Noah had played in carrying out the schemes of the elder Solidors, nor for his failings in the deaths of Gramis or Drace.
Perhaps it would be better if he did. He would not be made a liability to the young Emperor.
Larsa sensed the familiar presence, standing, as was his usual, just close enough to intercept danger or anticipate need while just far enough away to observe the bounds of his place. Loyal sentiment for the strong tower who had guarded his steps for so long was followed by affection for the one who now stood close to his side. Relief at the safe return of the one was combined with sadness at knowing the newly found companionship he'd come to count on would soon end...
Watching Larsa's serious and sober demeanor throughout the flight from Dalmasca, hands folded in the pretense of calmness Noah sensed the boy did not feel, brought back the memory of the return to the Palace from Mt. Bur-Omisace.
What words the Gran Kiltias had been speaking to the child heir when he stormed into their midst that fell day Judge Magister Gabranth had not known, nor had he particularly cared.
Leaving Bergan to muster the troops and Zargabaath to oversee the mission from among his maps and charts, Gabranth flew a small ship from the carrier and entered the peaceful realm ahead of the surge. He came like a whirlwind, possessed by a singular driving thought that would not let him rest; he would not fail the one who needed him…not this time.
Gabranth raced through the temple ahead of Bergan and approached the inner circle, the echo of his heavy boots pounding upon the stone ringing through the expansive cavity. He was determined that Larsa's safety should not be compromised, nor should he be made to endure the violent scenes that were sure to come if Bergan got to the young lord first.
"Ah! Look now, we are honored with the presence of Archadian Law and Might." Al-Cid Margrace appeared across the walkway. The Rozarrian spoke lightly to the young lady at his side, as if in confidence, but there was no attempt to lower his tone and he sauntered toward an intersection with the officer of the opposing Empire.
Gabranth's pace did not slow, and he refused to be diverted by the Rozarrian's attempted bait.
"Your timing is fascinating, Judge Magister. I wonder…are you a step ahead or a step behind?"
The question piqued Noah's awareness for a moment. Behind…?
Larsa had been meeting with the Gran Kiltias in hopes of turning the tide toward peace.
Al-Cid Margrace was here.
Who else had visited this hall of late?
The displaced Dalmascan heir.
Heh. Yes. Likely.
And if she had come, then……
But if Basch had been here recently he was gone now, and it was well he was gone.
There was no time and he had not the strength for it; not this day.
"Larsa. Where is he?" The question was a command, and Gabranth's voice was like the sound of arrows loosed, quiet but sharp, unforgiving and cold.
"The freshly seated Archadian Autocrat wishes to grieve o'er the death of his beloved father in the arms of tender kin, no doubt." Dry mocking underscored Al-Cid's smooth melodic tones.
Gabranth stalked toward the Rozarrian, swords glinting as he moved. Unarmed priests and pilgrims cowered and quaked. "Either draw that pistol, Margrace, or step aside." The devoted recoiled from the talk of violence and hurried away. Gabranth let them go. He had not come for them.
"Perhaps another time would be best." Al-Cid shrugged amicably as he waved an arm for Gabranth to pass.
Gabranth brushed by with a cutting stare and an unyielding hand. Al-Cid's favor and fate were not his concern.
Behind him Al-Cid spoke softly to the young woman at his side, "And so the hell hounds of Archadia are set upon us."
Beyond the towering doorway and into the inner sanctum Gabranth dared without hesitation, ignoring the protests of startled priests and the weave of pained sorrow and peaceful contentment that crossed the wizened face of the Dream-sage with the Judge Magister's approach.
Neither the boy nor the elder questioned Gabranth's presence as he stood poised to brace against a threat that, like the storm he carried in his chest day and night, had with him come.
Larsa's eyes were a touch red when he lifted them to Gabranth's shielded face. The sight of the young one's grief stung like a lash at the warrior's heart.
"Lord Vayne calls for your return." Gabranth ground his teeth as he forced himself to wait for Larsa. He wished instead to grab the boy up and run for the nearest escape.
"Yes…I will go. I need only a moment longer, Gabranth." Larsa nodded but turned back to the silent sage.
"My lord," Gabranth's voice was calm but weighted with seriousness. Larsa knew the tone and listened. "There is a charge set upon the Kiltia of harboring and conspiring with enemies of the Empire. At lord Vayne's command, The Alexander carries orders to extract you to safety. Judge Magister Bergan accompanies to see to the security of this place."
Larsa paled, and whirled to stare at his guardian, desperation widening his reddened eyes. "I am in no danger, Gabranth! There is no need! The Kiltia maintain neutrality, and it is I who seek the Gran Kiltias' guidance in the cause of peace!"
"Then I advise we leave at once." The intensity behind Gabranth's quiet insistence was not lost on the boy.
Larsa did not resist. "Yes, Gabranth. I must return and explain this mistaken interpretation of events to my brother." The boy was distressed and dismayed. Despite words grander than his few years the trembling lips and frightened features spoke eloquently of his youth. "Gran Kiltias Anastasis, I must now return to my lord brother…" Larsa excused himself respectfully and rushed out of the chamber under the protection of his shield.
As they departed, Noah turned his eyes one last time upon the peaceful elder. The Gran Kiltias' eyes were closed in dream, a saddened smile upon his aged lips.
At Gabranth's word, "This way, lord Larsa," the boy allowed himself to be redirected along a route that would see him safely inside the Alexander before Bergan's destructive hand could stain the horizon.
Gabranth's desire to protect Larsa had been met with their successful return to carrier, but Larsa's hope that his recovery would stay the onslaught was dashed.
"Recall the troops, Zargabaath! At once! I command it!" Larsa's order held a touch of pleading.
Zargabaath met Gabranth's eyes grimly and Gabranth turned his own eyes away.
"Those under my authority return to see you home, my lord." Zargabaath spoke with calm respect for the youngest Solidor. "Judge Magister Bergan's orders come from the throne and cannot be changed by any but His Excellency, lord Vayne."
Larsa turned fretful eyes to Gabranth, and allowed his guardian to direct him to a private chamber where he might not be disturbed.
Gabranth removed his helm, though he craved the cover that it gave, and waited, a silent sentinel, for the questions he knew would come. And they came.
"My father…Gabranth, it is true then? He is dead?" Larsa's voice was but a whisper. The childish hands that were clasped together upon the gilded slab before him had white knuckles.
"Yes, my lord." Gabranth swallowed, but his throat was scratchy and his voice rough.
Unwelcome memories forced their way through gates long held barred. Memories of when he had first met death in the form of his own father's empty, unresponsive shell.
Larsa bent his head, bowed under the weight of sorrow. "How?" The damp eyes that had lifted to focus upon Gabranth held a trace of anger and more of despair. Gabranth could not hold his gaze.
"It is said the Senate is to blame." Never did he doubt Drace' judgment, but Gabranth was careful, mindful that there was no proof of Vayne's hand in the affairs and that the surety of Larsa's safety was left tenuous.
Larsa blinked back tears, repeating quietly Gabranth's words. "It is said…" He continued slowly, "And, if what they say is so, they mean to weaken House Solidor and seize power for the Senate. And yet in doing this thing they weaken Empire itself…" Larsa trailed off into thought.
Gabranth watched him carefully.
...This thing…
The Alexander began its return path.
Larsa spoke no further of the father who had been the benevolent if authoritative presence throughout his young life, administering matters pertaining to his youngest son with an indulgent but watchful eye. Noah felt the boy's emptiness, and crossed to the window to catch his own breath and give the child a moment.
Looking out Gabranth saw smoke rising in swirling columns from Bur-Omisace.
Slowly, as if he was afraid of the answer, Larsa questioned his guardian. "You, Gabranth? What do you say?"
"It is not my place, my lord." Burdened by shame that he could not fully name, and for which there was no cure, he turned from the retreating view.
"I make it your place, Gabranth. Speak." Larsa's dogged resolve was made clear in his strengthened tone and by the clenched fists upon the table. His guardian could not but obey.
"If the Senate is to blame, my lord, they have authored a fool's errand with no reward to find but that of imprisonment, disgrace, and death." The direct reply trailed off as Gabranth wondered if these words put Larsa in more danger than his silence.
"Continue, Gabranth." Larsa prompted him without looking up. His voice was now even as his thoughts became more ordered. "Tell me the condition of things."
"Chairman Gregoroth is named leader of the conspiracy, and is dead. The Senate is disbanded and imprisoned. In your father's absence Lord Vayne assumes full control of law and land." No inflection of guilt was added to the statement. Larsa needed to understand, and yet such understanding was a dangerous thing for the child. He had no army to oppose Vayne, if so he found will, and Gabranth did not have the strength to answer Vayne, Venat, Bergan, and the rest alone. The boy must not be sacrificed because of his weakness.
As Larsa pensively considered, Gabranth braced himself for what be his next revelation. With a silent groan he defied his own spirit and faced what must be. "Lord Larsa…you must know. Judge Magister Drace……" His lips were numb, and his tongue felt thick as he fought to speak the hated words. "She is no more."
If already the blade had not cut deeply enough, the quivering of the young brow had caused the knife to twist violently into Noah's chest.
"Ah!" Larsa gasped as if struck a vicious blow, and tears sprang to his eyes. His fists pounded upon the table before him as he rebelled against the hated news. "No!" And then he groaned, rage replaced by sadness, "How, Gabranth?" Again he looked so young… Gabranth could see the little child who had looked up at him with wonder and expectation lingering in the eyes of this boy. "Why?"
With no memories of the mother who had so soon abandoned this life for the next, Drace had been more mother to Larsa than any other. Though she had resisted yielding to the idea that she cared for the boy beyond her position, Gabranth knew the truth.
Perhaps in the end it was this unconfessed maternal feeling, masked by duty and place, which had caused her to throw off reason and defy lord Vayne before the body of Law. He would not tell Larsa that she gave herself for love of him. The boy suffered enough…and would suffer more when the account was fully told.
"It is said she played the traitor and so met her end." Gabranth's voice was become cold and lifeless, unconvincing even to his own ears. He had cared not. He had been bound to Vayne's judgment for the sake of Larsa, but he would not have Larsa believe such of her. Never.
"She..." The young face had tilted toward him, lips tight, eyes full and searching.
Gabranth winced, felt his brow pulse and looked away, unable to hold the gaze that condemned him by its lack of blame. "The sentence has been carried out."
It was all he could manage in the moment without choking on the angry bile that rose in his throat, but Larsa deserved more. He swallowed hard and continued, repulsed by his own words and the truth of them. "By my hand."
The weight of that shame nearly pushed him to his knees, but somehow he had straightened and stood fast, determined that he would not relieve his own sorrow at Larsa's expense. It was a burden, and a promise, that he and Drace had shared. He alone was left to bear it out to the end.
Larsa looked down at his fingertips and then away. "Oh… I see."
No further questions were asked, and Larsa turned his eyes away, but Gabranth had seen the tear that slipped down the young cheek.
In that tear ran a trail of memories shared between the three.
The turning hands of time had seen Larsa grow from the babbling child to this keen but gentle young man. Bonds had strengthened, alliances formed, and the warrior's body had been further scarred. In that tear fell all this and more, like tender petals are torn from the limb and scattered in the gale force.
"Lord Larsa…" Deeply wishful of taking away the pain he had in his part caused, Gabranth had moved an armored hand hesitantly toward the boy. His hand froze above Larsa's shoulder as Larsa hesitantly spoke once more.
"Do you believe she was a traitor, Gabranth?" How fragile the young sapling seemed.
Gabranth's voice was strained. His hand clenched to a fist and dropped to his side."She was true, my lord. No less true in the end than at the beginning."
When the airship docked at the upper level of the Palace the young heir had walked silently beside his guardian as they went together into the presence of the waiting Vayne Solidor.
It was the beginning of a brutal awakening for the child, and a cruel twist; the destruction of innocence and the disillusionment of honor so that innocence might be reborn and honor reclaimed.
Soon they had received word that Bergan had not survived the journey to Bur-Omisace…
And Gabranth would learn that Basch had returned to the Mount with and his companions, too late to save the Gran Kiltias but soon enough to see to the Judge Magister's end…
It had been a defeat for the Empire that Gabranth had found no reason to regret.
Bergan's demise was a victory for Larsa, and some smallest bit of recompense for Drace.
Noah's eyes gentled as he looked at the young Emperor. He would not take release from the charge to defend Larsa as long as he drew breath. He had promised himself. He had promised Drace.
But then he could see that Larsa had found a needed and trusted confidant in Basch and was glad.
Noah turned his eyes to his brother, felt a familiar pang, sighed lightly, and turned away…
…He was glad for them both.
Basch was tired. Noah could see that the conflict in Dalmasca weighed upon his brother's shoulders.
It had been too many years since the days when they had trusted one another enough to give up their burdens for sharing.
Only in the case of Larsa had they done so, both believing Noah to have found his end.
…What if they had trusted one another years ago…
What if Basch had come when…
Or what if he had sought out Basch when…
The Empire spread out before them, and the Palace loomed as the airship drew near.
Noah severed the thread of thought before it could unwind further.
It was no use. They had not.
The boy…only one soldier was missing in the count; young Aramis McCall. There was speculation he had been destroyed in the blast along with his sister, the strange tale of their meeting having been told. Zargabaath did not believe it.
"The boy, the soldier," Pryderi had said, according to Gracien… It could be no other. And so it must be that this destruction came somehow at Aramis McCall's hand.
Following the trail of the boy's recorded life led only to the graves of the elder McCalls. He had agents investigating the family through all channels, and the boy's papers were being carefully reviewed. It took more time than he liked… Perhaps more than they had.
If only Pryderi was awake to provide more information on the attack…
As his mind sorted out the events Zargabaath debated if had he done right in sending Gracien for Pryderi's wife.
How many warriors of the Imperium had whispered a prayer for their loved ones and gone resolutely into the arms of death at his word of command?
To how many prepared letters of condolence had he lent his name?
How many posthumous medals of Honor had he approved?
He did not take the deaths of those who served the Empire lightly.
And yet the task of personally notifying the families of their loss belonged to others.
A Judge Magister's time was strenuously taxed.
Often the task was given to his lieutenants; often to Dax Gracian and Lonnan Pryderi.
The last time he had himself delivered a personal notification, this for a Judge who had long served beneath his command, had been the first such experience for his newest officer, Dax Gracien.
Dax had followed him from the private airship, and waited as he stood in silent thought upon the sidewalk.
The home had been unpretentious but of quality construction and well kept; appropriate quarters for an Archadian officer's family unit. Not altogether unlike the home where Zargabaath had himself been raised.
The dusky light of evening and sidewalk lanterns played with the warm glow escaping from the sliver of space between curtains.
Like eyes the window panes seemed to watch him there, solemn and protective shields, wishful of separating those kept safe within from the news he must bear.
He could make out shadows moving to and fro in the constant tide of family activity. He had hoped the children were abed…
Dax walked behind the Judge Magister, his arms formally holding a sacred bundle.
Zargabaath's face was a grim but calm mask as he stepped forward to complete the task he had come to serve.
At the door Zargabaath removed his helm, his chest rising only slightly as he took a slow, deep breath and lifted his hand. His knuckles came down firmly and precisely upon the doorframe, once, twice, and then his hand fell to his side as he stood waiting.
Inside the home he heard a scurry of movement and muffled laughter. The sound brought a melancholy smile to Zargabaath's face.
The war had been unduly harsh on family life. Pride in their warrior children, mates, and parents was the only balm to offer. Talk of peace had created a false sense of safety in the minds of loved ones toward those who served. Would it make loss more offensive to the hearts of those left alone?
The young ones were likely all too accustomed to going without their father's presence.
Would the children realize a difference now that he was truly gone?
A moment of silence settled within, and Zargabaath could imagine the mistress of the house smoothing her clothing, tidying wisps of hair, and taking a last look about in preparation for her guests as his own mother had often done.
The door opened even as the lady tucked a last stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Yes?"
Eyes that had been mildly curious and somewhat impatient at the unexpected interruption of her evening routine went wide with surprise at the dignified visitor at her door.
"Judge Magister Zargabaath?" Never had her husband's commander ventured here.
Automatically her gaze shifted as she looked behind him. Seeing the other soldier she peered on into the darkening night.
Zargabaath knew… She was looking for her husband…
"My lady, might we have a moment?"
A boy and girl, both looking to be in their early teen years, appeared behind the concerned woman. "Who is it, Mother?"
"Go to your rooms. Go."
They seemed to feel impending doom in her voice and gave her no argument, staring back over their shoulders from their mother to the intruders and moving closer to one another as they went.
Wordlessly she stepped aside and allowed them to enter.
When the Judge Magister and Knight emerged, the sky was dark, stars mockingly bright against a canvas of ink. Zargabaath stood again silent upon the walkway. Dax' hands were now empty, his fists clenched. A cloak of sorrow wrapped thickly about the pair.
The seed of dread that had taken root in her eyes at the sight of the visitors came to full bloom as the Judge Magister's difficult but necessary words informed her of her husband's death and brought all her worst fears to life.
How her tears had raced, tumbling one over another down her face, soundless in grief too great to find its voice… He had helped her to sit, and chivalrously watched over her in her grief, but though he was a man who had commanded warriors for the better part of two decades he felt stranded in such times. There was no order he could give to bring a husband and father back to his family.
Dax had gently given over the wooden box with all its treasures, and the widow had tenderly stroked and caressed each item within, holding onto the markers of her husband's life.
And next had come the question of why.
Zargabaath had answered truthfully, concisely, and as kindly as he knew.
Did it help her to know? Did he meet her need? The grief in her eyes had not lessened.
Zargabaath had, in his measured and disciplined way, given all he knew to give. He ended with words of honor for the brave soldier who had followed his command through war and peacetime. "Dear lady, your husband will be remembered as a noble son of Archadia, a brave and loyal knight. That he gave his life in service to the Empire, we will not forget." Did the words seem cold and trite to her ears?
Dax had transferred the sword taken from the Judge's lifeless hand into those of his wife. She had viewed it without expression, and then numbly returned it to the knight. "Keep it. Or bury it with him." She had turned as young faces peered around the hallway. "He has given me the better part of himself."
As they walked away the sounds of laughter behind the home's glass eyes had been replaced with fresh tears as two more voices were added to the harmony of sorrow…
"Judge Magister, Senator Soleine requests a meeting in your chambers, your Honor."
He had done all that he could. Zargabaath dismissed the scene with a hand over his eyes, and stood calmly to ready himself for the battle at hand.
Dax knocked again, more forcefully, upon Lonnan's front door, and this time he heard footsteps calmly approaching from the other side.
When she saw him there her smile was both friendly and confused. "Dax?" It had been months since her husband's colleague and friend had visited.
"Lady Aneera…" His voice was raspy. "It's Lonnan."
Instantly her dark eyes widened, and the fear he had expected to come was there and strong.
Her lips tightened and her knuckles were white upon the latch. Her free hand went to her swollen belly, comforting the child who might never see a father's face.
"I won't lie. It's bad, Aneera." Dax was ashamed to hear a strain of fear in his own voice. "He needs you."
To know that he was still living gave her strength. She whirled back into the house, and emerged in a moment with one child balanced in her arms and holding the other child's hand. She hurried across the lawn to the neighbor's where she spoke a few words to the elderly woman at the door. The aged lady accepted the small, uninvited guests without protest.
Returning to Dax' side, Aneera grasped the knight's arm. "Take me to him."
Dax spoke not a word as the craft lifted. He looked down at the home below, growing smaller by the instant, and wondered if the years his friend had spent building a family and a home had been destroyed in a moment.
A cool breeze was sweeping across Archades when the airship docked at the upper level of the Royal Palace.
The hood of the worn cloak, recovered from his few confiscated goods, was pulled down to Noah's eyes. The hem swept out behind him in uneven tatters. His arms were full of the still dreaming Faolyn.
Basch, helmed and with heavy mantle lifting as it caught a gust of air, passed Noah by to lead the group across the walkway, Larsa close by his side.
Noah cast a watchful glance about. He had spent more time in this land than any other. He could have mapped their route to the Palace in his sleep. As Gabranth he had come to know the pulse of the City. As Noah he now felt the stranger he had once truly been and would perhaps in part always be.
He felt Kasan's somber eyes upon him, heard Tarachande impatiently directing them onward, and caught murmurs of Wulf's disgruntled retort as the Nabradian rebelliously lagged behind.
The wind lifted strands of Faolyn's tangled mane. The corded threads grazed Noah's cheek, sending a tingling sensation across his skin.
Noah expelled a puff of air from his nostrils as he considered the irony of this situation. He could almost hear Drace mocking him. "This is the Royal Palace of Archadia, Gabranth, and not a peasant's abode. Pray do make an attempt to appear respectable." A smile flitted across his face and then disappeared with the echo of her voice.
He fell in behind his brother…and followed Judge Magister Gabranth inside.
"Tell me, esteemed Judge Magister, how is it when there are Imperial soldiers wounded, missing, and feared dead that the Emperor is yet absent?" The ring upon her finger, stretching from knuckle to knuckle, glinted as she waved her hand dramatically in presenting an argument that sounded more like accusation. "How is it when circumstances strongly suggest a Dalmascan hand in this tragedy that our leader remains in company with the Dalmascan Queen?"
"Take heed, my lady Senator. " Zargabaath's hands were folded upon the desk before him. "Remember the company you keep. Unless you aim to be judged by your words, I suggest you mind them more carefully. " Zargabaath's even tone was absolute as he continued. "His Excellency, lord Larsa, works to the good of the Empire, as always."
"Such has always been your word on such matters… Let us hope this time you are right." She smiled, but there was no relaxing of her eyes. "You understand, I am sure, that my colleagues will not be as easily satisfied with the soundings of your noble faith, dear Zargabaath. They will want to know when they can expect our young ruler." Both challenge and warning were in her eyes. "They will expect to be given explanation of our losses and to hear a clear path toward resolution. What, I wonder, would you say to them?"
Zargabaath held her gaze calmly, but truthfully he was concerned. She was right in saying Larsa needed to soon return to the seat of power. The young leader was too fresh in his rule to allow the throne to lose the warmth of his presence. The Senate would grow bolder every day he delayed, justified by conflict that granted opportunity.
"Senator-" Zargabaath had just begun to weave his answer when a knight interrupted.
"My apologies, Judge Magister Zargabaath, but his Excellency, Emperor Larsa, requests your presence in his chambers."
Though he took care not to reveal his relief at Larsa's return, the same was shown as the tension eased from Zargabaath's brow. He met the lady Senator's eyes and nodded respectfully. Both knew that for the moment he had won.
Faint beginnings of lines at the corners of the Senator's still youthful eyes were accentuated by silent laughter in acknowledgment of the victory.
The soldier left, and Zargabaath rose, signaling an end to their duel. She accompanied him from the room, and then paused a moment. "Let us hope that your faith is not ill placed, old friend." Genuine fondness and concern slipped into her tone. "Let us hope that the young Emperor has good tidings. The Senate will not be blinded by his youth or idealistic bent. They will have answer." Her tone increased in seriousness, "As is right they should. The Empire belongs not to House Solidor. It is our homeland too."
They parted, and Zargabaath made his way on with hastened step and anxious spirit. How precarious was peace. The young Emperor must stand strong.
Basch had released for a time the grateful physician from her luxurious prison to allow Kasan Ranel privacy with his wounded mother. Recounting the events had been difficult. Kasan had only seemed to pick up a word here or there.
"Meret Denali? …She loved him once. But that was before she chose my father…that she loved Denali, that is… I suppose she's never done very well with men. " Kasan had blankly studied his step-mother's wan face, rambling as Basch tried to speak.
"He's dead though. Denali, I mean. Well, my father also… One now and the other then," Kasan had interrupted again. His own scrambled thoughts spilled out and ran over Basch's attempts to relate the tale.
Finally the words of both men were ended, and they drifted into uncomfortable silence as Kasan stood staring down at Haleine Ranel with bewildered, tired eyes.
Basch lingered a moment, turned his eyes away with regret before making to exit the chamber. "Noah." His voice was low, so as not to disturb the Archadian son who just now reached for his mother's limp hand.
A shadow was thrown across Noah's face, and his eyes shifted only a little Basch's way in response.
"Come." Basch nodded toward the exit.
Noah stood unmoving. His brow flexed slightly, and his eyes went from his brother to the Archadian. Finally he moved to follow Basch.
"Gabranth?" This time it was Kasan Ranel who spoke, and both men looked his way.
Noah felt Basch watching him warily. Kasan emerged from fatigue and sorrow to some part of understanding and tried again, "Noah?"
Basch's caution turned to surprise Basch at Kasan Ranel's familiar use of the name.
Noah's eyes went toward Basch and away. "Yes?"
Basch's chin rose and his brow lowered.
"Stay?" The Archadian son was spent. Even the act of breathing appeared forced and exhausting.
Noah shifted toward his brother. "Tarachande is tending Faolyn, Wulf endures Imperial hospitality, and Larsa will be meeting with Zargabaath in preparation for the Senate. He will need you. You must be with him. I cannot." Noah presented his argument and left the rest unspoken. The remnants of his pride would not allow him to ask Basch's permit to remain.
Silently Basch acknowledged his brother's keen grasp of the young Emperor's needs, but wondered at the true motivation behind his words. "You should wash. Take some rest." He reviewed his brother's tattered, blood-stained rags. "You will want fresh garments. Inform the guard when you are ready to retire. I will see to the arrangements." In so saying Basch both gave his consent and set the boundaries of Noah's freedom.
Did Noah, Basch wondered, feel as displaced here as Basch himself when standing in the presence of Ashe and her newly selected Captain? He considered the young Dalmascan Captain's consternation at having the forerunner to his post walking freely about the Castle with increased sympathy. He could not very well demand Noah be confined to his quarters, but the alternative of constantly wondering where his brother was and what he was doing made Basch's stomach churn. He would have to rely upon Noah's loyalty to Larsa to keep him grounded.
"For Kasan as well." Noah interjected, solemnly watching the Archadian mother and son.
"Hm? Oh, yes. Yes, of course." Basch nodded, and then spoke with increased gravity, "Noah..."
Noah's eyes turned.
"Remember that you are Gabranth no longer… This arrangement will be made to look deceit if uncovered. What is meant to protect the peace must not be discovered and made a weapon against lord Larsa. Do we agree?"
"Aye. We agree." On this one point, if none other, they were truly united without contention.
Basch nodded, took a deep breath, and exited the chamber.
The door closed behind Basch, and the sound of his steps became instantly muted and quickly made silent. Kasan looked gratefully toward Noah, and then returned his eyes to his step-mother.
Noah looked without seeing.
…Gabranth no longer…
"Remember, if they ask, you are Noah Gabranth. The name Gabranth meant something once in Archadia, and I am certain there are those who will recall. We will have friends who will give us shelter until this madness is past. …They must." The hope and thread of courage that strengthened her tone was tenuous and near breaking. She coughed. Her voice was weakened, strained with desperation, weariness, and illness.
"Yes, mother. I am sure you are right." Noah tried, for her sake, to banish sadness from his voice.
His hands were busy with packing the last few valuables in their possession. Most had already been sold or bartered away for provisions. Gold and silver meant little when food and fresh water were so hard to come by, precious medicines all the more.
His mother took off the jeweled chain that rarely left her neck and tucked it into a drawstring bag, handing it then to her son. Noah in turn carefully buried the item in the depths of the satchel he prepared. This was one thing she could not part with.
The necklace had been a gift from Eben fon Ronsenburg to his wife upon his final happy homecoming. He had beamed with pride as he placed it around her neck, and she had grasped his hand and danced about the room with delight. The brothers had rolled their eyes and buried their faces in embarrassment at their parents' adolescent behavior, but they too had been pleased to witness their happiness.
Noah pushed the pouch into a hidden opening in the lining. There also were to be found a few gold coins he had managed to save along with some maps that might prove useful...just in case she was wrong and they were refused.
They dared not journey with items of value in plain sight. Thieves had become rampant these days, either driven mad by the conflict and loss or made greedy and bold at the sight of weakened defenses and unguarded tills. They were taking a great risk in venturing out, but staying was a risk greater with her health… The daily stress and harsh living conditions were taking a toll…
As he secreted the remaining treasure away, Noah thought of his father, lying in the cold ground beneath the shade of an ancient tree. The tree, once tall with branches outstretched and upturned, was now broken. The trunk had been snapped by an errant strike that lit the nearby field ablaze. The top now lay sprawling over the grave as if to give cover from the storm or to hide the eyes of the dead from the sight of the devastation.
…What would his father say?
It was as if she heard his thoughts. Or perhaps only it was that they were also her own. "Your father would understand. He would not ask, or I think even desire that we should linger." He could sense she had debated the subject many times alone. "The Archadian Empire has always been ambitious… I do wish that Landis had been spared… But whatever the reason or the answer to this conflict, I know also that Archadia is home to many good people; people who care for their loved ones, and want only good for their families. They are no different than you or me. We must not blame the many for the sins of a few." She sighed and nodded, as if satisfied with this answer, and continued on. "I was born a daughter of Archadia. They will not turn us away. We will find refuge. We will outlast this trouble."
"Yes, mother." Noah's spoke softly, but offered a brave smile that wavered only a little. Inside he was not certain. His mother could claim Gabranth and the Empire, but fon Ronsenburg and Landis were all he had ever known.
The Empire of Archadia…even the sound of it was imposing and stern.
It was hard to believe any of this was real…
Noah walked through rooms cluttered with what was once important but was now cast away, climbed up the steps, and crossed the hallway to the room he'd shared for so many years with his twin. He could hear the laughter echo off the walls. He could see his brother's face in the shadows there.
How had it come to this?
Blinking away unwelcome dampness, Noah sat down upon his brother's bed and reached for the reed flute that lay on the nightstand. Basch had taken very little with him except for the sword his father had left.
Desperate hope whispered.
Maybe Basch would come back...
Fear answered.
What if Basch came back to find none there to greet him?
Anger pushed hope and fear away.
If Basch wanted to go, let him stay gone.
…Noah's fist clenched around the thin reed…
It still hurt to remember...
He had awakened late the morning after Basch had set out. She had let him oversleep; probably to avoid the scene that would come soon enough. She had sat silently, letting him ramble about where might be a likely place to search for supplies that day, and had smiled gently as he stuffed a dry, stale corn muffin into his mouth on the way out the door. His offhand question of, "Where is Basch? Did he already go?" had caused his mother's hand to become unsteady, and made her turn away.
"Yes, he has already gone, Noah." How quietly she'd spoken the words.
"Heh. He shouldn't have gone without me. It's a mess out there," Noah had scorned his twin's judgment, thinking to himself that "bloody dangerous" was more like it. It was better for them to stick together if they didn't want to end up shot for their boots. Even in their own house they could not feel truly safe. But he didn't want to worry her. "Did he take the goods with him?" They planned to try to barter a few remaining items. Probably not. "Last one up carries the stuff," Noah had said last time Basch slept in a few extra minutes. Basch would pay him back for that now.
"Noah…" She had risen slowly from her chair, and her steps were unsteady as she moved toward him. He could see the dark shadows beneath her eyes. Fear raced to his heart.
"What is it?" Protectively he had put his hands upon her thin shoulders. How oblivious and naïve he had been…
"You must understand."
"Understand what, Mother?" When he rubbed her arms as if to warm them he did so because he needed something to do with his hands.
She had bent her neck to look up to her son. Along with his brother, Noah had become tall and sinewy with growing; twin saplings shooting upward, young and slender and strong. His body had not yet filled out to compensate for the height. That would come later. He was still a boy and yet also a man. Tears had come to her eyes as she viewed him, and her voice had broken when she spoke. "Basch… has gone."
And he had not been able to speak, instead simply shaking his head in question. His chest had burned as panic squeezed the air from his lungs.
"…To join the defense of Dalmasca, Noah. He has gone. Do you understand?"
His hands had left her shoulders like his fingers were burned, and he had recoiled as if she had become a dangerous thing. "What?"
"It was his decision to make. We must let him go, and pray for his safe return. It…it is all we can do." Her voice had broken, but no tears came. She had spent them all praying for her young warrior son's safety throughout the long night.
"What?" Surely, Noah had thought, surely he was still sleeping. Surely…
"He felt it was safer for him to go at night."
His fists had clenched as anger rose to protect him from hurt.
Safer?!
Easier!
Coward!
"Noah." Her distress was compounded for his sake. "You don't have to stay for me." She had put on a brave face, and cupped his lean cheek in the palm of her hand. "If you would rather join your brother, go, and do not worry. I'll find another way. It will be okay."
"I won't leave you." There was no question in his voice or in his mind, and for her sake he muted the bitterness he felt from his tone. "Basch has made his decision and I make mine. I already have something to fight for. I don't have to go looking."
Her eyes had spoken her gratitude.
He had wanted no witness to his suffering, and had walked out the door without another word, waiting until he was out of her sight to break into a reckless, blind run.
She had not seen him drowning in hot tears of rage and retching on hurt. She had not been there when at last he had dropped, exhausted and miles away, to the torn ground of a stranger's abandoned field. He had returned that night, bloodied and bruised and weary, with little to show for his long day; he had forgotten to even take the goods to trade.
He had seen it in her eyes…the relief that he had come back, and had known that though he had given his word still she had wondered.
From down the bottom of the stairwell she called to him, and Noah looked around the room one last time.
He would not say goodbye. Still, at the last moment he tucked the reed flute into the satchel, and carefully packed up a few of his brother's things. …Just in case.
And then it was their turn to set out in the dead of night, pressed beside an elderly couple in the back of a Chocobo-drawn wagon like chattel, leaving his childhood home vacant and lonely. She had reached for his hand and whispered, "Someday, when this trouble has passed, we will be together again."
Through the proclamation of hope he had heard the doubt. By moonlight he had looked into her eyes and seen the shadow creeping in. The same shadow crept to the corners of his heart.
Against his leg was strapped the matching dagger to the sword his brother had taken.
He had only one family, and of it she alone remained. He would not desert her.
It had not gone as planned, their bartered passage. Their saviors proved brigands instead. The bandits, who had already taken more than their passengers could afford to arrange the journey, had planned to rob them of what little they had left, taunting the women with threats of abuse and the elderly gentleman and boy with promises of death.
… It was the first time he'd ever had to kill a man. He'd not known until she was in peril that he could.
"Noah?" Kasan's weary voice broke through the layers of memory, and Noah went to stand beside the son of the man who had welcomed his mother like a long-lost sister and given them shelter when there was none.
Basch was wrong. Though the title of Judge Magister was gone, as long as memory of her remained, and as long as there were promises left to keep, Gabranth would be part of him.