THE PRICE OF HONOR
Disclaimers: Final Fantasy XII and all other related characters, events, etc. do not belong to me.
Overall Story Notes: (minor spoilers) The story is about Gabranth and Larsa so in my story, Gabranth DID NOT die in the end of the game. :)
Chapter Notes: Chapter 16 happens in a series of episodes spanning five days, starting right after the events of Chapter 15.
Author's Notes: This chapter sort of just came to me, so it's different from the rest—I hope I executed it as well as it sounded in my head, which really isn't usually the case with me.
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DAY I
"How can I be certain that you will not leave me behind?"
"You cannot. You will just have to trust me that I won't."
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Gabranth was broken—shattered. It had taken every ounce of his willpower to do what he did, and he could not bear to be around Larsa any longer. The young lord was everything he could not possibly hope to have—and still he had hoped. For a short time, the best he has had in ages, he had had Larsa as his own... and he could not keep him still.
The Judge dragged his weary body from Larsa's chambers to his own, the grating of his armour unbearable in his ears. He felt anguish, frustration, hatred, despair, but nothing compared to the overwhelming guilt which engulfed him. His young lord did not deserve this pain—if there was any other way, he would have taken twice the heartbreak, but things were not that simple. They never were.
Lost in his thoughts, Gabranth barely noticed the other person which passed him, walking in the opposite direction. He ignored the man, but a painful drawl reached his ears which made his blood freeze in his veins.
"Aah. Done with your last farewells Magister? I should hope so, seeing as I've informed Lord Vayne of your—impending absence."
Cid.
"I have done so. I take my leave of you, this day has left me weary." Gabranth grunted through clenched teeth, fists trembling at his sides as he willed himself not to cause serious bodily harm to the doctor. The blonde pushed past Cid brusquely, wanting nothing more than to leave everything behind.
Everything.
"Gabranth, you know that this is for the best. I have done this for-"
"the Empire? Yes, I know Dr. Cid—knowing how you have been so concerned for her well-being." The Magister spat out, sarcasm dripping like venom.
"And his. I know of your feelings Gabranth, and though I do not doubt your intentions—it is not your place to be with him. You of all people should know this." Cid's tone softened, and for a moment—the blonde wanted to believe that the older man truly meant well. "Lord Larsa cannot have both you and the Empire."
"I gave him protection." The blonde bit out.
"And I returned to him his Empire."
Harsh as his words might be, Gabranth knew that Cid was right. It was not his place. It was never my place to be with him. He drew his lips taut and said nothing, opting to just walk away—that was one thing he had been considerably good at.
The tears came later, thankfully, when he was in the safety of his own chambers. Gabranth did not even bother to wipe them away as he collapsed under his own weight, the armour's impact dulled by the worn carpet on the ground. The Judge curled up on his side, pulling his knees tight against his chest—something he had not done since he was a child—and cried.
He did not know how long he lay there, weeping like he had never done before—as if all the emotions he had locked up all these years were fighting to burst out of his chest. It was too raw, too painful—and too real. "Forgive me... Gods, Lord Larsa—please, forgive me. I love you. I do, I do... I just—forgive me Lord Larsa..." The blonde whispered incoherently as if intoxicated as he slowly fell into a fitful slumber.
A soft, almost muffled knock, woke the Magister—the slightest sound usually did. Gabranth craned his neck to discern who it was, though he did not truly need to wonder who it was. "Larsa." The blonde mouthed silently, as he heard the almost inaudible shifting of weight from one foot to another from outside his room. Even if every nerve in his body screamed for him to open the door, Gabranth knew that doing so would only make it harder for both of them.
And so he lay there, no more than a foot away from the door, curled up like the child that he felt he was—and waited. There was a small part of him which hoped for something, but Gabranth steeled his mind. The first night was always the hardest.
The knocking had stopped, but Gabranth knew Larsa still stood outside his door. A soft creak indicated that the boy was leaning against the wood. "Gabranth... I know you are there... and if you can hear me—I just. Gabranth please.. just, just come back. Please come back. I am sorry... I will leave now, but I—I will leave my doors unlocked tonight. I love you."
The Judge slowly raised himself up and pressed himself against the door, if only to tell Larsa that he was there. I have always been here.
"You will grow up Larsa, and you will realize that this is how it should be."
"I will never outgrow what we have."
"How can I be certain that you will not leave me behind?"
A pause. "You cannot. You will just have to trust me that I won't."
Silence.
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DAY II
"Do not keep pushing me away."
"I am not—"
"I may forget how to return to you."
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"We may have had our differences Gabranth, but still, your absence will be a damning blow to my army." Vayne Solidor sighed as he rested his forehead on a gloved hand.
Gabranth stood silently on his usual spot behind Vayne's desk, unmoving—though his armour felt impossibly heavy and his helm stifled him. He had not had any sleep, and was spending perhaps the last three or four days turning over his duties before he finally took his leave. This sudden concern from the older Solidor was nothing short of a surprise.
"I am but one man, I have trained many, any of who could fill my place."
"None who will compare. Not with you Gabranth, I assure you."
"Your words flatter me, my lord. I have only done what duty has dictated."
Vayne stood up and poured two tumblers of wine, both half-filled. He took one and offered the other to Gabranth, who refused. The older Solidor looked out of the massive window which stood behind his desk, one which overlooked the capital, as he took a long sip from his drink—as if contemplating what more there is to say. There really was nothing much a Lord and a Judge could talk about beyond duty.
"There is—one thing, which I must ask before you leave the Ministry." Vayne cocked his head to one side, deep-set eyes suddenly narrow—almost piercing the thick steel of Gabranth's helm. "If Larsa were to ask you to stay, would you reconsider?"
Gabranth mentally cursed himself for not foreseeing this, he should have expected it. Instead, his tongue died in his mouth and his throat dried up, making it excruciating to swallow a particularly large lump in his throat.
"No. My mind is set. I have—taken my leave from the young lord's service." His voice cracked, it sounded hollow.
"He did not take it well, I presume."
Gabranth swallowed again. It was as if Vayne was baiting him, drawing him out, testing—breaking him apart. "He knows that I do what I must... my lord."
"Indeed. I shall leave you to turn over your duties, you may take your leave." The Solidor waved him off, and Gabranth was never more glad to be dismissed as he was then. He bowed before leaving Vayne's study.
The rest of the day was uneventful, filled with official imperial business and turn-over duties. Gabranth had not realized how much rested on his position, until he had to pass it on to others—perhaps because he never expected to pass them on at all. I swore to protect him till death, and here I am... binding someone else to my oath. The blonde shook his head and returned to his work.
Night came and Gabranth was exhausted. He removed his helm and tucked it under an arm as he walked the long corridors back to his chambers. He had not walked two halls down from the training hall before he crossed paths with Lord Larsa himself. Gabranth bowed by instinct, but all the more to avoid having to meet those piercing cobalt eyes which constantly unravelled his years of hard-earned control.
"Lord Larsa." His voice was weak.
The young lord looked up from the parchment he was reading, eyes blank and his face devoid of emotion. "Gabranth."
He nodded before continuing on his way, the coldness of his demeanor made Gabranth's chest ache. It hurt him to receive such treatment, but the Magister knew he deserved every bit of Larsa's hostility.
Larsa suddenly stopped, as did Gabranth.
"Sometimes, I truly do hate you." Larsa whispered, not turning back. "Sometimes, I wish father had never left me in your care. Sometimes... I wonder if I would hurt this much if I never met you."
Gabranth understood, but understanding did not make it less painful.
"Sometimes, I wish your father had let me die in the war."
Larsa bowed his head. "I would—never wish that."
"You would be happy."
"I would be, if you stopped pushing me away."
Silence.
"Do not keep pushing me away."
"I am not—"
"I may forget how to return to you."
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DAY III
"This is not something you can just yell at until it goes away—that is not how it works!"
"You believe I don't know this? I do."
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Gabranth frowned, weary from delegating too many of his responsibilities—he had never really noticed how many. There was only one Judge Magister left in the Ministry, and on him, Larsa's safety now depends. Zargabaath.
The search for the older Judge took longer than expected, but Gabranth finally found him by the mouth of the hedge labyrinth in the palace gardens. He approached Zargabaath, helm tucked under his arm—seemingly unable to wear it any longer for extended periods of time.
"Judge Magister Gabranth." Zargabaath broke the uneasy silence between them as he removed his helm in turn, a tired expression on his mature features.
"It is Gabranth now. Only Gabranth." The blonde murmured with a nod, suddenly guilty for leaving everything on Zargabaath's shoulders. "Zargabaath, forgive me."
The other Judge shook his head, "no, it is I whom you should forgive."
"Wh—"
Before Gabranth could finish, a heavy blow landed on his cheek—sending him reeling backwards, but he caught himself before he fell to the ground. "Zargabaath, what in Ivalice-!"
However, the older man was not done and he came at the blonde again, helm long discarded. Zargabaath placed another well-placed punch to Gabranth's side, then a knee below the ribs, as he grabbed the blonde's jaw. "Yes, it is only Gabranth now is it?"
"I—" A punch to the jaw.
"—did not—" A kick to the shin.
"—bring him back—" A hand on his throat.
"—for you to do this—" A hand tightening its grip.
"—to him." Pain.
Gabranth struggled with Zargabaath's death-grip on his neck. He had come unarmed, not expecting this kind of encounter at all. "Zar—"
"Silence! Talk with your strength Gabranth. Show me why I should not cut you down where you stand!"
The blonde clenched his teeth as drove his elbow as hard as he could against Zargaabath's Magister plate—knocking the wind out of the latter. "Enough! Zargabaath, stop this madness!"
"Before an army, you are unfazed. Before the young lord, you are naught but a coward." Zargabaath barked as he charged again, but this time, Gabranth was prepared. Blood pumping angrily in his veins, the blonde caught the older Judge's punch midway and countered with one of his own—emotions clouding his better judgment. I am NOT a coward!
"Yes! Do you feel anger at the truth Gabranth?" Zargabaath aimed another punch to the blonde's gut, but was quickly parried and was dealt with another to his chest. Blows were exchanged in a heated rush of growls and metal against metal, reason caving under anger—pain manifesting itself in violence—despair turning into strength behind the assault.
"Do not malign my feelings for the young lord!" Gabranth blinked away the blood that dripped down his forehead to his eyes as he poised himself above the older Judge—pinning him down. "You have no right."
"And still, you deny them." Zargabaath croaked out, unfazed as his own blood tricked down his broken nose. He pushed the younger Judge off of him and stood up, wiping the blood with the back of his armoured hand. "Your pride will be your own undoing—and his."
"I am leaving for his sake."
"His sake—or yours?"
"I have no need to explain myself to you." Gabranth hissed as he pulled himself up, body burning from all the damage dealt by the older man. He grabbed his helm from the grass and did his best not to limp back to the castle, though the blood on his face did nothing to conceal his injuries.
No one questioned his current state—no one ever did, and Gabranth was glad for that. He took step after painful step to the castle, only to once again, encounter Lord Larsa. The blonde winced in dismay, he wanted to turn away, go another direction, run if need be—if only to get away. But he could not.
"By the gods, Gabranth! What happened to you?" The young lord asked, alarmed at the Judge Magister's bloody countenance. He tried to lay a hand on the blonde, but the latter flinched and moved his arm away roughly. "It is nothing. Just leave me be." It was said louder than he had intended, almost shouting.
Larsa seethed, hands balling up into fists before he raised his chin defiantly.
"This is not something you can just yell at until it goes away—that is not how it works!"
This was obviously not pertaining to Gabranth's injury. No, it definitely reached far deeper than that.
"You believe I don't know that? I do." Gabranth murmured under his breath, almost inaudible.
But Larsa was already gone.
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DAY IV
"Do not make me do something I will regret."
"No. Not this time."
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The rum drew a burning line down Gabranth's throat as he emptied the tumbler in his hand. He leant back, the chair teetering on its hind legs before he sat back down—elbows resting on the crude wooden table in front of him.
Gabranth was in old Archades—he needed to get out of the palace, away from everything—away from Larsa. It had been ages since he had been to a bar as just a customer, deciding to forego wearing his armour as he would no longer carry the title of Judge Magister in a few days time. The anonymity was comforting. Here, he was no one—not a Judge Magister, not a king-slayer, not anyone—just a man.
"Want me to refill that for you?" A busty barmaid winked at Gabranth as she shimmied to his solitary table. "It's on the house." She winked again, taking the blonde's glass before he could protest. The blonde nodded with a small smile, though he looked away quickly.
The girl soon returned with his drink and thanked her. Gabranth opted to sip his drink slowly this time, relishing its heavy flavour on his tongue. It had been a long, long time since he had had something to drink—it was prohibited in the Ministry. It tasted of inexpensive rum, but it was the best he has had in years. The blonde let out a long sigh of relief... he felt—old... and so very exhausted.
"Well, well, well... 'ere's a new face. Haven't seen you from 'round 'ere. Where you from boy? There be respect to be paid 'ere." An unkempt man sat himself on the empty chair on the other side of Gabranth's small table, reeking of cheap alcohol. The other patrons of the bar began to murmur amongst themselves nervously, some leaving in haste.
Gabranth did not look up from his drink. "I do not want any trouble. If there be respects to be paid, consider them paid now."
"Smart talker this 'un, got gil to line 'is pockets, can hear 'em." The man rambled on, looking at the other patrons as he waved his bottle haphazardly before slamming it unto the wooden table. "Now let's make this easy for ye."
"I suggest you get up from my table and leave, sir, before I take it upon myself to do so." Gabranth bit out, the glass in his hand visibly shaking from how tightly he was holding it.
"Shakin' in yer boots eh?"
"Enough." The blonde stood up and imposed his towering height over the other man. Though he was without his armour, Gabranth looked menacing enough with his solid build and cold demeanor. "You will leave."
"Damn hell I will!" The man snarled as he brought down his bottle on Gabranth—or tried to, as the blonde caught it in his hand, the amber liquid spilling unto the table and splattering all over his trousers. Without his iron control intact, emotions loose from exhaustion and alcohol, Gabranth did what instinct pushed him to do—he punched the man, square in the jaw.
A riot shortly ensued, people running and screaming in panic as the man crashed violently against the wooden floor of the bar. People stared—again, they stared in fear. Gabranth felt sick.
"Anna! Anna! What is going on here, what happe—Noah?" Basch rushed into the chaos inside the bar, only to find his twin in the middle of it, with a bloodied man on the floor. "By the gods Noah, what have you done?"
The barmaid rushed to Basch and embraced him, "Basch... this man, is he-?"
"Yes, his name is Noah." The older twin nodded as he picked the unconscious man up from the floor and followed the barmaid to the backroom, but not before pinning the other blonde with a look. "You will stay where you are Noah, we will speak later."
It was not a request.
Gabranth collapsed bonelessly on his chair and did his best to ignore the scared stares and whispers about him, it was not like he was not used to it—but he had his armour to protect his identity then. Fortunately (or unfortunately, Gabranth could not tell), Basch made his way to his table soon after—his face dark and a deep frown was set in the older twin's features. "Noah—"
"I will not have you lecture me, Basch." The younger one hissed under his breath.
"And I will not have you running chaos in my friend's bar." Basch shot back. "Noah, what happened? Why are you here?"
Gabranth wanted to argue that it was no concern of his, brother or not—but he knew it was futile, Basch was pathetic that way. "I came for a drink. To celebrate—" The younger blonde chose his words carefully. "My release from the Ministry."
"Your release? From the Ministry? Surely you do not mean to say that you left after Dr. Cid dismissed you. I am sure that Larsa would have—"
"You will not talk of him in my presence. You can at least give me that, brother." The last word was bit out—pained.
Basch sighed in understanding. "He needs you Noah. You know this as well as I."
"The Empire needs him."
"He can have both."
"He cannot." Gabranth gestured to himself. "Look at me, this is what I am! Even without my armour, destruction follows me—destruction becomes me. I am a hound, Basch. This is what I am and this is all I am ever going to be. He does not need me."
"If he did not, he would not be outside looking for you."
"You do not mean..."
"He is outside with the others. We found him wandering Old Archades—he was searching for you."
"You lie."
"No, he does not." Larsa broke in as he entered the now nearly-empty bar. He stood before Gabranth, lips taut and eyes piercing equally blue ones.
"I will ask it of you one last time. Gabranth, will you come back—to me?"
The younger blonde looked at his glass in silence. The tempest of his emotions threatening to spill over. He wanted nothing more than to say yes—to return to Larsa—to return to his love, but he could not. I cannot. "Lord Larsa, do not make me do something I will regret."
Without flinching, Larsa turned and walked away, stopping only a few paces from the door.
"No. Not this time."
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DAY V
"I do not need you to forgive me. Just look at me. See me."
"I—I have forgotten how."
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Turmoil. That's what it was. That was exactly what it was. The feeling of looking at raven hair, always turned away, always far beyond his reach. Larsa was ignoring him, Gabranth knew. It did not matter asking why, he also knew the answer to that... but still he wished that Larsa would at least look at him. Even with hate, disgust, despair—anything, but not this dead silence that stretched miles between them. It was too much.
The day had gone too quickly, and it was spent with Larsa in one room and Gabranth in another. When Gabranth entered a room Larsa was in, the younger Solidor would find one way or another to leave—without so much as a glance in the Magister's direction. It aggrieved Gabranth, and yet he could do nothing about it. It was part of his decision and he would just have to accept it.
Time will ease his pain, as it will mine. Gabranth reminded himself of this over and over if only to get through the day.
This is to be my last day.
"What was that Gabranth?" Zargabaath looked up from the parchment the younger Judge had handed to him. "What about today?"
Gabranth cursed himself, not realizing that he had said it out loud. But he had to leave now, he could no longer bear what remained between himself and Larsa.
"Today is to be my last day in the Ministry. I am to leave tomorrow." The blonde did his best to keep his voice steady as he spoke.
Zargabaath nodded, sad eyes looking at his friend—if he could call Gabranth that. "I loath to see you go Gabranth. Would you not reconsider? Lord Larsa needs your protection, now more than ever."
"Larsa—the young lord—is in your hands now Zargabaath. I will leave him to no other. Be his sword in dire times, but be that which I could not. Be his shield Zargabaath and protect him. Forgive me, for not having the strength to carry that which is my own."
The older Magister clasped armoured hands with Gabranth in a sign of deep brotherhood. "I shall do my utmost to bear your burden, but it shall remain your own. You must return."
"I cannot." Gabranth murmured more to himself than to the other, as he tried to pull his hands away. "I am unworthy of your trust, but thank you Zargabaath. I shall be forever grateful for this service."
"Give Lord Larsa the farewell he deserves, you can at least give him that."
The blonde sighed. "You are no fool. You have seen there is naught but burnt bridges between us now. Perhaps it is better this way. The more he hates me, the sooner he shall wish to forget."
"Is that his doing or yours?"
"Mine entirely." Gabranth waved Zargabaath off as he made his way back to the castle, not that he had much packing to do. He lived in his armour—and expected to die in it too. He was half-glad he was leaving it behind.
"I still believe you should say farewell the right way!" Zargabaath called out before his voice was carried away by the late afternoon wind.
Should I?
Larsa was having the damnedest headache after that afternoon's lesson. It had gotten so bad that he had to ask to be excused from the rest of his lesson if only to be reunited with his bed. Was it the heat? The subject matter? Or was it the fact that he had not slept in days... always watching—waiting if the knob on the doors would turn. It was pathetic.
He nearly ran back to his chambers, burying himself in bed, eyes clenched tightly closed—begging for sleep to claim him. The minutes passed like hours, the pain insistently pounding in his temples like it wanted it to burst. Larsa wanted to just curl up and die. The curling up, he'd done by instinct—the dying part proved to be most problematic.
After four nights of waiting, a knob turned silently, and the door cracks open—just barely.
"Lord Larsa?"
The young lord stiffened and made sure he kept his emotions intact.
The door closed, and there were muffled footsteps on the thick carpet. The bed dipped behind his curled form and Larsa tried his best to even out his breathing, eyes closed in feigned slumber.
Long fingers carded through raven hair, tips barely grazing his scalp, and Larsa willed himself to keep still as the light touch sent shivers down his spine.
"What am I doing here, Larsa?' The low voice above him whispers. "I must be mad."
Larsa wanted to voice out his acquiesce, but opted to remain his ruse. The fingers in his hair seemed to drive the headache away, as it gradually died into a dull sensation at the back of his head. And the voice that sent him into throes of anger, despair, and frustration, slowly brought him peace.
It wasn't fair. At any other time, he would have long ordered the man to get out. He did not want to hear whispered apologies—not for things he would not rectify. Not for the things whispered in the dark that Larsa only half-heard... he wanted to forgive him, he truly did. But like many things he had wanted from Gabranth—
He could not.
"I cannot." Larsa murmured as he opened his eyes, slowly turning to look up directly at Gabranth's pleading blue eyes. His breathing was shallow now, the deception long abandoned. "I want to forgive you Gabranth, truly, I do. But—doing so will not change the fact that you are leaving—it does not change a thing between us now. I—" Larsa pursed his lips as they began to tremble.
"I am sorry Gabranth, but I cannot forgive you."
Larsa turned away, pulling the sheet over his head to hide himself.
"I do not need you to forgive me. Just look at me. See me."
"I—I have forgotten how."
When Larsa woke up the next morning, Gabranth was gone, and he suddenly wished that it had all been just a bad dream.
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Whew! Longest chapter to date. Tired me out running after it.
This is very different from how I write my usual chapters, that's because I was inspired by a different work of fiction. Hopefully, the variation wasn't for the worse.
I'm targeting around 20 chapters or maybe less than that, but definitely not more. We are nearing the end. :)
I didn't proof-read and I apologize for grammatical eyesores, but I personally like this chapter.
Again, thank you for taking time to read my story. Till next chapter. Cheers!
Seph