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 17 happens right after the events of Chapter 16.

Author's Notes: Not proof-read so will probably contain a lot of grammatical eyesores. Sorry.

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"Should this fight drag on, Rozarria will enter the fray, the defense of Dalmasca as their excuse... and we will have a war between empires." Balthier stated matter-of-factly, his usual calm features set in a deep frown.

Al-Cid, who had invited himself in the manse, nodded in agreement. "Correct. They will bide their time—wait until the Empire has spent itself against the Marquis. But Vayne—he will crush them and the Marquis both between his hands."

"Vayne holds the Dusk Shard no longer. His advantage is lost." Basch interrupted, trying to keep everyone's dwindling hopes up.

"Vayne has advantages enough. He stands on higher ground, and my birds tell me he has awoken something quite large." The Rozarrian shook his head in dismay. "Bahamut, Lord of the Sky. There was a stirring in the mist near Ridorana, I'm told. Bahamut awoke soon after this."

"It was the mist that came before the Cryst was undone. It breathed life into this Bahamut." Fran finally spoke, her voice more quiet than usual. "If Reddas had not stopped it when he did, how much more mist might it have drunk? All went according to Doctor Cid's designs."

Balthier visibly winced at the mention of his father's name, even in death, the old man was still correct it seemed. "Yes, the man's last great accomplishment, I fear. And so it falls to me to put an end to the thing."

Ashe stepped forwards, fists clenched tight at her sides. "Vayne commands Bahamut himself?"

"He comes to Rabanastre." Al-Cid replied grimly.

The princess resolved herself, her body drawn taut as she lifter her head high. "Then I will defend Dalmasca and stop this Bahamut. This is my cha—"

"That's our charge, actually." Vaan interrupted with a smirk, though one could see the serious conviction in his eyes.

"It's our home. It belongs to us all." Penelo finished with just as much fervor.

"And my charge is to hinder and delay this Rozarrian Invasion for as long as is possible. I will do what I can. Ah, yes..." Al-Cid turned and held Ashe's hand in his, squeezing gently. "When this unpleasantness is done, you must come to Rozarria. I will take you to the Ambervale of Clan Margrace. Such things I will show you! Until then, I will be waiting."

The Rozarrian put on his sunglasses and left with as much flourish as he had come, leaving a flustered princess and an exasperated party behind him.

As soon as Vaan stepped out of the Marquis Ondore's residence, one of Reddas' men rushed up to him in nothing short of panic.

"Lo, Vaan! Word from the Resistance! The Imperial Sky Fortress Bahamut is on the attack! This... this could be bad... we have no chance of fighting it from the ground. No, the only way to fight the Bahamut is to go to it... by airship!"

No sooner had he said it before the wind in Rabanastre began to pick up, quickly forming into what looked like a tornado headed straight for the city. The winds grew wild and panic gripped the citizens, causing them to shout and run to the safety of their homes

Vaan rushed back to the residence and the party hastily boarded the Strahl.

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"Stop it Lord Brother! Let me go, you are hurting me!" Larsa cried out as he tried to pry his arm away from where Vayne held it in his vice-like grip.

The older heir had literally dragged the youngest Solidor into the Sky Fortress Bahamut, as Larsa flatly refused to take any part in the war.

Vayne tightened his hold all the more as he pinned his younger brother with his steel gaze—gray eyes piercing all of Larsa's defenses. "It is time you learned how it is to truly lead. Learn well, Larsa, that control and honor are earned in the battlefield, never behind wooden desks."

Larsa shook his head angrily, tears prickling at his wide cobalt eyes at his brother's words. He had looked up to Vayne, almost as much as he did his father—he had believed in him—trusted him—wanted to be like him... but not like this. "Never like this... Lord Brother, you cannot do this!"

The older Solidor raised a finely-chiselled eyebrow at this. "But I can Larsa. That is the difference between Father and I."

"Make your target the resistance heavy cruiser." An Imperial manning the controls interrupted brusquely.

Vayne cocked his head to one side, looking away from his brother though his hold on him remained. "Our dear Cid? Slain by his son. A common tale of late."

Another Imperial from across the control room nodded in ascent. "Firing solution complete. Sighting is good! Release valves open! The Nethicite is at critical! Main and auxiliary show clear!"

Larsa renewed his struggle with more conviction, there was no way he was going to let his brother go through with this madness. "Put an end to this! They have already surrendered! Lord Brother, please—stop this!" Blue eyes desperately pleaded with cold gray to no avail.

"Let us make of this an offering. One he might see even now."

"The main battery stands ready!"

Larsa grabbed at his brother's hands, clutching tightly—almost frantically. "I beg you!"

Vayne stood unmoved, a mask of cold indifference as he delivered the command.

"Fire."

Larsa watched in wide-eyed horror as the Bahamut shot a cannonball with such force that the Resistance ship across them was obliterated completely—turning into nothing more than a mass of ash and debris. The young lord felt his knees buckle beneath him, the reality of what was truly happening left him weakened. "Lord Brother... why? Why this...?"

"Once they see that there can be no surrender, the Resistance must come at us with all they have." Vayne replied evenly as he released his iron-hold on the younger Solidor's arm, opting instead to cross his arms over his chest—a dangerous stance for all who knew the older heir. "We will answer their attack head-on and destroy them. Before the eyes of all Rabanastre."

"If you do this, the people will only grow to hate you more." Larsa interjected, though his voice sounded weak and hollow to his own ears.

"And should I pardon them, they will only rise up yet again."

"I do not believe they would. In cooperation lies our hope!" The younger Solidor tried to stand his ground, though it seemed futile. "You are mistaken. You are wrong, Lord Brother!"

Vayne again held Larsa's eyes with his own, cold and unyielding—almost cruel in the way they bore down on the younger heir. "And if I am? You had best find the strength you need to correct me then."

A choked sob escaped Larsa's lips at his brother's words—the truth they held hit him harder than any blow ever could. It was true. It is true. The younger Solidor knew at the back of his mind that he was powerless to stop his brother's assault—he did not have the strength. He was weak, just as he was helpless. He could not have done anything to have prevented all this.

"This is the path of honor, Larsa." Vayne spoke coolly as he raised his chin slightly higher. "All men of duty know this."

"No... Lord Brother, it is not—it cannot be..." Larsa whispered weakly as he stepped away from his brother, knees almost giving in from under him.

"Father knew this well. Larsa, you cannot remain blind!"

"Father did not want this!" The younger Solidor continued to back away, trying to get as far away from Vayne as he could—his strength draining exponentially.

Vayne shook his head, resting his forehead on gloved fingers as he closed his eyes briefly.

"Gabranth knew this."

Larsa's head shot up at the former Magister's name, emotion suddenly surging in his chest. "Gabranth would never have done this!"

"Why do you think he left you?" Vayne shouted in return, breaking his calm facade. The fear it sent through the room was palpable as Imperials visibly stiffened from where they stood. It was the first time Vayne Solidor lost his temper in the midst of battle.

Larsa ran.

An Imperial made to follow, but Vayne raised a gloved hand stiffly. "Leave him be."

Vayne drew himself to his full height and addressed all the Imperials in the command tower of the Bahamut. "Hear this! Today we write the first page of a new history, our history. Each of you must play his part. Put down this rebellion. For Archadia! We fight!"

Larsa ran away—ran away from the control room—from his brother—from the truth of Gabranth's abandonment. Tears blurred his vision as he ran as fast as he could until his legs could take him no further. The young lord stumbled into an empty storage room and hid himself amongst the supplies, curling himself on his side on the cold metal floor. Larsa closed his eyes, though the tears would not stop falling, cupping his hands to his ears—not wanting to hear the chaos and devastation he was so helpless to prevent. At that moment, Larsa wanted nothing more than to disappear from the face of Ivalice.

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The sound of the metal door sliding open roused Larsa from his shallow sleep, rubbing his eyes which stung from crying himself to sleep on the cold floor of the Bahamut. When the fog cleared, Larsa's eyes went wide in shock, there stood none other than—

"Gabranth."

The name slipped through the young lord's mouth before he could stop himself.

For a moment, the Judge Magister just stood there, armoured and unmoving—bearing down on Larsa's still sprawled form.

Larsa was reeling, thoughts racing and crashing through his mind—emotions losing themselves by the unprecedented event. Back was the pain—the hurt—the confusion—

The hope.

"Why?" Larsa whispered, lips and voice trembling as he spoke—it was the only word he could get out without losing himself. He wanted to run to the man, throw his arms around him—believe that the last few days had not happened.

Why have you returned?

"I have one last duty which I must fulfil as Judge Magister." Gabranth spoke steadily, as if he did not hear Larsa's question.

"Why tell me this? Why come to me now?" Larsa spat out angrily as he stood up, body shaking from pent up frustration and rage. "I have had enough of your duty! Enough of your honor! If you must be a Judge Magister, then listen well to the words of your lord— leave. Leave me be, Judge Magister, I neither need nor want your services."

The young lord walked up to the door but was stopped by a gauntleted hand on his shoulder. Larsa tried to shove it away, but Gabranth held firm.

"After that which I must do, I will be a Judge Magister no longer." The Judge continued, fingers pressing slightly harder into the small shoulder. "Perhaps then—"

Gabranth trailed off, wishing the fates that Larsa knew where he was going— because he did not have the heart to ask it directly. The gods would strike him down for what he was asking for.

The anger on Larsa's face melted away at Gabranth's words—was he asking? Was he saying...

"When you are no longer a Judge Magister... perhaps then, I may no longer be the heir..." Larsa whispered in realization, raising shaky fingertips to his lips. "Gabranth are you—?"

"Will you come away with me Larsa?" Gabranth finally gathered enough courage to ask directly. If he was to do that which he must, then at least he may do so without any regrets.

Wide cobalt eyes looked up at Gabranth's own, a determined expression on the young lord's face. "Ask it of me, Noah, and I shall answer."

For a moment Gabranth was stunned, unsure what the Solidor heir meant—did I not just ask?

Slowly—hesitantly, Gabranth made to remove his helm until he stood there, bare-faced and open. The blonde ran gloved fingers down Larsa's tear-stained cheeks as he bent down to press his forehead against the latter's own, silently asking for forgiveness. For a moment they stood as they were, nothing but the sound of their labored breathing between them.

"Larsa Ferrinas Solidor," Gabranth breathed, barely grazing Larsa's lips with his. "Will you come away with me?"

Larsa beamed—lips curling up, blue eyes filled with happiness as he took the blonde's hand in his.

"I shall, Noah fon Ronsenburg."

The blonde smiled back, albeit hesitantly. "Noah. No one else has called me that in... quite a long time."

"Oh? Perhaps they should." Larsa nodded. "After all, you will be Noah soon—just Noah—as I shall be, just Larsa. Yes?"

"I do not believe you can ever be just Larsa, my lord."

"I thought we had agreed—"

"Only till after this is over." Gabranth finished with a small squeeze of the hand in his as he straightened up. "After this war is won, I shall come back for you."

"After this war is stopped, I shall be waiting." Larsa corrected.

The Judge Magister wore his helm before bowing gracefully, if only for formality—allowing the young lord to exit the storage room first before making his own way out.

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The party ran up to the tower, noticing a lift that would probably take them to the upper-most level, and possibly to Vayne himself. Ashe began to go over the switches before a familiar face emerged from the shadows.

"So you have lived." Basch acknowledged, stepping forward to keep himself between his twin and the other members of his party who had similarly drawn their weapons.

"I am a Judge Magister, even in disgrace. My just reward for aiding the Empire that destroyed my homeland." Gabranth hissed as he, too, moved forward—swords already drawn.

The older twin shook his head sadly, "Gabranth, do not blame yourself anymore..."

"You confound me, Brother! You failed Landis, you failed Dalmasca... all you were to protect! Yet you still hold on to your honor. How?"

"I had someone more important to defend... and defend her I have. How is it that you have survived?" Basch looked at his brother with a strange fondness in identical blue eyes. "Is it not because you defend Lord Larsa?"

"Silence! All was stripped from me! Only hatred for the brother who fled our homeland remains mine!" Gabranth shouted hoarsely as he wielded his swords, prepared for battle. "Tell me! Why do you forsake that which you must hold most precious?"

For a moment Basch was silent, as if in deep thought before he sighed ruefully. "I do as I must, brother—as do you. Or is that not answer enough?"

Without answering, Gabranth charged at his older twin, blinded by anger for not knowing the peace his brother had with himself. He did not understand—and yet, he wanted it... yearned for it—and could not attain it. And so Gabranth did what he did best... he fought. Blow after crushing blow, he dealt to the party who could barely keep him at bay. Metal clashed and sparks flew in a series of swift and heavy attacks—the exchange fuelled by emotions.

"Futile, Basch! Long have I walked in hatred's company. As long as I can curse your name, I shall not be defeated!"

"Then come! Wield your hatred and crush me! I welcome it!" Basch heaved before once more engaging his twin in battled—pumped with renewed vigor from the heat of battle.

Gabranth was feared in the battlefield, renowned for taking down legions by himself—believed to be impossible to take down by a battalion—let alone by six people. However, emotion made Gabranth falter, hesitation caused him to make mistakes. Soon, the party was able to overcome the Judge Magister, finally defeating him.

Gabranth's legs buckled beneath him when he tried to once again draw himself to his fighting stance—internally cursing his body for refusing to respond, nerves protesting against the movement. The younger twin languished where he stood, dropping his right-hand sword—though he found the strength to lift the other to Basch's head.

"Have you your fill of this?"

"I would ask you the same." Basch breathed out, equally spent, but the apparent victor. "Let this end, Noah."

Gabranth fell to his knees, body finally giving way—as did his emotions. "I've no right to be called by that name."

"Then live and reclaim it." Basche murmured before leaving his younger brother behind, leading the party to the lift which was to take them to the command tower.

The party soon arrived and was met by none other than Vayne Solidor himself.

"I bid you welcome to my sky fortress, The Bahamut." Vayne spoke with his characteristic arrogance, well hidden by the dignified manner with which he spoke. "I must apologize for my delay in welcoming you aboard my ship. Permit me to ask, who are you? An angel of vengeance? Or perchance, a saint of salvation?"

Ashe strode up to the Solidor, standing straight though he was a good head taller than herself. "I am simply myself. No more and no less. And I want only to be free."

Vayne's lips curled into a cruel smile as he tapped the side of lips with gloved fingers, a habit which set many on edge. No one knew how the older Solidor's mind worked—only that it was as lethal as it was brilliant. "Such a woman is not fit to bear the burden of rule. Weep for Dalmasca, for she is lost." At this, Vayne turned to Larsa who had just returned to the command tower. "Observe well, Larsa. Watch and mark you the suffering of one who must rule, yet lacks the power."

Larsa quickly stepped between the princess and his Lord Brother, standing resolute—as if something inside him had changed. "No. No, Lord Brother." The younger Solidor drew his sword steadily and raised it to Vayne, trying his best to keep his unnerving fear in check. "I will not. Though I lack your power, I will still persist."

Shocked though he was, Vayne remained his composure—giving Larsa nothing more than a slight raise of his brows, but nothing else. "Bold words, child."

"Your lives are forfeit, and your insurgence with them! For good and all, I shall bring your futile attempts at rebellion to an end!" The Solidor heir declared as he drew his weapon—readily engaging the party in battle.

The battle was well-fought, the party nearly falling—yet rising up victorious in the end. Vayne teetered on unsteady feet before he fell gracelessly on the Bahamut's steel floor. Larsa broke off from the party and ran to him—brutal though he was, Vayne was his brother, and only family left.

"Larsa!" Vaan shouted, to keep the young lord from rushing to the fallen Solidor, but the boy would not listen.

As soon as Larsa came too close, a vicious force pulsed from Vayne's body—striking the younger heir down brutally. Before anyone could react, both Solidor heirs were engulfed in a flurry of red mist, streaks of light and energy pulsing and shooting randomly through the command tower, sending pilots and Imperials alike to run for cover.

"Manufacted Nethicite!" Ashe gasped as she held back the others from trying to approach the swirling mass of power which encased Vayne. Vayne, still unconscious, viciously began twisting and contorting in his physical form, like a creature wanting to break free from its bonds.

After his transformation was complete, the older Solidor—in a form which was barely human, began to float upward. Several swords created by his magick appeared, surrounding the battle arena—spinning menacingly. Vayne slowly awakened from his transformation, slowly realizing the great strength which flowed in his new body. "Behold! The power left me by our fallen friend!" He roared in a voice so completely unlike his own.

Gabranth, body screaming for him to desist his ascent, walked up the steps to the battle arena. He looked at Vayne with such intensity it could have ignited the Solidor.

Vayne Novus laughed callously as he turned to the Judge Magister. "Gabranth, you will defend my brother. He will have much need in the hell to follow."

The blonde lifted one of his swords and pointed it at Vayne as he assumed his battle stance. "Yes, I will defend Lord Larsa!"

"The hound strays. Treason bears a price!"

"One I gladly pay!"

"Ivalice will know a new Dynast-King, and man will keep his own history! The tyranny of the gods is ended! We are their puppets no more! The freedom for which we have longed is at hand!"

The final battle against Vayne Novus was brutal, but still they won—though victory was not yet complete. Gabranth charged towards Vayne Novus and struck him with his sword—driving the cold steel though his malformed body. Vayne screamed in pain, drowning out Larsa's own screams for Gabranth to stop as Vaan and the others restrained the young lord.

With little strength he had left, the Novus summoned a Sephira sword with which to strike down the Judge Magister. The sword struck Gabranth's helm violently, the metal partially cracking from the assault. A piece of metal fell away from the helm, revealing the Judge's true face. Unshielded cerulean eyes bore down on Vayne's gray— suddenly unashamed of his identity. Gabranth looked at Vayne Solidor straight in the face—the first time he had done so since he had come into the Archadian Ministry.

"Even a stray has pride!"

Enraged, Vayne Novus unleashed a devastating punch to Gabranth—throwing the Magister violently across the room before he crashed mercilessly against the metal wall of the tower, finally landing in a heap on the floor. Basch rushed to his twin, clasping the latter's hand tightly—willing him to stay alive.

"Noah! No... Live! You must live Noah! Do not give up... please, there is much left for you here!"

Gabranth coughed up blood weakly, losing his grip on his twin's hand. "Here I pay my debt. Forgive me Basch..." A coughing fit wracked the blonde's body and the pain burned through him. "Listen, brother—tell Larsa... tell him—that I am sorry."

"No! Do not be sorry brother! Do not give up!"

Vayne Novus summoned all his Sephira at once to finally strike down and put an end to Gabranth's life. "Burn in hell, Gabranth! The hound who has tainted House Solidor shall be no more!"

The command tower was engulfed in a blinding white light before the Sephira were absorbed with a stone which Larsa held in his trembling hand. "Enough, Lord Brother! I will not let you hurt him further!"

"You are a fool Larsa!" Vayne hissed, before Vaan drove Gabranth's discarded sword through his body. The force of the blow pushed the Solidor out of the battle arena until he fell over the edge with Vaan right behind him, followed by Balthier, Fran, and Ashe.

The battle outside raged on, the mist and the sound of twisting metal ripped through the air—but Larsa could not hear anything beyond Gabranth's labored breathing and his own quiet sobs. He knelt over the Magister's body, his small hands clutching Gabranth's limp one almost painfully. "Gabranth... please—do not do this... it cannot be this way... please, hold on. We'll get help—we will, and everything will be alright... everything will be alright..."

Gabranth did his best to keep conscious, though his resolve was obviously slipping. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy and he could barely keep his eyes open—but he would stay awake—stay alive as long as he could... if only for Larsa. The blonde drew in a painfully deep breath as he tried to raise a hand to the boy's face, but his body did not respond. Gabranth grunted in frustration as he flexed his fingers agitatedly before Larsa, surprisingly, pressed his limp hand to his own wet cheek.

"Larsa... forgive me."

The young lord shook his head, "There is nothing to forgive. You shall live Gabranth, and I shall go with you when you come to take me away. You promised, did you not?" Larsa's frame shook as he cried harder, tears splattering against the damaged metal of Gabranth's Judicer plate. "You promised Noah... I will hold you to that!"

"I am afraid... I have promised you a great many things Larsa." Gabranth whispered hoarsely, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

"Promises you have yet to fulfil..."

"Aye..." The blonde replied weakly before unconsciousness finally claimed him.

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Gabranth stirred from unconsciousness and his brows furrowed as he slowly awoke. Basch laid a firm hand on his twin's shoulder when he felt the latter attempt to sit up. "Be at ease Noah, you are safe here. We are on board the Strahl, Balthier's airship."

"I see." The younger twin laid back down, still slightly confused. "But what of Vayne?"

"He died in battle." Basch replied curtly, refusing to speak more on the subject.

"And of Lord Larsa?"

Basch did not miss the concern in his brother's voice and it made him smile. "He is well. Shall I bring him in?"

For a while Gabranth did not speak, he simply laid there—unmoving, staring blankly at the ceiling of the airship as if lost in deep thought. After a few moments, the blonde released a long sigh, turning melancholy eyes at his brother. "Yes, please—if you will."

Basch stood and left the room, only to return much quickly than expected with a flustered Solidor before him. Larsa rushed to Gabranth's side, instinctively taking one hand in both of his as he knelt by where the Magister rested. "Gabranth... I am glad you are awake."

The blonde smiled weakly—he could not bear to show the young lord that he knew his time was short. He could feel it, his life draining from his body which he could barely move—it was almost time. "Basch. Look after Larsa, will you? If House Solidor should crumble, the Empire would fall, and civil war would take us all."

"Gabranth! What are you—"

"I understand." Basch replied solemnly. He, too, knew what his twin meant but said nothing—knowing his brother would resent him if he did.

"Lord Larsa is our last hope." The blonde smiled apologetically as he turned to the Solidor—the last heir of the Empire. "Archadia is in your hands now Lord Larsa."

Larsa felt a sense of dread looming over him as the brothers spoke, until he finally understood what Gabranth meant. Tears made their way down already tear-stained cheeks even before he realized it, though he did not do anything to stop them. "I do not want the Empire! Gabranth—I want you. Only you!"

Basch excused himself quickly, knowing it was not his place to be there at that crucial moment.

"Do not dare die Gabranth... you cannot..." Larsa broke off into sobs which wracked his small body. He pressed his cheek against the Magister plate as he wept, wanting nothing more than to be as close to the Judge as humanly possible.

Gabranth let the young lord cry, though he was loathe that it was for him that Larsa wept. "I am unworthy... of your tears... cry no more Larsa." Weak hands cupped Larsa's delicate face, thumbs brushing away hot tears. "The Empire needs you now. Larsa, you must be strong..."

"I told you, the Empire is no—"

"The people need you to lead them!" Gabranth coughed with his exertion, but he held the young lord's cobalt gaze. "You were born for this. Larsa, this is your place."

Larsa shook his head sadly, "I cannot do it alone. I need you... I am not strong enough. Gabranth, I need you by my side."

"I shall be with you always..." The blonde slid rough fingers down a flushed cheek before resting right above Larsa's frantically beating heart. "Be strong Larsa."

"For you, I shall try." The Solidor heir whispered back before pressing trembling lips to Gabranth's own in a kiss, as if to seal the promise.

Satisfied, Gabranth closed his eyes. He felt tired—so very tired, as if the years of battle and bloodshed had finally caught up to him. Though it was strange... he had always believed he would die in the battlefield in the heat of war, perhaps with a blade through his flesh. Not like this... not—strangely at peace. And at that moment, Gabranth knew he was ready. After so many years of anger and frustration... always searching, always unsatisfied and incomplete—he was finally at peace.

And yet—

Gabranth opened his eyes once more, a small smile gracing his lips. "I love you, Larsa Solidor. Beyond honor, duty, and Empire."

"And I, you." Larsa replied between short sobs—head bowed low, unwilling to meet cerulean eyes which slowly slid closed.

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This is not the end!

Haha. Sorry this took so long, but I figured I'd end the game story line here so I can write about the events after the game. As you've seen in my spoiler warning, Gabranth will not die, so there's no surprise there (hopefully :p).

I already have the after story in my head and I'll have about one last chapter for that—and another chapter for the epilogue (hint: Larsa won't be a preteen anymore!).

But, the question does remain—now that Larsa is the only heir to the Empire, can they ever be? :)

Thank you for the patience and the nice reviews.

Seph