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Vængir Chapter 1 - Of Silence, Virtues and Vows
17 March 2008: It has been almost a year since I wrote this. I decided to update it heavily as to better reflect where the epic fic is going now that the whole thing has been plotted out and "only" needs to be written. (as if the "only" part is easy ;)

This now serves as a much improved entry point for the story by setting up some necessary tensions and providing appropriate foreshadowing for things to come. It helps to know where the story is going (beginning, middle, and end), does it?!  

Title: Vængir
Chapter: 1 -- Of Silence, Virtues and Vows
Fandom: FFXII
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: One giant spoilerfest...
Word Count: 5050
Claim/Challenge: Multi-chapter Backstory / Sequel / Relationship
Featured Characters / Pairings: Basch, Larsa
Summary: Post-game, one day after final battle with Vayne, word has spread that Larsa will reinstate the senate and seek peaceful resolutions to the war. Dressed as Judge Gabranth, Basch weaves through the Archadian Imperial Palace trying to avoid conversation. He contemplates his lifelong attitudes toward taciturnity and how it served him well as a foreigner in Dalmasca. Unfortunately, silence will not serve him well as a Judge Magister…
Disclaimer: The characters and their world are owned by Square-Enix. I'm just borrowing them.
Past posts: Discussion Post

A/N: Early versions of this chapter were posted elsewhere in Spring 07. This was originally written in March 07, before the epic story was plotted. [March 2008: Edited heavily for style, addition of month/year dates to match later chapters, plus a couple of a few tweaks to remove continuity errors plotted in later chapters, and a bunch of foreshadowing tidbits tossed in.]

Chapter 1: Of Silence, Virtues, and Vows

When are the dead truly dead? Do they continue to live on until no one remembers them?

That is what Penelo believes.

She says her brothers are still with her, giving her strength whenever she closes her eyes. But her brothers no longer draw breath, they no longer speak new words. I still do.

When my death was announced, the people rejoiced. For Ashelia’s they mourned. Yet, she now lives. She is alive. She has returned.

Do the dead truly die when we are glad to be rid of them? And does our desire to keep some person or some thing alive let it live on? This is what I believe. I also believe we should judiciously choose what we hold on to. But that is a foolish thing to ask of humekind.


== Archades, Libra 707 O.V. ==

Larsa’s heels tapped a swift martial beat along the travertine walkway that led to the Archadian imperial palace. Dressed as Judge Magister Gabranth, Basch followed behind him and he knew that he must not hesitate.

The moment he stepped from the airship, Basch looked straight ahead. His feet were dressed in his brother’s boots and his stomach clenched as his heel struck stone. There was no turning back and he knew where he must go. It had been decided. He knew it was right. He was now Gabranth.

One dozen imperial soldiers stood at attention along the sides of the elevated walkway. They acted as if nothing were amiss, not even as a middle-aged man dressed in a blue silk kaftan and pyjama scurried toward to Larsa while making appeasing gestures with his hands. Basch had trouble hearing what the man was saying. He was distracted by a sharp, rough edge in his hastily repaired helm and the metal threatened to cut into his temple.

A few years had passed since Basch had worn a complete suit of plate armor and never had it been as heavy and elaborate as this, encasing him fully from head to toe. The padded leather was binding and metal plates were heavy and overlarge. If that wasn’t enough of a burden, his brother’s helm limited his vision while muting sounds and it trapped the moist heat from his breath. All of this added to the disorientation he already felt. His bones ached from physical exhaustion and emotional fatigue. Yet, all of this must be put aside. He needed to walk in plain sight from where the Strahl had docked to wherever it was that Larsa was taking him.

Basch hastened his step to walk closer to the young lord who was now acting as emperor.

“There is no need,” Larsa replied while politely shooing away the man in blue silk. The man was probably an aid to the imperial family.

“But shouldn’t we send your physician to examine you and the Honorable Judge Magister?”

“It isn’t necessary.” Larsa’s step never once halted or altered. “We were examined en route by a competent healer and require no further attention.”

“But is there anything we can do for you, Lord Solidor?” The man trotted backwards to keep up with Larsa’s pace.

“I was assured before our arrival that only my belongings and those of my late family members remain in the residences in the Hemelquiele Court, and that those of Judge Magister Gabranth have been moved there. That is all I require.”

“Yes, My Lord.”  The man finally stood and bowed his head as they passed by him.

Three more similarly dressed aids were rushing and fussing in the palace doorway fifteen yards ahead. It appeared that the members of the imperial staff were in a disarray, not sure how they should behave and to whom they should defer. At least the guards appeared to act as if this occasion was no different from any other.

Behind him, the low thrumming of the airship’s glossair rings intensified and sent pulsing vibrations through his plate armor. Basch wanted to turn, stand at attention, and properly see off the Strahl as she departed but he knew that Judge Gabranth shouldn’t. With his shoulders set straight and head fixed forward, he followed Larsa’s swift step while losing himself for a moment in the dissonance of the ringing vibrations mixed with his armor’s rhythmic clatter. As the airship began to rise, the pulses reverberated through his chest and made his nerves tingle. He tried to hold that sensation in his mind, imprinting it in his memory so it would not be lost.

As Basch followed Larsa through the doorway, he failed to hear what the aids said. He did not care.

Inside and peering upward through his helm’s visor, Basch took in the stark rising lines of the palace’s interior. As he followed Larsa through the wide hallways and antechambers buzzing with activity, he found the presence of imperial guards unmistakable. Interspaced at regular intervals along the walls, they alone stood still, silent, observant, and armed. Basch knew how it felt to stand in their place and he recognized their concentrated, distant stare. But, did these guards serve as structural support or were they merely ornamental pilasters decorating the walls? He would need to learn the placement of their loyalties and he expected Larsa to help him find out.

As they walked Basch knew that he should mentally map the spaces they traversed, but he found it difficult just to keep up with Larsa’s determined pace as the moved into a crowd. The young emperor defused and deflected a barrage of questions from people who seemed to be aids and returning senators and lesser judges and various military figures. While the crowd parted when directly in their path, Basch knew he was at complete mercy of his charge. He wished only to arrive in their private quarters and to do so without speaking a word.

As a rule, Basch preferred to say little, even when circumstances were more favorable. That was what he had done for much of his life.

He was born into the seventeenth generation on his family’s land within the walls of Ronsenberg, a place where customs were well established and most understandings tacit. Except when recalling old tales and ballads, people there were as thrifty with their words as they were with their possessions and among the familiar faces he once knew, little more than a nod or a wink was needed to convey a well-formed message.

Still, misunderstandings occasionally happened among the closest of people, even among brothers who shared womb and cradle, but he was accustomed to subtlety even if others mistook it for silence, and he held fast to his ways after leaving Landis because he found that it served him well.

Years ago in Dalmasca when he became a knight of the Order, he came to appreciate the virtues of taciturnity. Military life left little room for freely speaking one’s mind. He had been quick to accept orders from those who commanded him and he did so with hardly a question. When he spoke to his superiors, it was only after receiving their permission. For this, they considered him loyal and few questioned his discipline.

When he was assigned to lead a squad of men, he knew not to question orders of his superiors in front of those he led. Young soldiers and new knights were already jumpy from the risks they faced. They could not afford to have leaders second-guess their own command. Nay, he needed them quick. He needed them focused. He needed them to move on his command. Speaking too much was dangerous. It was better that they trust him and then do their job.

Yet, unlike the knights of noble blood, he treated his men as fellow men. When they asked question after question or were too shaken to move, he was patient. He gave them time. He lent them his ear. That was why they came to trust him and Basch knew that was why he rose swiftly in rank.

“Lord Larsa! It is good that you have returned unharmed.”

Basch suspected the man now walking with them was a senator because of the long hooded robe that he wore. While they were in flight, Larsa had sent notice that the senate would be reinstated. Clearly, some of the senators were quick to return to power.

Without pausing for a breath, the senator continued speaking. “It is good to see that you and, of course, the Honorable Judge Magister have put an end to this foolish war.” He turned toward Basch after addressing him and nervously scanned the shadowed holes and slits in Basch’s visor. The helm provided a Judge’s anonymity, for which Basch was glad. He was certain that he saw a hint of disdain curl the senator’s upper lip.

“Your Honor,” he continued, “I heard that you were instrumental in negotiating the end of this folly. A commendable thing it was. Quite commendable!” The man now looked forward as he jostled around other people who were parting as them approach.

Larsa had increased his pace.

“It was a good decision,” the senator continued, trotting to keep up, “and I can assure you that the other senators were most pleased.”

Most pleased to see the empire handed over to a child while they regained their power. Noah had warned him of this. Basch merely grunted in reply as they passed through a corbelled archway that led into a grand, airy atrium.

“Well then… Ah! Nadina,” the senator called out as a slender woman walked by, her path transecting theirs. He took hold of her arm in a manner that clearly spoke of shared physical intimacy.

For the brief moment that they remained comfortably within his view, Basch studied the lines and curves of Nadina’s face and the color and cut of her dark hair. He didn’t yet know the name of the senator, but hopefully Larsa would be able to tell him. Until then, Basch made note of him as ‘Nadina’s intimate senator.’

From what Basch remembered, Archadians played a strange show regarding the truths and falsehoods of their intimate relationships. Basch had always been more comfortable with a level of discretion combined with unspoken frankness and he hadn’t seen couples boldly display their affections in public until he went to live in Rabanastre. In his experience, a still tongue and a blind eye were best suited to matters of desire, and nothing more than a nod and a smile was necessary when greeting anyone who wasn’t family. After all, in Landis, too much of a fuss around the fairer sex could quickly result in a feud with her brothers. It was not that his people were prudish, nor that he had been a stranger to unspoken promiscuities, but that there was little to be said about these things, much like there was little to be said about sleep followed by hot porridge in the morning.

Dalmasca had its own ways, and matters of words and desire and discipline proved difficult within the Order but there his practice of silence had served him well. It was better not to know which soldier was bedding another’s sister or which knight was sneaking off with a nobleman’s wife. It was unwise to note when anyone lingered in the bathhouse longer than expected. Airing rivalries over a lass while drinking ale at the Sandsea was a common recipe for a fight, and the complexity of Dalmascan customs regarding rank and social privilege contained subtly that Basch had been slow to comprehend given that the society offered suitable mobility and reward for merit. Thus, he had found it best to remain discreet about amorous matters and mind the old custom of allow sponsors to arrange marital matches, and even that he avoided for himself through carefully practiced reticence.  Now it was no longer an issue.

He walked by Larsa’s side through the center of the atrium and although there were other people moving about at their business and then whispering and nodding as they walked by, he and Larsa were mostly left alone. It was now clear that they were walking toward a grand stairway at the far end of the atrium, perhaps twenty yards ahead. The stairway curved up and around to a broad balcony and a stately set of doors. It was devoid of any activity other than being manned by a few dozen heavily armored guards. Basch suspected that the staircase would take them into the imperial wing and that this initial ordeal would soon be over, even if the reprieve is brief. Tomorrow he would need to act in his new role.

The rhythmic clatter of his armor was more obvious now that the hustle and bustle of activity was behind them. Ahead of them, the grand atrium was empty save the row of guards.

Basch recognized a younger version of his own face amongst those guards, standing at attention as a deterrent but ready to act at a moment’s notice.

Once Basch rose in rank within the Order in Dalmasca, he chose to maintain his penchant for silence. He found that it was best to say little when other knights of aristocratic blood openly argued with their sponsors and with royalty. Their lives was unlike his. The nobility had their property and their lineage to protect. Their chief concerns were limited to the loyalty of vassals, the duty of sons, the worth of daughters, and the flow of their income. Thus, speaking when they spoke would only draw attention to the differences between himself and those around him. That would draw attention to the fact that he might have risen too high once he directly served the king.

Ironically, Raminas viewed his reserved nature as a sign of accord, discretion, and courtly courtesy, which only drew Basch closer into the affairs of the Dalmascan royal family.

He kept their secrets.

He even kept them as the best he could while held in Nalbina, suffering silence until his voice was nothing more than an inferior rasp.

Perhaps he had become his silence. For once he was free his words had little effect. No one listened to him: neither the princess he was duty-bound to protect nor the pirates he had never believed to be pirates. He had been silenced and reduced to nothing but a sword.

A sword and the madness.

And no one even seemed to care when the sword disobeyed.

Then he was nothing. Nothing more than a memory of a hero who most of Dalmasca preferred to forget. Most of Dalmasca, save a scattered few. And perhaps for them it was better he be forgotten but that was not what he wanted.

Nay, he would be remembered. He had hope.

His heavy footfalls and clanking armor created a cacophony and with each step he took his brother’s heavy swords slapped against the side of his thigh. He had secured something not of his brother’s to the underside of one of the sheathes and he hoped that the ties were remaining secure.

His left hand reached for the side of his cape and pulled it forward.

His cloak of silence would soon need to fall away. A Judge Magister was expected to speak  and soon he would. He would speak for House Solidor.

The row of guards at the base of the stairs began to part as they neared. Larsa turned to approach the first step and suddenly stopped. Halting behind him, Basch was startled by his own soundlessness, and had he not been looking down at Larsa he would have walked right into him. Basch looked up to see the cause of their delay.

In front of Larsa, descending the last few steps, was a square-jawed man with close-cropped graying hair, yet it was the massive form of Judge Magister Zargabaath who had halted their progress.

“I expect that a report of our losses will be delivered to me by sunset,” Larsa said to the man that Basch suspected was a high-level military bureaucrat.

“Gabranth.” Zargabaath descended all but the last step. “You have returned with Lord Larsa. Continuing as the late Emperor Gramis would have wished?”

Basch did no more than grunt a metallic, muffled assent behind the visor of his helm.

“Zargabaath,” Larsa intervened, “I will seek a full report from you regarding the condition of the 12th Fleet, but not until late in the day. That should give you ample time to prepare all that I need.”

“Yes, Your Excellency.” The visor of Zargabaath’s ornate helm shielded his eyes yet Basch was sure that his gaze was fixed squarely upon him. Zargabaath had made no indication of looking down at the young lord. In his impressive display of embossed and enameled metal armor, the only remaining judge magister tower over Basch as he stood on the last step. Basch hoped that Zargabaath would speak no further and Basch remained soundless while fixing his gaze on the senior judge magister. Finally, Zargabaath stepped aside and walked past them.

Larsa trotted up the wide, curved flight of marble stairs as Basch trudged behind him, clanking and clattering in soot-stained metal and stinking of sweat that was not his own.

Had Noah been outspoken as an Archadian judge magister? Basch remembered a younger Noah who was sometimes cautious and at other times impatient. But he had risen to head the Archadian Bureau of Intelligence. It was not likely that he was seen as outspoken and Basch had noticed in Noah a telltale twitch of a man who not sure where he fits in. Perhaps Gabranth was known to be more reserved and not completely confident. This too he would need to learn.

This was not the first time that Basch would attempt to pass as his twin. Far from it. It was a game they played when small and a secret they kept when once their arms strengthened and their voices dropped. But twenty years had passed since Basch had last taken his brother’s name and that time ended in disaster.

At the top of the stairs Basch followed Larsa past two more guards and through the grand doorway. Now they were in a marble-lined foyer with wide hallways leading to the left, to the right, and straight ahead. There were no more guards, no other people. Finally, they appeared to be alone.

“The imperial offices are to the right,” said Larsa, “and the judge magisters’ wing is straight ahead, but we are heading left to the Hemelquiele Court and there you will find some privacy.”

They walked down a hall that was walled on both sides with pale translucent glass. The area was warm and washed in light. Despite the discomfort, Basch left his helm on even though it was probably safe for him to remove it.

At the end of the hall they approached a bronze door surrounded by an imposing bas-relief of animals fighting within tangled foliage. Larsa stopped, slipped his fingers into the collar of his shirt, and pulled out a chain that held a thin metal cylinder nearly the size and shape of a small writing implement. He slipped it into a slot in a bronze plate set near the door. The door hissed open and revealed a lift. Basch followed Larsa inside. Using his key once again, Larsa activated the lift, and then slipped the key back into his shirt. They rode in silence to the lift’s sole destination.

When the lift stopped and the door opened, they stepped into a long gallery with a coffered ceiling. Beyond the gallery, a rooftop courtyard was bathed in light. Removing his helm as he walked forward into the sun, Basch squinted and waited for eyes to adjust. This place was magnificent. Half of the courtyard was taken up by a long, rectangular reflecting pool and beyond it was a sweeping view of the Archades skyline.

The pool itself was home to flowering lotuses and various water-loving plants. A waterfall splashed and bubbled along the far end of the pool. It was if a small piece of someplace wild and beautiful had been magically set to life here in the middle of Archades’ towering monument to concrete, stone, metal, and glass. This place was peaceful and surprisingly so given the bustling city below with air taxis and glossair buses crisscrossing the sky.

“I’ll help you out of your armor before I to return to affairs.”

Larsa led Basch back into the shaded gallery and to a bench by a heavy door. He motioned for Basch to sit. Turning his back toward Larsa, Basch unbuckled his sword belt. Holding one oversized sword on top of the another, and that one with something more slender hidden underneath, Basch placed his weapons along the length of the bench, pushing them back to the wall so he would have room to sit. He untied his heavy cape, marked in red with the imperial device, hastily folded it, and dropped it over his weapons. Basch sat down on the edge of the bench.

In silence, Basch tugged at his gauntlets, finally freeing his fingers while Larsa deftly unbuckled the elaborate couters and spaulders that covered Basch’s elbows and shoulders. Next, Larsa worked at the lacings that held the bulky cuirass in place. Basch was glad to be rid of the metal chest and back plates that had trapped his body heat. With Larsa’s help, he could now unfasten the stiff leather gorget that encircled his neck. Larsa bid him to stand and knelt down before him. He quickly unhooked and unbuckled the greaves that protected Basch’s legs. That relieved Basch of the last two major pieces of his plate armor. Now stripped of nearly two stone of metal, Basch was left in only his padded black leather doublet, trousers, and boots.

Larsa was just as efficient as any squire that had ever served Basch. This struck him as troubling.

“Did Noah have a squire who served him?”

“Yes, once, but no longer,” Larsa said.

Basch knew his eyes spoke concern. Before he could ask, Larsa replied, “It would be a security risk. Until otherwise, I will take care of those duties. I do not mind.”

Basch recalled how Larsa had helped him dress in this armor before they departed the Strahl. Clearly, the young lord aided Noah enough times for this to be a familiar routine. Yet, if an emperor’s son—soon to be emperor confirmed—preferred to handle a squire’s duties for his own guardian and protector, this was indeed a house of serpents and even more so than Basch had expected.

“I’ll see to it that your helmet is properly repaired,” Larsa said as he gathered up an armload of armor. “Let me show you where these will be stored.”

Basch grabbed his cape and swords and followed Larsa through a door. It seemed he had a personal armory: a small, tidy room that held an assortment of weapons, tools for maintaining his armor, and a few mechanical items that had the look of Draklor Laboratory. Quickly, all the pieces of his armor were stowed, his heavy boots were off, and his feet were free, slipped into simple leather sandals. He had also made a point of stowing his brother’s swords all the way to the back of a high shelf that was a little too tall and deep for Larsa to reach.

The two of them walked together into the sunny part of the courtyard to stand along side the reflecting pool. The air smelled floral and fresh. Basch dearly desired a bath.

“Does anyone else stay in these residences?” Basch asked as he looked around the Hemelquiele Court. It was surprisingly quiet here and he had not seen any signs that made him suspect that someone else was here.

“No, not any longer,” said Larsa. “Now it is only us, that is, until we select aids we can trust, or…” Larsa’s voice trailed off as he looked out to the skyline. “Do you…” His voice faltered. “Does this arrangement meet your needs?”

Basch was not sure what the young lord was asking. Even without exploring the private apartments, he was sure these quarters would surpass the places he had rested his head.

“Aye, My Lord, I will be fine.”

“But, I worry that…” Larsa’s voice trailed off and he remained silent for a moment. “We must remain closely guarded until a balance of power is regained. Reinstating the senate and having them confirm my ascension is only the first step in righting the scales and showing the people that we are not an autocracy. Yet, we still need to be wary of those who are wont to slip poison into our wine.”

“I vowed to protect you and that I will do.” These were words Basch had said to other young members of royalty and it was second nature to say them again, although Archadia was technically not a monarchy.

“Basch, it is not my safety that troubles me. The senate and judges do not fear someone they think of as a figurehead and a child. They prefer it. It is your power that some will wish to negate.”

Despite the heaviness in his muscles and the weary ache in his bones, Basch was now fully alert. He swallowed. He watched a butterfly sit with its wings outstretched atop a lily pad.

Those words sliced right through the haze of exhaustion left from the final days of war. The exhaustion from maintaining Her Highness’s safety against her protests while trying to ease her grief. From Noah’s death and his own grief. From those strange final words—half unspoken—he had with Penelo. Nay. He closed his eyes. Those words were not final.

The shock of Larsa’s words left his muscles stiff and tense, ready to move, ready to strike.
What final oath had he taken while holding his brother’s weakened hand? He was no longer just the shield and sword for a dignitary.

Without moving his head, Basch glanced sideways at the young lord. He was still no taller than a child, his hands were small, and his voice was high.

Basch may have served as ground commander for an entire army. He may have once held the ear of a king. But he was always a servant, duty bound, honor sworned. But now, through some perverse twist of Fate and a decision made by his brother and this emperor-in-waiting who was still a child, Basch was now not not just Archadia’s highest ranked legal arbiter, enforcer, and commander. He answered to an emperor considered too young to truly rule, an emperor still receiving his education on matters of economics, diplomacy, and strategy, and emperor who, until growing older, was also seen as his charge.

He felt naked standing there without his sword. This was madness.

His own face stared back at him, reflected still as if in a mirror within the pond.

This is what his brother had always wanted. It was an offer of exchange made twenty years ago. Now it has come to pass.

Beyond Zargabaath, no other judge magisters remained, and while Zargabaath held many years of seniority, he was not held as highly in Lord Larsa’s favor. Basch would need to keep his wine well guarded indeed.

“If you enter the door over there,” Larsa pointed to a door near one corner of the gallery, “you will find Noah’s belongings. It would be wise to groom yourself appropriately and I will see to it that all official announcements are delayed until tomorrow morning.”

Larsa studied Basch for a moment, his eyes moving slowly as if searching for specific words, but finally he said, “You should just remain here. I’ll be back before sunset. I need to finish the arrangements that will reinstate the senate.” Larsa bowed his head ever so slightly while keeping his eyes fixed upon Basch’s. Then he turned on his heels and left.

Remaining here was fine. Basch desired to stay in the solitude of their private residence until the following morning, and moreover, he lacked a key to the lift.

He walked once around the perimeter and his sandaled footsteps were reassuringly silent. Leaning against a metal railing, he looked out over the Archades skyline.

The streets below were laid out in a radial fashion with all main avenues leading toward the imperial palace. He scanned building after building until he found the city’s aerodome and he wondered if the Strahl was docked there now, resting, re-supplying, and planning its long return home. It was a ship that Judge Magister Gabranth had commandeered at the crew’s suggestion. Larsa left them with paperwork and flight permissions that would guarantee their ability to land and leave without being boarded and without the ship being seized as stolen property.

Basch wished he could send a message to them but he could not. Now that ship had no more than a crew. A young pilot and a navigator. Both promised to bear Noah’s body—now his body—back to Rabanastre. Basch knew it would be a burial accompanied by little ceremony. Yet, he knew that hot, salty tears would be shed. He had already seen and felt some of those tears this morning at sunrise when he died and found that he had become Noah.

Basch pushed with his hands against the balcony railing, pushing himself back toward the pond, back into the secluded courtyard, back away from the activity in Archades below.

As he walked, he fumbled with the buttons and loops at the breast of his doublet until the stiff leather finally parted. The stench of battle mixed with the stink sweat not entirely his own had soaked his linen undergarments. Soon he was free of it and free of the stained linen shirt underneath. He left these on the bench near the armory closet. Now his chest was bare except for a tarnished silver pendant of a bird with upright wings that hung around his neck. This was one of two things that he had kept to remind him of who he was and the oaths he must keep.

Basch walked to the door that Larsa had indicated as Gabranth’s quarters.

The solid bronze doorknob felt cool in his hand. It opened without hesitation.


[ON TO CHAPTER 2]