Disclaimer: FFXII belongs to Square-Enix and all other companies/persons associated with creating this wonderful piece of work.

Author's Notes: These stories are written with the FFXII canon in mind only. In other words, Reverent Wings did not happen, or has not happened yet. Comments, questions, and/or constructive criticism highly appreciated and always welcome.

A Record of Encounters

Set I: Basch fon Ronsenberg

i.

When he first met them he'd sized them up, as if he saw them all eye-to-eye rather than having to look up at them. One of them was Dalmascan, judging from his attire, and well enough beneath Larsa's own station to make even the most liberal-minded of the Archadians balk. There was a Viera, as stoic and fierce-looking and enigmatic as he'd heard and read about. The third was most likely an Archadian, judging from the set of his cheekbones -- he had a bit of that aristocratic air about him too, though it was dulled by mismatched rings, the supply packs about his waist, and a look too wild for the polite society.

And then, he who looked almost identical to Gabranth, he who caused Larsa to muster all his will to keep his face open and disarming. Larsa tried not to be too surprised when the Dalmascan -- Vaan -- blurted out the last traveler's name.

ii.

Larsa stared at the emaciated form walking steadily before him, and, for one moment, knew fear for Judge Magister Gabranth.

iii.

The Archadian -- Balthier, he remembered Vaan calling, but that was no Archadian name -- was highly suspicious of him. Larsa wondered if, with the amount of curiosity and pity with which he'd been staring furtively at Basch fon Ronsenburg, the knight would be suspicious too.

Drace did always say that his face gave him away easily.

iv.

"We have conclusive evidence to believe that the Princess Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca is under our 'personal escort'," Larsa heard Ghis proclaim with smug victory. He wished very dearly then, that he could see the lady and tell her that she was not entirely alone.

v.

He thought to appeal to Basch on the matter of an alliance between Lady Ashe and himself -- Basch was a man of the sword and shield, he'd know the significance of such a move, which might be lost on Lady Ashe in her headstrong will.

But Lady Ashe was, after all, the rightful representative of Dalmasca; plus, Larsa was not sure if he was ready to face Basch the Not-Kingslayer yet.

vi.

Larsa never told Gabranth what happened on his excursions away from his entourage and escorts. He suspected that Gabranth knew, maybe even wanted to know more. He was too afraid to ask.

vii.

On a cold night deep within the Paramina Rift, where he could see no iron hulks cruising overhead, Larsa found his chance and his courage (or audacity, he didn't know which) to speak. He stood up as quietly as he could, and approached the knight. When the man looked up from his place of watch beside Lady Ashe's bedroll, gaze sharp despite his non-threatening posture, Larsa almost quailed.

"Lord Larsa?" the knight's voice came, low and a bit richer than the slight rasp he'd first heard at Bhujerba.

"Sir Basch," he returned, and the man acknowledged the title with a nod. Larsa took that as permission, and came to sit down in front of the man. Straightening himself, he looked at Basch in the eye like his father, brother, Gabranth, and Drace had taught him to do -- to talk as a Prince of House Solidor.

"I wish to apologize," he started quietly, if only so as to not awaken Lady Ashe. A flicker of surprise passed Basch's face before Larsa found it fit to continue. "On behalf of the Empire, of which I am a part of, ruled by my family, I apologize. We have wronged you horribly in the past, and I cannot begin to comprehend what has been forced upon you."

Basch fon Ronsenburg stared at him through the light of the campfire, silent as the ice on the rocks behind them, and at one point in time, Larsa was sure, almost just as dead. He shuddered at the thought -- tried not to let it show -- and wondered at the will of this man, the will beyond that monstrous scar. Neither responded for a long moment, and Larsa started to avert his eyes. Perhaps he'd affronted Basch; after all, how could he apologize for something he 'could not begin to comprehend' (curse his tongue, that had lain open his folly so easily), but knew full well that it wouldn't be settled with a child's apologies?

"You honour me, Lord Larsa. I am merely a captain of the Royal Guard of Dalmasca." Basch said quietly, inclining his head again.

Larsa blinked. "Honour you? I hardly think my apology to be worthy. To apologize for something I could not understand, do you not think -- that I am pitying you?" He realized, as he said it, how true that might be, and how even more foolish he must have seemed.

Basch smiled lightly at him; once upon a time, Larsa thought, he might have looked more handsome, more heroic.

"If you pitied me, you would not have approached me in such a grave manner," He replied, shifting his heavy shield against his own body for comfort. "And even if you do pity me, I will not find it surprising either."

"I do not apologize out of pity," Larsa answered, feeling every bit the twelve-year-old that he was.

"I know." He looked up to see Basch smiling at him again. "And I thank you for your apology."

It occurred to Larsa, as he bid Basch goodnight and the man returned the greeting in kind, as he settled into his bedroll, that Basch fon Ronsenburg was a dead man. It occurred to him also, that no one would ever apologize to a dead man such as Basch fon Ronsenburg.

That made him feel less like a twelve-year-old.

viii.

Noah's body was carried back to Archades, where Larsa and Basch alone mourned him, while the Imperial City welcomed home the valiant Judge Magister Gabranth.

ix.

High up on the podium, addressing the memory of Vayne Carudas Solidor, Larsa could see the court of Archades, already thrown into varying degrees of doubt and suspicion. Here and there heads already bent in heated whispers, and perhaps someone watched him from the shadows, sharpening a top-quality dagger.

But a sweeping glance through the audience, instead of a lingering one, would suffice; as for the voices, the only thing he heard was the free breeze and the silence of Basch's armoured form. For that, he found some measure of comfort in his grief.

x.

Larsa passed Penelo's letter to Basch with a slightly mischievous expression, to which the knight frowned, confused. He nodded his permission as Basch dropped his gaze hesitantly to the paper, stark-white in the Archadian sun. A few minutes later, Basch joined him at the rectangular pond, and he stopped pretending to admire the water flowers.

"My Lord?" Basch asked, as if nothing had changed. Larsa almost laughed, but it would have been unseemly of an Emperor.

Settling for a chuckle, he peered up at Basch's face, now less sunken but still more haggard than Gabranth's. "You will accompany me to Lady Ashe's coronation?"

"Of course," Basch replied. "It is my duty."

"To whom, I wonder?" Larsa mused.

The armour creaked, as if the figure within seemed to draw back. "To you, of course."

"And if it is not?" Larsa asked, turning to him. "If I were to invite Basch fon Ronsenburg with me, and not Judge Magister Gabranth?"

"The two are too closely bound," came the quiet reply.

"Indeed." Larsa agreed after a moment. "Well, I shall invite both then, and we will see what comes of it." Here he smiled at Basch, and that tense stance the knight had sunk into loosened. "I believe that all will be well."

Again, comments, questions, and/or constructive criticism highly appreciated and always welcome.