I have read very many excellent tragedies of varying lengths concerning Larsa Solidor. I imagine his life was a short and brutal story of one loss after another: his father, his mentor, his brother, his guardian, his innocence, and his empire. However, that is not what this fic is about. In this fic, Larsa is going to HAVE SOME FUN FOR ONCE GODS DAMMIT.

Larsa x Penelo awkward teenage flirting, very brief mention of Balthier x Ashe (not story focus).

The Imperial Guardsman posted to the Emperor's guestroom in the Royal Palace of Rabanstre placed the letter carefully on the table and glanced over at his partner. "Hizzoner'll have us filleted for this, you realize."

"That he will," the other replied, nodding in unhappy agreement.

"Right," said the first, and turned again to the open window to stand in silence. "You ever seen his Excellency grinning like that?" he said finally.

"Never in my life."

The code of the knights of Archadia was explicit in its decree that no man of the blade should allow his companions to face deadly peril alone. The task of reporting this…incident was not quite deadly peril, since Emperor Larsa had made clear his distaste for summary execution, but it was at the least going to be really, really unpleasant. The unfortunate pair therefore clanked down the hallway together to Zargabaath's chambers, where they found him, as well as Judge Gabranth, in conference over tiny cups of tongue-searingly strong Dalmascan coffee and precarious piles of state documents. Their Honors Judge Zargaabath and Judge Gabranth were both just men, which bode well for the two soldiers walking out of the room with all limbs intact—the new Gabranth was, at any rate. The general consensus among the Guard was that a piece of the Bahamut had fallen on his head during the evacuation, though a few old hands swore by the theory he'd been replaced by his highly implausible rumor of a twin brother. The Emperor would neither formally confirm nor deny anything, and regardless of cause, most agreed the change was for the better.

The elder Judge looked up at the pair of interruptions somewhat crossly, and the younger looked, if anything, slightly and inexplicably amused. The letter was handed over (along with a halting explanation of its presence), which read as follows:

To whom it may concern,

We have this day abducted Emperor Larsa Ferrinas Solidor, beloved ruler of Archadia and all its territories, and friend to the sovereign nation of Dalmasca. He will be returned intact by sundown if our demands are met:

1) Forgive all fines incurred at the Eastgate public lending library by one Migelo of Migelo's Sundries.

2) Deliver a case of 698 Archades red to aforementioned shopfront, compliments of Sir Ratsbane and his lovely assistant (this part had been scratched out, and a new line written above it in a neater hand) compliments of the Sunsting Dancer and her assistant, who obviously thinks too much of himself.

3) Tell Zargabaath this was not Larsa's idea, really.

--The Dread Pirates of the Golden Hair

Or even if they're not.

P.S. He's probably going to get kind of grubby. You'll want to make sure he's washed before the treaty signing.

After reading it over three times in disbelief, Judge Zargabaath crumpled up the slip of rough paper in one armored fist and stood with the creak and clatter of many pounds of mithril alloy. "You. Let them. Take him," he said, low and deadly, managing to loom over the younger guardsman though he was a good two inches shorter when without his helmet.

"It was orders, Your Honor!" his partner protested in meager defense. "His exact words were, ah, 'I am loathe to sacrifice the luncheon with so many august Dalmascan diplomats, but have little choice. Do not hinder them, that one has a bowgun and I believe she can use it.' Then he climbed onto the hovercycle behind the blonde man with all the daggers and shot out the window, sir."

"We'll organize search parties at once, you honor. Should we involve the native police force, or—"

"No," Judge Gabranth said mildly, speaking up for the first time. Zargabaath stiffened but said nothing. That one has little taste for plots. Unusual, but probably innocuous. Zargabaath didn't challenge it.

The two hapless soldier exchanged glances. "Sir?"

"If he does not wish to be found, he will not be found. I would think you have learned that lesson well enough. Tell her Majesty's seneschal the Emperor is ill with the heat and will not be appearing until the evening."

Judge Zargabaath favored them with a parting glower. "Now remove yourselves from my sight, before your incompetence overwhelms my desire to keep true to the gentler ideals of our young Emperor." The two guardsmen saluted in a heady mixture of relief and slack-jawed confusion, retaining enough of their dignity not to run, but only just.

Once they had fled to the corridor, Basch finally allowed himself the shadow of a smile. "You needn't fear for his safety in their hands. I can personally guarantee it."

"You knew."

"It is easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission. Let him be a boy for today," he said, and subtle curl of lip disappeared again, subsumed by the realities facing his royal charge. "He's had precious little time as one."

"The Solidor house did as it must to survive. Youth does not protect from intrigue; if Larsa had been given the same liberties as your princess, he would not be breathing now."

"You must see that he sleeps little and eats less. A knife in the dark or poison in his supper wine are not the assaults against his health I fear most."

The other judged sighed low in his throat and settled again into his seat. "He doesn't have the stomach for empire, and Vayne knew it, may his traitor's bones rot. He did such copious and unpardonable wrong against his own kin, but Larsa…at least he sought to protect that one from the very future in which we have now found ourselves."

"What little good that did."

"And I had thought there was no pity left me," Zargabaath said, swirling the gritty dregs round in his cup. "Ruling Archadia will tear Larsa's life out piece by piece, until there is nothing left but a shade in the Imperial violets, haunting the halls in a crown that bites heavy into a brow too bowed to carry it."

"You mistake my words, Zargabaath. I am concerned for him, yes, but your emperor, our emperor, is far from lost," Basch replied. "I believe Larsa is more resilient than you guess, and he has true friends in many places, high and low, a gift bestowed upon very few who sit enthroned."

"It seems I did—pray forgive the rambling of an old man. I fear I see nothing but the same slow decline for the young that rises up to meet me," he said, absently flexing the fingers of his left hand inside their metal shells, which had only a fraction of the strength they once did.

"You may be my elder, but you're hardly a dotard yet," Basch protested, shaking his head, and replaced his helmet with a metallic click. "This is a hopeful day—we will have seen the last of that vile nethicite, and that must count for something. Now, if you will excuse me, I believe Queen Ashelia will require at least some Archadian representation at a diplomatic luncheon put on in our honor, whether the attendant can eat it or not."