kinkfest | Final Fantasy XII (Vayne/Larsa) (Reply)

Title: Signet
Author:

sister_coyote
Rating: PG
Warnings: Spoilers through the end of the game.
Word count: 1100
Summary: "I remain always your loving brother."
Prompt: Final Fantasy XII, Vayne/Larsa: Letters/writing - Vayne's talent with words put to use.

Larsa was five when he received his first letter from his brother; though he could read, still he needed assistance with it, and though one of his tutors was the obvious choice, still he asked his guard and mentor Drace to read it with him. He held it, reading along as she leaned over his chair and read it for him, her voice deep and even. Larsa rubbed the paper between his fingers -- thick, heavy, the best he'd ever seen, with Vayne's elegant hand in crisp black.

My dear Larsa,

I trust this letter finds you in good health and good spirits.

I write you from Anerba on the Steppe. It is a small city, but a thriving one, although currently beset by wild beasts. Our caravan was beset by a flock of Charybterix on the way in -- a magnificent sight, but also an intimidating one. I daresay the guards with us were well-equipped to deal with the menace, however, and we had roast fowl for supper. I have enclosed one of their feathers in the satchel that contained this message.

Drace paused, and Larsa fumbled only a little opening the catch again, and pulling out the feather, layered rich purple and vibrant green.

Strung along the Steppe are a series of windmills, the purpose of which is unknown although the moogles strive to return them to working order regardless. I, on the other hand, am unwilling to content myself with merely operating them; I wish to understand their secrets. Perhaps someday when the atmosphere is more hospitable, you will join me, and we can study them together.

I remain always your loving brother,

and then the flourish of his signature, and the raised mark of his signet. Larsa touched it with a fingertip. The last page of the letter was a map of the Steppe, sketched by the same hand in the same stark ink as the letter, with each mill picked out in loving detail. "It has been a long time since I saw my brother," he said, almost making it a question that he was not sure how to ask.

Drace knelt beside him. "Indeed," she said.

"Why is that?"

"It has been... convenient for him to be scarce more often than not," Drace said, her voice oddly cool and tight, "for the past several years. It is a matter of political necessity that... I am not sure I can explain to you now, though I will in the fullness of time."

"Thank you," Larsa said, rolling the letter back together and trying for a moment to make the broken wax edges of the seal meet again before letting go. The thick paper, resistant of warping, sprung back in his hands.

Within two years -- two years punctuated by brief but thrilling visits, and many letters -- Vayne had returned and was in the capitol more often than not. Still, when he could not see Larsa for a week or more together (which was often the case; neither of them had an overabundance of time, or privacy) he would write. As Larsa grew older (and no longer required Drace to interpret the letters) he came to appreciate that Vayne always used the best supplies for his letter-writing. He wrote on heavy linen-fiber paper, the same calm cream color, and with a vivid black ink in his long, slanted, distinctive handwriting. He sealed his letters with dark blue wax in the mark of his signet, and whenever he could he slipped some little thing -- a puzzle, a beast's claw, a trinket -- into the message. There was something strangely comforting about that, to hold something his brother had held.

My dear Larsa,

I trust this letter finds you in good health and good spirits.

I apologize; I have been remiss in seeing you, and without the bonds of family, what is the House? So I will see you soon, before your birthday -- how hard it is to believe you have reached your tenth; it seems both too soon and that you are older than that! -- but for now we will make do with pen and paper.

I confess my mind has been taken with the opportunities presented by Doctor Bunansa. He has unveiled the path to a bright future; I cannot share the details -- perhaps when your studies are more advanced, and I enjoin you to continue with them, for you are clever and such should never go to waste -- but I am eager to see it to fruition, for the sake of our House and of you, Larsa.

I await with pleasure the chance to see you on your birthday.

I remain always your loving brother,

and his signature, as always.

Larsa received what would be the last letter from his brother -- though he knew it not at the time -- after Vayne's departure for Rabanastre.

My dear Larsa,

I write you in unseemly haste, but I wished to say something, for I regret that I was unable to see you before my departure. There are things I must take care of, for your sake -- and for the sake of the future. I await with pleasure my next chance to see you. In the meantime, be cautious; it is a time of great change. I have left you my store of potions, but I trust they will not be necessary. Remember that the Judges answer to our House. They will serve you well.

Be not afraid, whatever may happen. Take care of yourself, for I will take care of the future.

I remain always your loving brother,

Vayne

He touched Vayne's signature -- bare, only his given name, not the full extent of the signatory block, and for the first time the thought (always present, but never quite ready to be thought) crystallized in his head that perhaps he had ought not let the future remain wholly in his brother's hands, no matter how much faith he had.

In the satchel that had held Vayne's letter, he put one of the store of potions -- and then, after a moment's thought, another. It would not do, he thought, to take unseemly chances.

At the last, and without hesitation, he slipped the letter into his satchel, though he knew travel would crumple the fine paper.