Final Fantasy XII - Drace/Gabranth

[regicidaldwarf.livejournal.com]

Title: Warrior
Author: RegicidalDwarf
Rating: R?
Warnings: Mentions of sex, character death
Word count: ~1,500
A/N: This was not supposed to be this long. Or this late, sorry. X-posted in regicidaldwarf2

He first sees the woman Judge in the practice grounds the day before his promotion ceremony to Judge Magister. He has been here before of course, but never at the same time as she. She is in full plate armor, as is her opponent, and the only clue to her sex comes when she cries out wordlessly in attack. Her voice is feminine.

He had been taken aback when he first heard that there was a woman in the ranks of the Judges – and a Magister, no less – but to see her now, sparring with a male Judge taller and heavier than she is, he is stunned. She wields her great blade as easy as breathing, though it is almost her full length and must weigh half again her weight. The bout ends soon after he enters, with Drace’s blade at the other Judge’s throat, his weapon clattering uselessly to the floor.

Gabranth is led on before the participants in the match remove their helms, so he does not see her face. It is not until much later that he realizes still does not know what she looks like underneath her armor.

The second time he sees her is at the commencement ceremony to mark his entrance into the ranks of the Judges. The Judge Magisters stand at attention in rank down the hall as he kneels before the throne, the Emperor, and the two Magisters flanking him that will head the ceremony.

It is not until after the ceremony ends, however (”Rise, Judge Magister Gabranth, and may you prove yourself worthy of the name and of the Empire.”), that he even has the presence of mind to see her standing in full armor among the ranks of Judges. He recognizes her helm from the practice yard and he stands at attention as the Judges all salute. It is an impressive sight.

The third time he sees her is the first time they speak face to face, in the hall of the Judge’s quarters. He is tired from the day and trying to get home for the night, so he does not immediately notice the door opening to his right. He comes to an abrupt halt, barely avoiding a collision with the room’s occupant as he exits.

…As she exits he realizes, finding himself staring into a sharp but surprisingly feminine face.

“So this is Judge Drace,” he thinks.

“Pardon,” is what he says. “I did not see you at first.”

She nods in acknowledgment.

“It is alright. You are newly sworn in - Judge Gabranth, correct?”

He gives a slight bow.

“Yes, I am. You are Judge Drace?”

“Indeed.”

“I have seen you fight, it is impressive. I hope that we may both serve together for the betterment of the Empire.”

“Thank you. I would wish the same.”

He nods.

“Now please, if you will excuse me. I would retire to my rooms, I fear the day has already been overlong.”

“Of course. I would not keep you.”

He gives another bow, and walks away quickly. He tells himself he is not running away.

Their next meeting is in the briefing room, two days later. They are to be sent on a mission together, to scout out rumors of insurgence. Gabranth almost refuses when he realizes they’re sending him to what was Landis before the Empire’s conquest, but he knows this is a test of his new loyalties, and does not. Drace sees his hesitation, he knows, but she is kind enough to refrain from pointing it out. They are given an airship and crew, and told to report back within the month.

The mission itself does not take long. They are given separate quarters in both the airship and the inn at which they stay, for which he is grateful. With her armor on it is easy to think of her as merely another Judge, a comrade in arms, sexless. He is not sure how long he could continue to think of her so if they were forced to share a room; not here, when his detachment is already being tried so thoroughly.

He had hoped that the land would be changed beyond recognition, but he is wrong, so very wrong. War left the land torn, but even through the reconstruction, Gabranth can see his homeland. All those on the mission keep their armor on for safety, but even if it were not a necessary precaution he would be keeping his helm whenever in public. Even with his face masked, he still fears that someone will recognize his voice, will know him to have forsaken his homeland for an Empire.

They find the insurgents, hidden on the outskirts of town, and Gabranth does what he must for the Empire. He tries hard not to think that any one of them could have been him, in another life. Could have been his brother.

He cleans his blade behind the inn for hours afterwards, until Drace finds him with his back bent, his helm at his feet.

“You are troubled. These are your people, are they not?”

Gabranth knows she is there as he heard her approach, but he does not respond for a moment as he considers how to answer.

“The Judges are extensions of the Empire. I have no people.”

Drace exhales in what might have been a snort, and sits beside him.

“I would not have you parrot rhetoric at me, Gabranth. You are from Landis, are you not? This was your homeland. Our mission here troubles you.”

He considers lying as he meets her eyes, then sighs, his head dropping.

“I can not deny it, though it pains me to do so.”

Drace nods.

“You have my confidence then, that the Emperor will not hear of this. Nor will the rest of the Magisters. But if I am to keep it, I feel you must return to our party. They are beginning to wonder at your prolonged absence.”

She is right, he knows it. He sheaths his blade and they return together. They speak little for the remainder of their time in old Landis, but begin to take their meals together on the journey back to the capitol.

After their successful return, Gabranth is soon dispatched on another mission, and he does not return for another month. When he finally returns, careful enquiry reveals that Drace left the night previous, with no scheduled date for return.

Most of the other Judges avoid him, though they are not uncivil. He knows why this is so – it is widely known that he is from Landis – and does not press the matter. Instead he drills endlessly until he tires, and takes his meals in his quarters alone. He is there on one such evening when there is an unexpected knock on his door. He looks up from his table at the door in surprise, and rises slowly to open the door.

Drace stands before him, looking tired and slightly hesitant. He stands mute in the doorway, holding the door open. It is Drace the breaks the silence.

“I arrived back this morning, I thought I might see you. May I enter?”

Gabranth shakes his head, unfreezing himself.

“Of course.” He steps back to permit her room to enter, closing the door behind her. He invites her to dine with him, she accepts the offer. They talk of the Empire, of Vayne, of Larsa, of their homelands. They talk for hours, sharing a bottle of wine, then another. It is late when Drace makes to leave for her own room.

“I fear that it is late,” she says, beginning to rise, “I would not keep you up much longer, I am sure you have duties to attend to in the morning.” She stands, gather her helm turns to leave, and Gabranth realizes suddenly that he desperately does not want her to go.

“Wait.” The words are heavy in his mouth from the wine, but his head is clear. Drace turns, regards him.

“Can you stay?”

She does not respond for a moment, then drops her helm, and before Gabranth can react she is kissing him. He opens his mouth eagerly, pushing back into it, deepening it. Things proceed quickly from there, ending with them stripped bare on Gabranth’s bed, Drace straddling him, riding him to their mutual completion. She does not return to her room that night.

The next night she brings her own wine.

The last time he sees her is in the throne room, in the aftermath of Emperor Gramis’s gruesome murder. Vayne is supreme, most of the Judges follow him, their mission lies in peril of being compromised. Everything is falling apart. He watches in horror as Drace is thrown to the floor, moves in a haze to carry out her hateful sentence. He knows they have given him this order to torture him, to test him, but he still pauses as he kneels beside her. He cannot look at her, or he will fail.

“Do it.”

Despite his better judgment, her words force him to face her.

“I care not. Live, Gabranth. Protect the young lord. Protect Larsa.”

She is rights, he knows it. She is always right.

He does what he must.