welcome
The Rabanastran sunlight, clear and brilliant always as diamonds poured from a careless hand, lights the windows of the aerodrome. Civilian travelers are forced aside for the column of Imperials, Larsa's cortege and Ghis's judges fusing with unpleasant ease into one; the looks of disgust and resentment writ full across Dalmascan countenances make Larsa sick at heart, and also his mind dwell on the Lady Ashe. Is she safe, and has he done enough? Only time will tell, he supposes, and it is time that most he lacks.
Judge Ghis stirs beside him, and the particular rattle of his armour sounds of laughter. "Ah," he says; "and here I restore you to the company of your proper nursemaid, Lord Larsa." Larsa looks up, sharply, in the same direction, and at last the pressure in his heart loosens to see Judge Gabranth striding in from the sun. Ghis's helmet turns in Larsa's direction, but he need not see the man's face to know his dry expression. "Words fail me as to the great loss it will be to no longer be held accountable for your lordship's good behavior."
But Larsa is smiling; the sight has at least given him heart enough for that. "I assure you, Judge Ghis, mine is the far greater loss," he returns in the same undertone, and steps forward with no time for Ghis to answer. "Judge Gabranth!" he hails, instead, shedding the column like water to meet the approaching man. "How fare you?"
Gabranth halts when he draws near, to kneel to Larsa's hand in proper fashion; the small squeeze he answers to Gabranth's leathern fist is rather less proper, but not so improper as would be a full embrace -- like those propriety permitted them in Larsa's more tender years, and which he finds himself wishing for instead. They have scarce seen one another in many a month, as Gabranth's duties as Judge Magister have occupied him so fully. "Well, my lord," he answers, and rises to his feet, where he again towers over his ostensible charge. "And your journey?"
"Eventful," Larsa says merrily enough, leaving Ghis a-glower in their wake as he joins Gabranth's step back toward the royal palace. "Too much for Judge Ghis's taste, I gather."
Nor does he have to see Gabranth's face to read amusement there; even less so, in fact. "I would be disappointed to hear that you had been better-behaved for Judge Ghis than ever for myself," he remarks, and Larsa beams at him, all innocence.
"Surely my behaviour is always impeccable." They step out into the sun and he winces in the change of light, raising his gloved hand to his eyes to shield it away. His cortege clanks along behind them, at some distance; it has always been how he has liked them best. "But tell me of Rabanastre. I heard of the insurgence's strike; is my brother well?"
Gabranth inclines his head. "Well enough," he allows, although Larsa believes he detects some hint of strange hesitation. "He... sends you his regards, and prays I see you in your quarters for the night and back safe to Archades."
Larsa's tread slows until it becomes a stop, and Gabranth must also pause to turn back to him. Again foot traffic must break around them, but now his eyes are fixed on Gabranth. "He does not wish to see me?"
He can find no way to make the question sound other than a childish complaint, and winces even though he says it. Gabranth's hesitation is now pronounced, his helm inscrutable. "The lord consul is very busy," he says, slowly, and produces a slip of parchment from folds of his cloak after the space of another few breaths. "He sent with me a missive for you, my lord, if you will."
"Thank you," Larsa says as he takes it into his hands. But he can no longer smile.
Dearest Larsa:
It is with deepest regrets I inform you that my duties shall occupy me during the time of your visit. I shall be grieved to miss your company, but surely you understand that my responsibilities to Dalmasca must come first. I am relieved to hear that you are safe. Please deign to remain in the company of your cortege in Rabanastre, and enjoy this fair city for your brief stay. Judge Magister Gabranth shall guide you as ever.
All my love.
Vayne
At last Larsa can lift his head from the note, and nods. "I see," he says, struggling to unlimber the stiffness from his voice. "Of course." He tucks the note into his own jerkin (to be read again later, and again, and at length), and looks up at Gabranth with sudden candor. "Was Dr. Cid with him?"
Gabranth does not answer for long moments, but touches his shoulder, with ponderous care for his heavy gauntlets. "You need not trouble yourself now, my lord. We go to the palace."
Larsa nods, composing himself as fully as he needs; his cortege returns to their company now, and he must not appear before them to harbor any untoward doubts. "Thank you, Gabranth," he says; and this time, does manage a smile. "I am in your hands."