The Happiest Moment
Posted to 31 January 2007
Characters and 'verse owned by Square.
Spoilers thru the end of the game.
No pairings. Features Dr. Cid, and Ffamran, as well as the entire Solidor family.
Rated M for mature situations and themes, some harsh language, violence.
Chapter Eight- The Saint of Salvation
Vayne's steely exterior lasted for several years, tempering only when he was with Larsa or alone with the Bunansas. It served him well, and he moved up in the ranks of the Archadian military until, with a great deal of cautionary posturing and strange orders meant to test his loyalty to the Senate, he was appointed Commander of the Combined Judiciary and Armed Forces. At twenty-one, he was the youngest to ever hold the post.
He prayed to his dead brother that day, and sent the news in the form of a coded letter to Al-Azir Margrace of Rozarria. Then, he went to Draklor to give himself time to think, clear his mind, concentrate on something he knew.
Cid came in much later with a curt, "Good day, Lord Vayne."
He set the flask he was holding down, lest he drop it. The glass made a resounding click against the cold slate table.
As soon as the door of the lab closed, Vayne gave a quiet sob and began to shake violently. Alarmed, Cid rushed over and caught him, allowing the young man to clutch his sleeves.
"Shh," he hushed him, shocked at the sudden show of emotion after five years of nothing. "What's wrong, what's wrong. If you can tell me, I will hear it."
"Royen said… to be strong," he choked, throat closing with panic and the effort not to weep. "So… I shall be."
Cid pursed his lips and held Vayne bracingly. "There's something going on, isn't there?"
Vayne nodded, shaking and clutching his surrogate father's sleeves in the manner of a man drowning.
"And I can't know what it is, can I?"
Vayne shook his head, then bit his lip so hard that it bled. With a start, he pulled back and brought his hand to his lip; as he brought it away, he choked again at the sight of the blood on his fingers.
Cid observed with a dark understanding. "Oh. Yes, of course. Let's get out of this place, eh? Let's get to the coffee room. We can talk there." He reflexively reached over and turned off the burner on Vayne's project, and led him by the elbow out of the lab.
The young man followed, still trembling from the attack; he didn't focus when Cid gave him a napkin to hold to his lip, nor did he notice when the older man seemed to listen to something only he could hear.
"Of course, yes!" he exclaimed, his face lighting up. "Vayne, I've someone you should meet."
Vayne looked up, emerging from the haze of his panic attack and staring at Cid as if he were insane.
Cid grinned as if he actually were insane. "Vayne Solidor, I would like you to meet—Venat!"
And behind him, the air shimmered, and Vayne's life took another sharp turn.
Venat was a blessing. She became Vayne's only god. He and Cid worshipped together at the temple of science, and they knew salvation together at the hands of a rebel Occuria.
Venat helped Vayne, guiding his hand in his choices as a military leader. She separated him into parts to help him function; one part, the scientist that helped Cid at Draklor. One part, the beautiful monster that played the aristocracy against each other. One part, the sharp mind that wrought its will upon the Senate and all the world. One part, the brother who held Larsa in his arms and read to him, taught him to speak and read, helped him with his studies, played games with him, kept creeps away at his father's social functions, and eventually took him to Draklor to learn about nethicite.
Vayne never let go of his brother's plans. He expounded upon them, to be sure, with the help of Venat—conquer all of Ivalice and bring it under one government. Then he could offer it to Larsa on a silver platter, and guard him in the time of peace. Even when Venat took his body and twisted his mind, he was ever dedicated to the protection of his brother. When Larsa had raised a sword to him, he knew that his choice, and his father's choice, and the choices of his brothers, they had all been correct.
Larsa Ferrinas Solidor was meant to rule the world. He was the only one who would ever be worthy—and he was proving it by giving it up.
As soon as Larsa was incapacitated, Vayne felt the last of who he was slipping from his grasp. He left the Bahamut's upper deck, and forced himself—and Venat—as far from his brother as possible, before he surrendered his soul and Venat took his body.
Larsa Ferrinas Solidor, aged ten years, sat at his mother's feet in the parlor, and watched his brother glide through the hall towards his room. Moments later, he returned down the hall, stopping at the door.
Larsa shivered. Vayne was no longer the brother he had known since his birth; he desperately wanted his brother back. For a moment, when Vayne pushed the door open and smiled at him with the fondness of family and the love of a brother, Larsa saw him. But his Lady Mother, Deyanira, pressed Vayne back outside.
Through the crack of the door, he heard the hiss of their whispers and saw them as they moved back and forth past the door. His mother, making overtures of affection and love, and his brother rejecting all of them with an air of disdain. His mother again, touching his brother in a way that mothers ought not touch brothers. His brother, brushing her off with irritation and sharp whispers. His mother, whining in a low voice. His brother, marching away.
His mother returned to the room in a foul temper, and went to the window. "The Lord Vayne," she informed him in sharp tones, "would like you to know that he'll be in his study."
Larsa puzzled for a moment. "Mother," he inquired. "My Lord Brother is too old to be your son, as I am."
Taken off her guard, she paused before answering, "Yes. He is the son of your father by his second wife, before me."
"You are not Vayne's mother."
She chuckled a bitter negative.
"Does he know?"
"Know that I am not his mother? I dare say he does."
"No, you misunderstand me," he frowned impatiently.
"What, then?" Deyanira replied, pressing her face to the glass of the window.
"Does he know that he's not my brother?"
She squinted for a moment. "What do you mean, darling? Of course he's still your brother. He is your father's son, still."
"My father is not the Lord Gramis." Larsa said slowly.
Deyanira regarded him carefully for a moment before she answered.
"No. He doesn't know."