Disclaimer: I do not own Square Enix’s Final Fantasy XII, nor am I making any money off this fanfiction.

Author’s Notes…

Something short. I don’t think it will be more than a few chapters. I have most of them outlined in my head already. But knowing my track record with saying a story is going to be short, and then it’s not… Well, we’ll see.

If you like it, please review! You don’t know how much encouragement that is for me—and it’s very much appreciated, at that.

-o-o-

Scarlet Ribbon

Chapter One

What Will You Do?

-o-o-

Your hair was like strands of gold spun from the very sun—

…I must admit, I could hardly tear my eyes away from yours. You were so beautiful, as always, lovely from the girls having dolled you up, but shining through on your own, as well. But there was something in your gaze… I feared, no, I hoped—

The moment had come to an utter standstill. I knew, as I’ve always known it would, that the time had come to tell you the truth. Only… I couldn’t. The words lodged themselves in my throat. Penelo, please forgive me. You have my utmost apologies. I fumbled about for words like a fool, and yet again, I let you run away to Vaan. I didn’t even have the courage at such a point to beg you to please stay. Just for a little while longer…

Always just a little while longer.

If I knew how to properly express what was in my heart…

—you’ll never see these, so I am uncertain of why I bother, dallying about, searching for words to write you, when my efforts are futile—

Penelo, you looked as though you had come to visit me from the heavens. Rain, sunshine, sleet, snow, and you would always look—no, that’s terrible, horribly clichéd. It does not do you justice at all, but I am afraid that not much would. I find that much of our vocabulary is limited when it comes to describing how wondrously beautiful you are, even so much that I am stuck with naught but dainty adjectives. Wondrously beautiful. As if that could ever encompass…

Why him? What sway does he hold over your heart that I do not? I am frustrated beyond belief, Penelo. He does nothing but anger you at the worst of times, and exasperate you at the best. Certainly, you seem very fond despite this. But it is I who makes you laugh, who knows the depths of your soul to an extent that even you are unaware of. I know your secrets. You’ve entrusted with me many of them, if not all. Yet it is he who sits at your side, ever the gallant pirate—

…It’s been months since I’ve last seen you… When are you coming again? Please tell me you have not left me here…

Penelo, where are you? It’s miserable without you. I’ve never been quite so lonely.

Penelo…?

Have I done something to anger you? What captivates your attention so? What must I do to gain it back? You used to stay for weeks at a time. Now, when I’ve just seen you days past, you were distant with me, hurried to go. You must tell me if I’ve offended. I once was able to read you so very well, you see, yet lately I…

I don’t want to be alone.

…Months…

—please, I would do anything to regain my favor with you—

…Penelo? Please?

Penelo put the stack of letters down, unable to bear looking at them any longer. She’d spent hours already, pouring over Larsa’s private thoughts—the secrets of his soul that he hadn’t been brave enough to send to her. They’d acted like an odd journal.

She shouldn’t have even seen them now. She never would have known they existed if Basch hadn’t arrived at her door, grim-faced, a bundle under his arm. He’d been dressed in normal clothes, the judge magister armor he normally donned absent. He’d told her that he was on his way out again, but that he’d stopped by to deliver her something very important. Something that was fragile, and deserved her utmost attention.

He’d kissed her forehead. Told her that he trusted her to do the right thing. And then he was gone, just as soon as he’d arrived, and just as abruptly.

Penelo scrubbed her hands over her face and leaned back in her chair. Just what, exactly, was she expected to do? Did Larsa even know that Basch had given her these letters? Probably not. How had he come by them, anyway? Questions upon questions, with no end in sight, and all of them the unimportant ones.

Larsa was getting married in a week’s time.

Now that she had the entire heart of his spilled before her in careful ink strokes on just as fine parchment… What was she to do with it?

-o-o-

It was only after much rumination on the fact that she couldn’t do anything with it that she pulled open a drawer in her desk, the one where she kept the letters Larsa had sent her. She took out the most recent one, dated nearly two weeks ago. On it, Larsa cheerfully wrote to her on how he was looking forward to his marriage with one of the princesses from Rozarria, and that he had full expectations to see her at the wedding.

Her invitation had been carefully enclosed.

Yet when compared to the last letter that he hadn’t sent her, she found nothing but untidy scrawl and smears of ink here and there.

My heart is not with her, Penelo. I have tried. I have tried, time and time again, to put my feelings aside and move on, as you have done (but were you ever mine?), yet nothing seems to fill the hole you have made. Emperors do not marry for love—royalty seldom does, with some noble families not falling far behind. It is a mantra I tell myself daily.

So I have resigned myself to a loveless marriage. But at least I loved you. You gave me all the bright, meaningful things in my life, and my memory will be forever colored with them. You taught me what it meant to laugh on my own, when it was not expected of me or forced. You were my first true friend. From you, I learned how to devote myself to someone aside from a sense of duty. You stayed by my side after my brother destroyed my family and nearly me.

Even though you had not once showed an interest in me outside of—no… No, I will not regret. There is nothing to regret.

It is rare that one such as I is able to fully experience life as I have with you—that I was able to have something pure, that I was able to trust and not worry about hidden intentions or cloaked daggers.

Thank you, Penelo.

Thank you… for everything.

Her eyes damp, Penelo gritted her teeth and tossed the letter back onto the desk. Being as light as it was, it didn’t quite make it, and silently drifted to the floor instead.

She decided she needed liquor, and something heavy in content at that.

-o-o-

Her head. It ached.

She put an arm over her forehead, staring at the ceiling high above her from her vantage point on the floor. In her other hand she still clutched onto her nearly empty glass of scotch. It was a brand that Larsa had introduced her to around a year ago, when he’d gone through his father’s aged stash. Normally, she couldn’t stand the taste of it. It was too much, too strong. But nothing else was going to make this go down easier.

Not that it had worked. If anything, everything was worse.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. Some memory—some sign she had missed that he had been so in love with her. What kind of a heartless person was she, not to see that sort of thing? He’d all but thrown his heart at her at every given opportunity, and she’d done what? Unknowingly stomped on it in her eagerness to see him, but to get away from the hell that was Archades. The place made her skin crawl. The sweetness of Larsa’s countenance alone hadn’t been able to chase that feeling away.

She let out a long breath and let her lashes slip closed for what seemed the hundredth time. Images began to assault her again, relentless in their pursuit to drive her down with guilt.

Larsa’s hand was steady on her hip—his breath was warm at her ear as he chuckled over some joke they had been sharing that she no longer remembered. Around them, the court danced, the skirts of the noblewomen nothing but a rustle of silk and cotton. Larsa and Penelo would join the quick steps in a moment. For now, they were still overcome with the giggles that had taken them.

Penelo opened her eyes, a thick lump lodged in her throat. She could still see the scene playing itself out now. They’d danced all night, and he’d treated her as though she were some priceless treasure. No one had ever paid so much attention to her before—no one had made it clear that they valued her so much. But she’d done what? Gone and forgotten it the next morning when her airship had taken her straight out of Archades.

So eager to get away.

So eager to forget the blackness that place left in her heart.

And he’d thought she’d been avoiding him—that it had been him she was so desperate to put aside.

She laughed, cupping her hand over her eyes as warmth welled up against her palm. The hair at her temples was damp from the tears that had pooled there.

How could he have wanted her so much, when she’d done nothing but cause him pain? Was it because she was the only person he had? The only person outside of sworn loyalty to him that he could count on?

His first friend…

But she’d crushed him, again and again. How could he have seen that as friendship? Why would that be considered friendship if she did nothing but constantly hurt him? How could that have been happy for him? And the longer she didn’t see, the more she stayed away from the pit that had destroyed her family, the more miserable he became.

She would never forgive herself.

Ever.

-o-o-

Fingertips brushed over her cheeks, soft as feathers.

She hummed, keeping her eyes closed as she rolled onto her side to get more comfortable. Sunlight touched upon her face, a sign that a new day had begun. But for now, that didn’t matter. Nothing did. Just this contentment that had wrapped around her heart and had, hopefully, decided to stay for just a bit longer.

“Penelo,” a voice whispered at her ear. It was gentle; loud enough to be heard, and nothing more.

“What?” she mumbled. As she did so, reaching up to pull a pillow more securely over her head, she realized that she needed a glass of water to rinse out the gods-awful taste in her mouth.

“Penelo… Penelo, you have to wake up.”

“Please don’t make me,” she whispered back.

A weight settled on the edge of the bed. Fingers stroked at her arm, then began to tug her pillow away from her. A chuckle, barely a breath. “How much did you have to drink?”

Drink? What?

Penelo scrubbed her hands over her eyes, sniffing. She shifted partly onto her back, trying to discern whose voice that question belonged to, and why the warm feeling was drifting away from her. Something told her that she didn’t deserve it, and she was inclined to believe it, though she didn’t yet remember why.

“Larsa?” she whispered.

A thumb and a forefinger found her eye and pried it open. Vaan watched her, an eyebrow arched in amusement.

“Still drunk?”

She studied him for several moments, attempting to make sense of why he was sitting there, of why her head was suddenly pounding. Then, all at once, the events of the day before came rushing back to her. She sat up, putting a hand to her forehead when that movement made the world tilt at alarming angles.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. She couldn’t say much more than that. Her throat was too scratchy. The desire for water came again, stronger than before.

“It’s okay. Just wonderin’ why you had so much to drink.” Vaan’s shoulders moved in a complacent shrug. “What are your plans for today?”

He was talking too fast, too much, too everything.

Penelo fell back against her pillows and groaned as she closed her eyes. There was a throbbing sensation right at her temple, as if someone had struck her there, and it was as relentless as the guilt the night before had been.

She mumbled something again; what, she didn’t know, didn’t care to know.

Vaan only chuckled, which was fortunate. She thought she may have said something rude. “Well, enjoy your hangover. I’ve got a mark with my name of it. Me and some of the other guys from Montblanc’s group are gonna go take it down. You okay with that?”

She swiped her hand in a gesture.

“Great.” The bed moved as he got up from his perch, and then his lips brushed to her forehead, slightly dry. “I’ll see you later. We’ll talk about why you emptied the rest of that bottle of scotch later, okay?”

Penelo didn’t know if she answered him or not. Her eyelids felt heavy even though they were closed, and darkness was creeping up on her. In moments, she was asleep again.

-o-o-

She awoke for a second time, but she was covered in sweat and her breathing was uneven. The sunlight streaming in through her window wasn’t as bright as it had been, as though clouds had taken over the sky. She stared at it, struggling to regain control of her heart. It pounded madly against her ribs, spurred on from the dream she had been having.

Still panting, she turned from the window and buried her fingers in her hair as her eyes swept upward. She couldn’t even remember what had plagued her sleep—only that it had been bad, bad enough to shake her, which was unusual for her dream world.

Larsa.

She pushed aside her covers and climbed down from the bed. The hardwood felt uncomfortable against her feet, but she forced herself to tread over to the window. Vaan had left it open, and a breeze played with her hair and the curtains as she drew near. She placed her hands on the sill and looked outside. Sand sprawled in every direction, marred here and there by cliffs. There was already a faint pile of it just inside the window.

He must have thought she’d be awake in time to close it back up before the granules of sand began to collect.

She swiped her fingers beneath her eyes, and then closed the curtains. The window she left alone. She’d come back to it later. Maybe.

As she turned to face the rest of her room, drawing her arms around herself, she realized that she didn’t know what to do. Larsa’s letters were scattered on her desk. A few had joined the one on the floor. The scarlet ribbon that had kept them together in their delivered bundle was crumpled and shoved aside.

Six days.

She had a bag on the bed and was shoving clothes into it before she paused to give thought to her actions. Even then, she didn’t quit. She didn’t know what she would do when she got to Archades, or more importantly, what she would say to Larsa. None of that mattered. Nothing did but the force driving her to get to him, to get to him soon.

Maybe this wouldn’t be resolved. Maybe she had caused too much damage. She didn’t even know what to expect—she was hardly going to go in there and declare that she was in love with him, and to stop the wedding immediately (though she half-suspected he would). The former, she had no idea where to begin on. She’d never pondered much of her relationship with Larsa outside of friendship. As for the latter? She could hardly be so selfish.

It was an imperial wedding. A joining of two powerful nations together in a sign of peace.

Two hours later, and she was packed. Evening was beginning to take the horizon. Vaan would likely be back soon. She should leave him a note, maybe a brief explanation as to where she had gone and why. But how could she tell him that, when she didn’t even know herself?