This fic is, for the most part, horrendously daft. In the places where it is not horrendously daft, it is a light-hearted romance. In the places where it is not a light-hearted romance, there is Basch, with a big fuck-off sword, to direct you back to the parts where is either a) horrendously daft, or b) a light-hearted romance.

Theoretically, there is a plot.

Theoretically.

Summary: It's been six years since Vayne died, and Dalmasca is sending a new Ambassador to Archadia. Again.
Pairings: Larsa/Penelo (among others)
Warnings: dubious plot/humour, OCs, Larsa being daft and Penelo being manipulative AWESOME.

[ PART 1 ] [ PART 2 ] [ PART 3 ] [ ? ]

Presenting:

A Tale of Archadian Passion
OR
Penelo’s Navel

Part One
Larsa Ferrinas Solidor, eighteen-year-old Emperor of all Archadia, found himself waiting in the aerodrome of his native city for the fourth time in six months.

Dalmasca was sending a new ambassador.

Again.

He found himself at a loss to explain why all the ambassadors Ashe sent from Rabanastre sooner or later developed a pressing family emergency and left Archades with unseemly haste. Sometimes by climbing out of windows in the middle of the afternoon – the only apparent impetus then had been a friendly offer to dine with him that evening.

It could not be simple coincidence. Not after six years.

Did he smell? Larsa found himself wondering more often than not. Was he so hideous to look upon? Had he inadvertently made the same huge faux pas over and over again, so that the Rabanastran ambassadors would rather stow away on a craft transporting cockatrice manure (as had the most recent emissary) than spend another moment in his company?

Basch was becoming annoyed with these ponderings, Larsa was aware. At first, his protector-turned-friend had been patient, explaining in his own gruff, repressed way that no, Larsa did not smell, no, he was not repulsive to look upon (“Did you think all the society ladies who stalk your every move interested only in your position?”), and no, he had not made any huge social gaffes.

So then Larsa had asked Basch what he could have done, to scare away so many ambassadors so quickly. Basch had replied that the mind of a diplomat was beyond him. Larsa had said, yes, he knew, as did the Rozarrian ambassador who’d made the mistake of complimenting Archadia’s conquest of Landis in Basch-cum-Gabranth’s presence. No matter how many times Larsa attempted to explain that he had been complimenting Archadia’s military strategy, Basch refused to see sense, and so Larsa was forced to run interference any time the two men were in the same room. It was getting very embarrassing.

Dragging himself back to the present with a sigh, Larsa smoothed his face into a pleasant smile and waited patiently for the Rabanastran airship to finish docking. To pass the time, he idly ran through the last few diplomatic agreements made between the two countries and then started calculating this year’s tax levies in binary thirteen. (Binary ten had got boring when he was fourteen, after the third time he’d had to wait for an ambassador to arrive. He varied it, now. Last time had been binary six. On the up side, the Chancellor of the Treasury was so thoroughly under Larsa’s thumb that he never did anything Larsa hadn’t directly told him to do and frequently whimpered when the young Emperor went to visit his offices.)

Eventually, the huge doors of the airship swung open to the usual grating fanfare, and the Rabanastran party began to parade out – minor officials first, then a small handful of guards, the most that the ambassador was allowed – and Larsa found himself thinking that the next ambassador had to be very short, because all he could see from his position was a glint of strangely familiar blonde hair.

Of course, half of Dalmasca was that particular shade of ash-blonde. It was hardly surprising that the colour was familiar, Larsa told himself.

The Grand High Whatsit (whose only job, so far as Larsa could tell, was to announce the names and titles of visiting dignitaries) began puffing himself up as the two columns of the procession reached the small dais where Larsa stood. The columns separated with ponderous dignity, filing neatly into two lines to reveal—

“Penelo?” Larsa said, startled. He heard a noise like a deflated balloon somewhere to his left, where the Grand High Whatsit – he’d have to made Basch look up the man’s actual title one of these days, just so he could officially change it to ‘Windbag’ – was standing. Not that it mattered, because—

“Hi, Larsa,” Penelo said, smiling up at him. “Surprise!”

“A wonderful surprise, indeed!” Larsa said in delight, ignoring the shocked mutterings around him as he strode off the dais. He hesitated in front of Penelo, not sure how best to greet his old friend and former crush – but then she smiled at him, and he threw out any pretence at ceremony and claimed Penelo’s right hand, tucking it under his elbow as he smiled back down at her. Down! That was new!

“I can’t believe it’s been six years since I last saw you,” Penelo said, echoing Larsa’s thoughts exactly.

Well, perhaps not quite exactly. Penelo’s thoughts were unlikely to be quite so caught up with the realisation that she was wearing traditional Dalmascan garb, and as a consequence if Larsa moved his arm an inch down and to the left the back of his hand would press against her bare stomach.

Now faced with the revelation of Penelo’s navel, Larsa realised just how much her old body suit had prevented his twelve-year-old crush from becoming even more embarrassing. And considering that her body suit had been, essentially, skin-tight, this was a worrying prospect.

In the background, Basch was suggesting in a politely firm manner that ceremony could be dispensed with between old friends, and – even distracted as he was – Larsa took the hint and began walking Penelo through the throng of minor dignitaries towards the waiting cab.

“You’ll have to tell me everything you’ve been doing,” he said. “I’m sure you left some things out in your letters.”

“Like how I got to be ambassador to Archadia?” Penelo said, smiling at him.

“You can start with that,” Larsa agreed, handing her into the cab and following her in.

“Well.” Penelo settled herself gracefully onto the seat, somehow managing not to get caught in the bouffant legs of her trousers. Larsa envied her grace. “Vaan and I snuck into the palace really late at night for Ashe’s birthday a few weeks ago, only instead of sleeping we found her swearing at you and breaking things.”

Larsa winced. This ... ran contrary to Basch’s reassurance on the faux pas side. Settling on the seat across from Penelo, he gestured for her to go on.

Penelo must have sensed his unease with in her bizarre, semi-psychic way, because she smiled at him and said, “Don’t worry, she wasn’t really mad. You know how Ashe sometimes just ... has trouble with her temper?”

Larsa nodded.

“Anyway, she was so upset about the ambassadors all having these, um ... family emergencies or nervous breakdowns—” and somehow (with a skill that even the Archadian court-raised Larsa knew he could never emulate) Penelo got that out with an entirely straight face “—so I said if she wanted, I could help out and go be Dalmasca’s ambassador. After all,” Penelo added, smiling slyly, “I’ve seen the Emperor of Archadia get noogied by a guy who I know gets defeated by socks. It’s kind of hard to be intimidated after that.”

Larsa pointed a finger at her. “That,” he said solemnly, “is a closely-guarded state secret. None of my court know that. It could jeopardise my very position here.” He paused. “Defeated by socks?”

Penelo giggled. “Never ask Vaan to mend anything not made of metal,” she said. “Especially socks.”

The door to the cab swung open, and the armoured bulk of Basch-cum-Gabranth filled the gap. “We are ready to depart, your Majesty,” Basch told him.

Larsa was about to wave him on, but common sense reasserted itself and instead he gestured for Basch to take a seat. The driver was obviously paying attention, for no sooner than Basch had shut the door than the cab smoothly took off.

“Basch, it’s been too long,” Penelo said, smiling as Larsa’s right-hand man removed his helmet. “Have you been keeping Larsa out of trouble?”

“I have done my best,” Basch replied. “It has not always been easy, but the rewards are worth it.”

Basch was smiling, too, but the expression seemed strange on his face, and Larsa realised it had been some time since he had last seen Basch smile. (Or, well, smile in a manner that wasn’t slightly pained, as though asking precisely what he had done to deserve guardianship of one Larsa Ferrinas Solidor, who was clearly more interested in the Akademy students’ attempts to blow up parts of the Imperial Gardens than in maintaining good relations with Dalmasca’s ambassadors. At least the blowing up part had only happened once, unlike the perpetual embarrassment of diplomatic communication with Rabanastre.)

They had all become swept up in the reality of governance, Larsa thought to himself, and neglected old friends as a result. He couldn’t do much about his own responsibilities, but it was remiss of him to have mistreated Basch so. After all, it was well within his ability to quietly organise for Judge Magister Gabranth to be sent on an extended visit to Rabanastre – for entirely sound reasons, of course, that would nonetheless leave him with conspicuously lax duties. Manipulating events so that Balthier, Fran and Vaan would all be in Rabanastre at the same time posed somewhat more of a problem, but Larsa was confident he would be up to the task. Especially if Penelo would consent to help him.

Unfortunately, he’d been silent too long and Basch was giving him a look. That particular look, and the accompanying particular quality of silent reprove, had become quite familiar to Larsa over the years; it stated that Basch knew full well that he was up to something, and that he, Basch, did not approve. Experience told Larsa that this was especially so if the ‘something’ had anything to do with Basch’s wellbeing.

“So, Penelo,” Larsa said, in the vain hope of fending off Basch’s tartarus-like tenacity before it got its teeth in, “what rank did Lady Ashe bestow upon you, that she might make you Dalmasca’s ambassador to the Empire?”

Penelo frowned and chewed her lip. “I’m not actually sure. I think ... Baroness, maybe? Something really minor she didn’t have to give land for,” she finished, shrugging.

“I cannot imagine the Lady Ashe giving an empty title,” Larsa said. “Especially not to you.”

“She did insist on giving me an allowance,” Penelo admitted. “Um, nothing much. I gave most of it to Kytes and the boys.”

Kytes, Kytes... Larsa vaguely remembered Vaan mentioning something about a Kytes. “Does Vaan know about that?” he asked. “I thought he told you that he would be responsible for the other Rabanastran orphans.”

Basch was smiling at him, inexplicably pleased, but Penelo gave him a startled look. “You remember that?” she said. “From all those years ago?”

Larsa blinked at her. “Yes,” he said, perplexed. Didn’t most people remember things like that? His court never seemed to have trouble recalling anything he’d said. And anyway, this was Penelo. Larsa was quite certain he would never forget anything she’d said to him.

“I...” Penelo shook her head. “Never mind. Vaan did say that, which was why I didn’t tell him. Um.” She gave them both a pleading look.

“Your secret is safe with us,” Basch said, before Larsa could open his mouth. He nodded gravely instead, glad that – as ever – Basch was of the same mind as him.

“I missed you guys,” Penelo told them, then blushed and changed the subject. “So how does this ambassador thing work, anyway?”

oOo
The suite of rooms reserved for the Dalmascan ambassador was in the opposite wing of the Imperial palace to Larsa’s own rooms, a full twenty-minute walk away. He lied to Penelo and said they were redecorating her actual suite. Basch had his helmet back on by that point, but Larsa could hear him rolling his eyes anyway.

Later that night, after the celebration of the new ambassador (notably smaller than ones for other nations, given that a full display for every new Dalmascan ambassador would have left Archadia bankrupt years ago), Larsa contemplated the ceiling of his bedchamber and realised what Ashe was up to.

Having travelled with the lady and her companions, Larsa was intimately aware that few people could deny Penelo anything. Part of that was that she only rarely asked – uncomfortable with the idea of owing anything, particularly anything she could not repay, Penelo normally kept silent on things that troubled her until she had no further choice.

He would never have the heart to force harsher diplomatic strictures past Penelo. All she would have to do was frown at him or maybe look a bit sad, and he’d cave like structural instability in the Sochen Palace.

He spent a good fifteen minutes calling Ashe all the names he could think of, and a further fifteen mourning the revenue he would undoubtedly lose to Penelo’s blue eyes. He’d had plans for that money. Big, important plans, that most certainly did not involve building an exploding statue in the Imperial Gardens. He was responsible for the health, safety and education of an entire Empire, and if he lost the revenue from the trade levies on Dalmascan goods, he’d ... lose perhaps an eighth of the surplus that went to lining the sides of his treasury and/or funding questionable Akademy experiments.

Oh.

Perhaps, on balance, Penelo was the better end of the deal.

[ PART 2 ]