Author's Note: This is going to (hopefully) be a proper story and not just a one-shot like I seem to be stuck on writing at the moment. The idea for it kept running through my head and wouldn't go away until I'd written it, so I gave in and this is what I came up with. Hope it's ok, and please leave a comment if you read because every single one of them helps me and pushes me to keep writing and improving. :D
Disclaimer: Bah, you know the story. I don't own Final Fantasy XII nor any of its characters.
Balthier was bored and exasperated. The orphans were arguing ceaselessly over some trifling thing in such raised, whiny voices that they were giving him a headache. The Princess was in her usual moody humour, and was having a heated discussion with Basch that wasn't entirely unlike that of Vaan and Penelo. Fran was unusually not with her partner. She had some maintenance to do on the Strahl, and she had always told him that she preferred to go about her work alone. So he would respect her wishes and try and amuse himself by sitting in the cockpit and pouring over an old map, deciding where next they would travel to. But today it just wasn't working. Today he couldn't concentrate.
It was often when Balthier was bored and exasperated that his thoughts began to wander. And they often wandered to exactly the same memory—when he and Fran had first met.
He could remember that night so clearly.
Shame he couldn't remember the name of the girl he'd been with at the time as clearly, but she was never destined to be the leading lady of his story, and so she was reduced to a merely unlucky extra in his memory.
He'd been in the Sandsea tavern, in the city of Rabanastre. The girl (some 'lady of the night' or some such that would do almost anything a man asked of her for money) had been draped over his shoulder. He'd been about to suggest that they went somewhere a little more comfortable and a little less crowded when the door had been thrown open, and he'd turned round in reflex curiosity to see who was walking into the tavern.
And then he'd lost his breath.
A Viera? His first thought had been, when he'd recovered his composure and was able to think again. Not entirely rare—a few Viera had been seen walking the streets of this city before then—but still, enough of a shock that she had silenced the entire tavern with her entrance. But she was exceedingly beautiful. That was more likely to be the reason for the silence of the tavern's clientele than the fact that she was a Viera. Balthier could already see the majority of the male population grinning in appreciation and the sight angered him unexpectedly. She should not be gawped at in such an ugly fashion—she was practically a goddess. Someone to be worshipped and adored. Had he not thought it too melodramatic, he would have fallen to his knees in front of her and pledged his entire life to her there and then.
His second thought had been the realisation that something was not quite right. The Viera was breathing heavily, as though she had been running for a long time, and her ruby red eyes were darting anxiously from side to side as though looking for someone. Or looking out for someone, he corrected himself. She leaned heavily on the doorframe, seeming to not want to put any weight on her left leg, which was lifted slightly from the ground. Although her face was indeed exotically exquisite, her cocoa-coloured skin looked pale and drawn, and her snowy white mane of hair fell limp and lifeless over her shoulders. Injured, he asked himself? He was suddenly overcome with the strong desire to tear apart anything that would even think of hurting this decadent being.
"Balthier? Balthier!"
His third thought had been the longing to possess the ability to make the girl on his shoulder disappear. He was about to take a deep breath and answer her as politely as possible when the Viera moved forwards into the tavern and caught his attention again.
Yes, she was definitely injured. She moved slowly; the inherent grace of the Viera somewhat lost due to her left leg buckling whenever she placed weight on it. But her head was held high and proud, and the pain that the leg must have been causing her did not show on her timeless face. She walked past the tables of gaping men, ignoring both their lecherous stares and Balthier's inquisitive gaze. When she reached the bar she placed her hands on the counter and leaned forwards, resting her weight on them and once again lifting the left leg off of the ground. As she raised her head to speak to a bewildered Tomaj, she spoke in the quiet, level tones of the Viera, but with a strong and steady voice.
"Please... could I trouble you for a glass of water?"
It looked like an effort for her to keep her voice polite, and Balthier smiled to himself.
Tomaj nodded quickly and turned to pour her the drink. The Viera eased herself onto a stool and sat stiffly, her eyes closing for a moment. She must be in pain, Balthier realised, and frowned. The thought made him upset somehow.
"Balthier, are you even listening to me?" The girl again. She was getting impatient; he must have been ignoring her. Reluctantly he turned his gaze from the Viera to look at her, and said smoothly,
"I am afraid I'm not in the mood tonight."
The girl stared at him in disbelief, and then gave him a flirty smile and moved her hands over his chest. "But you're always in the mood," she said seductively.
Balthier shook his head. "No. Not tonight." He glanced back at the Viera. She had received the water and was drinking it quickly, like someone who hadn't had a drink all day and was parched of thirst.
"Balthier," the girl whined.
He gave a low sigh and looked fixedly at her. "I said no. Go away."
The girl gave him a glare, and then stood and flounced out of the tavern.
Finally, he thought. He was free to observe the Viera without interruption.
But when he looked back at her again, he scowled.
One of the drunken men at the bar who had been ogling her when she'd walked in was now sidling closer to her, a large grin on his face. The Viera didn't move, but Balthier thought he saw her hands grip the glass of water a little more firmly, as though she didn't trust herself to keep them still.
"Hello darlin'," the man drawled lazily. "Fancy a bit of fun tonight?"
The Viera's mouth became a hard, thin line, and she took a moment before she answered, "No."
"Aw, come on," the man insisted, moving even closer. Balthier ground his teeth together as he watched.
"No," repeated the Viera coldly. She was perfectly still, and her hands were still tightly holding the glass. She looked as though she wanted to throw it at the man.
He looked insulted. "Dressed like that, ya must want it sweetheart."
It took a moment for Balthier to realise what he'd meant. Dressed like what? Oh, like that. He hadn't even really noticed. The Viera wore body armour—a Viera warrior, perhaps?—that was effective and yet left little to the imagination, curling around her body and leaving a lot of skin showing. He supposed it was a strange choice of body armour, but it gave the man at the bar no excuse to be hounding her as he was. One of Balthier's fists clenched under his table as the man dropped a hand on her shoulder. The Viera tensed.
"Now, what do you say we go upstairs and I show you a good time?" His head was almost on her shoulder now too, and the Viera leaned away from him slightly, her face still composed but with thunder and lightning in her eyes.
"Take your hand off of me," she said sharply. The man didn't comply.
"Come on, doll, I know you're gagging for it," he said lecherously.
Balthier rose from the table and was at the bar in three strides. He pushed the drunken man backwards until his hand slipped from the Viera's skin.
"The lady said no," Balthier reminded him frostily. The man looked up at him, scowling.
"Who d'ya think you are, mate? What, are you her bodyguard or sumfink?"
Balthier's blood boiled and he would have hit the man before him had he not heard the slight sound of the stool moving behind him. He turned to see the Viera had stood, again with the left leg raised, and was giving him an icy glare, before dropping some money on the counter for the water and turning to limp out of the tavern. She'd hardly managed to drink half the glass before being driven out of there by this detestable drunkard.
Balthier watched her leave, and then turned back to the man and grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer. Tomaj watched anxiously.
"Balthier," he pleaded in reminder, glancing around his tavern fearfully.
"It's all right, Tomaj, I won't cause you any trouble," Balthier placated him with a brief smile, and then glared again as he turned back to the quivering man he was holding by the shirt. Balthier spoke harshly.
"You ought to remember your manners next time you are in the presence of such a lady, my friend." He shook the man slightly to emphasise his point, and then let him drop to the floor and walked away, leaving some money for his drinks with Tomaj and then exiting the tavern. The man was still in a heap on the floor when he left.
Outside, Balthier was torn. The Viera was obviously hurt and in need of somewhere to rest, but if he obliged his sudden desire to follow her and offer his help, how was he any different from the lecherous drunks in the tavern who had hounded her for attention? He knew he was, of course; there was no way he would have forced himself upon her like that, but how could she see any difference? On the other hand, if he didn't follow her, he'd berate himself for the rest of his life for not having tried.
Sighing, he trudged off down the street in search of her.
He didn't have to look far.
He found her by the fountain in the Southern Plaza, sat on the edge with her head hung low and her breathing laboured. Her limp ears picked up slightly at the sound of his approach, but then fell back against her head. She did not look up, and appeared to be trying to melt into the background, but for one such as her that would have been impossible.
Balthier stood a few feet away, unsure of what to say. Neither of them spoke for a few moments, until Balthier realised the situation was becoming ridiculous and settled for asking,
"Are you all right?"
Without lifting her head, the Viera answered him quietly.
"I am well. Please leave me alone."
He studied her with a
raised eyebrow. 'Well' was the last thing he could have said
about her. She looked withered and near to collapse.
"I loathe leaving you in such a state. You appear to need some assistance," he insisted.
Her head snapped up and her red eyes flashed at him in a warning. "I require no help from Humes," she replied icily. She closed her eyes then, and he saw the muscles of her body tighten as if in preparation for some great effort, and she stood slowly and carefully, wincing when she forgot her injured leg and lifting it up immediately. Balthier moved a step forward, but the angry look in her eyes made him stay where he was. She limped towards him instead, and stopped about a foot away from him. She looked as though she were about to say something to him, but then stopped and shut her eyes tightly, wincing in pain. Balthier reached a hand out to her and then pulled it back hesitantly.
"My dear, are you really all right? Let me help you," he pleaded, suddenly feeling extremely protective of this injured Viera he had only known for a few minutes.
She was swaying slightly, but her face still looked annoyed as she murmured,
"Do not... call me... that... I..." she broke off, and then suddenly fell forwards.
He caught her in his arms before she hit the ground, and looked down at her, shocked.
She was unconscious, with no sign of waking anytime soon.
He sighed. Now he had an unconscious, injured Viera to add to his already mountainous troubles. Why did he always get himself into such messes?
Sighing again, he lifted the Viera into his arms carefully and set off towards the tavern he was staying at for the time. Once there, he spoke to the landlord and asked him to allow the Viera to stay in his room for a while, at no charge to her. The landlord had stared suspiciously at the man with the unconscious Viera in his arms, but as soon as Balthier said resignedly that he would pay for himself and the Viera as well as a 50% tip on top, the landlord had hastily agreed and made the appropriate arrangements.
It was only as Balthier made his way up the stairs to the small room that had become his home for the past month that he realised there was only one bed in the room.
"No matter," he told himself. "She can have the bed, and I'll take the chair. She looks more in need of a bed than I anyway."
As he entered the room, closing the door behind him with his foot, he turned and gently set the Viera on top of the bed, remembering to be careful of her leg. He couldn't see any exterior injuries to speak of, and, satisfied that she was not in any immediate danger, he drew back. He wished he could have given her something more comfortable to lie on—he knew from experience that that bed was as hard as a rock. He wondered briefly if she was cold, though he hadn't seen her shivering. He reasoned with a small smile that if she wore that outfit all the time, the cold must not bother her that much. Still...
He reached out a hand and softly laid it against the skin of her forehead. She seemed warm enough, but perhaps she would appreciate a blanket anyway.
He managed to find one in the chest of drawers opposite the bed. It wasn't exactly thick and warm, but it was better than nothing. Balthier carefully laid it across the Viera's sleeping form and drew it up to just below her shoulders. She hadn't moved since he'd put her on the bed, and only the steady movement of her chest rising up and down as she breathed showed that she was alive. Balthier recognised the heavy sleep of someone who was absolutely exhausted, and wondered how long it had been since she'd been able to find proper rest.
With a sigh, he went over to the chair and tried to get into a comfortable enough position to sleep, but it was much too small a chair for his tall form to curl up in, and so he had to settle for simply sitting in it and hunching down a little, so he could rest his head on the backrest. Realising that he would probably wake up with a massive crick in his neck, he sighed again and tried to sleep.
