Fandom: FFXII
Characters: mostly Ashe, Vossler, Judge Ghis.
Rating: PG
Title: The Fall
summary: takes place after Raithwall's tomb, into the Dreadnought, before Vossler's fall. That's it.

Judge Ghis: Your Majesty does not disappoint.

Ever quick to spurn an honorable surrender, as was your father.


Ashe was walking a little too fast. She could, if she wanted, walk further ahead with a little more force than intended. She had been thinking, and it would seem that was all she has been doing. Though, the entirety of her party kept looking to her for answers. As if she knew everything.

Didn't they know? She wasn't ready to reveal anything. How could she? She needed to know more, to find answers along the way.

She closed her eyes tight: the exterior -- under shadow gave way for the eyes to adjust; to take the desert's sharp kiss. Weariness hung in her soft sighs, her hand fisted, her once imperial shoes-- dulled and scratched, treading through the interior's terrain as if she were on the polished floors of her palace.

The trek out of Raithwall wasn't too bad; if not for the fact that everyone was counting on her to enact the seal: to cut what was to be. They couldn't know, not understand what she had seen. Only that Vaan had seen, or did he? He seemed to have followed her move, where her eyes had seen – and others couldn't.

They couldn't know what her heart was feeling. Because, she was tired; exhausted from hiding; to be shoved away while the world was going at a rate that she couldn't get on to catch. She had been hiding too long—the company she bore: humes and scattered races who rushed to defend what she and Vossler held on to.

Her courage was always there: she would have liked to do just that: to cut away, but another thing was a bother.

The long straight line out of the shade was covered with an even larger silhouette. She couldn't know how betrayal would pierce her heart. And a darker, heavier shadow would stain her eyes, wet under the outline of perfidy.

A rush of wind swept up, from the high-speed aircraft, hovering, landing with smooth deliverance.

The red carpet has been rolled out, ending at the front of her foot. "Your majesty." A voice, so false, pretentious, and cultured came from under the looming helm and armour.

Mute, she couldn't feel surprise any longer, the way these Archadians deem themselves so forward. What did she think? She had not realized how they found themselves this far in the desert; how long they've waited while she, and her companions were fighting through demon walls.

"How nice," she said, refraining much, "of you to greet us in such a fashion, your generosity is commendable; how oft' does your lord grant your wishes?" Ashe allowed her eyes to scan the Dreadnought with perfect implication.

The Judge's face kept the false pretense, the severity of his expression etched out a smile big enough to show teeth, his helm by his side, "My lady should not give us so much cause for worry," he droned on, watching her as a hawk does, waited until the members of her party entered into the ship securely.

He meant with intent, to ignore her glacial comment.

She passed him, facing forward, acknowledging only the direction she was pushed towards to. The shadow of the ship's interior greeted her, making her eyes adjust again to the dusk, as was in the tomb.

She could hear her companions behind her – Vaan's louder conversation to Penelo, his blunt remarks on the 'capture,' of how 'sneaky' these Archadians were, as if that was some sort of revelation. Fran and Balthier were walking side by side, always a pair – quiet, somber looks at each other, whispering something in secret; and, her Knights: Basch and Vossler taking up the rear.

She felt then, without looking down -- almost too accountable, her heart swelling.


Vossler: I do not share your Majesty's trust.

The Judge, called Ghis, officiant of the 13th Bureau: Lord Vayne's commander of the Dreadnought Leviathan. He looked too proud, too sure of himself of the capture of these prisoners. And rightly so. Even after the last hume embarked on the steel sliding plank, he nodded to Vossler: the last passenger to step foot.

It was only then that he managed to give a compulsory nod to the Dalmascan knight wearing armour in this desert heat. Glad to hear the ship's metal door sliding up, slow; the whirl of machine winding up to close them off from the weather, into the cooling artificial air within.

"Her majesty has a tongue on her that needs to be tamed," he told the younger man, in passing, "Were you not with her for two long years?"

Vossler paused, careful that his companions could not hear, "Aye, and two long years have I waited for her to use her crown with pride."

"And she shall," the Judge remarked in a low hushed voice, "Care that she takes the offer willingly, or her friends meet the gallows all too quick."

"I care not for what happens to the others." The Knight offered in return, his sharp blue eyes straying to the thieves ahead filing in line, looking confused, "Just take heed that no harm comes to her majesty, and the Knights of Dalmasca protect her."

As he walked further, the doors shut behind him, he could not know….nor could he see through the blinders he had placed up. All this time, searching for a way out, seeking to fulfill his ladyship's wishes: So that she could rule without the burden of cost to her country; without the war over her head, so that the profits would come.

Yes, she would see, as he has been able to.

He could not really know, of what waited. He had steeled his heart far too long; the tired lines around his eyes crept up to him, wearing his patience too thin.

It was only then that the Judge whispered, before turning, "Rather, it is you, that should take heed. Pray that her majesty finds wearing her Dalmascan crown under Archadia's banner more pleasing, than the passion she feels when she knows who sold her country for a profitable crown."

Vossler shut his eyes, tight. The sternness of his mouth; the steady rise and fall of his chest; the beating drum beneath his armour blurred everything.

He was lightheaded for a moment.

Then the reason came back, and he was ready, he was sure: she would see that he meant well, and it was for the best.