Author's Note: First time attempting to write FFXII fan-fiction. I love Basch, to be warned. A bit of spoilers, and the story completely deviates from the game, so if you want strictly canon stuff, this little story isn't going to satisfy you. However, if you adore Basch and just want to read anything starring him, by all means continue. Thanks!

SM

Chapter One

The Fall of Nabradia

I did not want him to go. I'd made that quite plain numerous times. But my husband, while most commonly known for his unswerving loyalty to king and country, was also known, albeit in a more private circle, for his resounding stubbornness. Thus it was I finally kept my silence and merely accepted his decision.

"Alandra," he gently chided as I stood holding his heavy ceremonial blade, just running my thumb over the intricate carvings that graced the hilt. "There's no need for such melancholy."

I turned, giving him a soft smile accompanied by a chuckle. I placed the sheathed blade and belt on our bed and turned to help him with the front lacings of his Dalmascan armor. "I know, Basch," I replied. "I just wish you didn't have to leave so soon."

Large hands closed over mine, stilling their nervous movements. He lifted our hands and softly kissed my knuckles. "Do not worry for me, my love," he whispered, pulling me close. "I will be home soon enough."

As he drew my head to his chest, I willingly leaned into his warm embrace and wished I shared his faith. The court of King Raminas had been whispering of nothing but the battle to the north; of how Nabradia was under siege and Dalmasca was next in Archadia's path. The king, fearing the worst for his people and urged by his new son-in-law, Lord Rasler, had dispatched his knights to aid the falling country. Which meant that Basch fon Rosenburg, Captain of the Dalmascan Knights and my husband, was to lead the Dalmascan Legions to Nalbina Fortress in aid to Rasler's father and people.

And tonight was their scheduled departure. I'd been dreading it for nearly three days, ever since the king's proclamation. The news from the northeast was anything but inspiring and the dread that had settled in my stomach showed no signs of abating. But I understood Basch's decision. He was oath-sworn to obey his king and he would, even unto death.

I sighed, secure in his strong arms. A low chuckle reverberated against my temple. "Missing me already, Alandra?" he rumbled, gently stroking the nape of my neck.

I tilted my head to look up at him, gazing deep into those steel-blue eyes and couldn't help a coy smile. "Since yesterday, Captain," I replied, softly kissing his rough cheek. My gentle teasing made him laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners (which secretly made my knees weak). I giggled in return, ending with a gasp as he delivered a firm smack to my bottom.

"Best you behave while I'm away, wench," he mock-growled and snatched a quick hard kiss that left me quite breathless. I couldn't help my coquettish pout. "Oh, I shall, my lord," I simpered prettily. But rather than engage in the usual bout of play such behavior instigated, Basch only chuckled and stepped away, resuming his task of preparing for the coming campaign. Thwarted, I pouted truly for a bit but, getting no results, abandoned the pretense and moved into the main room of our palace quarters, rubbing my arms as I shivered involuntarily.

A few minutes later, Basch emerged from the bedroom, outfitted in full armor and belted blade, with duffel in hand. My face must have betrayed me, for he glanced my way and shook his head. "Alandra," he sighed, crossing the room to me, "you cannot continue this."

The dam of my heart broke. "Oh, Basch!" I suddenly wailed, throwing my arms around him and clinging. "Do not pursue this!" I fisted my hands in thick golden hair, desperate to keep my beloved close and safe. "Raminas is a fool for his desperation! Nabradia is all but lost! You know it! If you go, I'm afraid you'll never return!" I was sobbing now, my tears drenching the front of his tunic. I shook as he held me close, murmuring soothing words into my hair, nuzzling at my temple.

"Shh, love," he whispered, working thick fingers into the upswept auburn curls. "I understand your fears. I too have my doubts." I felt him tenderly kiss my forehead. "But I am well versed in battle. My sword shall not fail me. Not this time." He stroked and rocked me, trying to quell my tears. "We must do what we can, for our own city as well as our allies. My word I will return to you." He tilted my chin, making me look at him. I sniffled and blinked back tears, seeing the tenderness etched into his rugged face.

"Only for you," he swore and claimed my lips in a crushing kiss. I clasped him close, desperate to keep him forever in my arms. As always, my body responded ardently to my husband's touch and he pressed me hard against him. I moaned into his mouth, seeking to bury myself in him. But the tolling of the tower bells resounded through the palace grounds, cutting short our fiery embrace. I whimpered as we released but Basch gave me a smile and took my hand as we exited our quarters, heading for the courtyard where the armies were gathering.

Two or so hours later, I stood with the other court nobles as the legions marched into the waiting airships. A golden-crowned figure, one of the last to board, paused at the entrance and turned. I knew it was Basch. He fisted one hand over his heart, pressed it to his lips and lifted it to me. I smiled through my tears and returned his gesture. I savored the picture of him standing at the precipice, air from the engines ruffling his tousled hair and his slanted grin. Then he stepped into the darkness and vanished.

Though I had his assurances and love, I somehow knew deep in my heart that things would never again be the same. King Raminas had sent his knights on a fool's mission. Many loyal soldiers would lose their lives. Kingdoms would rise and empires would fall. And my husband, Captain Basch fon Rosenburg, would not return the same man, if he even chanced to return at all.

Two years later…

"I have told you countless times, Captain Azelas," I said coldly, "the answer still remains the same."

Vossler swore, plowed a hand through his hair and began to pace back and forth. "Why do you insist on this stubbornness, Alandra?" he demanded, whirling to a halt. "It is beyond foolishness. Dalmasca needs your help!"

Disgusted, both with him and with the entire situation, I turned my back and began straightening things on the makeshift shelf of my current dwelling, a rundown shack in upper Low Town. A far cry from my former residence, but I was still alive, therefore thankful. The occupation of Dalmasca hadn't gone entirely as planned. After the debacle at Nalbina, the palace had emptied, the more intelligent nobles disappearing deep into Low Town. The others, those who had openly opposed Imperial occupation, had been swiftly silenced.

I myself had been relocated a bit before, after learning of my husband's perfidy. Rumors had flown far and wide that Captain Basch fon Rosenburg had murdered King Raminas and had been executed for treason. I can't actually recall what happened the day I heard the news. But Lord Rasler was now dead, his wife Princess Ashe also dead, by her own hand. And Archadia now ruled Dalmasca.

Captain Vossler York Azelas himself had taken me away from the palace the night after the earth-shattering news reached Dalmasca and left me in the care of a man known as Dalan. The shrewd businessman had been paid well to look after me and I soon found myself living in an out-of-the-way nook, down one of Low Town's tunnels. Dalan and I had a good arrangement. Thanks to my mother's much loathed embroidery lessons, I was fairly adept with needle and thread. Dalan sold the garments for a good price, giving me a percentage on which to live. Thus I wasn't totally without means of support. Also, I was totally secluded. Few in Rabanastre would care to know that the widow of a traitor still lived within their midst.

Well, perhaps not totally secluded. As was proven by the captain that still paced in my small living area. Every so often, Vossler appeared and pleaded with me to join him and the Resistance. And I always refused. Sick of war, tired of the fighting going on both above ground and below, I wanted no part of any of it. My husband was gone, branded a traitor by those who had formerly honored and respected his name, my country was a shell of its former beauty and a dictator in the making now occupied her throne. Vossler was clinging to a dream. And I said as much. Sharply.

He fell still, staring at me shocked. "You cannot mean that, Alandra," he whispered, no doubt stunned by the vehemence in my voice.

"Well, I do," I snapped, turning abruptly and glaring at him.

His mouth opened and his uttered words nearly sent me into a rage. "Basch would not have given up hope…"

"Basch is dead!" I shouted, slamming my hands down on the ragged table. "He is dead, Vossler! There is no hope left! Rabanastre is gone, a memory of its former splendor!" I felt tears spill over my lashes as my mind called up my last memory of my husband, standing atop the boarding ramp of his airship, windblown and alive. So willing to die for his loyalty. Well, he had. And as a vile traitor.

Vossler frowned, scowling. "He would despair, to see you now," he said to me, shaking his head.

That almost had me throwing something at him. I know my eyes were on fire as I hissed, "Do not speak of him again, Captain." Vossler's gaze instantly turned soft, seeing my ravaged face. He stepped forward, his hand outstretched, but I backed away, negating. "No, Vossler. Please," I lowered my voice to a whisper, "just go. Please."

Vossler paused with a sigh, shaking his dark head. "Alandra, I…" but he fell silent and shook his head once more. I turned away, not wanting to see the hopelessness crest his features. He held on so hard, believed so much; it was his lifeline, what kept him going. He couldn't not believe. It would crush his very heart.

"Farewell, Lady Alandra," I heard him whisper, then the door closed behind him and I heard his footsteps disappear down the tunnels. With a ragged breath, I sank into one of the rough spindly chairs. I tried to not, but I folded my head on my arms and wept.

For two years, memories had been my only comfort. Memories of happier times, of life, love and laughter. While not always pleasant, there had always been hope. Hope for a bright future. Now, all was darkness and despair. My storm of weeping continued until I had no more tears left to shed. Although I had a bit more work to do still that evening, I disdained the task and wrapped in a blanket, deciding instead to sit before the small fireplace. I stared into the cheery flames, wishing I could share their mood. But as I gazed within, memories came flooding back, losing me in their intensity.

I mused over the past, thinking back over my life. My mother and father had been members of King Raminas' court, my father a minister to Rozarria. My mother had been the traditional lady of court, content to spend her days basking in the noble way of life. I was their only child and a bit spoiled, I shamelessly admit. My parents loved me and lavished me with affection and attention. We traveled often, accompanying my father on his trips to and from Rozarria. Alliances were good then, life was exciting and adventurous.

Even as a young girl, I had always been awed by the Knights of Dalmasca. When I could manage to slip away from my mother's courtly lessons, my friends and I would race down to the training grounds to watch them. It was a fond pastime. Even well into our teens, we always managed to find time to watch the Knights and even, I will admit, try to garner a few favors from many a handsome soldier. Oh, the machinations of young women, how bittersweet were those days!

But I can clearly recall the time when a particular youthful Knight began to draw a lot of attention from the King's court. A young man not born Dalmascan, they were whispering. A soldier practically unknown the year before was now making his way to the top of his legion, drawing many an eye and earning high praise on the battle field. I can well remember the Day of Knighting, when proven soldiers came before the king to earn their rightful titles. It was a solemn event, followed by much celebrating. But then twenty-six year old Basch fon Rosenburg, a newcomer to Rabanastre from the country of Landis, earned his title and his rightful place as a Knight of Dalmasca. Beside him, Vossler York Azelas, in a cemented friendship that would be shattered just a decade later.

To be continued...