Cinderwood
By Karen Hart
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XII and its related characters, settings and trademarks are the property of Square Enix. I make these fanfictions for love of the game, nothing more, and make no profit off of them.
It's dark on the Tchita Uplands, the only light cast by the dying fire in the middle of their camp. Most of their little band is asleep, save for Ashe and Balthier, who quietly throws a few twigs on the fire; the flames leap, hungry for new fuel. It keeps the coeurls and serpents at bay. The two of them look out in opposite directions, attentive toward unwelcome guests.
Ashe's fingers clench around the hilt of her sword, half consciously. She wants to strike out at something, cut it down to nothing. She's wanted it since Bur-Omisace, since Vossler, since her father, since Rasler. Eventually she forces herself to loosen her grip, though she is not the only one with a hand on their weapon. A glance back shows Balthier polishing a gun that's already spotless. The sleepers, too, hold their weapons, even Penelo, who doesn't seem quite…fit…to wield that pole of hers.
They've all learned caution the hard way.
"Gil for your thoughts," Ashe hears Balthier drawl behind her. She lets out a long, shuddering breath, as much to help her collect her thoughts as to prolong the silence. She does not want to voice what's going through her mind, has been going through her mind.
So, she jests. "Somehow, I doubt you'd part with the coin." A moment later a small circle of brass lands by her feet, a five gil piece. Four more than promised. "…Extravagant."
"One of the leading man's many characteristics," Balthier points out. "So now that I've paid for those thoughts, Princess…."
Again, Ashe is silent, though this time it's more a struggle than anything else. "I—," she starts, then clamps her lips shut. She doesn't want to say it. "Part of me does not want to go back." There, she's said it.
"To?" Balthier prompts. Apparently she didn't say enough. Ashe hears a rustling behind her as the pirate settles down a bit closer. He's still behind her, no doubt staring at the other end of the Uplands, but the distance between them has shrunk.
"Home," she says, short and soft and shameful.
Balthier seems to consider that for a moment. "So, why this?"
"I know that I must defeat Vayne." Her words at slow, harsh. "I know that I must restore Dalmasca, that I must avenge those who've fallen. But…" she trails off. Balthier waits. Ashe's voice drops to a near whisper, almost savage. "It's my palace, my house. I don't want to imagine Vayne sleeping in Father's bed or working in Father's office, or—."
"Pilfering the family treasures," the pirate adds when Ashe falters.
Ashe shakes her head. "Not that. Not quite. It's that, it's my home. I'll oust Vayne, and go back, and it won't be where Uncle Halim held me up to see the Midyear Parade. It'll be where the Resistance was slaughtered. It'll be changed. I don't want that." She swallows against a wave of grief and rage. "They've taken so much. I don't think I could bear it if they took that, as well."
"Can't say I blame you." She hears him load his gun.
"Something nearby?"
There's a soft clunk as he sets the gun down again. "Serpent. It slithered away." The conversation seems to die out, both of them once more focused on opposite horizons. There's a soft glow in the eastern sky.
"There was a tree outside my bedroom window," Ashe says suddenly. "It was a cinderwood. I was about nine or ten, I think." Balthier is silent, though she is sure he's listening intently. "I didn't like it. It was just…just too gray. To me, Dalmasca was blue sky and yellow sand and bright red galbana lilies. The cinderwood didn't fit. So I got into the fabric dyes and everywhere I could reach, from the ground or my window, I made it very, very pink." At this, Balthier chokes back a laugh. It wouldn't do to draw too much attention. "Even though I couldn't get everything—or even most of it—I still thought it was rather an improvement. They made me wash it all off though. Still, I think I will be very upset if it's been cut down." The quiet stretches on, a bit more comfortable than before.
There's a sound of creaking leather as Balthier stands up. "Looks like our shift is about up." Ashe nods; they both move to rouse their morning guards, she to Penelo, he to Fran. It's a smooth shift from second to third watch, and Ashe finds herself sliding towards sleep, but not before she reaches out and pockets the coin. There's still four gil left. More than enough to purchase another thought.