It was difficult, but not impossible, to drown out the endless lengths of applause and cheers that echoed in the streets of Rabanastre that day..
Throughout every hall and in every corner of the city a voice cried out in joy at the glory which had returned to a city scarred and stained the blood of countless innocents and guilty alike. Long had the people suffered and long had they waited for this moment, a reason to remind the world that the desert flower had survived the weathering storms and rose up to bloom once again defiant. It was a day much like one seemingly ages ago where white rose petals rained down from the windows and pillars to the point of eerieness. A gold-trimmed chariot slowly wove a path up the way of heroes flanked by ranks six-deep on either side, soldiers filing side by side carrying the yet living colors of the country. To the cheers of the endless spectators chocobos bent their heads high like proud stallions and pronounced their place as finest of the breed as if aware of their importance. The priceless treasure they presented to Rabanastre was a sight to behold indeed; to the thousands that had waited so long to catch a glimpse of their long-lost princess, all would tell their stories and fashion a phrase that to a degree matched every other:
I was there on that day, the stories sang, that an angel descended upon the throne of Dalmasca.
Gossamer and silk hugged her small but strong frame, perfectly radiant in the sun basking down on them all through the windows of the same cathedral which had bourne witness to a joining of marriage. In a way the irony was not lost on the mere hundred souls allowed to view the coronation, for nearly each of them had been there when a Nabradian prince was joined with their own fair princess. This time however, she knelt alone save for the four handmaidens who carried her trailing gown with the utmost care. Before the spot where she lowered herself a managerie of officials and prominent figures kept vigil, but to her relief it wasn't an entirely political mix of bodies. Ashe allowed herself a moment of fickle pleasure and snuck a look up through heavy lashes and found herself smiling softly at the presence of a few nervous faces besides her own.
Vaan looked positively embarrased in his silken shirt and trousers, meeting Ashe's smile with an uneasy one of his own. She could only imagine what he must have gone through to have his unruly pale hair tugged and forced into a handsome shape, and the culprit was no doubt the simple beauty latched to his arm. Penelo herself had become a fine dancer, allowed the wearing of her finest performance garb for the coronation. She stuck her tongue out quickly at her prisoner before beaming her infectious smile back at the princess. To her immediate left would be found the Rozzarrian entourage; Al-Cid with his arms perched precariously around his four female escorts. It was hard to loathe the flirtacious man even as he sent a careful wink down to the kneeling royal. Fighting a strange heat in her cheeks, the beginnings of a prayer were muddled out in her mind as she searched the rest of the line of friends. She found her eyes watering at the sight of not a friend, but the sole member of her family left to represent her blood. In her uncle she could think of no better a man to suit the role, Halim's face bursting with pride as he leaned into his staff and lifted his chin. Ashe repressed a chuckle at his clearly failed attempt to bring his own fashion to order, for after weeks of hounding his niece for advice on what to wear to the ceremony he had chosen the simple route and done well with fine leathers bearing the family crest. Finally, there was of course the matter of representing the recently allied Archadia.. And for that honor, there could be no other choices.
Though they looked slightly out of place in a cathedral full of light colored clothing their presence was met with surprisingly little discord due to the roles they had played during the war. There was Zargabaath - turned from Judge Magister to hero - in the seconds it had taken him to decide to ram the Alexander into a falling fortress to save the countless lives below the final battle. Though he often denied the honor bestowed upon him by the citizens there could be no better proof of his suicidal attempt than the restored airship he had brought the others in. After him came Larsa, still bearing his charm as he nodded upon meeting her gaze with his. Being the salvation of the empire had tested him in all sorts of ways and he glowed with the same strength others had described in her. Later they would share words no doubt but his expression showed nothing but knowledge that this had been a long time coming, the beginning of the era of peace even someone his age could understand the need for. And then there, to Larsa's side, came a motion that sent her mind faltering.. A simple armored hand lowering onto the youth's shoulder and the nod of acknowledgment that resulted.
Her eyes found the same sight his did but with a completely different reaction when they traced the outline - not of the ornate helm that covered it - but the face beneath. She remembered that an ever-present scar lined the shape of his brow, no doubt those same hard eyes below shining with mixed emotions of his own. She imagined that he looked so much like his deceased twin now that only those who knew the truth behind Judge Magister Gabranth would ever know the difference..but there could be no comparison, she thought silently. The iron facade hid everything and nothing and the princess found herself wishing she too could wear a mask today, snatching at any other thoughts she could to hide the unspoken words that were just now beginning to threaten her facade. Thankfully that distraction came at just the right moment.
She had been kneeling in circle of petals that surrounded her at the altar, undisturbed until just now by the successor to the Kiltian proper when the old Nu Mou carefully shuffled forward. Each soul in the cathedral seemed to hold their breath at the spectacle of the moment when the frail, old creature touched the elegant crownpiece and turned to hold it above her bowed head. Delicately putting it to place, the old one bowed his own already hunched form and took five careful steps away from the kneeling woman. As she rose emotions rose with her. Some in the audience began to weep, others began to cheer.. But everyone of them began to clap when a soldier from the ranks couldn't contain himself any longer.
"Long live the Rose of Dalmasca!" The battle-worn soldier cried, the finery of his clothing doing nothing to hide the truth that he had seen the worst of the war. His eyes brimmed with tears but his heart had etched a smile across his face that everyone stared at for a brief time of surprise. Larsa stepped forward with a smile and reprised the announcement with his own affirmation.
"Archadia's people rejoice with yours," the young master added. "Long live the Queen!"
It was echoed by one, then two.. And then impossible numbers as the chant carried across the cathedral to the doors, and then beyond. Though the souls outside could not see what was happening the message was clear and deafening as it began to rise up to the heavens.
Long live the Queen, the roar re-announced. ..Long live the Queen!
Asheliawatched all of this in silence, struck by the reality of what was happening. How long had she fought and prayed for this day? Her blue-greys began to move over the crowded church searching for something but unsure of what. Every face she found was seared into her memories somehow, a dizzying circle of celebration and relief for the moment of her coronation had finally come. Her people knew now more than ever she was alive. Dalmasca was alive..and it was never going to die. Princess reborn to Queen turned to face her first glimpse at her subjectswhile fighting back tears. She wept for her people, for her father, for the slain and for those yet alive. With this power she had finally been granted she would make sure they would never again suffer unjustly, for the price of that strength was more than could ever be repayed. With that thought she steeled herself and resigned her life to seeing that new horizon she had promised time and time again. They would have their hopes back.
A glance over her shoulder revealed her closest companions joining in the celebration more so than she could have imagined, sans a sky pirate or two who had seemingly been unable to attend. They were there in spirit however, just like all those who should have been there but had been claimed. She suddenly missed them horribly but knew they were watching from somewhere just beyond her own sight. Watching, smiling.. Perhaps just like he was, behind the line drawn between them by war and peace. Judge Magister Gabranth's eyes, though shadowed by the mask he wore, clearly bore through to her as she smiled to that silent sentinel as pained and happy as she was in that same moment. Though the deafening applause and cheering she mouthed a 'thank you' and found herself relieved when the helm lowered in a slow nod of understanding.
Here Dalmasca, and Ivalice with it, began anew. Here the old stories had been cast away and a new book started; every page blank and full of hope as the morning sun..
Author's Note: ..as of this writing I have just beaten FFXII, and so it is with great hope that I wonder.. Should it continue? I have ideas, sure, but does this story deserve more? Want to see and read more of the underloved BaschxAshe? I leave it up to you! I haven't written in an eternity but the drive is there. And so, reviews are certainly welcome as the story carries on. Until then!