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Author's Note

Technically this is a companion piece to "Occupied Position" though reading that is not at all necessary. Ashe is even harder to write for than Balthier, I made the effort though.

If you're looking forward to the next chapter of OP it's coming soon...with sex.

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We all knew he was to die. That didn't make it any easier on me. No, it's not as if we expected him to die, it wasn't a requirement. But with the war against the Empire it was inevitable. How was he supposed to survive through that?

I was a little girl then. At least that's what it felt like. I lost my husband and my father before coming of age. But we all knew he was to die. That is why my attendants would discuss such risque things while in my presence. Things that I should not have heard. They wanted to encourage me as much as possible to accept my husbands advances while I could. While brides as young as I were not uncommon among the upper classes, under normal circumstances no one would have expected me to bear a child until I was in my twenties. But everyone heard the clock ticking down. Rassler and I were both only children, which was unusual for royal families. It was as if we only had a single chance. But that chance never came. I was too young and my body wouldn't cooperate. Two weeks before my Rassler was shot dead I caught on that I was expected to conceive. I offered myself to him every chance I could get. He was gentle but still left me sore. As to prevent him from stopping I would hide how much pain I was in. Sometimes I would laugh as if from joy when really I wanted to break down in tears. Laughing was the only reaction that would allow me to control the tears. Still, he died and I was left alone. All of my effort had been for naught.

This comes rushing back to me now because of my acute awareness of my own mortality. Tomorrow is our attack on Bahamut. Though the walls of the Strahl are a thick mesh of metal and wires I can still hear them. They must know that I hear them.

I've heard that many little girls dream of being princesses. But as a princess what was there to dream of? I was left wanting nothing.

While I can hear him and the rhythmic thumping of the bed frame she either makes no noise at all or they are too soft to carry. But it's his voice that drives me mad. I cannot tell if she is doing this to torture me. Surely she would have noticed his advances towards me. The looks and the gentle touches. The arm the shoulder the back. Little clues. She's far too observant to miss them. No, she's doing this now to assert her position. To drag him back to her.

Or perhaps she knows. She knows that this is a passing fancy. That I want him and expect to have him because nothing is denied to me. What is there to dream of when the little girl is already a princess? Her prince, of course. And what happens when the prince comes and goes? The princess tries again, but this time with someone a little less safe. Someone who makes her feel like something other than a princess. He's someone who can give her freedom. The renegade who is really from a very established family with a handsome linage. But she doesn't know that at first. She falls for him for him and for his current lifestyle. Not for his grounded past or stable future. Maybe she knows all these things about princesses and that's why she does it. She really knows what is best and she's trying to protect him. I will not vacate my throne to follow some wild far-off dream. I will not abandon Dalmasca. But I would try to domesticate him. I would take Balthier the sky pirate and revert all the way back to the son of Cidolfus Bunansa. One of the side effect of being a royal is the inability to hold a grudge when it comes to who you marry. Alliances are built on such stable ground. While not titled himself, the Bunansa family is established enough that it would be considered a reasonable commitment. But to marry for love twice seems so unfair.

I cannot help it. Like a love struck teenager I want to press my ear against the wall in order to hear every breath. With hers so blissfully suppressed I could imagine my own flesh against his. That it would be his sweat falling from his shoulders onto my skin. He would be my experience.

I have not had a lover since my husband. Now that I have come to peace with his memory I can think of nothing but. Dalmasca should be my lover, but she is difficult to find satisfaction in and even harder to satisfy.

The princess wants satisfaction that the line will continue on.

Endlessly I fantasize. I have a million plans in my head of possible directions to take. Pieces that I could throw together at a moments notice to construct a new future. But I never use them. I would never use them because they are too far fetched. They are there, though. Ready at a moment's notice. One was particularly offensive, depending upon who you ask. Fearing for the future of Dalmasca I had wanted to seduce Balthier. Oh but in my fantasy it was not seduction really. He wanted it as much as I did, to sire the heir of a kingdom. I would ask him and he would whisper in my ear that it is what he wanted all along, not the child but me. Under any conditions, he would say, if only he could see my body, if only I would love him in return. I promise him everything. Everything everything if only he would touch me. Giving in he takes me to his room, the room I am now shamelessly, recklessly eavesdropping on. I am sore afterwards. It has been too long and I never knew another way. The actual details of the act are lost on me. They hold little interest in this particular fantasy. It only takes once this time. I am older and the constant assault is unnecessary.

We wait in hiding until I have the child. In my fantasy it is always a boy. Always. Only one detail of the child's physical appearance is important. His father's eyes gaze up at me. I give him no name and leave him on a doorstep in some far-flung outpost of civilization. Some trinket that is otherwise easily dismissed would be left with him, but that would be the key to his true identity. Then his father and I die valiantly in battle, managing to save Ivalice in the process. Normally, though it changes, in this fantasy, Penelo is the one who survives and discovers the boy again in his youth and manages to prove his identity and reestablishes his right to the throne.

But it is all fantasy, really. I never thought I would follow through with such a ridiculous scheme. Still, I used it as a device to make it through the night. To make it through the feelings of doubt, the possibility that I may die. And now, what seems like the night before the end, I half wish I had followed through. Instead I hear the bed next door creaking over and over again.

And now I hear it. Her breaths becoming more labored, like panting. Then a low groan. No names are exchanged but he is becoming increasingly more vocal. Then, just loud enough to break my heart. "IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou."

Silence.

For the first time in this whole episode she speaks.

"This will not be our end."

"How can you promise me that?"

He sounds distant. Not only from the fury of their physical encounter but certainly from the emotional depth of the situation.

"There is more for us to do."

Something about her quiet confidence would be reassuring if only I could stop thinking of her as a rival. Certainly she is too dignified to think of me in such terms. I should be as well. There is too much at stake for such petty disputes.

I move away from the wall and sink into my too-hard bed. There must be something else I can think of. Some other fantasy to keep me occupied until I drift off to sleep. Over and over I draw a blank. I have become reliant upon these nightly forays into what can only be described as myth. Instead of overstepping my boundaries I imagine his hand on my arm, my shoulder, my back.