[A/N: Yes, this title has been used for lots of novels and movies and tv shows, all of which I haven't watched/read. XD Post game, probable future Basch/Balthier, knowing me.

Rules of Engagement

1

An End to Piracy

"It is safe to conclude now that the end to the Age of Piracy in Ivalice began with the death of Foris Zecht, better known as Reddas, the Pirate King of Balfonheim. Well-loved by his outlaw subjects, his death caused the disintegration of the quasi-disciplinary system that had kept their predations on merchant craft in check. Piracy from the Balfonheim corsairs reverted to and surpassed their original state of savagery, worsened by the bitterness they felt at what they saw as the Imperial-caused death of their leader. The freebooters and the Purveema corsairs seemed to follow suit, and in only five years after the succession war in Archadia, the countries of Ivalice began to recognize piracy as an issue of serious national security."

-Excerpt from Piracy after the Succession War by Daren Walsinram, University of Archadia Press

Al-Cid Margrace looked over the Destroyer III class airship Valefor with a doubtful eye. Five years had not changed the ruler of Rozarria overmuch: today he wore a colorful, open-necked sun-bright yellow vest striped with blue over his ribs, folded over rich oxblood breeches. Long, dark-skinned fingers were fisted on his hips, hugged with a wide belt caught in an overly ornate lion's head buckle. Still, the Grand-Duke of Rozarria managed to look somewhat imposing under his foppish wear, even with lips pursed and his slowly graying hair tugged this way and that by an insistent breeze.

Behind him, his 'birds,' the silent women who were no doubt his personal bodyguard, stared unblinkingly at Basch with the focused intensity of cats waiting for their dinner. Basch averted his gaze quickly, but not before his trained eye picked out the faint, telltale bulges of weapons concealed under their black cotton vests and skirts.

Al-Cid being silent was not a harbinger of good things, and the tension of his all-female guard reflected that. "You feel this safe?" the Grand-Duke asked, finally, with a wave at the loading-deck before them.

They stood in the private hangar of House Margrace, a vault that had been carved somehow into the rock face under the cliff-side palace. Basch admired the complexity of the room: every inch of rock was covered in sculptures that looked as though they were emerging from the shearstone face, of men and women in dance, battle, song, death, birth, and over it all the symbol of House Margrace: a peregrine in flight, its massive wings outspread at the domed ceiling. The metal fixtures, bays, runways, controls and neon lights of a miniature air base seemed somewhat incongruous against such a backdrop.

Basch had to raise his voice a little to be heard over the babble of dialects, as members of House Margrace's guard and servants helped to load Valefor with the supplies it would need for its journey back to Archadia. "Valefor is built for speed, and has a fair arsenal for its tonnage. What we cannot outrun we can likely outfight and we will be using the fortified trade routes. Besides," he added, with a wry smile, "'Tis not like Dalmasca's or Archadia's pirates operate together, like Rozarrian ones."

"Lone wolves will still band together when their lives are threatened," Al-Cid leaned a little over the rail as a mellow hum signaled the approach of the hovercraft that carried a box about a metre and a half in height, shrouded in white cloth. As the pilot carefully backed into the maw of Valefor's compact hold, the Grand-Duke sighed. "'Tis hard to believe how something that small could be the beginning of the end of our problems."

"You put much faith in Draklor, your Grace." That was as much doubt as Basch allowed himself to voice in an official capacity, mindful of his dual duty here as a Judge and as an ambassador tasked with a mission of utmost importance.

"Even without Doctor Cid, Draklor is still reputed to be the foremost research laboratory in the world, Judge Gabranth," Al-Cid folded his arms over the cold metal rail. "It is not altruism that prompts me to allow Valefor a full military escort out of Rozarrian land. I do feel however that Lady Ashelia should have met you with the same, on Dalmascan ground, for your journey to Archadia."

"You know war, your Grace. Tensions have been ebbing, but not enough that Lady Ashelia can order a Colors escort for an Imperial Destroyer without comment from her subjects. Besides, I hear her Parliament is displeased that you have not offered them a similar gift of the prototype."

"I do not want too many copies to be made. Even with a coded pass, it would be disastrous to our efforts were the pirates to get their thieving hands on one. Draklor represents the best hope outside of Rozarria for perfecting this. Besides, I have mentioned to Lady Ashelia that if Dalmasca so wishes, she may send a delegation to Archadia or Rozarria to inspect the device." Al-Cid turned away from the rail, motioning for Basch to follow. "Come, let us not speak of such matters further. We will have a final drink as friends, then board my royal flying coffin to the border."

Basch chuckled. "Not too fond of flying, your Grace?"

"Confined spaces bore me. I would wish for an attack from the Rozarrian Cartel to break the monotony, but my Generals are fair superstitious."

--

"Could you be any later?" Rikken looked harried, standing impatiently outside the iron-wrought door to the Draketongue Manse, home to the undisputed king of the Draketongue Purveema Corsairs. The Manse was beautifully constructed out of interlinked ivory-white towers that gave no hint of the reputed warren of dungeons and stone chambers below it. Only two guards stood outside the Manse, armed with pikes and dressed in the orange livery of the Draketongue Pirate King. The light guard was a sign of the man's power within his domain.

"Since you are both only getting in as part of my 'retinue' from my invitation," Balthier said dryly, with a nod to the guard as he handed over the gold-edged white card, "I profess myself none too sure why you are complaining."

Behind Rikken, and also dressed similarly in sober blues that the pair likely thought formal, the bangaa, Raz, sniffed at the air a little uneasily. His tail drooped, and he shook his head, plaited locks flying. "Fast. Then we leave. I do not like this place."

"Draketongue's a fair bit more grand than Balfonheim's manse," Balthier said dryly, as the guards nodded and rapped a quick pattern on the door. There was a creak, then a grinding sound as the metal was pulled open. Fran's ears twitched, but her feral eyes did not change, shifting from the beautifully hand-painted, large vases that lined the right wall at even intervals, to the snarling stone drake that curled over the arch of the door. "What does your learned nose tell you, Raz?"

"Of fear," Raz muttered, shaking his head again and falling in line behind Fran, with Rikken bringing up the rear, as they were escorted into the foyer by the guards.

Balthier studied the centerpiece of the black marble chamber as the guard consulted with another: a white stone sculpture of the Draketongue King gutting an Imperial suspended by chains from the top of the ceiling, with a hooked fish knife, in amazingly grisly detail made no less disconcerting by its lack of color. "Charming."

The sculpture, and similarly themed oil-on-canvas paintings of human mutilation hung on the walls of the otherwise empty circular room, seemed to unnerve Rikken further. "I'm beginning to think…"

"Oh come on. As if you won't admit to curiosity." Balthier grinned, looking for a moment as feral as his Viera partner, as the guards motioned for them to follow again. "You heard the word that got out. You were the one who said it would be better to get the news firsthand, as it were."

"That was before I had the pleasure of having to wait three hours for you to arrive in this delightful city and then two hours for you to actually show up at the Manse," Rikken said uneasily. "It's bad in Balfonheim now, with Reddas gone, but Balfonheim isn't a patch on this place. And I am not too sure why you were invited."

"They did invite all the pirates of a certain minimum bounty," Balthier pointed out, sounding aggrieved, but he had actually been pondering that himself. He had sworn no fealty to any of the pirate lords, nor did he keep much to territories. At best he was a small fish in the scheme of things, now where civilian and merchant ships only dared use the major commercial routes, which were heavily policed by the States.

Prey was difficult to find, especially now that the competition had increased in general. Sea piracy had become a far more dangerous vocation, as the first act of the governments to appease their peoples was to strike out against the slower sea craft. Furthermore, with all the Purveemas but Bhujerba now corsair ground, sea pirates tended to have either converted to the air, or gone southwards: the last he had seen of Balfonheim, its sea-port was noticeably quiet, with only a few craft moored here and there. Balthier's low profile in the sky was not so much caution but necessity, of late.

"Yours was technically forgiven due to Royal amnesty," Rikken said with a little chuckle, though the brittleness of the sound betrayed his nervousness. "So technically-"

"I never accepted the amnesty," Balthier interrupted irritably.

Raz snorted, behind Fran, but kept nervously near to the Viera, occasionally darting glances up at her ears, then at the narrow arrow-slit windows lining the left of the corridor. Columns set into the wall lined the right side, interspersed by paintings of views of the Draketongue Purveema shaded in moods of the sun. Raz's clawed feet clicked on the black marble in a dissonant harmony with the soft soles of Balthier's sandal-boots, Rikken's bucket-tops, Fran's heels, and the heavy mail tread of the two silent guards that flanked them.

"Quibbles."

"'Tis a matter of pride, Raz," Balthier retorted, but picked absently at the cuff of his right sleeve.

"Aye, I'll believe that. For you've far too much of it, lad."

"Please do not try to convince me that your nose can smell that-" Balthier began, but stopped in mid-sentence, as they came to the end of the corridor: another iron-wrought set of double doors, this one fashioned with a set of massive, crossed battleaxes sundered down the centre with the seam of the doors. One of the guards knocked again on it in a sharp staccato, and there was the grinding rasp of the door being unbarred from the inside.

It swung open to show a massive feast hall, as large as the Archadian Aerodrome, the tables thronged with all manner of pirates of different races. The hall was rectangular, its focal point a massive bronze chandelier of a sleeping serpent intertwined cunningly with neon bulbs shaped like eggs. The central table was of the finest dense rosewood, the others of veined ash, intricately carved at the edges with writhing serpents. Rich hand-woven Rozarrian carpets broke the monotony of the black marbled ground. Along the walls, in between the windows, were weapons with little bronze plaques under them. Balthier had heard that the Draketongue King enjoyed decorating his home with trophies of those he had slain.

Balthier looked cursorily over the outlaw crowd, that possessed a remarkable amount of the expected array of eye patches, prosthetic limbs, scars, before moving his attention to the long table that dominated the centre of the room, burdened with laden dishes of whole roast pigs, pheasant, stuffed greatfish, and various parts of deceased animals that Balthier could not immediately identify. At the head, rising up from a bronze throne, was the Draketongue King.

The Pirate King Ravshaa Draketongue was a small man who possessed a delicate bone structure, with slender wrists and high cheekbones. This, and the odd way he cocked his head when listening to another, made him look almost birdlike. His pale hair was cut close to his skull, and his skin was an odd bleached-bone white, but his albinism was most obvious in his maroon eyes, which were bright with a calculating, pitiless cruelty. He could have once been handsome in his youth, but his dissolute ways showed in the unhealthy yellow crescents under his eyes and the merciless cast to his lips. Dressed plainly, in a black tunic and soft gray breeches, his only adornment a Damascus steel bracelet of an ouroboros around his right arm.

Compared to Draketongue, the other occupants at the long table were dressed somewhat excessively in jewelry and ornate weaponry. Balthier vaguely recognized a few prominent and long-standing members of the corsair elite, before Ravshaa began speaking in an oddly amiable tone.

"Ah, Balthier Bunansa. We were just talking about you."

"In a favorable manner, I hope," Balthier hoped his quick grin and insouciance revealed none of his unease. He met maroon eyes evenly. "My apologies for being late, but the crosswinds to your fair island were a little difficult today."

Ravshaa blinked, slowly, smiled, and waved at the empty chair at the table, one seat away from him. "Of course, of course. Sit down, please. Your companions have seats at the other tables."

Balthier glanced at Fran, who shook her head slightly. Her expression did not change, but by the slight relaxation of her shoulders he understood Fran to be even a little relieved. Viera, after all, dislike evil.

--

Dinner was kept squarely on a range of vaguely curious topics, from the myth of mermaids to the latest Archadian politics, but over ale from wine, Sithean Sawtail, the lord of the Mozar Isles, could hold in his patience no longer. His jowls fairly humming with indignation, the ageing pirate reminded Balthier of an old pug still bristling for a scrap, and his clothes seemed to reflect that sentiment. They were weatherworn and patched over his shoulder and the vest over his paunch with studded armor. "I am sure we thank ye for yer hospitality, Draketongue, but ye've been skeery of the subject long enough. We want to know what ye know 'bout the weapon, an' we want to know what ye want to do about it, aye?"

That got a chorus of murmurs and nods from the pirates at the table. Draketongue pursed thin lips, and glanced at Balthier. "I suppose I have kept you gentlemen… and ladies," he added graciously, for the benefit of the two members of the fairer sex at the table, "long enough. It would be easier for me to start at the beginning."

"I have sources in the Justice Department and the Senate of Archadia, and they confirmed a month or so ago what most of you know: the States are developing a weapon in secret that would give them supremacy in the air. It's all in secret, and the weapon is not yet complete, so I do not know what it can do, let alone what we can do about it."

"I do know, however," Draketongue raised his voice sharply as he saw some of the others start to grumble about wasted time, "that a copy of it is about to be shipped from Rozarria to Archadia's Draklor Laboratory for completion, on a Destroyer class airship called the Valefor, in the utmost speed and secret. No doubt Archadia thinks – perhaps rightfully – that we pirates are very unlikely, if ever, to work together across our territories, to catch something like the Valefor. It is too fast for any one of us to stop before it goes across our unmarked boundaries, and it has enough firepower to help it blast through any such barricade of ships that any one of us may care to field."

"Also, it will cross from Rozarria into the Obertine Quickening, which you know is one of the most heavily reinforced trade routes between Dalmasca and Archadia. We would need to strike fast and hard at a chink in the route and intercept the Valefor."

"What's the use o' an incomplete weapon?" Invik, the bone-thin lord of the Jackal Fleet demanded. "And ye said t'was a copy. Won't do us much good."

"That is where Balthier Bunansa comes in," Draketongue said, with a smile at Balthier that would have been amiable if his eyes did not retain their habitual cruelty. "As you all also likely know, Balthier is the son of Cidolfus Bunansa, and I have it on good sources that the son surpasses the father at all things mechanical."

Balthier nodded his acknowledgment of the compliment graciously, if warily. "You want me to look at the prototype."

"And either complete it, or find a way to defend against it," Draketongue agreed. "I have full confidence in your abilities, Bunansa, and few men have ever disappointed me."

As blandly as that last was spoken, Balthier's finely honed sense of preservation saw the veiled threat instantly. He bared teeth in an answering grin. "I am flattered by your confidence."

"Have you been indulging too much in Madhu, Draketongue?" one of the women, Lady Thorn, burst out, from near the foot of the table, slamming a mailed fist against the solid wood as emphasis. A crimson-haired beauty dressed in metal and chain, Lady Thorn was reputed to rule her followers in the Chimera Purveema with brutal efficiency. "'Tis also well known that the whoreson is on good terms with the Dalmascan bitch-Queen and the Archadian brat! For all ye know…"

"Are you questioning my judgment, Thorn?" Draketongue asked, in the same bland tone, staring at the other pirate. After a long moment, her lips pulled up in a grimace, and she glanced away.

"No, Draketongue, I am only saying-"

"Your input is appreciated, Thorn, but I am never wrong on people. Bunansa values his freedom to… operate as much as any of us." Cold eyes swung over to Balthier, who had to quickly suppress an impulse to respond pertly.

"I value my freedom. A weapon that can be used against any pirate would prove highly inconvenient. And I remind Lady Thorn that though I was offered amnesty, I refused it. However, out of fairness, I invite anyone to place watch on me whenever I have to look at this… prototype." Balthier could no longer taste the wine that he swirled in the crystal glass in his hand, so great was his sudden curiosity.

"Then are we agreed?" Draketongue looked questioningly at the other pirates. There was no response, only a few mutterings here and there, noticeably nearer the end of the table. "We will withdraw to my chambers for deliberation. Time is of the essence: the prototype leaves Rozarria today, and it will take four days to enter Dalmascan airspace. In the meantime, I offer all of you and your entourages the hospitality of my Manse and city."

--

Rikken looked at his hands when Balthier finished relating what Draketongue had said at the table. They were in one of the plush guest rooms given to Balthier and Fran for the duration of their stay, Balthier having claimed that Fran was a partner to him in more ways than one. Fran having a room to herself, given the looks she had no doubt attracted on arrival, would likely be not so much cause danger to the Viera, but could provoke unnecessary incidents.

At least the gilded cage was luxury itself, with rich carpets, delicately carved oak chairs inlaid with mother-of-pearl, an attached bathroom with piped-in heated water, and a feather down four-poster with tapestry sheets. A tasseled bell-pull at a corner would summon servants at any time of day, and there were spirits in a cabinet by the arched window, which overlooked the clouds under the floating island.

"So you're saying we're grounded here."

"Up until they complete deliberations, I suppose." Balthier lay on his back on one of the long couches, arms behind his head. "Pirate lords are a paranoid sort, and air travel out of this place has been temporarily locked down for fear of spies."

"You're really going to help them, Balthier?" Raz asked quietly. The bangaa sat cross-legged on the carpet, tail twitching against a runic pattern surrounding a cross. "I do not like them, that Draketongue especially."

"You're hardly the only one in that sentiment," Balthier stared at the ceiling. "But think about it. A weapon to end piracy."

"Surely the States will only use it on the big fish. And Balthier, you know. We talked about this." Rikken arched an eyebrow at Balthier.

And they had: Balthier had agreed that the predations of the pirate lords were getting increasingly… deplorable. Preying on merchant vessels was one thing, but executing passenger ships for valuables was another, and raiding towns and minor cities with no care for any distinction between guards and civilians was still yet another.

"And then what, after they take out the big fish?" Balthier asked patiently. "Piracy has been endured before because it is very difficult to ferret out. Those of us that are caught are hanged. If they have a weapon, somehow, that can target pirate ships and nullify them, or whatever this weapon does, it's only a matter of time that I'll have to take an early retirement."

"Fran?" Rikken appealed to Fran, who was leaning against a tall framed mirror, arms folded and head bowed.

She shrugged one shoulder. "I follow Balthier's judgment in this. It matters not to me, these wars of your kind."

"Well, that's helpful," Rikken muttered. "I'm a pirate too and I know how you feel, Balthier. I do not want the States to have any such weapon against us, either. But what if you get this weapon to work, and people like Draketongue start turning it against the countries? We'll have… madness. You've seen the effect of war firsthand walking about with Queen Ashe."

"If the States think one weapon can end piracy they are naïve, and I do not think Larsa or Al-Cid would believe that. Air supremacy would be inconvenient at worst. We have already conceded the major trade routes to policing, after all." Balthier yawned. "What would likely happen is that international trade would collapse, and without fat merchant ships the big fish would start preying on each other. When they fight each other to a standstill the States will ally and finish them off. Then we will be back to equilibrium again, with only the small fish picking about on the side."

"At the cost of thousands of lives," Raz pointed out, staring hard at Balthier. "You'll want that, Bunansa? On your conscience?"

"You assume I have one," Balthier grinned then, as inscrutable as a cat, then rolled over to go pointedly to sleep.

-tbc-