The Royal, the Runaway, and the Street Rat
Prologue
She should've been sad about it – and somewhere, deep down, she was. But the murder of the king she and her makeshift family had looked up to upset her less then she had first expected. Her mind was occupied by other things, another person who's life was about to end.
Penelo made the daily trek through the streets of Rabanastre to the small, built in a day hospital where her best friend was waiting. Rain pelted down hard, almost so hard it hurt her uncovered head. Her light blonde hair was plastered to her face, long and full of tangles. She usually took better care of it, but how it looked had lost its importance since the war began.
She wished she could block out the noise. The sounds of crying and screaming of men, women, and children filled the air, louder than the rain and the far off cries of soldiers, still fighting their pointless and bloody war.
Penelo broke out into a run.
She stopped outside the small hospital. It was a small, pitiful building – it wasn't even a proper building when she thought about it. It was a hurried job done by underpaid and weak workers, and the people there weren't even capable of treating a slight cold.
Of all the places he had to end up…
Penelo pushed through the creaky doors, bracing herself for tears.
The only room of the hospital was just as pathetic as the outside of it. There were only ten beds and ten times as many patients. The doctors there looked like they needed treatment themselves, and those who were actually sick or injured always looked like they were about to drop down dead at any minute. The patients who had missed out on a bed lay groaning, retching, and bleeding on the cold stone floor.
Penelo wished she could do something, but she could only muster up a single cure, maybe an esuna if she was lucky. She picked her way past the bodies to the corner of the hospital, the destination she travelled to every day.
Reks was one of the many people not to have a bed. Though Penelo hated to think about it, she knew that in the end Reks would spend his last days bleeding out in the corner. It made her shudder.
His younger brother, Vaan, sat beside him looking pale and drawn, doing his best to sooth his dying brother. The water leaking from the cracked roof had dampened them both, worsening the situation.
Penelo crouched beside them and tried her best to smile.
"How's he doing?" she asked, voice hoarse from crying the previous nights.
Vaan shrugged, a limp, lifeless action. "Ok I guess."
Reks's breathing was laboured and slow, his face pale from loss of blood. It had stained his clothes dark red and had seeped onto the stone. It filled the cracks in the pavement (they hadn't even bothered to put in a proper floor – the street was the floor of that abominable building), and had also stained Vaan's hands. He had always mumbled the same thing over and over, "he was there…"
The three orphans sat in silence for a while, the background noise of the hospital the only thing they could hear. After a while, Penelo spoke.
"Did you hear the news?"
"Hmm?"
Since Reks had been admitted, Vaan had spent all of his time in that corner with his brother, never leaving his side until his heart stopped beating. Penelo had tried to do the same, though the first night she had woken screaming. The second night was the same, so she stopped sleeping there.
"The King was assassinated."
"Oh."
Penelo hated how disconnected Vaan seemed – it was so unlike him. He hadn't even cried yet, he hadn't shown emotion since Reks came back wounded. It was disturbing.
"The Marquis announced something as well, about the Princess," she continued, trying to get a reaction out of Vaan.
It didn't work.
"He said she committed -"
"He's gone."
Penelo stopped. "What?"
Vaan stared into nothingness. "He stopped breathing."
The noise of the hospital became a low buzz, and the world went darker. Everything moved slowly, time didn't pass, the air felt thicker. She felt empty, she felt hollow, and she felt lost. She felt scared, she felt confused, and she felt like her heart had shattered into a million, tiny pieces.
All she could do was cry.
He'd been told not to care. He'd been told to be happy. He'd been told to celebrate, be merry, and act like it was a victory. But it wasn't a victory, not really. Not in his mind.
It wasn't a victory for the people of Dalmasca, or anywhere other than Archadia. But surely they could've won the war some other way? Or even better, there couldn't have been a war at all.
Whenever he brought up his opinions on the war, and how he thought peace was the best option, people laughed at him. They patted his head or ruffled his hair and told him that he was too young to understand these things. "You'll understand when you're older," was another popular one.
Though Larsa Soldidor was a child, he hated being treated like one. To other people, if you were ten years old you were practically a baby, but to him he seemed very mature, and old enough to engage in an adult conversation.
There were some people who would listen to him though.
Drace sat near him in the study, busying herself with her own book. It was one of the rare times that she had her Judges helmet off, showing off her worn yet strong features and the short grey hair that framed her face. Though she often denied it, Larsa had told her she was pretty on many occasions. He may have been stretching it with that description, but she definitely wasn't unpleasant to look at.
Larsa had tried to read his book. He had chosen his favourite to try and distract him from the issues that had been on his mind the whole day. But it hadn't worked, and he found himself staring out the window in political contemplation more often than looking at the pages.
"Drace?" he said, and the older Judge looked up at him.
"Yes?"
"Did you hear about the King?" Larsa had to get his feelings on the subject off of his chest.
Drace nodded and sighed. "Who hasn't?"
"I don't think it was right. There are other ways to stop a war," he said, putting his book down on the coffee table.
"Why don't you tell Captain Basch that?" she said with a dry laugh.
Of course, how could he have forgotten? The once faithful and trustworthy soldier of the Knights of Dalmasca was the one to have done the deed. It was a shock to most people, some more than others. People had expected it to be someone of lower class, with a vendetta against King Raminas's riches and status, but not a well-respected knight.
"Even if I did, I don't think he'd listen," he said, the childish sulkiness embarrassingly obvious.
"You're probably right. Anyway, Vayne and Gabranth a returning today. I'm sure they'd want to see you when they do." Drace changed the subject deciding she was too tired to talk about politics.
"Are they?" he asked, eyes lighting up.
Drace nodded. In a way it was sort of sad to see Larsa get excited about Vayne so much. It was fair enough to most, as Vayne was his brother, and it showed that the two of them shared a close bond. But to Drace it was worrying.
After all, Vayne was a murderer.
Larsa had no idea about his two eldest brothers, no one had spoken of them since their untimely deaths when Larsa was still in his crib. Not many people knew it, but Drace did, and she remembered it well. The first of the eldest Solidors were murdered in their bed, sending his valet into shock and hysteria. Drace had seen the deed been done, she saw Vayne sneaking into his room at night, knife in hand. She hadn't watched it, but she'd heard enough.
She didn't say anything for fear of inducing Vayne's wrath, and he would probably separate her from her charge. That was something she never wanted to happen. Though she didn't seem to show it, Drace cared for Larsa like she would her own son, and felt like she and Gabranth cared for him more than his real family ever would.
The second eldest died of a poisoned drink at the dinner table. Drace didn't see the poison go into any of his wine, but she'd put two and two together and had come to the conclusion that he had also dies at Vayne's hands.
Yet hear was Larsa, welcoming him home with open arms and a smile. If only he knew…
"Are they here now?" he asked, snapping her out of her dim and dull thoughts.
She shook her head, and the young prince's face fell. She did her best to look reassuring and said: "I'm sure they'll be here soon. Gabranth said he missed you in his letters."
A small smile spread onto his face. Though he never said it, she had figured out that of the two members of Larsa's cortege, Gabranth was the clear favourite. But he liked them both enough to consider them part of his family, and that was enough for Drace.
She'd never had a proper family before.
"I wonder what they think of the assassination," Larsa contemplated, mind drifting once more to the grizzly politics of Ivalice.
"I don't think they'd like to talk about it."
"Perhaps not."
As the two of them returned to their respective reading material, the slight pattering of rain against the large windows filled in the silence. Soon the gentle shower turned to a heavy torrent, drowning out the view and the sound of the outside world. Two things the Judge and the Prince shared was the enjoyment of rain. Not being out in it and getting soaked to the bone, but the sound of it was calming. It made it feel like the world had just melted away, leaving just them and the inside world.
This time the feeling was no different. Though it was one of the last times it would calm them so, and not knowing this at the time, they took no notice of it.
Just as well pirates left the sea, she thought as she downed the last of her ale.
The port town of Balfornheim often entertained storms, and today was no exception. Waves crashed against the shores, making people flee to the safety of their homes. People rushing into shelter not only to protect themselves, but to protect the ink on the latest newspaper.
Half of the Whitecap Tavern's patrons had their head stuck in the day's paper, eyes furiously scanning the pages that had brought the news of King Raminas's death, as well as the suicide of his daughter Ashelia.
She had never had time for royalty of any kind, no assassination would change that. The righteous king of Dalmasca had never cared for her, so she saw no reason to care for him. The only reason she'd even thought of him was how much money he had in his coffers, and even then she always became occupied with other business.
Just as she called over the barman for a second ale, the door of the tavern burst open.
"Shut that will ya! It's freezing!" yelled a rough voiced man studying the notice board.
The newcomer obeyed and shut the door. He hurried over to her with a large bag in hand, looking far too pleased with himself.
"Balthier, I never thought you'd come back. Two days is a long time for a sky pirate," she remarked with a mocking tone as Balthier dumped the bag on the bar and sat down.
"Nice to see you too Fran…" he groaned, then ordered an ale for himself.
Fran picked up the bag and dumped its contents all over the bar, which turned Balthier's exhausted expression into an alarmed one.
"Hey! That took a long time to get!" he complained.
Baltheir's posh Archadian accent didn't do much to make Fran take him seriously. However on the few heists and robberies they'd done together he had shown skill she hadn't seen in a long time. Not since her last partner…
She cleared her head of the thought and started to sift through the contents of the bag.
It wasn't a bad haul. Everything she'd asked him to get was there in full, no knock offs or worthless fakes. Not a single item had been missed out – and there was even a few extra gil amongst the shining stones and gems.
"Not bad for your first solo run," she remarked, looking up at the young fledgling sky pirate.
Balthier took a swig of his ale. "I told you I was good."
"I never denied it."
"I'm sure you did once."
Fran smirked into her glass. "Alright, maybe once."
The two of them, noticing the interested glances of other pirates, started to fill the bag up again. They tied it up and kept a close eye on it. Finishing their ale in silence, they both contemplated their possible futures as pirating partners.
Fran had already seen Balthier's show of skill, he had impressed her the first time they had met. They had ended up robbing the same Archadian mansion, and after one silly argument after the other they had finally agreed to help each other and split the prize. Of course, their bickering had caused them to get caught, but Balthier soon revealed to her that he had an escape vehicle.
The Strahl was a small ship, clearly of Archadian build. Fran hadn't seen any other ship with its design, but the way it looked and the way the controls were set up looked undeniably Archadian. She'd stolen enough of them to know the difference. It was the Strahl that really made Fran consider taking Balthier on as her partner, having a getaway vehicle on hand had always been something she'd wanted but had never found time to get.
It was sheer good luck that she also liked the pilot.
Balthier had been surprised when he found a Viera looting the same mansion he was. He had always thought it was forbidden for Viera to leave their home – wherever that was. She had seemed cold and mean at first, and he hadn't exactly liked her that first night. But when she first boarded the Strahl she had started to lighten up. He always had his suspicions that her growing appreciation of his company was cupboard love. If he wasn't the proud owner of an Archadian prototype she would've ditched him with more loot for her then they'd agreed on.
But Fran had let him stick around, surprising him and her other pirate acquaintances. When she'd first brought him to Balfornehim, he had been laughed at and she had been ridiculed. She didn't seem to care, though at that time Balthier had never dealt with those kinds of people before, so he had to steel his defences.
Without any sort of verbal agreement, the two of them became partners. Soon afterwards friendship had come into the mix. Then Fran started to trust him with bigger jobs on their missions, and now even solo work.
"I say we lie low for a while," Fran suggested, earning a confused look from Balthier.
"And why would we do that?"
"I think you got us enough gil to last a long time. We should take this time to plan something, improve our skills." Build our relationship, she wanted to add, but didn't for fear of ruining what they had.
Balthier swirled what little ale he had in his glass. "Fair enough. But I don't think I could stand being inactive for too long."
"Of course not."
The two of them discussed their future long into the night, planning and plotting together. They stayed far past closing time, though the barman was on good terms with Fran and had let them stay as long as they locked up afterwards. Soon it was just them, alone. They had sorted out what they were to do, and they were now taking up the time with idle chatter.
Fran enjoyed it, just the two of them. Getting to know Balthier was more interesting then she thought, as she had always believed Humes had the dullest and shortest lives. But in his short twenty years of life, Balthier had done a lot.
So Fran spent the evening listening to his stories of Archadia, his friends, and his old life. But no matter how hard Fran tried, she couldn't get a single detail about his family out of him. But everyone had their secrets, and family wasn't one of Fran's favourite topics either. So she supposed they made a good pair.
Both outcasts, and both runaways.
