Following Empress – a short fic written for a kissing battle: for FFnet, since the link will not work, here's the copy:
It had seemed a good idea at the time, to marry the pretty young princess from Dalmasca so as to attain the shard in a non-violent way, but the consequences caught up with Vayne all too quickly, after everything.
It had taken Ashe months after she discovered his true motives to speak to him again, let alone tolerate his presence, and Vayne had been happy to let her be in Dalmasca. He wasn't quite interested in explaining himself to her, compared to sorting out the political chaos he had caused in Archades, but eventually Larsa had talked him into visiting.
And as such, instead of having a fine evening sparring with Gabranth in the courtyard or going riding with his brother he was dressed too formally in the stifling heat of a damned desert following his wife into a ravine without a guard.
Ashe, at least, was dressed for the weather, if all too indecently for high society in Archades, and Vayne was torn between admiring the amount of bronzed skin available for inspection under the gauzy white material, and wondering whether his Queen had just decided that she was better off being a widow and was trying to kill him with heat stroke.
"Where are we going?" Vayne asked, trying his best not to sound petulant, dragging out the cravat of his dress shirt and using it to tie his long hair back, stumbling over sharp scree. At least there was shade, but it was still bloody hot, though he would be damned if he had to strip off his jacket and shirt in front of a lady.
"Nearly there," Ashe called, sounding amused. Revenge. This was certainly revenge.
"Lady Ashelia… blast, I must protest-" He paused, as Ashe slipped into what looked like a crevasse in the wall, and sighed.
Still, he followed, muttering at one point to himself as the hilt of his blade caught in a niche, and noticed that there was a distant, continuous rumble. Water. He stumbled out after her into a blessedly cold mist, from the spray of a waterfall tumbling from the outcrop above, forming a veil of pure water before them, laced with a small rainbow. It was a cliff overlooking one of the desert's few oases: below, the shock of green followed the edge of a sunken valley. Birds foraged in nervous flutters of white and gray against the grass. Vayne blinked.
Ashe sat down, folding her legs under her. She did not speak, looking down instead at the birds.
Finally, Vayne murmured, "Thank you." Water was precious in the desert, water and the knowledge of water.
At that, she glanced up, surprised, then looked back at the shimmering veil. "I hated you."
"I know."
She twisted her hands in her lap. "I know why you married me." When he didn't respond, she added, a little irritably, "Why did you not explain? Your brother had to write me a letter."
"Would you have believed me?"
Ashe chewed on her lip, more girlish than ladylike. Vayne reminded himself that she was seventeen, not nearly a woman, and felt something odd twist in his gut. "I'm not sure I do. But my father does."
"It does not matter."
"Does it not?" Ashe's temper flares. "Did you not care that I hated you? Why did you not care enough to explain?" She took a deep breath, and he found himself speechless, then she sighed. "When I first saw you, you in your armor on your white chocobo, I was glad."
"You were?" Vayne looked down at her, blinking.
"I had always known that my marriage would be arranged. I was glad that you were handsome, that you looked intelligent and kind and wise." She had blushed when he had kissed her wrist, Vayne recalled. He had thought her father had explained. Certainly he had not touched her on the wedding night. "And then on the night itself you did not… then I knew it was true. You had only wanted the kingdom." Not me.
"I did not touch you because you were sixteen," Vayne said, and sat down beside her. "Not because I did not want you."
She thought that over, her head lowered, and he pulled off his gloves, reaching over, slowly, to cup one soft cheek. Ashe allowed him to lean close, even as she murmured, "I have yet to forgive you still. But I may someday understand."
"Allow me to make some reparation, my Lady," Vayne whispered, leaning further, and her lips were full and sweet as they parted.
