Author's Note: I am terrified of OOCness… I am so sorry in advance.
Rating: T for character death
Genre: General/kind of angst but not really?
Pairings: Balthier/Ashe, convenient Al-Cid/Ashe, platonic Fran/Balthier
Summary: When Fran pays Ashe a visit to confront her
about the recent changes in Balthier, she hardly expects the off-solution to
the problem. Oh, well; so long as she gets her partner back. Right?
Two Wrong Don't Make Right
By: Mazzie May
Fran's angry. Livid. Vaan would say she's 'freaking pissed'. Pick a term. Her heels click in time with the blood pumping hard and heavy through her long ears as she makes her way briskly across the balcony of the Queen's Quarters.
Balthier had come back upset. Again. It had been fine enough in the beginning. Fran hadn't had anything to say at her partner's affair with the Queen. She was a little annoyed at spending so much time in Rabanastre, but he always came back with a shiny new piece for the Strahl for her to play with as compensation for her time. She didn't think it would last long. But that was at least a year ago.
Balthier and Ashelia never see each other. Once every couple of months. All the feelings they have, all their desires and dark thoughts that grow and swell in between each visit are stuffed into one night of what Fran imagined being absolute mindless passion. Not all passion is good passion, though; over the last year, things have gone wrong, grown painful and sore and Balthier was coming back to the ship a little bit more tender and cross every time.
Tonight, though… tonight, he looks completely ragged, and Fran has had enough. She and he have been together for along time, they fit perfectly, and she knows him inside and out. She'd maul anyone who ever came between them in such away because they were just right. Soul mates. It didn't matter that he might be in love, or that she'll outlive him. Because in the here and in the now, they are best friends and each other's better halves.
Which is why she's going to slap the God dammed hell out of Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca for wronging him so. Very few things rattle Balthier. Fran can count on one hand what bothers him these days, and no persons are on that list. But this queen has taken him by his shoulders and shaken the life out of him, and Fran's finding it increasing frustrating.
Fran stops just outside the glass doors and watches Ashelia set down a small phial of something and reach for a large green bottle, and pouring wine into a large drinking saucer. She's righting this wrong tonight. She pulls open the doors with enough force to shock the windows into vibrating. The queen turns around suddenly, quite surprised, a bit of her drink spilling over the rim.
"Fran!" she cries, shocked, and Fran can see the slight raise in skin around the girl's red-lined eyes and knows she's been crying. She's been hurt. Not nearly as much as he. Ashelia's shaking hands steady her gauntlet.
"I thought you might've been…" She swallows and Fran watches her throat's motion, her 'thought' obvious. "Well, never mind…" She pushes longish bangs from her face, the rest of the hair pulled back into a tight fold held in by pens and clips. Fran imagines it's a little longer than the last time she's seen it (it was to the middle of her back) and recalls a comment made by Balthier about how lovely women with long hair are.
She can't stop her frown, and Ashelia tilts her head, something like curious fear in her eyes. An expression she must have picked up from him. She holds up her chalice, and Fran crosses her arms, irritated.
Ashelia forces a smile and says, "To the future of Dalmasca." Fran raises one eyebrow as the Queen downs all the contents of her goblet. How strange, the face she makes. One would think the wine is disgusting… She downs it all in large swallows before dropping the silver, gasping, gagging and coughing.
"Mothers to be should not drink," Fran advises, a heavy feeling in stomach forming. What if the child is his? Would she loose more of him to this Jezebel? What if he decides to stay? She would not stay with him, that is for certain. The anger is back in a hot rush. If she must part with him she will, but it will not be because of this girl.
The queen picks the drinking saucer up and sighs, rubbing her throat as she falls into a chair. "I'm not with child." There's some kind of relief, but Fran watches the tight smile and wonders what she doesn't know.
No matter. She uncrosses her arms. "Fix him."
Ashelia blinks, still smiling. "What? I'm sorry?"
"Balthier," she hisses. "Make him as he was."
At his name, the girl flinches something painful, the solid silver chalice falling to the floor, and Fran can't fight the feeling of triumph. At least he suffers in company. "I don't know what you mean."
Fran glides quickly across the room and looms over the queen. "I want him back. To how he was. He's not been him for some time, and you are the cause." Fran realizes she's just shy of scowling and leans back, breathing. She rotates her neck to the left as she exhales, cooling her temper. "You've replaced my partner with a poor double. I'd like—"
But she stops, her tongue ramming against the back of her teeth. There's something… off with this Hume. Something wrong. Fran reaches out and grabs as much hair as the pins and clips will allow and turns the girl's head to face her. Fran imagines her nails have drawn blood as she searches her face. Yes, wrong indeed.
"What… have you done?" The question is all curiosity, nearly a whisper. Ashelia blinks slowly, and Fran remembers the small bottle from earlier, knows there's more than alcohol at work. "What have you poisoned yourself with?" The queen only stares, still sort of smiling, and the anger's back. She shakes her by her hair. "Tell me. What have you done?" It's almost a cry, and when there's no response, she shakes even harder.
Her arm jerks to a stop when something warm and wet hits her just beneath the eye and then she sees the small dribble of blood from the girl's nose. It's a little smeared from Fran wrenching her head to and fro, but it is there.
Fran untangles her nails and fingertips from the suddenly messy hair in one pull and the girl slumps off the chair and onto the floor. She's poisoned, something strong to work so quickly, and if she's going to survive she's going to need help and soon.
However, Fran just stares down at her, wondering. Would it truly be so bad if she died? To take her own life… perhaps she's doing them a favor. Them, as in herself and Balthier. Gods knew what this would do to Dalmasca, though, honestly, Fran doesn't care. All that really matter, really has purpose in her life, is their world. The very one this dying Hume threatened. Maybe Fran would just let her spasm…
On the other hand, it's not exactly fair; it's not like Ashelia forced Balthier into this mess. He's just as much to blame. And if she does die, what if he doesn't get better? If Fran doesn't find a way to fix him, then what? It's very possible he'll become more broken than he is now. Or if he knew that she refused to help the dying girl, would he resent her? Hate her forever? Well, his forever, not hers. Still, that could last for many more years.
Or maybe he knew? That might be why he's worse tonight than ever. So, she should let her die…
Before Fran makes a final decision, the doors open into the room and the Dalmascan King, Al-Cid, strides in. Fran relaxes a little at his entrance; she fears him very little. With no king and no heirs, Ashelia had to decide quickly the fate of her country and crown. Al-Cid was the safest option. That was six years ago. There were now three heirs for Dalmasca—all dark skinned. None were Balthier's.
He looks down at Ashelia and looks a little pained, but mostly disappointed. "Dead already?"
His blunt question filled with so little surprise shocks her into silence, and he closes the doors. He waves off her suspicious stare. "This was decided long ago. I could not talk her out of it." He reaches for the wine bottle and another wine saucer. "You know how stubborn women can be." He begins pouring the red liquid. "Oh, and no—" he sets the bottle down and picks up the saucer turning to her. "—your sky pirate does not know."
Fran releases the breath she's been holding. She might be able to live with that kind of knowledge, but if he had really known, to imagine him walking away… The relief that he had no part in this is so much more than she expected. The fact that its there at all is… well, 'surprising' isn't the right term, but something close.
Al-Cid continues looking sorrowfully down at his wife. "She felt she was not best for Dalmasca. She felt…" he takes a slow sip. "…she felt unworthy. That she could only do more wrong." There's something soft and away in his eyes, something like love, but closer to respect. "That if she was gone, someone else could make right."
"I do not care," Fran states, and means it. "I am here for Balthier."
Al-Cid looks up at her, confused. "He did not return to you? He left some time ago—"
"I know where he is. He is not well." She tilts her head down to the soon to be corpse. "I came to seek the reason."
"And to make it stop," he adds, the rim to his lips.
"And to make it stop," she nods once.
"Things would not have worked out between them," he begins, one arm folded over his torso, the other holding the gauntlet near his lips. He's leaning against a tall vanity. "Two different worlds. But you'd know all about that, yes?" He smiles around his mouthful. She places a hand on her hip. "Only, you left your world. Neither of them," he gestures to Ashelia and then to the sky. "Did. Well, she can't, he wouldn't…" he mumbles the last bit into his wine.
Fran feels a sudden wave of pity for the girl. She'd fought hard for her world; she could not leave it. And Balthier most certainly wouldn't stay. Yet, they insisted on trying, anyway. A piece of the pity breaks away into jealousy, because Fran was more than confident that he would not do the same for her. But, then, that's how they are. The pity holds true.
Al-Cid drains his drink. "You should leave now." She turns back to him, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. "I have to find my dead wife," and he slams the gauntlet onto the vanity. "It would not due to call in the guards and have a jealous Viera standing over her."
Fran thinks about protesting against the 'jealous' part, but decides against. He is right, after all, just not in the way he thinks. She nods to him, and disappears into the night.
--
When the Queen is announced dead the next morning, Balthier doesn't come out of his room. It's safe to assume he's devastated to the point of tears, and she's a little worried she's made a mistake.
But when Vaan suggests to them a full-scale investigation, and Balthier waves him off, asking him to let it lie, saying that, "People die" and he should "know better," Fran knows he'll be back to his old self eventually. That things will be right.
What she doesn't know is why she isn't as happy about it as she thought she'd be.
Why things still feel wrong.
Author's Note: God, I do not have an confidence in this piece. I… I don't even know why I'm posting this. Someone told me that I've made Fran WAY out of character. I hope I got closer to the course. This wouldn't be the first time people have told me I've exaggerated a character's aloof/spitefulness. I'm not really aiming for spiteful, or aloof for that matter, I just thought her goal was Balthier's well being, and I figured if she got miffed about something, it would probably be Balthier-related and… Fuck, I don't even know what I'm talking about. Basically, I feel that the balance she and Balthier have achieved over all this time is important to her, and it really doesn't matter who's involved as long as that balance remains. R&R. Please take pity on me.