[Please see author's note at the end of the story for continuity information.
It was after midnight, and Queen Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca was still awake. She had a box of documents that had been left to her after her husband's death. Among them was his certificate of birth, their marriage certificate, his certificate of death.
She stared at the last one for a long while, reading the coroner's report. She shuddered when she read the words on the page, having trouble stringing them together into sentences.
She remembered when they brought her the news. He had died on the battlefield, fighting for his country and Dalmasca alike. He had not suffered. It was quick, and most likely painless.
Reading the report made her hands tremble. He had suffered. Captain Basch fon Ronsenburg had reported that Lord Rasler Heios Nabradia lived for maybe another hour or two, choking and drowning in his own blood. Basch cleared the blood from Rasler's throat long enough for him to utter his last words, "How bad is it?"
Basch was powerless. Rasler choked to death moments later.
Reading the document, Ashe resented the soldiers who lied to her about his death, but understood why. They were trying to ease her suffering.
She folded the certificate of death back into thirds and filed it away, rolling on her back to examine her marriage certificate. She couldn't help but giggle to herself, thinking about him.
Their marriage had been arranged. There was no denying that. It was a "marriage of convenience," as he would have called it, between Dalmasca and Nabradia.
And yet…
They were smitten with one another. When he arrived with his father and entourage on a strong-looking chocobo, she met him with a hug and a kiss, as if she had known him for years.
That night at dinner they had slipped a paper back and forth under the table, asking each other embarrassingly personal questions that would have sent their fathers into conniptions if they'd spoke of it out loud.
By the end of dinner, both of them were red-faced and giggling, and Ashe's father had chalked it up to too much wine for such young people.
Perhaps King Raminas wasn't completely wrong. Long after their note-passing was forgotten, Ashe was sneaking into Rasler's room and into his bed, both of them grinning stupidly and kissing sloppily, neither of them concerned about being caught.
They didn't think. They didn't need to. Rasler made love to her, pushing her into the mattress, his breath hot on her neck.
"You are leaving tomorrow," she said gloomily afterward, her head on his chest.
His fingers were in her hair and his chest was still heaving a bit. He grinned. "I will return soon. We will live together before the year is out."
The Queen folded the marriage certificate back up and sighed. They had lived together for only a few days before Nabradia was attacked, followed quickly by Dalmasca.
Then he was dead.
Nabradia had been decimated, so she had requested that both Rasler and his father be interred in the Dalmascan tomb below the palace. No one had objected, and their tombs stood parallel to one another, on either side of the stone walkway.
It was still several hours before dawn, so Ashe pushed her door open and peeked out, stepping out of her room. She wiggled her toes a bit—the floor was cold. She wondered how cold it would be in the tomb.
She avoided the guards as best she could, skipping behind walls and darting down hallways. She started to giggle, clapping a hand over her mouth.
She remembered Rasler vehemently wanting a glass of wine one night. At half-past two in the morning, he slipped into her room and tugged her hand, demanding that she come with him.
"You know these halls better than I," he said. "I shall go with or without you, but it is your disgrace if I am caught!" He cackled wildly and darted out the door, with Ashe chasing him, pulling a robe on.
He seized her outside the door and pressed her to the wall, kissing her. "Please?" He said, working his best cute face.
"Very well," she said in mock annoyance. "But only so that you do not sully my name."
They snuck down the very same hallways that Ashe did this night, giggling and shushing one another. Only instead of turning down into the tomb, they climbed a flight of stairs into the kitchen where Rasler snatched a bottle of well-aged wine.
"You're no better than a common thief," Ashe sniffed playfully, and Rasler crouched, grinning at her.
"Oh no." She said, backing up. "No, no, no, Rasler, no!" But she had to dart around the working island in the center of the kitchen to get away from him as he lunged at her.
"Not a thief, but a pirate," he growled. "And I've plans to pillage you!"
She put her hands on her hips, ready to rebuke him, but she shrieked when he vaulted over the island, sliding over and seizing her with one arm and tossing her over his shoulder, still carrying the bottle of wine in one hand.
She hammered on his back with her fists, kicking her legs and demanding to be put down. Rasler, this time oblivious to the guards (who stood staring), carried her jovially back up to her room where he tossed her onto her bed. He set the bottle of wine down on her dresser and was ready to find something to open it with when Ashe let out a strangled battle cry and leapt onto his back.
Remembering all of this, Ashe sunk down against the wall, tears streaming down her face, her whole body shaking with laughter. What fun they had had that night. After wrestling around a bit, they used a pen to open the bottle of wine and they drank from the bottle.
When they were both properly blitzed, they made love again, giggling and assuring one another of their love.
They didn't wake up until after noon the next day.
Ashe now walked down the stone steps to the tomb and down the long aisle, turning left to reach her husband's stone sarcophagus. She sat on the edge of it and ran her fingers over the carefully carved, jewel encrusted closure.
"Hello, my prince," she whispered, feeling tears sting her eyes. Still she smiled. "I have been thinking of you all day."
The man asleep in stone didn't respond to her. Still, she felt his warmth around her.
"Do you know what day it is?" She knew that if he were alive, he would stumble over the date for a moment, remember suddenly and respond bashfully.
"Valentione's," she whispered. "You thought this day was so silly, I'll never forget. But still…I hope you will be my Valentine this year, and every year."
She produced a satin heart stuffed with chocobo down that she had made with Penelo earlier that day. They had rimmed them with fine lace and she wrote her name, and Rasler's name, on the front of it in elegant script.
She placed it on the sarcophagus and leaned down to kiss the stone surface. "I miss you, Rasler," she whispered almost inaudibly.
She stood and moved out of the tomb, walking back upstairs to an empty bed and feeling, all things considered, only a little sad.
[First and foremost, this story takes place anytime after Dalmasca's sovereignty is restored. "Valentione's Day" is not a typo—it is the Final Fantasy XI equivalent of Valentine's Day, and since 12 borrowed much from 11, I decided to reuse it here, for the occasion.