I do not own FFXII. Ivaela, however, came out of my head.

It had been nearly two years since the defeat of Vayne Solidor and the crash of the Bahamut. Balthier often thought how lucky he and Fran had been to have made it out alive. Since they had recovered from the rather severe wounds their heroic act had rendered them, they had taken to the skies once more, continuing their happy, carefree lives as pirates. That life had brought them to the Nam-Yensa Sandsea, on a hunt to raise their funds until treasure-seeking became a bit more lucrative.

Balthier felt one of Fran's arrows wiz past his head, and watched with a mild look of amusement as it struck one of the abominable little creatures that inhabited the place in the forehead. The Urtan-Yensa were a vile race of…whatever they were, and they were out in droves today; Balthier had lost count of how many they had taken down that day, but it had to be over 100. Sighing, he followed Fran across the shimmering sands. Their mark shouldn't be much further…

The cries of the Urtan-Yensa grew to a fevered pitch as they neared a cliff jutting out into the desert. It sounded as if hundreds of the little creatures were waiting just beyond the turn, out of sight. Fran looked quizzically at Balthier, who cocked his gun and nodded. They stepped around the corner…

…and saw a young woman in the midst of the horde of Urtan-Yensa, fighting them off desperately with a rather long sword. Balthier and Fran rushed to her aid, taking careful aim so as not to hit the girl. But for every one that they felled, two more seemed to turn up in its place. The battle raged for what felt like hours, until finally all of the creatures had fallen, a large pile of dark bodies against the glistening white sand. The girl had fallen in the center of these bodies, and accepted Balthier's hand gratefully as he helped her to her feet.

"Thank you, so very much. I could never have taken them alone. I owe you my life, I…"

She trailed off, her eyes widening and mouth falling open just a little. They were used to this; a Hume traveling with a Viera was not something you see every day. For that matter, a Viera was not something you see every day. But to Balthier's surprise, the girl stared not at Fran, but at him. Her breathing was ragged, and she was noticeably trembling. Balthier looked back at her, into her large amber eyes; eyes that suddenly seemed so familiar to him. Eyes very much like his own. It was his turn to gape open mouthed.

"Ffamran?" she whispered.

Ivaela? No, it couldn't be, she had died, he had seen her die more than a decade ago. The plague. The plague had come, had ravaged her tiny, defenseless body, had stolen the light from those beautiful eyes. He had never left her side, had held her hand as she drew her last breath, had kissed her cold forehead, which only moments previous had been on fire with a terrible fever. He had held her small, lifeless body in his arms, bitterly fighting anyone who had dared try and take her from him. No. It was just the desert heat, he was just imagining things, she was dead, this girl just, just…

"What is the matter brother, do you not recognize me?" He could hear the laughter and the smugness in her lilting voice, she the cockiness in her smile. His smile. No, no you're dead, you're dead…

"You're dead," he croaked. "You died, ten years ago. I saw it, I watched you die, I felt…"

"You watched a cleverly calculated ruse set up by that pathetic excuse of a human being we call a father," she interjected, her voice now hard and filled with bitterness. "Apparently an illegitimate daughter hurt his high class, aristocrat image. It hurt his chances with the royal family and the Senate. So, of course, the most convenient thing to do was to get rid of me. He couldn't just send me away, that would look bad on him as well. He had enough of a heart not to just outright kill me at least. So what better than to blame the plague? And then while everyone is grieving sneak me away and send me to my mother. Brilliant plan, no?"

Balthier cursed the memory of his father. Was there no one's life he hadn't ruined? Anger, hatred, confusion, pain, all of these images burned within him, his head whirling. But another was seeping into his conscious, an emotion that over powered all the others. He could not remember feeling happier in his life; his sister was alive, she was standing her before him, why was he just staring stupidly at her?

And abandoning all pretenses, Balthier pulled the girl forward in a crushing embrace, tears flowing unrestrained down his cheeks.

They had abandoned the search for the mark; there were more important things to think about now, like Balthier's grown-up baby sister now beside them. They were making the long trek back to the Strahl, Balthier insisting that she rest, that he take care of the wounds the battle with the Urtan-Yensa had caused, and that they catch up on the last ten years. Ivaela chatted animatedly and promptly quelled her brother's worries, assuring him she would survive the scratches. She had fared much worse, and lived to tell the tale.

"So what are you doing out here anyways?" Balthier asked when all other options of small talk had been exhausted.

The cocky, playful smile crept back onto her face.

"I'm on a hunt. A rather highly coveted mark, a treasure that my employers have searched for for years. I could retire tomorrow with the price on this one."

Fran looked from Ivaela to Balthier and smirked.

"Like brother like sister, eh Balthier?" She turned a kept walking, her long snowy curls blowing behind her in the wind.

"B-Balthier?" Ivaela whispered, barely loud enough that he could hear.

He called to her over his shoulder as he followed after Fran, "The change in career warranted a change in name; Ffamran is hardly fit for a leading man. What fool goes and names their son Ffamran anyways?"

His laugh rang out across the desert, but Ivaela didn't join in. She stood rooted to the spot, staring at the back of her brother's head, feeling distinctly chilly despite the immense heat of the Sandsea at noon.

'Balthier.'