Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XII and all related characters belong to SquareEnix. No infringement is intended.

This story takes place immediately after the final confrontation with Dr. Cid, told in Balthier's voice. I figured an introspective vignette was probably a good place to dab my toes into FFXII fiction, so let me know how it turns out. © December 2006

Reflection

I knew it would come to this. For six years he was consumed by his vision, willing to pay any price for his beloved nethicite… I knew he wouldn't suddenly see the error of his ways and surrender his research.

And yet, watching him collapse… I wasn't prepared for it.

He folded like a puppet with its strings cut, harsh breaths straining in the silence. And suddenly, my gun was unbearably heavy in my hands.

I truly didn't want this. I never did. When I ran from Archades, from my Judgeship, one of the reasons was that I never wanted to face this moment. The lines had been drawn; it had become evident that the man that held me as a babe, who inculcated in me intellectual curiosity and dignity when I was a youth, was gone.

I reasoned that, if I could run away, fly into the skies and never look back, I'd never have to bring our battle of wills to a resolution.

For all my running, I never got anywhere.

Setting down arms, I moved toward him as if I were under some sort of spell.

That… thing appeared in my way; the Mist-shrouded shadow that twisted the decent man Cidolfus Demen Bunansa had once been.

Staring into its cold white eyes, I resolved that if it didn't stand down, I would find a way to kill a god.

"Let… let him by, Venat," Cid gasped. "It is done…"

The Occurian faded, giving me free passage. And faced with no further obstacle, I held my breath and braced myself to face him, knowing it would be the last time.

He managed to find his footing, precarious as it was, and for a flash I thought... I hoped... he wasn't as injured as I first assumed. But the Mist clinging to his limbs grew visible, and as the seconds passed, I realized I was beginning to see through him.

It was disturbing enough a sight to turn my eyes away. "Was there no other way?" I wondered aloud.

His breath was shallow as he spoke. "Spend your pity elsewhere. If you're so set on running, hadn't you best run off?"

I scowled at him, surprised by how much that stung. I'd thought I had passed the point in my life where his words had the ability to hurt.

Then, a wry grin emerged; one he'd given me a thousand times before... one I'd seen a thousand times in the mirror. "Fool of a pirate."

There was affection in his voice; there was no room for doubt. And all I could do was gaze at him, at the face that was so familiar when it wasn't twisted in a mad, snarling smile.

But he never was mad, was he? He didn't hear imaginary voices, nor was it delusion that led him down his destructive path. He was deceived; manipulated by a being whose power I could not fathom.

Perhaps, if I hadn't been so quick to run... I would've found another way.

His grin dissolved into a pained grimace. Driven by feelings so natural, yet so unfamiliar to the man I've become, I reached out to steady him...

...only for my hand to pass through.

He noticed the gesture, and from his small smile, I gather he read my intent. "You… you refused to play your part, Ffamran. I wanted… to put the fate of Ivalice back into the hands of Man. You were to be… one of those men."

He'd never told me thus in so many words, but I should have been able to tell, had I really considered all the effort he placed into making me a Judge.

I'd thought he'd wanted someone in a position of power that could aid his politicking. I'd assumed he'd wanted a puppet, tied by bonds of responsibility and familial affection, to maneuver through the elite forces of Archadia.

Perhaps... I misread his intent. And yet I know, I've always known, that was not my path.

"I took my fate into my own hands, Cid." Even in his last moments, I couldn't address him as my father. "Yours was not a part I was willing to play."

A vague grin then pulled his fading lips. "Then… in part, I succeeded. Your fate... was your own."

And then, like fog burning in heat of the sun, he was gone.

oooOOOooo

I had stared at the fading Mist that had shaped Cid's body for a long moment after, deeply sickened by the fact that the Mist so consumed him, no trace of the man was left behind.

Then, too much happened at once for me to spare a moment longer. Fran collapsed, reeling from the Mist boiling from the Sun-Cryst, and then sudden, very tactile waves of energy had erupted from the stone.

I was forced to run. Practice helped me keep a cool head when faced with such inconveniences as impending doom, and I was able to herd the party into the Strahl before Reddas cleaved the Sun-Cryst with his blades, triggering an explosion that could surely be seen and heard as far as Rozzaria.

But as the hours passed, and the threat of an untimely demise paled, I was once again left with my thoughts.

With Fran resting below, the co-pilot's chair was empty as I directed the Strahl over the restless waves. I chose a leisurely pace, wary of the lingering power that nearly consumed the airship during our escape. It was a time to be conservative, lest I push the old girl passed her limits.

Of course, sitting alone in the pilot's chair, with nothing to look upon save the ocean below, gave me far too much time to think.

I never much liked that; reflecting on things I could not change... but the only escape I could think of rested in a bottle of brandy, which I ought to avoid at least until we're back on the ground.

"Balthier, a word?"

My face smoothed of all concern almost automatically, as I turned to greet my visitor. "Of course, Princess. Have a seat."

She settled in the empty seat beside me, her hands folded in her lap as she gazed out the glass. "Where are we headed?"

"Balfonheim. T'is the closest safe harbor to restock and plan our next move."

She nodded. "We can deliver the news of Reddas' heroism to his friends, as well."

It was a solemn thought, reminding me of who else was lost this day. I did not call Judge Zecht friend, but he was a noble statesman, an effective leader of men... and he died saving us all. "He deserves as much."

"He deserves much more." Her voice was soft as her eyes settled on her twined fingers. "So many have died in this war. So much misery..."

Her obvious sadness was disquieting. "You should not mourn Reddas. His death has finally balanced the scales of justice to his satisfaction; he has fully repented for the tragedy of Nabudis. And in his death he secured your life, so you can end this all."

"So I can end this all." Her chin lifted, and in the quiet I could hear her sigh. "Still, those who have died cannot be forgotten. Their devotion and self-sacrifice are the foundation upon which we stand and fight."

After studying her calmed profile for what I realized was an inordinate length of time, I returned my attention to the air and sea. And as I flew, I felt her eyes upon me more than once.

Finally, she broke the silence. "Balthier, I pray you do not think me forward for asking this, but..."

Wry amusement pulled my lips as a teasing reply formed on my tongue. 'Forward' indeed… had she no idea what could leap into a man's thoughts at those words? At times she showed a naiveté that seemed impossible in a woman once married.

"..tell me about Dr. Cid."

Skies above, her request shocked me.

I stared at the ocean for a long moment. I did not look at her. "What point is there in discussing an enemy slain? Cid can do us no harm any longer."

I heard her shift. "If he was only an enemy in your eyes, you would not mourn him so."

I blinked, and my hand itched to reach for my face, intending to look for tears, or even a frown I didn't feel. I managed to override the impulse. "There is no sense in mourning him," I told her truthfully.

"Perhaps," her tone was obliging, "but the heart of a Hume is not always sensible."

Another deep breath. "I have seen many kinds of mourning these two years. Not all tears leak from the eyes. Some hide behind shallow smiles."

Her voice gentled. "Tell me about the man who still holds a place in your heart, despite the evils he has done. Tell me about your father."

I did not answer; I couldn't. I left my past behind, never to think upon it again. Why drag up memories long dead? What good could it possibly serve?

"The past is behind us, Princess." I couldn't muster the wry detachment that had become so much of my identity, so my words came out toneless. "T'is best to consider what is before us."

She turned her chair, facing me completely. Her eyes seemed to pin me for a moment, and couldn't help but notice their color; a pale gray with traces of blue, not unlike the sky just before a storm.

"My father was sovereign of Dalmasca, and I was the youngest of nine," she spoke, surprising me yet again with the sudden turn in conversation. "He was a benevolent ruler with a deep love for his country; his focus was ever upon the future. And I was never the future of Dalmasca."

Intrigued, I switched on the auto-pilot and gave the princess my full attention.

"I confess, at times I resented him." Another wistful sigh. "I learned letters and history, more so I could provide intelligent conversation than actually lead men. The most I could do for Dalmasca was marry well; there was no place for me to offer my views or my arms. My father never let me sit in Council, and he repeatedly denied my requests to learn the arts of war."

Her fine fingers fell to her lap, absently tracing the engraved armor plated above her knee. "I knew he wanted to protect me. Had he his way, I would've been kept safe from the evils of the world, sequestered in the palace in Rabanastre until my care was entrusted to a strong husband. I knew from childhood that this was my fate... though I did not like it."

Her smile grew, becoming just a touch self-conscious. "Finally, I rebelled. I was fourteen."

I tried to imagine it; a slighter Ashe with rounder cheeks, yet with the same electric spark in her eyes that demanded acknowledgement. It wasn't a very hard picture to conjure.

"I set my heart upon formal training in armed and hand-to-hand combat. I formalized my reasoning, prepared to insist upon it. As my father was occupied with matters of state, I pled my case to my eldest brother Raminas, arguing that it would be in my best interests to know self-defense, in case I was ever in danger without a knight to protect me. Instead of approving my training, he found a… different solution. He assigned Sir Vossler as my personal knight, to accompany me whenever I left the security of the palace's private wings."

I tried not to laugh, lest I distract the princess from her diverting tale. Though, even more diverting than the story was Ashe herself, her posture relaxed as she leaned into the leather seat, her gaze distant even though she faced me, her smile warm with affection and amusement.

"Needless to say, I was furious with Rami for subverting my request, and I refused to cooperate. In the first week, I slipped away from Sir Vossler on no less than eight occasions, stubbornly wandering the markets in Rabanastre or even hiding in the confiscatory. I'm afraid I turned poor Vossler's hair an early gray with my antics, but by the tenth day, my father set me aside."

Her tone lost some of its humor, becoming more tender. "He heard my complaints patiently, and finally decided that training would be a benefit to me. Even if I never had a use for it, I would learn discipline, he said. 'It takes strength of soul and body to properly wield a blade,' he told me, and starting the following morning, he took it upon himself to teach me swordsmanship.

"It became a ritual for us, and for over two years we hardly missed a lesson. For two hours, beginning every day at dawn, we practiced in the private gardens, or in the stateroom in poor weather. He taught me proper form, how to use my smaller size and agility to best a far stronger opponent, and how to read an opponent. Before my lessons began, I never realized how accomplished a warrior my father had been. But as I watched him, I learned that, as useful as skill with a sword could be, the greatest of challenges cannot be solved with base violence."

A soft sigh. "I learned so much about my father, about the duties of royalty, and even the status of policy and international treaties in those sessions. It became a special time, a time reserved only for us, and I appreciated the opportunity I was given every day thereafter."

After a few moments I shook off the subdued quiet her tale had spun around me, finding my voice again. "Why did you tell me this, Princess?"

She met my gaze. "It is my fondest memory of my father. And now, I take comfort in these happy memories; in the love he showed me. Moments such as these shaped the person I am now, and I carry them with me always. Should I ever lose those memories… I lose myself."

Her fingers twined again, and this time, I noticed the manner in which she stroked her bare finger.

And I was suddenly seized by a feeling quite like guilt, as I recalled the other lost loved one she surely missed, whose property I now called my own.

I knew what I was doing when I demanded Rasler's ring as collateral. Yes, it was a lovely trinket that would fetch a hefty price at market, but I also knew it would show the mettle of the prideful princess I met in the sewers. If she had the strength to see her quest through to its end, to see her kingdom restored to its former glory, the first step would be cutting away the pain of the past; surrendering the ring and all for which it stood.

It was clear that I didn't give the princess due credit. Somehow, she was able to press diligently into the future without cutting ties to the past.

To find comfort in the past, rather than the pain of loss. Would that I could...

And yet Ashe's steady, coaxing gaze seemed to drag the memories from the depths into which I'd buried them. "Six years ago, Venat first sunk its claws into Dr. Cid, ultimately changing him into the cruel, obsessed monster you first met in Draklor," I began, feeling more than a little awkward. "Before that, he was still a devoted servant of science, eagerly expending most of his time and energy in the pursuit of the elusive 'progress' that could never be fully accomplished. For much of my youth, his greatest contributions to my upbringing came in brief words of wisdom, aimed at molding me into a proper gentleman. At the time I was, well… starved for his attention, and I eagerly took what I could get."

I fell silent, my next words sticking to my tongue. It was a place I didn't want to venture, a strange time where absolute, blinding misery blended with… a warmer feeling.

"I wouldn't call it a fond moment, but I suppose my most memorable time with Cid was shortly after my mother passed."

Judging from her startled eyes and open mouth, the princess hadn't expected such a subject to surface.

My eyes would not turn away from her, watching silently as she regained her composure, her expression shifting from surprise to something approaching sympathy. Or, perhaps empathy, given her own losses. "Go on," she urged.

I couldn't resist her, and I felt my stomach clench as memories were spun into words. "My mother was a kind woman, yet she was always frail, prey to one illness or another so often I hardly remember a time she was truly hale. I was just shy of eleven when she succumbed to a fierce strain of pneumonia."

My hands itched to do something, so I gripped my knees, releasing a fraction of the tension that built as I delved deeper into my story. "What I remember most about my mother was her sketches. She sketched everything that caught her eye; simple coal on parchment. She found art a mere diversion, so she never sought to frame any of her works. Instead, she kept them in a box within her closet, as if she never wanted anyone to see them. About a week after she died, when all the ceremonies and rites had ended, I sat at the door to her closet for hours, flipping through the pieces absently. It was a small comfort; I felt that by touching her sketches I could be close to her. Then, Cid came in.

"He looked at me for a long moment without saying a word. Then, he reached over me, taking the sketches and the box from my lap, and nodded toward the hallway."

I could still visualize the strange, silent walk from the master bedroom to the sitting room. I could still feel the confusion as I stared at his back, at his embroidered, blood-colored vest.

"He led us to the sitting room. I was surprised to see a machine on the table, and a large, leather bound portfolio. I was even more surprised when he reached into the box of my mother's sketches, and studied one in silence."

My uncomfortable grip on my knees eased. "'Your mother sketched this one three weeks after your birth,' he told me. 'She claimed she'd never seen me smile as widely as I did holding… my son.'" I stumbled slightly over the words, hearing Cid's far-off tone in my memory, feeling the same warmth I felt that day. "And he showed me the sketch. It was Cid cradling me."

Ashe smiled brilliantly at that, leaning forward in her chair with rapt attention. "After that, I stared at the sketch for a long time, before he pressed it into the machine. It turned out to be a scanner, capturing the image on disc. After the sketch was scanned, he slid the original into the first page in the portfolio."

Then, impossibly, I felt the urge to smile. "It became a project for us, and it took us over a month. Each evening, when he returned from Draklor, we'd settle in the sitting room. He'd tell me the story behind each and every sketch; and I can't tell you how much it surprised me that he knew her so well, given his long absences. Some evenings we'd only get through three or four sketches, as he'd get wrapped up in the storytelling. Then, he would press each piece of parchment to the scanner, and I would add each original to the portfolio."

I took a slow breath, feeling the last of my anxiety escape as I exhaled. "I never felt as close to him as I did that month. He was never so accessible, so human."

She nodded, and that was the only reply she gave.

We continued our journey over the quiet ocean in a companionable silence. I took on the steering while she sat beside me, her gaze fixed on the horizon.

After a while my mood shifted once again, a bit of cheer filling the space all that anxiety and regret had vacated. "For such a young lady, you have quite a bit of wisdom, Princess."

Her brow quirked at my irreverent tone. "Not quite so young, Pirate," she replied, though her tone wasn't nearly as sharp as when truly upset.

Then, her expression softened. "Though, I am glad I was able to aid the man whose counsel has kept me on the right path through this ordeal."

Without looking away from the horizon, she reached out and touched my hand; the same hand, I noticed, which caught her own when we first arrived at the Phon Coast. When I first told her the truth of my past.

Not for the first time, I was glad I had done so.

Shifting my hand, I was able to take hers in a loose grasp. "Thank you, Ashe." I said quietly, but with the greatest sincerity.

She smiled kindly, squeezing my hand once before pulling away.