Disclaimer: The world of Final Fantasy XII and all it's inhabitants belong to Square Enix. My obsession with one character in particular belongs to me. (Though they should really recieve credit for that as well.)

A/N: This is a random story that was inspired by the tedious journey through Giruvegan in the game. Mostly by that annoying floor that just had to making a ringing noise with every step you took. That sound just about drove me crazy, thus, this got written. It's my first attempt at writing from Basch's point of view and I'm not at all confident that I did a good job, but it was a fun trip nonetheless! Let me know if you like it, and if his voice is at all accurate, I would truly hate to make a complete mess out of my favorite character.

Also, I don't know if I made this very clear in my writing, but this scene takes place right before the party enters the Great Crystal.

Madness

To be sure, Basch has flirted with madness before. In his cage, accompanied by the myriad demons of his past and a silence that became something alive in its unbroken stretches, lucidity was something he forsook with an eagerness that might have been shameful. He had known, though, his insanity for the luxury that it was. When his brother again came to him, speaking of rebellion in Rabanastre and one captured insurgent in particular; when the orphaned boy and the pirates granted him release, however grudging, from Nalbina, it was a simple thing to anchor himself again in reality.

Giruvegan breeds a lunacy that is different, and altogether more dangerous.

It is the floor that sings under their feet, a keening that cannot be ignored even in the midst of battling fiends.

It is the mist that roils and coalesces around them, making him ever question what is before him.

It is the crystal looming, too vast to be understood, emanating a malign awareness.

It is the Princess Ashe, oblivious to warnings or advice, to the increasing danger to herself and her comrades. Driven by the ghost of her husband, by her growing obsession with the shards of nethicite and their power, she presses ever forward, deeper into the ancient city. When he speaks to her, his words fall unheeded into the pregnant air. She will listen to nothing but the song of the stones.

It is a thousand different things, details great and small, picking at his calm and slowly increasing his despair.

"She cannot love you," his footsteps sing as he follows his charge. He knows, but still madness claws deeper. "He will not forgive you," they croon, and this time he answers aloud.

"I know!" His voice echoes across the cavernous space and all turn to him with a weary curiosity, all save the princess. Her disregard wounds him in a way he knows is improper. Basch shakes his head grimly and takes larger strides to catch up with Lady Ashe. The others reluctantly follow.

They stop to rest near a crystal, each sighing in relief with the momentary revival its blue glow supplies. Penelo takes advantage of the calm to spend precious experience learning the Cleanse spell. She mutters absently to herself of disease, a name he does not recognize falls from her lips and he wonders if it is the name of someone she loved lost to the plague. He wonders if he is not the only one quietly struggling to keep a grasp on sanity.

Vaan crouches near her to press his shoulder against hers in wordless support. Penelo shakes her head as if attempting to dispel her thoughts but does not pull away from his touch, choosing instead to let her head rest lightly on his arm.

Moments later Ashe is standing again, staring intently at the massive bulwark before them. Wait, Basch wants to tell her, just a minute or two longer.

The children must rest, he could implore.

Fran needs time to adjust to the mist, he could reason.

We might lie in wait for Balthier's father, he could suggest.

I am afraid, he will not speak aloud, and it is in denial of his own cowardice that he too stands and joins her. He is afraid of many things, Basch knows, but it is his fear that she will again ignore him that carries the most shame, and keeps him silent.

The short reprieve they experience in the empty halls is paid dearly for when the Tyrant wyrm crashes down before them, each impact making the floors scream with menace. Basch hoists his great sword and ignores how much heavier it now feels. He shouts commands to the others, fighting to make his voice heard above the roar of the fiend and the shrill bleats coming from beneath their feet. There is pain when his ability to cast tecknicks is stripped from him, but it is vague and unimportant. Far more pressing are the beast's massive fireballs that it flings between devastating swipes from its claws. Basch watches, mute, as the flames hurl toward him, too quickly for him to generate fear or steel against the heat, until a hastily cast Shell films his vision and deflects most of the damage. He gives a curt nod to a frantic Penelo – she is too busy shouting the spell for the rest of the party to notice – before raising his arms to hack at the monster once more.

Victory is hard won and brings little satisfaction with it. The party is breathing hard around him, struggling to stay standing as they watch the Tyrant dissipate in a wash of sparks and mist. When the waystone materializes before them, only Ashe casts an eager eye upon it. Basch chants the Libra spell in a voice hoarse from overuse and allows himself a few more seconds to drink in the mist around him. When he has enough he throws a Cura into the air above him and sighs when the blanket of green light covers him.

Balthier is swinging his head around as he holsters his gun, accusing every shadow of harboring his father. Fran is taking deep, steadying breaths and unstringing her bow with an expert's precision and calm, only the slight twitches of her ears belying her discomfort. Penelo is massaging her throat, sore from the mist that scalds as it escapes, transmuted into magick. Vaan stands with his sword clasped loosely in his hand, the tip of the blade resting upon the ground, and his eyes drift around with an alarming vacancy.

Basch surveys all of them with growing concern, and he knows they should turn back and seek out the blue crystal again, if only to restore their depleted health and mist then immediately press forward again. He knows this, but he glances back toward the princess, allows his gaze to settle on her with something more than duty or loyalty coloring it.

She is in front of the waystone, one hand poised to touch it with the other resting elegantly on the hilt of her katana. She turns, impatient, and swipes an errant lock of hair out of her eyes before glaring at the others around her.

"Shall we continue forth?"

She is flushed with the efforts of battle and her eyes glint with obsession and there is an ugly line furrowed between her brows from her frown. And she is beautiful, beautiful.

In this, as in anything, he will not refuse her.

Basch steps up to the statue, positioning his self across from her, and their eyes meet above the radiant crystal as they wait for the others to join them. A tiny smile lifts the corners of her lips, softens her features, and he does not know why she smiles. In thanks, in anticipation, in camaraderie? But it elicits a wave of emotions that uplift and terrify him at once and even as he fights to keep a neutral face he can feel the ties that bind him to her growing tighter, stronger.

Balthier and Fran have taken their places around the waystone, leaving the two children to follow once their destination has been secured, and together the four reach out to grasp the device. As the waystone releases a burst of power to engulf and carry the group to trials unknown, Basch wonders if he will ever again lead his life as his own, and not as a vassal to his stubborn liege. The question becomes immaterial as he realizes he has no desire to. He will follow this woman into the depths of madness itself.

When he opens his eyes to the orange light glaring around him, he understands immediately where it is the waystone has taken them, and how accurate his train of thought is.