Basch takes a sip from his ale and grimaces at the acrid taste. A pirate's drink. The soldier long held their sort in contempt and shunned their contact. Neither the fresh breeze of the Balfonheim sea nor the scent of salt and algae in the old port could remove their stench. Those were men without country. Those were men who had forsaken their ancestral tries and torn up their roots for the cheap thrills of gold, adventure and bitter ale. And while they spoke of free will, of a yearning to move about, unfettered and unanchored, Basch retorted harshly that only a life without shame could be a life of freedom.
But now he wavers. As he takes in the odd mingling of races and nationalities in the Balfonheim's tavern and spies golden-haired pirates hidden amongst the towering Rozzarians and slender Dalmascans – Landis survivors? – he wonders if his judgment may have been unduly severe. Could escape be more than the act of the faithless?
He is torn from these thoughts by the loud sound of a bottle being opened clumsily. He turns his heads and meets the faltering sight of Balthier, eyes bloodshot.
"Captain! Aren't you overjoyed to see me?"
The lace trim on the pirate's cuffs has turned burgundy, soiled by bhujerban maddhu. The older man frowns. His companion catches his disapproving gaze and his smile grows strained.
"Relent old man. I am not inebriated. I have not yet submitted to the spell - although I am liable to weaken."
He sits down soundly, attempts to rearrange his mucky cuffs - "a pity" – and casts an ironic glance at Basch.
"Do you have nothing to say? When I converse with you, I fear I live by too many words.'' His laugh is hollow. "Pray, what are you doing here all alone?'
"I am seeking respite from the tiredness,'' Basch replies warily. Although grateful for his help, the sky pirate has yet to earn his trust. The soldier has learned to value steadiness of one's character as the true test of moral fortitude and he fears Balthier will always be a fugitive at heart, as capricious and fickle as a feather in the wind. He remains as cautious around the young man as if he were on a sentinel mission.
''Lying is a pirate's privilege, not a knight's.'' Balthier leans forward, ''I can tell you came here to forget. Desperation clings to you like a woman after lovemaking.''
''I do not wish to forget.'' But even Basch can hear the defensiveness in his voice. Did he not come here to fill his head with never was, with tomorrows that never came to pass? Was he not seeking temporary relief from the sins of a brother in name but never in deed? I wish I could forgive.
''If you're in such luck old fool, why drink?''
Basch can smell from their close proximity the pirate's stale breath and perspiration. ''I am thirsty.''
''Liar!'' Balthier laughs drily and Basch stiffens. ''There must be something. How could there not be when Death's claw has disfigured you?''
Basch reflects on soft fingers tenderly caressing his scar, of strong legs intertwined with his own, of an imperious voice reduced to grotesque sobs, begging to forgiveness after Vossler's betrayal, and can imagine fates more insufferable.
''I had many scars before. Some even worse.''
The Archadian gives a brittle smile. ''You are either very wise or very foolish.''
The soldier deflects the blow, ''My imprisonment did not break me. It did not cripple me. My spirit and will remained untamed.'' He considers other paths he could have followed – Vossler, Gabranth – and is thankful he never deviated. ''There are costs we must endure to remain free and I bore them.''
''Indeed. Why, you were the freer prisoner I ever witnessed.'' A trembling hand springs forward to grab a bottle. ''Chained.'' The empty glass brims over with wine. ''Beaten.'' The cup is drunk with abandon. ''Submitted to another's will.''
The pirate's handsome features are distorted. He is slumped on his chair like a sack of flour, his breath is dolorous and uneven. Basch watches him carefully, torn between compassion and contempt. He does not know whether he intends his next words to be kind or hurtful, ''There is more to freedom than the ability to flee Balthier.''
The young man's bitter laugh resonates in the tavern like an echo in a tunnel. Worrying glances are thrown at their table and Basch suspects the elegant dandy facade has been shelved to reveal a madman. Undaunted, Balthier carries on: ''Who are you to speak of freedom? Ah, but it seems to me all you have gained are merely delusions Captain, for there can be no freedom where there are memories. They are more binding than the most resistant chains. And how soon their pungent stench pervades all other senses; no amount of water can get rid of their rancid taste.'' He raises an eyebrow. ''Or wine it appears.''
Basch detects an unvoiced longing in Balthier's glance. Is that why you want me to suffer? Are you looking for a companion?
''I thought I could run away from it all. I marvelled at the blast of an airship's whistle, at the sound of engines warming up. Futile, foolhardy plan! I traveled to every corner of the world but only my capacity for self-delusion knows no bounds.'' The pirate's voice is but a desperate quiver.''You remain silent. You resent my confession. You are wise, but I, I cannot be. I need...'' His demand stays unspoken and Basch is glad Balthier is still sober enough not to debase himself to that extent.
''You are a prisoner of your own obsessions Balthier. You would seek to drag me in your misery but I do not possess the inclination to join you in this infernal dance. There are far too many steps for my liking.''
''You would lack the grace Captain.''
Basch sees nothing graceful in bloodshot eyes and soiled cuffs. Aren't you in need of another set of clothes, pirate?, he thinks cruelly. He gets up to leave but Balthier grabs his arm, eyes haggard.
''Stay. I can't be left alone. I need someone.''
Basch remembers those eyes from a time and a place long erased from any map and annals. They had begged and pleaded. Don't leave. Stay home. But home was no more and his heart burned with a desire for vengeance that could not be appeased – or so he tells himself now. Was I the deserter?
Basch averts Balthier's gaze, knowing the man is not one to forgive pity, especially when it is not directed at him: ''Then why not choose one of your own kin? Why not go to Fran or Reddas? Why do you need me?'' Have you no shame?
Balthier's eyes harden and his lips curl, guessing at the soldier's weakness. His next words are barely above a whisper but they are slow and deliberate: ''I need a brother.''
Basch's heart thumps and he can tell it is another of the pirate's lies. His fists tighten and he must refrain from the urge to strike him for saying the words that he longed to hear. But still he nods and can hear himself promise he will remain. Balthier does not ease his grasp on his arm until he is seated.
''Maybe it would be time, for both our sake, to return to the others,'' Basch asks tentatively after a few moments have passed. He wonders to whom his next plea is addressed: ''To return home.''
''Home?'', Balthier snorts and Basch realizes that the recovery – mine or his? – is far remote and this is only the beginning.
''Captain, what an understated sense of humor.''