Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me, and I'm poor. Share and enjoy!.
Warnings: Endgame spoilers, though thoroughly predictable ones. The real spoilers are the Phon Coast conversation.
Notes: This is not a pairing I believe in. Not at all. I think the story itself makes that pretty clear - it's just that it's logical for this to happen anyhow.
Being a Bunansa (1 of 2)
Puzzling, Balthier thought as he glanced over the note again. It had been waiting for him at the Balfonheim aerodrome, sealed with wax and an emblem he'd never seen before - some commoner's meaningless choice for a seal, he'd thought at the time. Delivered, they said, by a chief steward aboard one of the commercial airships, who said she was returning a favor, at which point Balthier assumed he knew who it had come from. Imagine his surprise when he broke the seal, only to find writ inside an invitation from the queen of Dalmasca.
He'd very nearly ignored it. Royal feasts were not the sort of thing he enjoyed - unless he was avoiding the banquet hall to take advantage of everyone's inattention, though he'd been a bit soured on that trick during his last attempt at the Dalmascan royal palace. Fran found them even less appealing than he. But on the other hand, he had hardly seen Ashe since her coronation a few years past, and she had never contacted him on her own. For her to do so now was unusual, and he suspected that there was more to it than a simple feast. Especially seeing as she had not addressed her missive to him in particular, nor used her own seal. This was clearly to be no above-board visit to Rabanastre.
...It could be interesting.
The sounds of merriment and the smells of rich food were carried on the breeze as he strode down the street in the half-light of sunset. At least it seemed that there was a feast, and this was not some strange sort of trap - he'd wondered briefly if the letter was from Ashe at all. "Invitation?" inquired the guard gruffly as he approached the entrance.
"Why yes, it is," Balthier replied, waving the stiff paper before the man's helmet. "Good of you to notice." The man gave a sniff, but stepped aside.
Inside, the posted guards remained vigilant and numerous - perhaps Ashe recalled what she herself had plotted during one past feast night in this very palace - and the wall sconces illuminated the path which guests were clearly supposed to be taking to the hall. There were others making the same journey, though stopping to speak with each other on occasion, so Balthier supposed that it was safe enough.
After showing his invitation a second time, he was admitted to the hall, and found that there was nothing at all to paint this as anything but a royal feast; a whim of the queen's, from what he overheard from the servants. More and more puzzling. Ashe didn't have 'whims', as far as Balthier knew.
It didn't take long before she showed herself, though Balthier could hardly recognize her beneath all the regalia that went with her station. She was distant, serene... Yes, she smiled, but with a dignified grace rather than one which suggested genuine pleasure. She looked more like herself when Balthier caught her glancing around the hall instead of looking at the nobleman who was speaking to her, and she spotted him by the drinks. Her eyes lingered for a moment before turning back to her apparently uninteresting conversational partner.
Balthier idly tapped the side of the wineglass he'd just taken. What game was she playing...?
He kept one eye on her while chatting up various young, attractive socialites who apparently were not bright enough to notice that he was not telling them anything of worth, until he spotted the queen managing to escape the ring of admiring, fawning nobility that surrounded her. She paused, gazing at him for a moment, then turned away.
Asking him to give chase? Usually it pleased him when women did such things, but this was a bit different. "Excuse me, my dears," he murmured, extracting himself from the half-circle of women who had approached him. "Though I've had a charming time speaking with you all, I believe it's about time I paid my respects to our queen." He hated disappointing women; Ashe would have to answer for this.
But first, he would have to catch up with her. She was easy enough to spot in that outfit, what with the feathers going every which way, and he found her by one of the long tapestries which hung from the ceiling, looking up at it. "That impressive, is it?" he said, looking up at it as well as he approached. "Have you yet visited Larsa's palace? There are some rather exquisite tapestries in his dining hall as well, if a bit more... brutal in their subject matter. Such is the fashion in Archades."
"The Conqueror of Thamasa, one through six?" she replied. "He had them removed early on, claiming they did not further the mindset of peace for which he wishes his reign to be known. Besides, he'd never thought them appropriate for viewing during a meal."
"That's very like him," Balthier agreed absently. "He didn't destroy them, did he?"
"No - they hang now in a museum. Though not to his taste, they are remarkable for their artistry."
"Again, very like him." Time to stop with the meaningless conversation. "It's not very like you to plan a feast for no particular reason, save perhaps to lure me here."
"And how like you to see through it." The observation was not irritable, only matter-of-fact, as she turned her attention from the tapestry. "I have a favor to ask of you."
Balthier regarded the queen with some curiosity. Queen though she may be, aloof as she might have been in the few years since they'd travelled together, she was still Ashe underneath, he was sure - and the lady Ashe had never been unwilling to get her hands dirty. A queen, however, was different than a resistance leader. "Something you'd like to have acquired, your majesty?"
"Not precisely."
It was strange, Balthier thought. She had that same determined expression, her jaw set just as firmly as when she had been bent on revenge, as when she had tried to win freedom for her kingdom. "...Whatever this favor is, it looks to be something important," he remarked. "Keep in mind that a royal favor requires a royal reward."
She nodded. "If you accept, you may name your price, and I will see what can be done."
He raised an eyebrow at her, at the way her expression never faltered. "...That important, is it? Well then - what might this favor be?"
Was it his imagination, or did she hesitate for a moment? Her eyes fairly blazed with determination. "We cannot speak of it here. You shall come to my chambers when the night guard summons you late this evening, after I've retired. You shall come alone."
She looked so deadly serious. Balthier couldn't help but flash her his most infuriatingly charming smile. "Ohhh. This sounds like the sort of favor I'd enjoy even without payment."
The exasperated glare he got in response was to be expected from her. That instant of something else behind it when she turned away - the flush in her cheeks - was what gave him pause.
"For now," she added, looking away, "enjoy the feast. Migelo has provided us with the finest fare in Galtea."
"I imagine so," Balthier said, collecting himself before anyone could notice his own falter. "...Tasty as it all looks," he murmured, glancing after Ashe's retreating form, "my appetite seems suddenly diminished."
The guard they sent for him was an older man, old enough to be his father. Strange, Balthier thought as he followed the man down the corridors and up the stairs, when most of the current palace guard were young. Those who had been old enough when the assassination of King Raminas had taken place had mostly died in the chaos that followed. Perhaps she would trust only someone long proven with this request. Perhaps she knew that the younger guards were prone to gossip, even about the queen. This secret of hers was guarded closely, it seemed, and Balthier was beginning to feel wary. Something felt vaguely off about the whole thing, as if he was out of his league. Not that he was likely to turn down a challenge, of course, but he did have his limits...
The royal bedchamber was dark when he entered, the flicker of hallway lamplight casting his long shadow across the room for a few seconds before the door closed behind him, snuffing it out. The guard had not stayed; this was apparently to be a thoroughly private meeting.
As for Ashe, she was by the arch that led onto her balcony, dressed in a long pale nightgown that fluttered in the breeze as the gauzy curtains on either side. "A lovely sight," Balthier called quietly as he stepped forward into the half-circle of moonlight, for she had not turned when he entered. "I feel privileged to be invited to see it."
In profile, her head lowered. "You're slipping, Balthier. You sound like Al-Cid Margrace."
"Perish the thought," he replied, growing abruptly serious as he approached. "The Margrace lad would never point out that the beauty of the Dalmascan royal palace and her queen by night seems to be hiding something so sinister that they would have need of a sky pirate."
She shook her head, just barely. "No... He would not."
Balthier stopped a few feet from her, and waited. "...Your majesty, that was the bait. Even a yensa knows that bait is to be bitten. What is it that you would have me do?"
It wasn't his imagination at all, he was certain now that he was this close. Her hands were clasped together, her eyes were downcast. She was hesitant about whatever it was. "Something especially repugnant, is it? I do have my standards, I'm sure you realize that."
She nodded, very slightly, and then after another moment looked up to meet his eyes. In hers was the fire he'd seen long ago, telling the world that she would not take no for an answer. This time, she was telling him alone, and her voice was just as firm as her gaze when she spoke. "I require an heir."
Balthier thought about this, and came to a conclusion. He began to open his mouth, then he thought about it again. Unfortunately, he came to the same conclusion. "...I almost wish that I could believe you were asking me to steal a child," he said at long last.
Her eyes remained fixed on his. "I am not."
This... this was... Balthier snorted in wry amusement. "I'm flattered, your majesty, but - are you daft?"
"On the contrary," she told him, the corners of her mouth tightening. "I have long been considering every angle. Dalmasca will be lost in a generation if there is no clear heir - the blood of the Dynast-King has long served to protect us. I have no intention of marrying again, for I have no need, but I do have need for a child."
"Have you forgotten, then, the rather large bounty on my head?" he inquired, raising his voice slightly in his disbelief. She couldn't possibly be serious about this. "The illegitimate child of their queen and a notorious sky pirate - the only gain the people would find in such a child is the ransom money."
"If it were the queen and a sky pirate, yes," she replied. "But even an illegitimate child might be accepted as heir if he were born to the queen - and the last son of an honorable house of Archadia."
She had no way of knowing what a chill her words sent down his spine, how it made his blood run cold. And so, while he stood frozen at the implication and the memories, she continued to speak. "I cannot have a child by a commoner, of course - they would not have it. There are some among the Dalmascan nobility who might be willing, but they would ask too much - as would Lord Margrace. I have had communication with Larsa on the matter, and although he understands my plight and would have been willing to play such a role when he was of more proper an age, we both know that such an alliance between the two of us would mean an end to Dalmasca's independence upon my death, no matter our intentions - the empire is too strong. The same might come from marriage to a house of Rozarria. But an alliance between the queen of Dalmasca and Archadian gentry would serve only to strengthen the bond between our nations - to mingle our bloodlines while not combining them entirely."
"...You speak more sensibly than I had thought," Balthier admitted, very reluctantly, after he'd considered her words. "And yet..."
"I would ask no more of you," she told him, hope softening the fire in her eyes. "I know why you would not stay with me, just as you know why I would not wish you to. Larsa has said that he would verify that the child's father is indeed as I say, with the positive identification coming from Judges Zargabaath and Gabranth, for Larsa himself was young when you left Archades - so you need not risk losing your anonymity by appearing with me as Ffamran Bunansa. If you say no, then I will find another, but I had thought it better to ask you... As a friend, not as the queen."
He looked at her for a long while. She was beautiful by the light of the moon, silver catching her pale hair and glowing through the fabric of her nightgown. Her expression was still hers, set and determined - but therein lay the issue, for he saw her not as a queen, but as a young woman he'd spent entirely too much time with, whose wounds he had healed and vice-versa, who'd nonchalantly wiped the blood off her blade before sheathing it, whose lip he'd expected to tremble when she slid the ring from her finger, but didn't. Who was still wearing that ring, he noted, upon thinking of it and looking down. He liked that young woman rather better than he liked the queen, and he did find her quite attractive... but he knew her too well.
"I have to admit it's a tempting thought," he said with a shrug. "There's just one little problem - House Bunansa has already fallen. Ffamran is just as dead as his dear father was, six years before he stopped moving."
Her lips parted slightly in surprise, but before she could speak, Balthier turned away, heading for the door. "Balthier!"
Her voice was firm, but he shook his head. "If you want a ghost to sire your children, you'd do better to ask Rasler."
He could veritably hear the anger in the breath she drew - but amazingly, she let that shot go without punishment. "...It doesn't have to be that way. House Bunansa could go on - with a legacy of honor rather than madness."
He halted, but did not look back at her. He didn't trust himself enough. "And what do I care, your majesty, for the revival of a corrupted house born of a corrupted system in a corrupted nation?"
He could have left then, and ignored any further protest on her part. He wasn't entirely sure why he didn't, except that she made no further protest. When she spoke again, in fact, it was in a different tone. "...I apologize." At the sudden softness of her voice, he couldn't help but glance over his shoulder. "I had thought that I might be doing you a favor as well," she said, "but instead I see that I've reopened old wounds."
At least she understood now, he thought. "I suppose I'll have to accept that apology," he said, forcing his tone back to irreverant nonchalance despite the lingering frustration. "I can't abide the thought of leaving a pretty girl to be sad when she thinks of me."
She answered with an exasperated sniff, but her voice remained the same, soft and conciliatory. "I cannot imagine living without pride in my bloodline, without the desire for my name to continue. I thought it must be the same for you - or that it could be."
"Bloodline is a great deal less important in Archades," Balthier told her, finally deciding to turn around again - if she was going to try to understand him after all, the least he could do was try to help her. "Houses rise and fall constantly - the Bunansa family only became gentry three generations past, in fact. Doctor Cid was the first to be listed among the companions of an emperor, for he had information, and information is the most important thing to have if you wish to stay on top. The fate of those who cling to bloodline above all else can be seen in the legacy of House Solidor. Just look at what pride in that name has left Larsa with - nothing but a meaningless title and a palace full of very proud ghosts."
"It is not so meaningless for those who value human life rather than power," she rebuked him. "I take pride in the fact that I may protect Dalmasca and her people. My title, won through my bloodline, presents me as a symbol of justice and freedom to them - and I am honor-bound to live up to this. Though I have power, I also recognize that my station is not to be taken advantage of, and through it I bear much responsibility. It has not been a simple life to live, being the symbol that my nation requires, as you yourself saw when we first met," she admitted, sitting down upon her bed, "but I would not trade it for the world."
"Well then - that is the difference between you and I, your majesty," Balthier pointed out gently, crossing the room again to seat himself beside her. "I did trade it for the world."
She nodded slightly. "...I suppose that you did."
Her proposal again came to mind, and it made him bristle somewhat. "I would want any child I father to have the same option."
"He would," she said quickly, looking up to him. "I swear it. It is a heavy burden to bear, and I bore it willingly, but I recognize that another might not. All I can do is make the choices I am required to make today, and pray that I make them well. I would ask no more of my children."
"After all your talk about what the lineage of the Dynast-King means to your people? What would come, I wonder, if the last in Raithwall's line was to run off and become a sky pirate?"
"Then I would direct him to the best I know."
She looked so earnest, so certain, that in light of what she was asking, it made Balthier feel awkward to be sitting on her bed with her. Normally, women he found himself in such positions with were entirely flippant and casual. He knew better than to think it meant she was serious about him, of course, but even so... he felt a need to lighten the mood. "...I trust you don't mean Vaan."
That did the trick - she ducked her head, not quite hiding a smile. "No, I did not."
"He's doing well enough," Balthier continued, leaning back on his hands to look aimlessly upwards, "but there can be only one leading man, you know."
"Of course." She did likewise, and didn't bother to hide the little smile that played across her lips this time, as they fell into a more comfortable silence. "...I believe," she murmured, "that Raithwall's progeny will always be here to take up Dalmasca's banner when our nation is threatened, even if not as royalty. It doesn't matter if the next is king or pirate or pauper - all I can do is what I can manage during my lifetime, and for now it means an heir."
They truly were in different situations, Balthier thought, though once they had been in similar positions. He had cast off the trappings of duty and legacy, having fulfilled his last responsibility to his house by disposing of the last blighted branch.
On the other hand, with the blighted branch snipped, perhaps the Bunansa name could be made to bloom once more. He didn't have any particular desire to make it do so, of course. But it could.
She'd begun looking at him curiously. "...What are you thinking?" she finally inquired.
"You said that there were others you might use instead," he put forth. "Why ask me? Was it only because you thought to do me a favor?"
She shook her head. "No..." she began slowly. "There were other reasons, more selfish."
"Such as?" he prompted.
He'd suspected this would fluster her, and indeed, she turned her head. "...I know you," she said simply. "I know that you would not wish to marry me, or to stay in Rabanastre as my consort. You would... fulfill this request... and then you would return to the Strahl, and to Fran."
"Yes, I would," he said dryly. "Good to know we're on the same page. Is there anything more?"
She nodded. "Again... I know you. You've seen me at my worst, and you've proven trustworthy. I need not fear you using this against me in some plot. And," she added with sudden determination - as if she'd decided that if she was to say it, then she would say it, "to lie with a friend would be preferable to lying with someone for whom I care nothing, apart from their title."
"How very touching." Balthier was not being quite so sarcastic as he sounded - in a roundabout way, she was saying that she cared for him, and fortunately not in the troublesome way. "Though I'd hoped my good looks would have something to do with it."
She glanced back long enough to give him an exasperated look. "Not that it makes a difference, but I will admit that most of my other prospects are not particularly appealing."
The fact that he was too busy thinking to respond to such a near-compliment was perhaps telling, and she looked at him a little closer. "Balthier?"
"You've given me much to think about. ...I suppose I shall have to think about it," he reasoned.
She drew a soft breath, and for a moment, Balthier wondered if she was going to ask if he was serious. But no - she did know him, if not all the details. "Thank you," she told him. "For even entertaining the idea."
He only nodded, not wanting to say anything that was any more or any less affirmative as of yet. "If you're willing to wait, your majesty, I will return your answer soon."
"I am. And you needn't address me such," she added as he stood. "As I said before, this is not the request of a queen, but of a friend."
"As you wish, though I confess I might not be so respectful with a queen who was not a friend," he remarked.
In this case, the queen and the friend were one and the same, he mused as he made his way back through the palace, out to the aerodrome - he had no desire to stay in the palace that night. The Strahl was comforting, for it went where he went. No home had he besides the one he brought with him.
A queen and a friend, both the same... he wondered if this was true for the sky pirate and an long-ignored Archadian lad who had never been given the chance to grow into anything more than his father's son. And what of a child, borne of these four personas in only two shells?
His entering the cabin woke Fran, and she turned over. "You're back rather late," she murmured, shifting aside to make room for him.
"My apologies." They seldom slept in the same bunk, but despite his flippant reply as he lay down, tonight the comfort seemed appealing. Not her body, but simply her warmth - her presence. "Who am I to refuse, when the queen invites me to her bedchambers?"
"A likely story."
He quirked an eyebrow knowingly. "That's what I thought."
Fran gave him a measuring look, but said nothing; she knew him well enough to know when he didn't want to talk. At the moment, he certainly didn't - he just wanted to sleep. And then, perhaps, to fly.
No, there was no perhaps. He wanted to fly.
