I
beginnings
- a bond is forged -
"Now now, Princess. That is not how a lady conducts herself." The knight doesn't sound terribly annoyed though his words are sternly spoken.
Ashe ducks her head and schools her features into a properly contrite expression. "I apologize," she says, very properly. She sneaks a look up at the knight. A slow, small grin spreads across her face. "But don't you think that I should learn how to fight and take care of myself? After all," she does a quick little hop-step across the corridor, "in all the stories, the princess always gets kidnapped and the hero has to come rescue her. Wouldn't it be better if she could rescue herself?"
Despite himself, the knight chuckles. Setting the helmet he is carrying under his arm on the floor, he bends down on one knee so he is at eye-level with her.
"So you are correct, my Lady Ashe," says Basch fon Ronsenburg. "Though I intend to make certain that you shall never have to do so."
A small cloud passes across her face and her brows draw together. Smart as she might be, Ashe is still only a child of eight. And right now, she appears to be dangerously close to pouting.
With a quick glance down the corridor, Basch notes the convenient lack of other people. He stands, picking up his helmet again and holding out his hand to Ashe. "Come, Princess. We've an errand to take care of."
She sighs, but consents to place her small hand in his strong, tanned fingers.
He leans down close to her ear and whispers without moving his lips. "I'll let you hold the sword later if you behave."
Ashe smiles then and nearly drags him down the hallway, her white tunic flapping and a light in her eyes.
x-x-x
II
determination
- a bond is strengthened -
"Now, now, Princess. That is not how a lady conducts herself." Basch tries to sound annoyed, stern. It is one of his duties to make sure that fourteen-year-old Ashe, heir to the throne of Dalmasca, properly understands the rules of etiquette that go along with the title.
She can be so headstrong that even he, seventeen years her senior, has trouble keeping her in line at times. He swallows the urge to laugh despite himself and works to keep the disapproving expression on his face.
Ashe looks at him, somewhat sheepish but nowhere near repentant. "You agreed with me," she reminds Basch.
"So I did," he consents. Before she can escape, he lifts a finger. He knows that look in her eyes too well now. "But when in circumstances such as these, you are expected to act in a manner befitting a princess. Which means at least attempting to look as if you haven't been practicing your swordfighting again."
Ashe looks down as if seeing herself for the first time. Her arms are bare and so are her legs to the knee. Bare feet are covered with dirt and her hands with scratches. Her clothes are worn, stained with sweat and red streaks of blood.
"I was not told that the ambassador from Nabradia was to visit today," she says, lifting her chin. As if that is somehow his fault.
Basch sighs. But he can sense that he will get no farther in this argument of theirs. "In the future, please at least attempt to keep up with your own social schedule," he tells her firmly. "You're fortunate that your skills in speech and diplomacy have saved you thus far from overt embarrassment."
Her eyebrows draw together and a faint blush of pink comes to her cheeks. "But I had hoped to make a good impression,…"
Ah. Perhaps all hope for her is not lost, then. Something has gotten through her usual impenetrable armor of self-assurance.
Basch pats her briskly on the shoulders. "Let us forget this for the moment. Get yourself cleaned up and properly presented to your family's distinguished guests."
He doesn't have to bend quite so far to whisper in her ear this time. "Your footwork leaves much to be desired. We must remedy that in good time. Perhaps after dinner has settled…"
But her reaction is the same. With a bright smile that turns her eyes into two sparkling pools of blue, she grabs his hand and drags him hurriedly from the chamber, ignoring his entreaties for decorum.
x-x-x
III
jealousy
- a bond is tested -
Now, now, Princess. That is not how a lady conducts herself.
It is the first time in awhile that he hasn't had to say it aloud. Ashe is capable of minding her manners...when she wants to. Basch stews silently, keeping his face in a mask of indifference. He has often complained about the cumbersome Dalmascan military helmets, but he wishes for one now.
He wants to be happy that his patience, sorely tried by the stubborn girl for years, has finally paid off. He wants to be happy that Ashe has finally blossomed into a princess, has finally accepted the role and title with grace. But he can't.
Basch carefully watches her, moving among her family's guests with ease. Talking, nodding, a smile here and a small wave there, she looks completely in her element. The royal delegation from Nabradia has come again, ostensibly for negotiations. Basch keeps an eye on her.
A young man moves up beside Ashe, waiting politely for her attention. When she finishes her conversation of the moment and turns to greet him, Basch cannot suppress the flare of envy. Her eyes sparkle and her whole face is alight with a smile as she takes his hand and leads him to a delicately carved wooden couch to the side of the atrium.
For so long, he has been the only one to see Ashe light up like that, the only one who would allow her a reprieve from being 'Her Highness, the Lady Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca'.
It seems that he has been supplanted. Basch wars within himself. Part of him is so proud of his girl for cultivating alliances and conducting herself as a lady should. The other part of him is seething fiercely with the urge to protect what is his. His face remains immobile, set into a fixed neutrality. She is like his sister, a delicate flower to be cherished.
"Captain fon Ronsenburg!"
A voice startles him out of his musings. Ashe is standing in front of him, her hand – he notes irritably – still in the young man's.
"My Lady Ashelia," he says calmly.
"May I present His Highness Rasler Heios Nabradia," she says formally. There is a faint hint of her old cheeky nature beneath the words, and for some reason, Basch is heartened. He should have known that no amount of royal pomp and circumstance can ever truly push aside rascal-Ashe, the little imp-girl who badgered him into giving her fighting lessons.
He bows deeply to the prince. He is back in control of his emotions, for the moment.
"Rasler, this is Captain Basch fon Ronsenburg, knight in the Dalmascan forces. He's been my loyal protector and guardian since I was quite small," Ashe tells the prince.
Nabradia smiles at Basch. There is genuine respect in his voice as he says, "A pleasure to meet you. I've heard many great things about you."
Basch almost asks, "What things?" and firmly restrains himself. He can hear Ashe's voice in his head: "Now, now, Captain. That is not how a knight conducts himself."
He manages to give all the correct responses until Ashe drags the prince away, eyes sparkling. Only military discipline prevents him from sagging against the wall.
Basch is aware of the rumors, the ones that are whispering of an alliance between Dalmasca and Nabradia. He is aware that such an alliance will likely mean Ashe – his precious Ashe – is to marry Rasler Heios Nabradia.
Abruptly, he brushes aside his moment of self-pity. If Ashe is happy, then so too shall he be. He recognizes a warrior's spirit within the young Nabradia, a gentle spirit of great strength. And he will treasure her. Basch smiles ironically to himself, thinking of his earlier comparison. Ashe has never been a fragile flower, has never really needed protecting.
"Yes," he murmurs quietly to himself, "she will be the one stories are written about. The princess who rescued herself from danger."
x-x-x
IV
misunderstanding
- a bond is broken -
"Now, now, Princess. That is not how a lady conducts herself."
"Be quiet!" she cries, her face dark with anger. The familiar words, coming from someone else, sound harsh and mocking. She composes herself with difficulty. "I apologize, Captain…"
He interrupts her. "It's just Vossler now, my Lady."
"If I am to be called Princess, then I claim my right to call you Captain," she replies, somewhat snappishly.
Vossler shifts on his feet, stoic in his silence.
"I'm sorry," she says quietly.
"It's all right, my Lady. You've been handed the roughest of these changing times, I fear." He gives her a sympathetic smile. "I take my leave."
She nods and watches him leave the room, armor clanking with every step. With another sigh, Ashe crosses to the door and shuts it firmly. There is no lock, but she knows that no one will disturb her. Only Vossler and a few others know her true identity. To most, she is simply Amalia, just another victim of Archadia's war on the rest of Ivalice.
Ashe drops her head into her hands and lets the tears trickle through her fingers, wetting the golden ring she still wears. Rasler's death is still a cold knife in her heart. A marriage of politics it may have been, but the strength of her grief now only makes her realize how much she loved him.
Inexorably, her thoughts turn to him. Basch fon Ronsenburg, former knight of Dalmasca. Her protector. Her teacher. Her surrogate brother. His betrayal cuts deeply, hurts almost more than the death of her father.
Her eyes are red and scratchy, and she can feel salty blotches on her cheeks where tears have spilled. Swiping at her face, Ashe banishes her tears, banishes all feeling until there is only anger left. She is abandoned, but she will not do the same.
"I will hold this rage to my heart until I see the Empire brought to justice for what they have done to my nation…to me." She doesn't realize that she's spoken aloud until someone knocks at the door, asking if she's all right.
In an instant, she becomes Amalia. Not Ashe, stubborn Ashe full of white-hot rage. Just another freedom fighter with a general grudge against the Empire. "Fine, thank you!" she calls through the door.
She clenches her fists, willing herself under control, and picks up her sword belt. Ashe is assaulted by memories whenever she touches the weapon. But she is no longer the little girl who idolized her knight in shining armor.
Face resolute, heart cold and steady, Ashe straps her sword to her hip and pushes open the door. There is work to be done.
x-x-x
V
reconciliation
- a bond is reforged -
"Now, now, Princess. That is not how a lady conducts herself." The words are as stern as ever, despite the red handprint gracing his cheek.
"After what you've done! How dare you! You're supposed to be dead!" Ashe snaps, her hand still raised. She is nearly overcome with joy at seeing him alive, and she sternly clamps down on the feeling. No longer will she claim him as a brother. But the anger and hatred that come so easily when she thinks of the Empire do not accompany thoughts of former Captain Basch fon Ronsenburg.
"There are things that must be dealt with in time," he says, meeting her gaze squarely. "I sincerely hope you have kept up with your studies of the sword."
Unconsciously, her hand drops to the weapon belted at her side. "I have, yes," she says coolly.
"Good," replies Basch, briskly. "And now, since you were always so intent on having the princess rescue herself, I await your view on the situation. Proving my innocence shall have to wait until later."
Ashe gives him a sideways glance. His face is as impassive as ever. Surely he isn't joking? Her heart thaws, just a bit. She cannot forget that Rasler and her father have died because of this man, but neither can she forget the man beneath the deeds.
"Very well," she says, crisply, as a princess should. "I propose that we dispatch these Imperials with all haste. In the name of justice and retribution for wrongs. I will not stand immobilized by fear and grief while my nation suffers."
He smiles with more than a hint of sadness, but also with pride. "Now, now, Princess. That is not how a lady conducts herself." Seeing her about to protest, he holds up a finger.
"But it is the proper manner for a freedom fighter."
