This is a story I wrote some time ago. It's originally in four pieces, but since I've completed it, I thought I'd post it in two.
This is your typical sentimental love story, with the best FFXII-pairing: Balhiter & Ashe!
So I hope you enjoy, and please review. It would mean a lot!
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy XII ...
Come back
Part 1
She was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, scrutinizing the intricate patterns. In five minutes one of her maids would come and wake her. In fifteen minutes she would pick yet another decent, pretty, white dress from her oversized wardrobe of pretty, white dresses. In an hour she would take her breakfast in the dining-room. It was Tuesday, which would mean some sort of soup. Things never changed around here. Or perhaps they did, only she'd grown too much of an adventurer to know.
She sat up and pulled back the white silk sheets. The sun shone brightly, as always. The curtains did a poor job of keeping the light out, so the entire room was completely lit. Therefore she always woke early. And in the minutesbetween waking and starting the day, she had some time to herself. Time to think, contemplate. She drew back the curtains, and let the sunbeams fill the room. Her skin, that had begun to get a darker shade during her quest to free Dalmasca, was once again milk white, now that she was confined to the palace. Who would have thought that one could suffer from lack of sun, while living in a dessert? She wrenched open the doors to the grand balcony. How liberating it was, to do these small, "rebellious" actions, like being careless and uncultivated whenever she was alone.
Was that now the sad extent of her freedom?
She walked to the edge of the balcony, resting her hands on the balustrade letting the sun caress her skin. It was warm. Not even a light breeze. Only the dry, torrid air. Her eyes flickered over the city below. Her city. They lingered a while at the Bahamut, the ruin still lying there outside the city walls. The sight filled her with regret and self loathing. How could she have been so stupid? So ignorant in regards to her own emotions? She'd always thought herself to have such good insight. She shuddered at the thought of how much it had taken for her to understand how she felt.
"Come back," Ashe whispered.
Was it selfish of her? To want so much, when she already had more than most? It didn't matter anyway. She would never get a second chance. Not when she'd been too much of a coward to take the first.
"My lady," her maid said while peeking her head out through the door. "My lady, it's time to get dressed." She held the garment in her hands, looking slightly stressed. Ashe didn't answer, but turned her back on the sky and the sun.
"I'm coming."
The thing was, she had never wanted more than this. More than to rule. Be good and just watch her people thrive. Then she'd lost everything and gone to war. And in the midst of all the despair, losses and frustration, she'd gained something new. And she wasn't a princess any more, but a solider.
No longer a girl, but a woman.
***
"Balthier!" Vaan's whiny voice penetrated his dream, and he was brought back to consciousness. Was it really morning already? The bright sun that shone through the tiny window in the unsavory room he had rented for the night left no doubt. The light was not doing well for his blooming hangover, and he rolled around and moaned into the pillow.
"What?" he snapped to the young man lurking in the doorway. "What do you want?"
Was he being unfair? Perhaps. Vaan could after all not have known that he had interrupted his dream at a very pleasant point. But the combined feeling of disappointment and increasing sickness made it hard for him to be reasonable.
"It's Fran," the boy mumbled. "She told me to wake you because…" His voice faded away, and Balthier looked up in confusion.
"Because?"
Vaan merely gawked. Balthier turned to see what was so highly interesting and was suddenly face to face with a girl he recognized as a waitress. What in Ivalice was she doing in his bed? He was too drunk to remember. Quickly recollecting his thoughts, he turned back to Vaan.
"Not a word of this to Fran! You hear me?"
The boy nodded at once, eager not to get on the edge with his "mentor".
"Fran sais she has news you might be interested in." He was about to leave, but turned in the doorway, looking back.
"By the way, I think she already knows. She didn't say anything. But she had that look. You now…"
Downstairs they were all waiting for him. Vaan was chatting animatedly with a fellow pirate. He and Penelo where adjusting to pirate life at last. Balthier had had his doubts that the day would ever come. But they'd made him proud. As it was, he was in no fit state to take care of anyone. In fact, they had started to take care of him of late. He had become dangerously sloppy. He sat down without a word and waved away the plate of food that was offered him.
"I've got news," Fran said, her voice the usual monotone.
"So I've heard," was his only answer.
"A new hunt has been put up. Rare game."
"And you think it's the one we've been looking for?"
"The description fits."
"Where was it spotted?" ha asked, for the first time real interest in his voice.
"At the Ridorana Carthrackt."
"Oh"
"Something wrong?" Penelo asked.
"No," he answered immediately. "Just glad that this will soon be behind us, that's all."
Penelo and Vaan exchanged a confused glance. How very out of character.
The thing was that when this job was finished, there would come a new one. And then another one. He felt as though he was working to accomplish something, to reach a goal. But in truth he had no purpose. Not anymore.
Balthier was a changed man. Perhaps nobody could see it, but he was changed. It was not his nonchalant demeanor, nor his uncommonly handsome looks that where different. No, it was something not so concrete. Not something he could put his finger on. But rather, he feared, a more fundamental change.
***
The meetings where usually dreary, but at the moment Ashe regretted that this was not to be an ordinary day. She had been in the dining room, eating her breakfast, sensing nothing amiss. And then, all of a sudden, one of her ministers had sent word that her fiancée would arrive that very afternoon. That Ashe was not, as far as she knew, engaged, did not seem to be a problem.
"What on Ivalce is this?" she said, as she strode into the conference room in a most un-ladylike manner. "One of your messengers has just given me word that I'm to receive my fiancée this afternoon." Her eyes where blazing with anger. The voice like steel. The minister in question did, however, not flinch. In fact, he seemed quite at ease with the situation.
"I know this to be some sort of joke, because obviously I'm not engaged. Nevertheless I've come here to inquire. Now tell me," she boomed into the silent room, "what's going on?"
Ashe had thought that as the rightful heir to the throne, that there would be no doubt about her authority. And after everything she'd done, she thought some respect wouldn't be too much to ask as well. She knew how things worked. She knew her country and her people. But she had been ridiculously ignorant of the more underhanded side of ruling. The blackmailing, the power play.
"Your majesty," the minister replied, too calmly in Ashe's opinion. "Surely you understand that it's time for you to get married. Dalmasca needs an heir as quickly as possible."
"I concur." She was barely able to control her temper. "But I will not have some man pressed upon me. After all, I am the Queen here. And it is not up to you to decide when or with whom I marry."
She stood there; a lonely figure in the vast room, attempting to stare down the man in front of her.
"You are aware that when you marry, it will be with someone that's suitable. It will be for political reasons, not sentimental. You may have been lucky with your first marriage. But do not expect the same luxury this time. Therefore we spared you the trouble of finding a man, and picked the best match ourselves. You are not formally engaged, of course, but we expect it to happen shortly." He leaned back in his seat, hands folded over his large belly. She wanted to leap over the desk and give this obnoxious politician what was coming to him. But no, she would have to be composed. Therefore, she simply turned around and walked stiffly out of the room. Defeated.
Part Two
Balthier imagined himself to be drifting. Like a leaf in the wind. Though perhaps, something slightly less romantic. In any case, he had given up control. He was detached, in perfect solitude. Life simply swept him in one direction, then another, and he did not have the strength to change course. And why would he? This purposeless life was relaxing. He did not quite know why he was standing in this ruin. Nor who had brought them there. But the smell of the sea and the sound of waves required no such explanations in order to be enjoyed. He closed his eyes and let the other senses engulf him. He was so light. Empty. Somewhere inside him, he sensed that the passivity could not go on. And in a place filled with such memories, could he resist feeling? Could he hold the sentimentality at bay?
"Balthier," Vaan's screams of excitement kept him from answering his own question. "Balthier, could you come and look at this? I'm not sure I've tied it right."
He had tied it right. Balthier did not need to look at it to know. He recognized their scheme. Trying to make him feel useful. He trotted back nonetheless, and gave the knot an approving nod.
He turned away from the restless waves and let his gaze fall upon the ruin in front of him instead. The Pharos at Ridorana, a beautiful construction that rose towering over them. Whoever had built this thing must have been an uncommonly good engineer. It was, after all, a very long time ago. Now it was empty. Dead. Save the monsters, that where lurking around every corner. It made him a little depressed. The thought that everything, no matter how splendid something might be, crumples and fades if not taken care of.
They braced themselves for what was about to come. It was not necessary to bring much, but they needed the usual supply of potions and remedies, along with their weapons. They were all unusually silent. For Fran that was as expected, but Vaan and Penelo usually distributed a decent amount of noise wherever they went. He then recalled that he was not the only one with strong emotional memories here. So much had happened. The ruined top of the building, a scar in the otherwise smooth stone tower, kept reminding them. Reddas, Dr. Cid. And Ashe, her final decision. It affected them all as they made their way up the cataract, ever closer to their waiting pray.
***
It would be too late now, she thought as she stared up at the Bahamut. To late to return. Because no matter how upset it made her, what her minister had said made sense. Dalmasca was at last at peace, and the last thing her weary citizens needed was some dispute over the crown in case she should die. Her fingers entwined into the fabric of her light dress. She let it go and looked down at her left hand, the one with the ring. She would need to take it off now. It would not be proper. She bit her lip to withhold the tears as she pried it off her finger. Should she throw it? Why not? It was a mere trinket, and it was not as though he would return. Nether of them. But for all the lost love and disappointment it brought with it, she could not bear the thought of losing it. The ring was after all the only thing to remind her of what it felt like to love.
Down on the main street that led up to the palace, she spotted an escort. Lord Amaranth, no doubt. Her housebound, her king, her lover to be. She sighed as she felt the sensation of surrender creep into her. There was nothing more to fight for. No kingdom to save. No lost love to call back.
"Come back," she whispered nonetheless. One last time. He would not have made a good king anyway.
He waited for her in the hall, her dashing suitor and his escort. He was a pleasant enough fellow of about thirty, steadfast, patient and stubborn. At the moment, he stood waiting, his gaze on her, as she walked down the staircase to receive him.
"Your Majesty," he said as he bowed ceremoniously.
"Your Grace," she retorted. "Shall we go directly to the conference room?" she asked as he offered her his arm.
He lifted an inquiring eyebrow.
"Surely there's no point in postponing the reason for your visit?"
"Your frankness does you credit. You're right, there's no point in pretence." There was clear respect in his voice as he guided her up the stairs.
"Good. I don't like to play games."
He laughed lightly. "Then life at court can hardly suit Your Majesty."
She smiled back at him in earnest. "You know," she said as they made their way through the palace. "I think we shall get along very well."
It was an honest statement, though it made her no happier. They walked in silence, her hand on his arm, the new ring-pendant resting cold and unfamiliar against her skin.
***
What made a skypirate? He had used to take it for granted, but of late the question had begun to trouble him. Was it really just the airship and the stealing? Or was the hunger for freedom and the lack of norms just as important? Balthier was sitting in the Strahl's cockpit, doing what he did best. Piloting his ship was as natural as lifting a limb. It came as easy as breathing. He was grateful for it; at least something of his old self that would never change. Vaan and Penelo had gone to sleep, worn out by the day's challenges. They had killed the rare game, secured the cup, and were now on their way towards Rabanastre. Fran was sitting in the chair next to him, scrutinizing the dark sky. His hands flew over the buttons and shifts in loving motions. He was so taken with his task that he did not notice Fran's eyes shift and linger on him instead. At last she broke the silence.
"Balthier?"
"Mmm," he mumbled.
"When will you reach your decition?"
The peculiar question made him look up at her, finally fully attentive.
"Whatever do you mean, Fran?"
She scrutinized him in a manner that made him feel uncomfortable. Not that there was anything implied with the glance. They did not, after all, have that kind of relationship. But she had always been able to see through him, and he did not need a confrontation at the moment.
"When will you decide what course to follow?"
He honestly had no idea what she referred to, so he just stared dumbly at her.
"She asked you to come back. Do you not recall?"
Yes, he recalled. The last thing he had heard before the Bahamut had collapsed. And also the last thing he had expected to hear. He simply nodded, not daring to speak in case his voice should break.
"I think it's time you made a choise. Not only for your own peace of mind, but for ours."
"I have. I'm here, am I not? With you, not with her."
"But you're not though, are you?" she protested. "In your mind, you're always somewhere else. Somewhere I can't follow."
Balthier wanted so badly to keep silent. To shut things in, as he had grown so accustomed to. But this was Fran, and so he could not lie. In any case, she deserved more than that.
"I… just can't go back to the way things used to be, Fran. I can't go back to this. To a life without a purpose. It's… not what happened."
She didn't answer, partly because she didn't need to, but mostly because she was sad. She had known when they had teamed up that this would not last forever. He was a Hume, after all. And now the time had come, and he would leave her and his freedom. But, she contemplated, in a way he already had.