Author's Note: This is going to be epic. God. Dammit.
Story Rating: T
Chapter Rating: K+
Summary: How far would you go for freedom? What sacrfices would you make? Would you defy the very Gods?
Long Live the Queen
Chapter One: Second Opinon
By: Mazzie May
"This isn't a epidemic anymore. It's a pandemic."
"The plague spread through again."
"Plague of dense Mist. The Hume's cannot breathe it."
"Why have you done this?"
"You must do as we ask, Descendent of the Dynast-King."
"What is it you want?"
"We want the Dynast-Queen."
"I will know no more."
"The children…!"
"Deformed in their sleep!"
"My babies!"
"Stop this madness!"
"Become the Dynast-Queen."
"I am no puppet of yours!"
"Three more airships crashed."
"Hundreds dead."
"The Sand Sea has over flowed."
"What harm have we done the Gods?"
--
"…and that's everything that's happened in Dalmasca." Ashe looked straight at Larsa, waiting for a reply. He looked so different from the thirteen-year-old emperor she'd waved good-bye to. He sat stiff, though hunched forward, his mouth resting against laced fingers as he thought. He looked stricken by the news.
"So, they mean for you to take up your blade and strike us all down?" She turned to face Al-Cid, who sat casually on the greatly stuffed sofa against the wall. "And that will…" he flicked his wrist once, twice. "Stop these catastrophes?"
"So they promise," Zargabaath grumbled.
"But they have yet to make this promise, yes?" Al-Cid asked, flicking his wrist again. "They only tell her to become the Dynast-Queen when she asks them to stop. It does not mean they will."
Ashe nodded once. "That's true."
"Then do not consent. We've nothing to gain," the Rozzarian Prince replied, leaning back into the thick upholstery, shaking his head. Ashe wondered if it was to further his statement, or to get the hair out of his eyes.
"Your opinion, Lord Larsa?" Everyone looked to the young ruler at Zargabaath's question. He stared out past Ashe into the glass doors behind her. Behind her was the veranda. Gray cinderstones made up the flooring, walls and pillars that held the awning above. Beginning in the middle and extending to the railing was a lovely, tasteful raised pool. Water spilled into it from three small falls. The edges and lowers stones of the railing and pillars were dotted with large moss pads, the upper area wrapped in ivy. Normally, it was all cool colours, but the sun was beginning its decent making everything in the meeting room look very yellow-orange.
He was quiet, his gaze far away, but still unwavering. Finally, he spoke, still watching the sun slowly sink. "Even if the Queen Dalmasca should take up sword and shield against us, that would not be enough." He dropped his still laced hands down onto the old table. "She'd have to defeat us to make Dynast-Queen."
Al-Cid balked. "Which Dalmasca is in no position to do."
"It'd have to be a kind of legal agreement, then," she said quietly, thinking out loud.
"One that my father would never agree to." Al-Cid held out his hand, and one of his 'birdies' handed him a large drink saucer, filled with a very red liquid. Wine, maybe. He took it. "He does not fear the Gods. None in Rozzaria do." He took a small, slow sip. "Most of Rozzaria does not even believe in them."
"What do they consider the plague?" Ashe asked in surprised. Were all Rozzarian's as full and sure of themselves as Al-Cid? She didn't know; she'd never been. Ashe had politely and firmly refused all of the over zealous prince's invitations.
"Just that," he said with a shrug. "A plague." He took another long swallow and she half-scowled. He smiled around the glass.
She narrowed her eyes, almost angry. "The Sand Sea?"
Another careless shrug. He rolled the glass in a gentle circle. "It is a sea. Made of sand. In the desert." He stopped the slow rotation and the thick liquid continued swirl and she was sure it was wine. "One should have expected it to spread eventually."
Now she was angry. "The children, raining oil?"
"They say the children are victim to the plague, but they're immune system is so undeveloped, it effects them in worse ways. And for the oil…" He held the glass up and the 'birdie' refilled it, despite it only being half empty. He never took his eyes away from Ashe's. "It does not pollute our water. It is a hassle in the streets, yes," he tilted his head to the side in mild acknowledgement, "but that is all."
She'd had enough of his remarks. "And your opinion is what again, Lord Larsa?" she asked, turning away from the pompous man.
He finally pulled his eyes away from the orange ball and looked at her. He still seemed as though he wasn't there. "My opinion is that the Queen Dalmasca be very careful these next few morrows." He gazed back out the glass. "Who knows what the Gods will do to get what they want." She wondered if was referring to his brother. She didn't ask.
--
A short time later, they all filed out of the office and into the open corridors—skywalks, they're called, Ashe reminded herself—to the main palace. Looking over the railing revealed the beautiful city of Archades; the unique buildings covered in vegetation, the colours and shadows that are in constant change during dusk. But what took away from all of that was the quiet. There were hardly any people about.
Everyone was scared of catching the White Plague. The silence was long and hard in a place that was so full of noise. Even in Dalmasca, the heart of the disease, people bustled about. As she descended the stairs, the heavy feeling in her stomach rose a little knowing that she was the cause of all of this.
The Marquis had not been able to join them for he'd contracted the plague himself. The sickness was bad enough, but he was over sixty now. She couldn't imagine he had too much longer to live. It was a very blue thought; one more person from the innocent and clean part of her life was to be taken away.
After some polite good-byes, she turned away, ready to catch the airship to see her uncle and thinking about how the sinking ball of light made her light blue dress appear to be a very unattractive green, when someone caught her arm. She turned to Al-Cid.
"The weight of world is on your shoulders, Highness." He stared hard at her. It wasn't very often that his eyes were serious, especially when dealing with her. They were dark and devoid of humor as he looked down at her. "Where are your friends to help you lift it?"
She smiled quickly, and she knew it wasn't a nice smile, but mean and tight and didn't care. "They are not here."
He pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose as he let her go. "I've never been one for weight lifting, my self, but—" and he took her hand, kissed the place just past her knuckles. "—I am a great spotter."
She said, "Thank you," and meant it. She meant it enough to let him kiss her hand one more time and wait for him to let it go instead of pulling away. "But I will not hide behind Rozzaria."
"No, no, of course not," he said quickly, the flirtatious low tone returning. "By all means, use Rozzaria." Then he smiled something suspicious and walked away, his flock of birdies in tow, leaving her to blush a bit; Princes and Princesses were often referred to as the country itself. Use Rozzaria… As she watched him go, she wondered just how a Prince got away with such an attitude. Well, maybe it was because he was a prince Al-Cid was allowed to do what he did. Shaking her head, she wondered not for the first what the King and Queen Rozzaria must be like, to have a son like that.
She clucked her tongue as the stiff wind slammed her from behind, sending her hair into frenzy. It'd grown out since her adventures with sky pirates. Just past her shoulders and with its length came wide curls. She tried in vain to calm it back down, when the wind suddenly wasn't at her back.
She turned and smiled her thanks to Basch, his large armor clad form shielding her from what would most-likely be horrid tangles. He smiled down at her. Or so she envisioned; hard to tell with the helmet on. They began walking, the heavy thunk of his armor echoing against the stone and brick buildings.
He seemed to have something to say, but waited. It took her a moment to realize why. "You've status to address me, Judge. By all means, do so." Because of rank, if they'd wanted to speak, she would've had to address him first. Now that he was Judge Magister, he had permission do otherwise. He shook his head.
"Not I. Garbranth. Basch Fon Ronsenberg has no right to speak to a Queen first." Despite all the metal, she could still here the bitterness through his helmet. So much bitterness. Ashe knew it wasn't directed her at, but still felt a quick flash of anger. She intended to let it go.
"So you say, though you are wrong," she said, looking to her right. She watched their shadows, stretched out so far, and thought they looked how their owners felt. The wind came up quickly behind them filled with leafs and petals it stole from the sides of buildings. The air seemed to ricochet off the walls in the narrows passages; the kidnapped leafs riding the otherwise invisible current, spiraling violently past them. Ashe sympathized with the little pieces of foliage, encouraging their vain attempts to escape their fate.
"Your Highness," Basch began quietly. She jumped. His voice seemed to rumble with the helmet on. Or maybe he always had such a voice, one like distant thunder. "I do have something to say." Yes, like the clap that promises rain over Giza, but not Rabnastre. A definite storm, but nowhere near.
She realized he was waiting for her consent. She turned away from the struggle in the air and to him. "What is it?"
"Did you mean what you said to Prince Rozzaria?" She blinked. One, twice, three times. Did she mean what? She's said many things to Al-Cid over time. She stared at the dark metal, wishing she could see his face. Her father had taught her how important it was to look someone in the eye while speaking. One could imagine how conversations with the Judges grated her nerves. But with Basch… A helmet so carefully designed to shield didn't suit him. On him it seemed more like something to hide behind.
She tilted her head, squinting against the setting sun's reflection off the chrome that detailed his armor. Chain mail grinded against thick protective plates as he removed the helmet and held it to his side. His face appeared to glow, much like she did atop the tower. "Do you truly believe your friends are nowhere to be found?"
Oh. So he'd heard that, had he? There was a kind of desperation in his voice. It was a soft, only an undertone, but still present. She knew he sought the truth, as he always would from her, but she also knew what he wanted to hear. Ashe was never one to lie. Except the whole 'Amalia' thing, but that had been under certain circumstances and perfectly expectable.
Her honest, "Yes," and Basch's neutral, but caring expression crumbled into complete guilt. Ashe was still looking into his suddenly sad eyes, and could practically hear all of the 'If only I had stayed' thoughts that raced about his mind. She winced, tried to pass it off as squinting because of the sun and faced away from him.
The wind burst past them twice before he spoke. "I will come if you need me."
"You are Judge Magister, serving only the Empire." She began picking at her gloves' lace. They were orange-red in the sunset. "You can't run off to save a helpless and clueless queen."
Another break of silence. One uninterrupted by wind. "Lord Larsa would allow it, should I ask."
Her voice remained distant, automatic. "You serve the Empire—"
"I serve Dalmasca first."
She spun around, suddenly unreasonably angry at him. "And before that, Landis!" She threw her hands into the air, overtaken with her sudden rage. "I shan't seek help from a man who switches sides when the one before calls for too much effort!"
And there it was. Finally said. The unnamed tension between them, bloated and ugly, growing with every meeting they'd had since he'd left finally had a title. She knew why he had to go with Larsa. She knew that out of everyone, he was the only one with an actual excuse not to be around her. It was completely logical and certainly in the best interest of Ivalice and, in turn, Dalmascca.
Ashe just hated it. Hated being by herself. Nearly isolated because Vaan had dreams to fulfill with Penelo as his designated shadow, because Fran didn't believe in staying in one place for too long, because treasures and tombs had claimed Balthier's heart in ways she could not and because Basch was too damn big of a coward to take the road less traveled. To stick it out with her.
The cold wind felt good against her burning face and neck. She huffed in and out, still angry. Sorry, but angry. "You owe me no guilt, Judge," she breathed hard, though her tone was even, diplomatic. "You confuse your self with Vossler; he was sworn to aid me, not my country. You were sworn to protect my country, not me."
Guilt in his eyes shifted to something else. Regret? Or was it pity? Whatever it was, it made her angry again. That's all she ever was anymore; angry, irritated and upset. "If there's nothing else, Gabranth," it sounded like a curse, and there was flinching around his eyes. "I suggest you return to the Emperor." With that, she began walking towards the Aerodome.
"I am here, should you need!" he called suddenly. She didn't turn around or give any other kind of sign that she acknowledged or cared. It wasn't so blustery father down the corridor, more like a tough breeze that carried Basch's words with her, the air current pulling the echo along.
She stopped and looked behind her. He wasn't there. "I am here, should you need!" Ashe didn't need anything. She didn't need the Marquis' help. She didn't need the Nethicite. The Queen entered the Aerodome and waved off questions about where the Judge who was supposed to be escourting her was. And she didn't need him or anyone else.
With those thoughts in mind, she couldn't help but wonder why she spent the entire duration of the flight to Bhujerba in her private quarters, wiping at stubborn tears.
Author's Note: And so it begins. I have no idea how long this is going to take me to write, but it's going to become my priority. I have up to chapter four outlined and that's almost like the end of the prologue Also, scattered chunks are done, too. I'm not sure how long this is set after the end of the game. I'm banking on four or five years. Honestly, and feel free to laugh, I had a dream of a movie trailer for this story. The only parts I have solidly written up are the pieces I saw. I'll be discovering just as much with the rest of you. Jesus, I'm a shitty writter.
R&R please, commentary desperately needed during this project.