18/3/708

Balthier,

I hope this letter finds you well. Before you dismiss it, know this; it has been a long time since we have spoken, and I do so now only at great need. I know this will not offend you; being who I am and being who you are, I understand entirely why we have remained apart for all this time. But circumstances conspire, and I find myself forced to call upon your services. I hope you can forgive me for this.

Two years have passed since the Battle of Rabanastre, when at the brink of war we somehow preserved the peace. You resurfaced a year later, after we all believed you dead. In all this time you have yet to visit with myself or Ashe, and so I think myself safe in assuming you are not aware of the current political climate. Despite all our best wishes, hostilities did not fully end with my brother's death and my own ascension. I and Ashe are doing all that we can, but there are those that stand against us, both in and out of our own lands. I will not bore you with those details; I know you have no interest in such things.

Suffice it to say, things are not as peaceful as we might have hoped. I wish you to know only that there are many in Ivalice that still seem to desire war over peace. It is one such party that troubles us now.

Over the past month, assassins have struck repeatedly within the Imperial Palace. Gabranth is unable to explain how they continue to enter, despite his and Zargabaath's best efforts at preventing this. The first strikes were at clerks, civilians, soldiers; minor personnel. The more time passed, the more important their targets, culminating with Zargabaath himself only today, at the time of writing.

They are clad exclusively in black cloth that, at a glance, conceals their identities, armored only in light black leather. They carry no goods or equipment beyond arms, armor, and a peculiar sort of amulet. While I did not recognize it, Gabranth tells me it is traditionally worn by the Asha'shul, a secretive sect originating in the Rozarrian Empire that specializes in subterfuge, sabotage and assassination. While they owe the Margrace family no fealty, they are often hired by them and other groups for various tasks, many of them unsavory.

He and I have reason to believe a party – perhaps House Margrace, perhaps another House, perhaps a group not related to Rozarria at all – is attempting to goad us into all-out war with Rozarria. This, of course, is unacceptable. We cannot look into these affairs ourselves, however; we have our own troubles, and subterfuge is certainly not an Archadian specialty, as you well know. And so I call to you, that you act where we might not. There is much at stake, and in the circumstances, I would trust no other with this task.

I beseech you; go to Rozarria, and uncover the truth of things. I do not ask you this as Emperor; I ask as your friend.

One last thing, however; do not show this to the good Queen, or those associated with her, save at dire need. She has enough trouble on her plate already, and you know better than me just how she would react to this. Let us attempt to keep this under wraps.

~Larsa Solidor

P.S. Balthier? You're smart enough to know not to show this to anybody that doesn't need to see it. I know you have a lot of contacts. If any of them can help you, you have permission to tell them what they need to know. Show this letter if you must. Keep yourself safe out there, and give Fran my best. It's been too long.

~ Gabranth

Aedan stared down, aware of how his mouth drooped open and his eyes had widened. He didn't care. Had the Sky Fortress Bahamut tipped over a few meters and fallen atop the Sandsea, he might not have immediately noticed. Where the bloody hell am I supposed to start with this? His mind raced.

Slowly, he lifted his head to look back at his fellow Sky Pirates, only to find the two of them looking directly at him. Fran's countenance was no less stony than it ever was, but a glint of understanding shone in her scarlet eyes, a hint that she understood what he was thinking. Balthier, in turn, seemed caught somewhere between bemused and...alert? Yes, of course. He knows how I might react to this, Aedan considered.

Long-time friends they may have been, but that was no protection from his temper.

He spared another brief downwards glance towards the letter, before reaching up with his hand to place it down atop the table, settling back in his chair in a manner he forced to be casual. Had they not been in the middle of a bustling tavern, silence might have reigned in the intervening seconds before Aedan lifted his gaze to stare directly at Balthier, azure eyes meeting emerald.

"This is a joke," he announced simply, voice as clear as it ever was, but carrying a note of question and uncertainty that did not belong there. Aedan was certain, confident; confusion did not belong. Balthier never even blinked. Shit. "I mean come on. Really. Judge Bloody Magister Gabranth giving Fran a friendly message? Archadia and Dalmasca in bed together? A Sky Pirate on first name terms with the Emperor of Archadia?" His voice had started out calm, measured, but by the end it was dripping with exasperation. He looked at Balthier, looked for any sign that this was indeed a joke that was being played on him. The Archadian Sky Pirate simply looked back at him, patiently.

"This is ridiculous," Aedan continued, shaking his head with an accompanying scoff as he turned his attention to the lower floor of the Sandsea, deciding to distract himself by observing some of the locals doing what they did best. "You can't possibly expect me to take this seriously," he said, half-asking, as his eyes settled on a drunk vomiting into the lap of one of the wenches, eliciting a shriek and earning him a sound slap. Wish I was in his shoes, Aedan shook his head once more.

Balthier took his tankard in his right hand and lifted it for a sip, watching Aedan over the rim. "If only," he countered, diverting his own eyes towards where his friend was looking. "I'd like nothing better than to dismiss all this as a joke and carry on my merry way, but unfortunately, I don't have the luxury. This is very serious business, you know." This earned a grunt from Aedan, who briefly glanced towards Fran, silently asking if she had anything to add. She did not speak, but nor did she turn her eyes away from him, and it was he that looked away first, now watching the drunk attempt to patch things up with the wench. Which seems to include attempting to fondle her, Aedan noted, raising his brow at the sight of it.

"Yes, yes, very serious. Really, Balthier. Assassins? Political rivals? War? And of all the possible people in the world, he contacts you for help? One of the most wanted criminals in Ivalice? What the bloody hell do you think I am, an idiot? He'd be more likely to have you shot."

"And you know the Emperor yourself now, do you?" Balthier asked, earning a brief glare from Aedan.

"Calm yourself," Fran interjected, catching his gaze once more before he could reply to Balthier's bait. "Stop and think. You know this is not a joking matter," she said, cool as could be, monotonous voice sweeping over him. She, at least, is not the type to joke around, Aedan was forced to concede. Breathing out through his nose, he eased himself anew back into his seat, resting his right elbow on the armrest and his cheek against his fist as his eyes flitted from pirate to pirate, watching each one in measure. They didn't speak; they knew to give him a little space, to let his mind work. This was not minor news, after all.

Aedan knew little of what the two of them had been up to. Oh, he knew that they had been believed dead after the Battle of Rabanastre, and had resurfaced a year later, joining the many other Sky Pirates in the mad rush for the sky continent. But what about before? What had they been up to in the months leading up to that battle? The last Aedan had heard of the two had been when they were set to infiltrate the Royal Palace here in Rabanastre, two years ago. Vayne Solidor, Larsa's elder brother, had been selected as Imperial Consul for the kingdom during its occupation, and a fete prepared by Migelo had been arranged for that night.

That night, Balthier and Fran had struck into the palace, searching for something. And then they vanished. The night coincided with a Dalmascan Resistance strike, attempting to kill Vayne when he was vulnerable. Silly of them, that. The entire thing was a trap; Vayne used himself as bait, and had the Ifrit tear them apart from the sky. Aedan had been in the city at the time, and he had watched as the battleship known as the Ifrit soared across Rabanastre, firing down at the palace.

The Imperials had claimed it was just thieves. As though they would use a flagship for some thieves.

Aedan had believed the two of them dead, captured or disappeared during the chaos. And yet according to several crewmen and soldiers, the infamous pirates had reappeared during the Battle of Rabanastre, just long enough to infiltrate the Sky Fortress Bahamut. And then they vanished once more, and once more were they believed dead. A year later they resurfaced, and business continued as usual, with Aedan not asking even once about what had happened during those times.

He understood better than most that some stories you just kept to yourself.

And now he was reading this letter, his eyes once more roving over it on the table. Emperors. Rozarrian assassins. A free Kingdom of Dalmasca working co-operatively with the Archadian Empire. Judge Magister Gabranth. And Balthier and Fran, being contacted to help them. Suddenly, Aedan felt differently; suddenly, he wanted to know just what Balthier and Fran had been up to during those mysterious years. Do I really know them? He found himself asking, looking at each one in turn.

More importantly, did it matter? Either this was a monumental joke, in which case he could walk away...or the Emperor of Archadia's life was endangered. In which case he could still walk away. He cared nothing for the lives of Archadians. Save for this one sat in front of me, he reminded himself. It was a clear and obvious decision. The simple fact was that this had nothing at all to do with him.

Silently, he rose up out of his chair, drawing Balthier's gaze; the pirate looked at him, the question unspoken in his gaze. Aedan slid out of place, placing his right hand on the letter and sliding it back towards Balthier as he spoke, the fingers of his metal gauntlet scratching slightly on the surface, grating. "I appreciate the offer," Aedan said evenly, maintaining eye contact with his friend, "but I'm out." He promptly turned, and began to walk away. He did not get far.

"Aedan," Balthier spoke up, voice remaining calm and casual even so; it was a skill, surely. "We need your help."

The words were enough to cause Aedan to sigh under his breath before turning around and approaching the table again, cloaked form remaining on his feet rather than moving for the chair. He had no intention of lingering. "I escaped that life," he said, with a voice that sounded calmer than he felt. "I won't run headlong back into it - not even for you," he finished, reaching up with both hands to raise his hood over his head. He wouldn't want to be recognized, after all. Not in this city.

"Have it your way then," Balthier said with a tone reminiscent to a shrug, the motion accompanying his words all the same, his expression one of sudden abrupt disinterest. "I can hardly blame you for being indifferent to Archadia's Plight."

And as Aedan turned, hood almost up, Balthier's voice lowered somewhat, almost accusing in nature. It didn't belong. "I should think you more concerned with Dalmasca's, however. These assassins are going after an Emperor."

Those words caused Aedan to fall still. He'd come so close. Don't go there, Balthier. Please, don't.

"What would stop them going after a Queen, I wonder?"

Promise me, Aedan.

I think I went a little too far, Balthier realized, as Aedan's fist slammed down on the table, silencing conversation on the surrounding tables.

Seconds passed. The table settled again, having tipped somewhat in Aedan's direction as his fist connected with it, causing Balthier's tankard to fall off the table, spilling the rest of its contents on the floor. His eyes never wavered from Aedan's own, so blue, and so full of shocked anger.

Balthier had always believed emotion to be separate from the body. It was something metaphorical, something you couldn't measure or properly describe; it was simply there. But in that moment, he knew. Emotion was something you could see, something you could feel and measure. It was rolling off of his friend in waves, and Balthier knew that had he been anybody else, he would have been little more than a smear on the wall by that point. Yes, just a little too far, Balthier noted.

"I was drinking that," he complained, dulcet voice no less calm than it had been a moment beforehand. In the corner of his eye he could see Fran, see the way she had tensed somewhat, watched even as she relaxed once more. He did the same, letting his muscles settle. The instincts of a Viera were far sharper than a Hume could comprehend. If Fran sensed this was a time to relax, then it was, whatever state Aedan was in. She knew him as well as Balthier did, after all. Perhaps even a little better.

"You're lucky that's the only thing I spilled," Aedan growled, right hand still on the table where it had struck, metal gauntlet clenched in a fist. Balthier knew the anger was not directed at him; it was because Aedan knew he was right. His friend had the most ferocious of tempers, usually so well controlled and disciplined behind a wall of iron, and when it showed – in combat and out – it was easy to assume he was little more than a brute barbarian.

Balthier knew better; he knew his friend was ruthlessly intelligent, like he himself, and that he had realized the same thing already – that assassins who could kill an Emperor would kill a Queen just as easily. He had simply been looking for an excuse to hide from it. An Emperor he could care less about. But the other...

Slowly, the cloaked sky pirate lifted his fist, motions too calm and controlled in contrast to what had just happened, and Balthier knew he was bringing his emotions back under wraps. As the seconds passed, conversation on the surrounding tables began to return, hesitantly at first but with growing confidence. Balthier could see they never stopped sparing brief glances at Aedan, however, and he could see a couple of eyes widen in recognition. The same eyes swept quickly to Balthier and Fran, and wide eyes grew wider still. Bugger.

"I think it is time for us to leave," Balthier said, rising to his feet and resisting the impulse to reach down and check that his rifle and rapier were still in the same place. He knew they would be; the former was strapped to his right leg, within easy reach, while the latter hung from his left hip, lacking a scabbard. "The choice is yours, Aedan. The Strahl is at the usual hangar. We're leaving in two hours, with you or without you," he said, and he knew that Aedan would be there. Balthier was depending on it.

For Aedan had considerably more experience in Rozarria than either of them, and his combat style was thoroughly physical and frontline, in contrast to Balthier and Fran. Together, the three of them presented a powerful and united front that was nigh impossible to penetrate, and that might be needed before this task was complete. And I trust him, Balthier admitted. He trusted very few people.

As he passed, he briefly reached out to place his right hand on Aedan's shoulder, patting him before releasing him and proceeding down the stairs, Fran sliding into place beside him.

"That was ill done," she said, reprimanding him, and while her voice never shifted it held a cold note in it. Yes, it was, he thought, a sliver of guilt worming its way into his consciousness. Aedan had been through enough already without Balthier poking the wound. This was manipulation, clear and simple. And it had to be done – for his own good.

"We keep too much from him. When do you intend to tell him about Ashe?" Fran continued, and Balthier spared a brief glance at his lifelong companion, shaking his head briefly.

"Never, if I have my way. Who would want that conversation?" He asked rhetorically, for if Aedan discovered Balthier knew Queen Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca even better than he knew Larsa, he would explode. It would be thoroughly unpleasant, and I have no intention of opening that particular can of worms.

Fran simply sniffed once before forging onwards towards the exit, making her opinion on the matter clear. Balthier sighed and followed her, sparing one brief look back towards the balcony, where he could still see Aedan, standing still and staring down at the letter on the table. Forgive me, but we do what we must, Balthier apologized, even as he turned to follow after Fran.

Drama was all well and good. But they had business to attend to.

Yo!

Apologies about the wait. The writing itself didn't take so long, but it took a bit longer than expected to upload it, as one bit of business piled up on top of the other, and only recently have I found the time to go through it and make sure everything was as it should be. With any luck, the next chapter won't take half as long.

So, see you next time, and hope you're enjoying things so far.