All this talk of nethicite was making his head ache.
Balthier stood to the side, eyes darting about the room, taking in the expressions on all his companions faces, though his gaze lingered on a certain princess clinging to the Dawn Shard as if it were her very life. He had never trusted power, it was too easy to wield, too easy to corrupt. He should know, that taste for corruption ran through his very veins, though that piece of knowledge was so far buried that it was almost forgotten. Almost, anyway.
Balthier watched her as the Princess Ashelia spoke with conviction, her eyes lit near feverish, too bright to go unnoticed. Already, she was tempted by the stone in her hands, not just to defend her homeland, but to wreak vengeance on her enemies. It was probably a similar philosophy that had begun Vayne's obsession, as well as a certain Dr. Cid.
Damn. No matter how he ran, the past was never too far behind.
He almost sighed in relief when Vaan's innocent question of whether the princess could use the stone stopped her in her tracks. If she couldn't wield it, then it was just a piece of rock, useless.
"The Garif may know." Fran whispered, almost a premonition in her voice.
And any hope of the stone being cast away was quelled, and Balthier clenched his teeth, the strange urge to wring his partner's neck a little too strong to completely ignore. Why feed this insane journey that could only lead in destruction? He glanced at the princess, her eyes sparkling hope and something darker, and he couldn't help the prickling of foreboding. She would do it, he realized, she would destroy Archadia. But she wouldn't survive it. Right now, Princess Ashelia was fired up on revenge, embittered by the betrayal of her knight Vossler, eager to see retribution. But once it was over, and nothing was left but corpses and fire, she would remember herself, and that queenly compassion that marked her soul would know no comfort. She had already killed herself in rumor. This time, it would be truth.
Something sparked inside him, hot and brutal, and Balthier knew he had no choice. She needed to know consequence. She needed to be reminded of death. And there was only one way to do it. If she had to hate him to do so, it would be no burden on his part.
But in some small part of him, he hoped she would forgive him.
"What we need now is power," Princess Ashelia said, her words fierce, "Should we declare Dalmasca free without the means to defend our claim, the Empire would crush us. You must take me to meet with the Garif."
Fran's ruby eyes glittered, seeing things better left unseen, but she relented. "They live beyond Ozmone Plain."
And that was the leading man's cue.
"Not exactly close," Balthier interrupted, setting the stage.
The princess' eyes narrowed, near furious at the obstacle. "Compensation, is that what you want?"
"Straight to the point, aren't we? I like that." He let his eyes wander up and down her form, tinged pink with temper. He couldn't help a few lascivious thoughts, she was a stunning female after all, and that had crept into his voice. Now, it was time to pose a mostly innocent question, holding his hand out patiently. "Compensation? How about the ring?"
"This?" Her voice quivered, terrified. Her features, before hardened in conviction, had shattered instantly, grief welling in her as like tears, her hands shaking like leaves in the wind. "Isn't there something else?"
Balthier lifted an eyebrow, playing the rogue to full effect. That bloody ring had chained her more fully that any hand cuffs or manacles ever could, keeping her embedded in the past with no hope for a future. And that just wouldn't do. Not for him. And especially not for her.
"No one's forcing you," he added, his hand still waiting. He watched as the decision flickered in her gaze, full of shadows and scars. With a sigh of finality, a look of regret, she slowly slipped the silver ring from her delicate finger. She reached forward, hesitating for but a moment, and laid it into his palm, fingertips brushing ever so slightly against his skin. Unable to restrain himself, he glanced into her face, and tried to ignore the slight twinge in guilt at her crestfallen expression. It was if her husband had died all over again. Maybe he had, and to Balthier, that was the whole point.
He hadn't planned on saying anything else, but suddenly he was speaking. "I'll give it back to you, as soon as I find something more valuable."
The princess' eyes flashed, savage, but she turned, brushing him off and walking away, pride forcing her to keep her regal carriage. He watched her, confused at the pang reeling in his chest, but feeling strangely victorious, as if this were a particular fierce battle. He felt Vaan approach him, questioning.
"What do you mean something more valuable?"
Balthier looked down at his hand, the ring glistening silver, and for once in his life had no idea what to say. But it was his line, and he could never disappoint his audience.
"Hard to say." He admitted, glancing once more at the princess who had nearly faded into shadow, "I'll know when I find it."