An onward the saga rolls. I'm just going to let it speak for itself.


Pirates of Ivalice – Chapter 9

A Pirate always keeps their cool.


"You killed and ate my birds!"

The Lady Ashe was as charming as she had ever been – which was, on the whole, not really that charming. And unfortunately for those that suffered it, Her Royal Highness's attitude had not become any less condescending in the time since she had taken the throne – even if it was harder to detect on this occasion under the initial layer of hatred and fury.

"Princess," Balthier cooed, still attempting to remain suave even from behind bars, and refusing as ever call her by her appropriate title. "That is a terrible thing to suggest..." He paused, as if not expecting to be asked for an answer beyond this, and only continued once the palace jailer had glared at him for some time.

"... Fran killed them. I merely cooked them... Vaan ate them, I recall." He looked over to Fran, who was sedentary in the corner of the cell. "He ate most of them, at least," he amended, returning to Ashe with a wolfish grin.

Fran chose not to contribute to the conversation, and was instead slowly carving a groove on the stone floor with the tip of her heel. Slow work, but she was making sure progress. She never took all that well to captivity as a whole, and her ride over to Rabanastre had been one of the more unpleasant experiences in her life.

"It was you who stole them in the first place," Ashe pointed out spitefully, and Balthier shrugged.

"That does sound like something we might do," he remarked very light-heartedly, and after noting that H.R.H. did not seem to be calming down in the slightest, opted to take a less antagonistic position. "Now don't you think you are overreacting a little?" he said delicately, approaching the front of the cell and gripping the bars, as he put his face up to them with a smile intended to charm. "They were only birds." The use of the past tense stuck out glaringly.

"What they were is not of significance, pirate," she spat hatefully. "You have thieved from me long enough."

"Well, that's no way to thank the Hero who saved your Capital city," replied Balthier outlandishly. "Your only city, as a matter of fact."

"I granted you amnesty at the time of the Bahamut!" Ashe blazed. "You cannot keep using that card in this game, Balthier," she threatened, and the pirate merely sighed, as if he had only just realized this might be a little harder than he expected.

"I did not know you for a card player, princess," he said dryly, but Ashe was predictably less than amused; however, that didn't make it any less amusing. "All this," he added while making a trite circling gesture around her, "–is all a rather obvious bluff, if I might say so myself."

He was sure there was a line in there somewhere about royal flushes too, considering the theme they were running with – the royal in question was flushing now, though, that was just the particular way Ashe's face coloured when she was on the verge of exploding. Fran sighed quietly from her corner, unheard by anyone inside or out of the cell; she would rather stay out of the dangerous game her partner seemed to be convinced would somehow award them their freedom.

"Enough, Balthier!" Ashe finally snapped.

"Oh now, what a shame," he purred. "I was having such fun." Resisting the urge to point out to Ashe that she was going red in the face, even if he thought it was highly entertaining, he reached an arm through the cell bars and casually crossed it over his body, as if ignoring them could somehow make them cease to exist.

"Do you know the penalty for piracy in Dalmasca?" she questioned, refusing to let him derail the conversation any further, even if it meant carrying it out one-sidedly.

"Why would I?" he replied glibly. "No need to know the punishments if you are never caught." The irony of his present situation was not lost on him, but he told himself that the present was just an incredibly unfortunate one-off incident that ought not be counted – the exception that proved the rule, if anything.

"Then it is time you learned. 'Tis hanging," she hissed with an unsettling amount of blood lust, and Balthier started to get the vaguest inclination that perhaps she might be genuinely cross at him.

"Princess, don't you think we should just... now... wait a minute, who is he?" he demanded worriedly, as a large, burly man in a hood entered the palace cells and began sizing up Balthier with what appeared to be a measuring stick.

"Why, your hangman, of course." The amount of pleasure with which the Queen of Dalmasca spoke would have shamed even Vayne Solidor, but Balthier was unfortunately too absorbed in his own predicament to have time to make comparisons.

"What?" he snapped. "You cannot be serious!" he rushed, his eyes never moving from the man, who – being an executioner, looked very serious as a occupational feature. Balthier then glanced back at Ashe, who wore the same murderous glare that raised the question of whether or not the power was beginning to get to her.

"...You can't HANG me!" he yelled at last, snatching his arm back inside the cell as if he risked losing it.

"You are much mistaken," replied Ashe smugly. "I can, and I will, Balthier. My lands and skies will be much safer with your boots at the hangman's bed."

"But-!" he protested, until Fran was suddenly on her feet and by the cell bars.

"And what do you propose to make of me?" she interrupted stonily, looking straight down her nose at Ashe.

"Of course, I will respect the Viera law," the monarch replied coolly; even outside of Golmore, the Viera maintained that they were still ruled by the Wood, therefore only responsible to their own kind. Granting an entire race diplomatic immunity seemed rash, but Viera on the whole committed so few crimes that it was widely accepted. It certainly made Fran's life as one of the few, if only, professional Viera criminal a great deal easier.

"Well as glad as I am to hear that – my own impending death aside," Balthier interjected. "You and I still have a number of problems, Fran, the least of which being him," he said with a jerk of his head towards the hangman, who seemed to take a little offence at the inference; although he did not stop attempting to guess the approximate width of Balthier's neck.

"But what can be done?" said Fran, turning to him and making a gesture of indifference.

"Something," he hissed with increasing desperation. "Personally I'd be rather upset to meet my end at the hand of a capricious woman holding a petty grudge!" he finished loudly, making sure that Ashe heard each and every word.

"How dare-" Ashe began, but in an instant he whipped up a hand in a silencing motion towards her.

"Was I addressing you, Princess?" he said rudely, and she was shocked speechless for a moment; she'd forgotten what it was like to have someone treat her with no respect for her position – no respect at all, as a matter of fact.

"... You will have exactly what you deserve, Balthier," she fired back ominously; she was so visibly furious that Balthier made a special note of the achievement. She was about to turn on her tail and leave, but before she could move far Balthier lurched towards the front of the cell, spearing his arm between the bars and grabbing her by the wrist.

"I would wonder," he said in a hushed tone, "exactly what part of the royal ascent taught you such ingratitude?" He did not grip her arm tight enough for it to be painful, but it was strong enough that she wouldn't pull away easily. "I think it rather unbecoming for you to forget exactly how much we went through for your sake not three years ago," he reminded her, and she tore herself out of his grip as if his touch could inflict poison on her.

"My ingratitude?" she snarled.

"Yes," shot Balthier. "T'was not for Fran's or my sake nor profit that we ferried you across the nation, fought by your side, and then almost killed ourselves to save Rabanastre, your city." Fran thought it was of interest that he did not mention the loss of his father – not that there had been much to lose – in this verbal onslaught on the Queen, in spite of how much it clearly did matter to him. She suspected that perhaps it mattered too much.

"I paid my gratitude to you both already!" Ashe retorted, and Balthier laughed, but with an expression that looked closer to physical revulsion than good humour.

"Oh you did? I do not ask for a free reign in your country, Ashe – it is your incompetent armies that give me that – but I hardly feel the warmth of gratitude when your hangman is sizing up my neck." As he spoke, Fran slowly approached him and lightly tapped her fingers on his shoulder, but he was too worked up to take notice of it.

"You have committed crime after crime in Dalmas-" Ashe began.

"I am a pirate," he countered, "so that is rather the nature of the game. Even Larsa, whose brother we collectively slaughtered allows a modest amnesty – one that very kindly involves not hanging me!" As he paused, slightly breathless, and regained his composure, Fran tapped him again on the shoulder; this time, he noticed.

"If I might speak," she intervened. "It appears to me that no progress will be made here. Perhaps, Ashe, you might leave us a moment, so we may spend some time alone before our fate approaches." Balthier's look of confidence in his partner was slowly weakening, while Ashe – struggling for words – eventually stormed away.

"Pardon my alarm, Fran," remarked Balthier once she was out of earshot, "but I feel you are being awfully blasé about my upcoming demise." The Viera did not reply, instead regarding him with an expression he should have recognised earlier. "Oh... oh," he hummed curiously. "Now, what is that little twinkle in your eye?"

"I can demand my own release to Golmore immediately," she explained. "Once outside the Palace, I will send a message with the greatest haste to Arcadia."

"Arcadia? To whom?... Larsa?" he said quizzically. "Now, he may not have stolen our airship nor imprisoned us, but I doubt he will rescue me from a perfectly legal hangman's..." he broke off as he realized exactly what Fran was planning. "Of course!" he gaped, slapping a hand to his forehead, "The Will!"

He started rummaging around at once in his packs, and at last pulled out a roll of papers, thumbing through them to check for the stamped and sealed will of Vayne.

"He will not hesitate to intervene, if it is made clear the will would be destroyed with you should you befall any misfortune in this city," Fran explained self-satisfactorily.

"Why, I'd bet my life on it, were it not already on the line," he gushed, heaving a huge sigh of relief – he'd thought for a moment there that he might have really been in trouble. "Although," he added thoughtfully, "he cannot just charge in and rip me from her hands without a... I would need to..." he trailed off, only to burst into laughter moments later.

"What now?" Fran probed, unsure if the panic was destabilising her partner's state of mind, or if he was always this unhinged.

"Well, Fran," he began enthusiastically. "My case is surely the same as yours. Laws of extradition apply all across Ivalice, you know." Fran's eyes narrowed slightly.

"I am not sure I follow."

"Oh, you will," he replied with an electrifying sense of foreboding. "Let us get our gracious jailer back before she stomps too far away. OH ASHE!" he bellowed down the hall. "GUARDS! PRINCESS!" he continued to holler, and it wasn't long before a guard came tearing down the hall furiously with Ashe not too far behind.

"What in Ivalice is it now?" she snarled.

"Fran would like to go home," he said courteously, making a great effort not to let the look of smug triumph work its way onto his face. "And as a matter of fact – so would I." His smile cracked, and he gave Ashe a boisterous look.

"Fran may go as soon as another Viera can come to be her escort," Ashe replied stiffly. "You do not have a home to go to." Balthier put his hand over his chest in a show of being slighted.

"How your sharp words wound me," he replied dramatically. "Did you not know I am a documented citizen of Arcadia?" His grin bubbled up again and his teeth flashed for a moment in unquestioning enjoyment. "I should think my demands are fairly clear, Your Highness – I want extradition," he proclaimed. "As an Arcadian, I have the right to trial in my own nation."

"You..." Ashe fumbled for words. "You... you are not Arcadian – you don't have a nation," she insisted. " Sky pirates have forfi..." Balthier quirked his head so suddenly to the side that she broke away in the middle of her sentence again, realizing that there was another trick coming from up his sleeve.

"A what?" he echoed mischievously. "I am no sky pirate, Milady," he taunted, and Ashe laughed nervously.

"What nonsense do you spout now? You are Balthie-..." She seemed wholly unable to finish anything she said to him again, as no sooner had she started than he stopped her again.

"Who, may I ask, is that?" he queried innocently. "I am Ffamran Mied Bunansa. Never heard of this other fellow."

Ashe didn't look like she knew whether to laugh, scream or pinch herself and wake up. "What?" she murmured.

"My name is not Balthier," he explained patiently. "Is not, was not, and will not be for that matter," he added, swaying his forefinger back and forth with each new tense. "I am a former judge who is recently returned to Arcades – not to mention a budding socialite – by the name Ffamran. I'm an Arcadian citizen through and through. In fact, Your Highness, I could give you ten names who would attest to it this very moment."

He crossed his arms over his chest proudly – the discomfort of having to pull out his past life again was trifling compared to the discomfort of a rope around his neck, and he'd spent more than enough time imitating his alternative self of recent. He suspected he was as at peace with it now as he ever would be.

"Why not send word of him to Emperor Solidor?" Fran challenged. "Even if the story were to be false, then it would it not be proven so by the Larsa's dismissal of it?"

"Exactly," Balthier – or 'Ffamran' – agreed. "Not to mention, the last thing a fragile nation like Dalmasca wants to do is upset Arcadia by wrongly executing one of their own."

"You are no such thing!" Ashe argued tensely. "Do not try to lie to me when I know already what- I mean who, you are, Balthier."

"A 'sky pirate' so you tell me," he jested, making sweeping quotation gestures with his fingers. "Tell me one more thing. If I am this pirate fellow Balthier Bunansa, then where is my airship?"

"Your... you mean the Strahl?" Ashe stammered; in her haste to capture Balthier she had no word of the Strahl, but she could not imagine he had been captured without his airshipl; however, looking to her jailer, he shook his head. "What do you mean?" she demanded.

"Well, I presume this Strahl still flies in Ivalice," Balthier repeated wearily – having to spell it out for her was a great waste of his patience when his life was hanging in the balance. "I certainly don't have it on my person, and if tis' not with me, and not with you, one would assume it still flies Ivalicean skies – no? This is your 'Balthier Bunansa's' ship, is it not?" he insisted, resorting again to the quotation mark gestures.

"Of... course it is," she reluctantly agreed, furrowing her brow a little with mistrust.

"Exactly," he triumphed. "So pirate and ship go together. Now, if he is in his ship – which we have already established is not here – then he cannot be here either, therefore I could not possibly be myself – do you follow? I must be someone else, if I and my ship are somewhere else."

Ashe wondered if she had this headache when she came in, and for a while no one spoke; Balthier silently revelled in his greatest piece of wordwork all week.

"I would deign to be released as soon as an escort may be found for me, Your Highness," Fran announced calmly, breaking the silence at last.

"Yes, and I'd also recommend you communicate with my gracious Emperor Solidor, as I would very much like to go home," Balthier added contritely.

The only wild factor in their plan, he'd worked out, was if Fran's message to Larsa arrived after Ashe's, as then the boy might not be inclined to save him from the noose. The chances of that were fairly slim, though, as he probably already knew by now that the will was missing, and might easily assume that he and Fran were the culprits. Additionally, even if Fran's explanatory message did arrive after Ashe's then he would have to go back on anything he said in order to protect the will from destruction, so really they were protected on all sides.

"I... I..." Ashe was, unusually enough, totally speechless. This was largely down to her inability to fully wrap her head around what had just happened.

She was hardly going to take orders from Balthier of all people, nor his partner in crime, but she could not for the life of her fathom a rational reason to refuse their request. It was even within their rights as prisoners, because she knew that Balthier spoke of his true past. In the end, as she could not imagine any situation in which Larsa would dare to defy a Queen to protect a pirate, she decided concede to her prisoners' suggestions.

"I will be back," she said threateningly, and Balthier just smiled.

"Oh, I do not doubt it, princess," he replied with a touch of bravado. "I greatly look forward to seeing you without this ugly set of bars between us." As if to rub salt into the wound, he winked at her.

Ashe bit her lip; it was evident she wanted to snap some equally witty or condescending response at him, but appeared unable to find the words to do so. She had to resort in the end to simply storming out for the second time. Balthier was quiet for a while as the sound of Ashe's footsteps on the stone floor got farther and farther away, until eventually they vanished altogether.

"You know," he remarked, stepping away from the front of the cell and then taking a seat close to Fran, leaning back against the cell wall, "she is really so phenomenally easy to tease that I find it quite impossible to refrain. I think it rather hampers our chances at maintaining an amiable acquaintance."

"I did notice," replied Fran wryly. "You take many risks infuriating her so."

"Oh, do not fret," he tutted. "I have dodged the bullet on this one, thanks to your enlightened assistance. I knew I kept you around for something other than looking good," he added glibly. "Or was it making me look good? I never keep track."

"Tis both," she answered concisely. "And I remind you, were it not for the Will you'd face the hangman at dawn tomorrow," she pointed out seriously. If he needed a more effective wake-up call to the urgency of their dire fortunes than this, she suspected he wouldn't live long enough to take heed of the lesson.

"Oh Fran, please do not be so macabre," he protested. "No sense expending thought on what might have happened – I'd not be able to move for the regret." He yawned, bringing a brightly-ringed hand up to his mouth and then sinking his forehead down to rest upon it. The first ran straight into a second, and she watched his shoulders slumping.

"All this trouble has made me really quite weary," he announcing wanly, shifting closer to her with a hopeful air. "Would you mind awfully if I took forty winks before some cruel hand of fate in high heels takes you away from me?" his tone wished to be light, but under his exhaustion, and the dark circumstances of their being imprisoned, the jollity of the words didn't fly far in the damp, mossy-smelling air.

"Go ahead," she consented.

"Ah, much appreciated," he replied affectionately, letting his head droop down to rest against her shoulder with a sigh, as his eyes quickly fluttered closed. There were no furnishings in their cell, so in absence of a sympathetic companion to nap against, he would have had to brave the cruel and unforgiving walls or floor to gain any rest.

Fran allowed herself to relax awhlie, but did not sleep or let her thoughts stray too far from what they had to do in order to fix this mess. Balthier's weariness indicated far more to her than his behaviour would let show; stress tired him, as most people, so in spite of his cheery and carefree attitude, she knew he was truly just as troubled as she by the situation. It was also no doubt a factor in his begging her shoulder to rest upon, as the comfort offered was deeper than physical, though he'd never admit to it.

He did not have too long to enjoy the rest, though, as her escort – a Viera she did not know, newly-gone from the Wood by her judgement – arrived within the hour. She was meant to be taken back to the Wood so that she could be held accountable for her crimes there – that was the agreement Viera had made with the outside world, but only Viera who had also left the Wood were ever available to be the escorts, and usual proceedings had them go with the accused as far as the city limits and then quickly part ways.

If there were any instance of a violent or extreme crime for which even the escort felt wrong was done, then the accused might be taken back to the Wood for judgement, but it was unheard of in Fran's own lifetime at least. Their own morality was the strictest law that her kind paid heed to, which put her at a great advantage, considering how many of her morals had been bent, warped beyond recognition, or totally abandoned as a consequence of her choice of lifestyle.

"Balthier," she said, gently jostling him awake – as a parent might rouse a napping child – while the Viera escort, to whom she would pay a small gratuity to for the service, stood outside the cell impatiently while the guard fumbled with the keys.

He sluggishly raised a hand as he woke and pressed it to his face. "Yes dear?" he murmured, rubbing his jaw and realizing that he rather needed a shave.

"I must go," she explained, standing slowly and flexing her legs.

"Mmn," he made a low, affirmative sound as he pulled up his knees and rested his elbows on them, still half-asleep as he sighed and yawned into a fist. "I should hope I will see you later, then," he mumbled blurrily, and she made a note of the serious chord in his voice; there was still at least a shred of doubt in his mind.

However, when she looked back at him from the other side of the bars one last time before leaving, he smiled.

"You'll know where to find me when the time comes," he said smoothly, and after a quick glance at her new companion whistled a flirtatious bird-call at her. "Bring your friend," he teased, and the Viera turned to Fran with a confused, critical look, and they silently left the prisons.


End of Chapter 9


This chapter has some of my favourite Balthier-lines of this entire fic, I swear. This is a scene I imagined right from the very start of this story.

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