Author's Note: My apologies! My new job does not allow for as much time as I'd previously had to write! I am doing my best to get these last few chapters written. In the meantime, thank you for your patience!
Disclaimer: I do not own FFXII or these characters.
A Suitor for Ashe
Chapter Eleven
Let it never be said that the woman was without her own particular brand of hospitality.
Memoirs of the Duke of Bervenia
"Captain Tate," Ashe said, breaking through the barrier of astonishment and confusion in her throat. Her voice was raspy, but the underlying steel brooked no opposition.
Pol stepped forward, confused. "Yes, your highness."
"This man should be placed under arrest," Ashe declared imperiously.
Pol gave an uncertain look in the direction of their...unexpected guest. He had an allegiance to his queen, to be sure. However, it was hard to conceive the notion that this man, this hero, this steadfast champion of the queen, was to meet such a fate.
Around them, the murmurs grew in volume, ineffectually quenched by excited hushes.
Balthier stood before the queen, gaze unwavering from hers, stance soldier-still, and face devoid of expression.
He looked paler, but, she supposed, that made sense, given his spending more than half his days hiding behind a mask. His countenance betrayed no emotion; his former famous charm bore no echo in the stiff clench of his jaw, the thin line of his lips. His eyes were clear of judgment, hesitation, or bravado.
She'd known him twice, but the man who stood before her was a complete stranger.
Ashe did not take her eyes away from his. "T-This man is wanted for six counts of breaking and entering, ten counts of trespassing, and five counts of grand larceny under the warrant 2.34.4. Do not make me repeat my very reasonable request, Captain."
"T-to be sure," Pol nodded, stepping forward.
Larsa turned to his former judge, opening his mouth to speak. Balthier put distance between himself and his emperor, giving an arrogant nod of dismissal.
Pol approached with an air of reluctance. "I am very sorry, your honor," the man uttered quietly.
Balthier gave a curt nod of acknowledgment to the man and submitted himself to custody with quiet dignity. A dignity that was observed and acknowledged by Pol's omission of utilizing restraints.
Balthier continued to gaze at Ashe and spoke clearly. "I hope, your highness, that I may be afforded a private audience to plead my case, and to personally submit to you my proposal of marriage."
She scoffed even as her heart throbbed and stung at his words, his voice, his tone. Though he kept his voice level and emotionless, she felt too much. She could hear too much.
He sounds like both of them. Him.
Ashe's fingers trembled. Her legs shook. With as much courage as she could muster, she arrogantly and elegantly swept back to take her seat at the throne, once more reclaiming her authority and calm.
The court watched the quiet departure of the arrested man, not without malicious awe, stunned sadness, and complete surprise. Larsa turned back to Ashe, pale with irritation, his lips pressed into a thin white line of barely restrained fury, his hands clenched tightly at his side.
Ashe turned her own heated gaze to his and lifted a challenging brow, guiding her chin subtly towards the taller Viera judge magister who stood behind him. "Is your business here in Dalmasca concluded?"
He opened his mouth to speak. He knew Gabranth and Rjth, no, Basch and Fran would stand behind him, should he argue for Balthier's freedom. Fran shifted away from him and towards the queen, bracing herself for confrontation, and physically distancing herself from her liege, as her former partner had done. Basch stepped with her.
Balthier had quietly warned him that whatever happened after the disclosure, Larsa was to protect the identity of his remaining judge magisters. He was to step back and allow Ashe to take control of the situation, regardless of how he felt.
Balthier had known, Larsa inwardly groaned. And he, Larsa, should have known.
He had been arrogant enough to assume that decorative words and eloquent speeches would suddenly render all previous warrants null in void. He had been foolish enough to hope that Ashe's joy at her fallen comrade's return to life would offset her anger at the deception.
Maybe it would have been.
But it had been muddled by the one element he'd not realized until he'd seen her set her gaze on Kilbourne's form: she'd trusted the judge magister. And, perhaps, had started forming a predilection for his company.
She had a week before her wedding. Surely, she had to understand she did not have the time for theatrics--
"...and promise me that you will stay uninvolved."
Balthier's last request, repeated with uncharacteristic urgency right before they entered the throne room, bound Larsa to frustrating inaction. "Yes," he replied gruffly. "It is."
"I would welcome an extended stay, were matters not so pressing. However..." she began.
Larsa saw the dismissal, and felt a nerve-wracked split-second of regret that he'd not had the chance to ascertain and quell Penelo's own reaction to his involvement. "I only came with the one piece of business," Larsa said tersely, acknowledging her request of his staying out of her affairs. "We will be gone within the hour."
Ashe nodded upon hearing the exact words she wanted to hear from the Archadian emperor. "Thank you for your visit," she said. It was on the tip of her tongue to politely harangue him for his high-handed dramatics.
Not that, she blushed, putting a dead man walking under arrest was any better.
"I wish you luck in your choice of husband," Larsa bowed. "If I can be of any further assistance, please do not hesitate to ask it of me."
Ashe bowed and acknowledged the offer both of them knew she would never accept.
"It's been a...pleasure," Larsa said, taking a stiff bow and executing a precise turn. His remaining two judges took slow bows before turning themselves. The three Archadian guests exited, looking as if they'd never been more than three.
Once the doors were shut behind them, Ashe turned to Penelo and sent her a desperate look, a questioning look. The pallor of her friend's face indicated that she'd been just as oblivious to the judges' hidden identities.
An ally in ignorance. Penelo's large, watery eyes reflected Ashe's personal turmoil. Ashe felt her own emotions sting at the back of her eyes, tying knots in her throat. "I believe a recess is necessary."
Ffamran Mid Bunansa, also known as the skypirate "Balthier", spent his first evening back from the dead in the Red Suite in Eastwick Tower.
"It could be worse," he repeated aloud.
"How could it be worse? She had you arrested. Instead of getting married next Monday morning, you'll be standing up at trial. It took all of my persuasive powers to convince her to let me see you. And," Vaan nodded towards the entrance, where their babysitter, Penelo, stood with a stormy, untrusting gaze.
"I could be at Nalbina," Balthier asserted.
Indeed, Eastwick was actually better than he deserved; the outstanding warrant for his arrest had been for quite serious allegations. His imprisonment could and should have been at the stark and stank dungeon, not in the luxuries of Eastwick, which was more a holding cell for political exiles and the rich, titled, and naughty.
Vaan whistled through his teeth. "I would bet ten thousand that Nalbina's crossed her mind. Eastwick is a diplomatic nod towards your status in Archadia; Larsa has done everything but state that he'll wage war if you are convicted."
"I told him to stay out of it," Balthier growled.
Vaan shook his head. "You know as well as I that nobody can tell him what he can and can't do."
Balthier pressed his lips as he pondered the elaborate tapestry on the west wall. "He is a good friend, but a foolish ruler."
"If you're going to say that you actually deserve to be in jail, after all you've done personally to actually save Rabanastre, to save the world--"
"She'd never dissolved the warrants, Vaan; she had to uphold the law. And were you not party to my willful deception these past couple of months? Her reaction was just."
Vaan opened his mouth to respond, then turned away. "If you're not going to help yourself..."
"I am addressing the situation as I see fit. And I don't expect you or anybody to step in on my behalf. I mean it," he growled, when Vaan made a disgusted scoff. "She needs to make the next move, or I might as well just visit the gallows on my own."
"I don't like it."
"You don't have to. Believe you me, there are many places I'd rather be," Balthier sighed. "Have you brought my belongings back to Havenhurst?"
"No. I brought them here," Vaan said. At Balthier's glare, Vaan shook his head. "You're moving here after all."
Balthier met Vaan's petulant assertion with silence. "I also submitted an order for the finest tunic and armor that money could buy. So that you'd have something to wear to your wedding. I had no idea that your wardrobe had grown so...anemic."
"It was in storage," Balthier returned.
"You'll look the part of Regent," Vaan said.
"I would have hoped that you'd demonstrate more humility and nerves at this meeting, given your disgusting cooperation with Larsa's plans with our ventures...it appears you've simply embraced Solidor's arrogance and high-handedness."
Vaan scoffed. "You're the fuckwit who'd wanted to jeopardize your future with your dumbass antics," he said bluntly.
Balthier clenched his jaw, conveying his complete refusal to acknowledge the man's remark.
"Is it true, what Fran said? Did you really love her? Do you?"
Balthier made a glance towards the door, wondering just how closely Penelo was listening to the conversation. Vaan's sophomoric staged inquiry was done with good intention, he reminded himself.
"I stayed away, didn't I?" he answered honestly, quietly, turning towards the barred windows. Rain clouds.
Vaan contemplated the answer.
"The visit has gone on for long enough; it would not do to give your guard the impression that we are orchestrating an escape," Balthier said, nodding towards Penelo.
"Fine." Vaan shook his head, getting off his seat and taking up his hat. "Do what you want. I don't think I'll ever understand you," he said.
Balthier put a firm hand on the younger man's shoulder. "I appreciate your friendship."
Vaan gave a small smile, then turned and knocked on the door.
"I don't think I'll ever understand me," Balthier said quietly to himself, as he turned to pen yet another request to the Queen of Dalmasca.
"...and," Penelo sighed, "he's asked to see you again." She laid the sealed missive on the table, lightly tapping on the crisp paper. "He says it is imperative."
"Imperative? I hardly see how a man in his unique circumstances should have any authority to make such a demand."
"He is demanding it all the same."
"Does he seem...urgent in his demands?"
"No, merely firm."
"Is he angry? Emotional?"
"No."
"How was his visit with Vaan?"
"Vaan was remonstrative, He was unrepentant," Penelo mused.
Ashe accepted the news as she poured two glasses of madeira.
"How was dinner with Kinsey?" Penelo asked, eager to move away from the topic of Balthier, his deception, and the role all their supposedly close friends had played in it.
Ashe smiled tiredly. "Dinner was delicious."
"And Kinsey?"
Sure of himself, now that his main rivals are locked in disputes of civil unrest or jail. What a disaster, this husband hunt had turned out to be. "Pleasant," Ashe replied succinctly.
"What did Al-Cid's letter say?" Penelo asked. "I hope he renewed his proposal?"
Ashe took a large gulp of wine.
No, the Rozarrian king had done no such thing. The letter had been short: I have heard. He is a good man. I respect him greatly. Reading the between the lines, the message was clear: now that Balthier was making his intentions public, Al-Cid was bowing out.
How the hell did things like this happen? When did Balthier have time to twist Larsa and Al-Cid around his little finger? Why did it seem that everybody in the world knew but her?
"No, he did not," Ashe answered Penelo's question gruffly.
Penelo hissed her reply. "So..."
"So," Ashe said. "I marry Kinsey in three days."
The queen was reticent over her glass of madeira. She'd never been particularly loquacious, so Penelo reluctantly respected the silence and the queen's privacy. The questions seared in her mind, and burned her throat, bursting to get out. She understood Ashe's position, but worried that once the angry haze cleared, it'd be too late.
At length, Ashe smiled at her lady-in-waiting and dismissed her.
Penelo opened her mouth, turned to exit. At the door, she turned back again. "I think...I think you should hear him out," she said.
Ashe left the remark without acknowledgment, but then again, Penelo didn't hold her breath waiting for it.
Left on her own, Ashe prepared herself for bed in blissful solitude. A solitude undisturbed by judging looks, questions, and unsolicited advice. She enjoyed another glass of madeira as she read over the latest trade bill, and spent another half hour drafting the speech she'd give to the Artisan's Guild next sennight.
She found the letter on the table as she got up to go to bed. Carelessly, she took it up and threw it on the fire on her way into the bedroom, and did not bother to watch it burn.
Her eyes could barely keep themselves open as she readied herself for bed. The day had been long, and the trade bill had been written by Harrison, possibly the most boring writer on the planet. Settling back in her soft bed, she smiled, happy to fall into the arms of Sleep.
"Bunansa."
Balthier shook himself out of his slumber, wincing at the sharp pain in his neck; he'd fallen asleep in his armchair again.
He pushed himself out of his seat slowly and made his way to the door of his suite, consulting the clock on the mantle. 3:00 a.m.
"Yes," he said, voice slow and rough in the quiet night air. When he set eyes on the open door, sleep was forgotten. "Captain Tate," he said in surprise.
"You have five minutes to prepare yourself for a visitor," the guard said.
And, knowing the guard, Balthier quickly ascertained just who his visitor would be. He hurriedly threw water on his face, and lamented that he did not have enough time to shave. His garments were wrinkled; he quickly changed.
He was at the door, neatly dressed, precisely five minutes after the announcement.
Pol stepped in first. "Her majesty, Queen Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca," he announced.
She was wrapped up in a patterned old robe many sizes too large; her father's, perhaps? Even in such worn garments, she still appeared the most regal, most elegant woman he'd ever had the pleasure of setting his eyes upon. "Your majesty," he said, executing a deep, eloquent bow.
"Bunansa," she replied brusquely.
"I am honored with your presence, and grateful that you have consented to this meeting."
"Speak quickly. You have five minutes."
He did not argue with her proclamation, did not remark on her petulant attitude. He simply started on the speech he'd been mentally rehearsing since his imprisonment. "Your majesty, I have requested to see you because I feel it is necessary to apologize. And make a formal offer of marriage."
She did not signal for him to proceed, but she did not laugh and refuse immediately. He continued.
"I apologize for the indignity and scandal that I have brought to your court; had there been any other way to present my suit I would have infinitely preferred it. However, given my unusual situation, I felt it imperative that my proposal be offered from an intermediary known intimately by the both of us. I admit that I was apprehensive that the sincerity of my proposal might have been called into question," he swallowed, "if you'd known at the first that it was I who was petitioning."
"So you deceived me to convince me that you were earnest?" Ashe inquired, brow raised in a disdainful curl.
Balthier swallowed. "Yes, I did."
This was not the confession she'd been anticipating. The questions were loud and clear in her mind, so loud she thought he could hear them: Why didn't you tell me who you were? Why did you feel it was necessary to hide from me for five years? Why does this hurt? "Why?" The word burst past her dry throat, heavy with unwanted emotion. She pressed her lips tightly, lest more foolishness escape.
Balthier clenched his fist, getting up off his chair and moving towards the barred window. He continued, pretending that he did not hear her question. "Yesterday's dramatics aside, I am prepared to act as Regent. While you have regrettably little proof of my aptitude, I'd like to reassure you that I will do my best to be above reproach, a model citizen and a supportive husband."
He turned back to watch her from across the room, careful not to presume any sort of impolite intimacy.
"Please do me the honor of serving you, and the people of this country that I have come to admire."
He made no move to close the distance, his voice betrayed no emotion.
Ashe watched him with caution and confusion. And, without anything to say, she moved towards the door.
"Thank you for your time, your highness," his words were politely uttered.
She wanted to take them and throw them back at his head.
