Balthier was, frankly, surprised when he discovered that Penelo had set a flight course for Archades. It showed a measure of trust – he knew the city far better than did she, and she was well aware of that fact. And it pleased him that she'd chosen Archades, as he was anxious to get a firsthand look at his newly-acquired property. If he had Penelo and Ellie with him, so much the better, for he planned for it to be their home as well, and he wanted them to like it.

They disembarked the Strahl and left the Aerodrome, headed towards the busy market district. He enjoyed the restfulness of it – it was unusual for him to be doing something so ordinary as going on a walk through the city, stopping in whatever shops caught their fancy. In general he kept out of the big cities, and when he did venture within, it was usually only to restock his stores.

He'd never anticipated how good it would feel to simply enjoy the day with no thought of jobs to be done or guards to evade. There was something incredibly peaceful about walking slowly along the well-kept streets beside Penelo, keeping a strict eye on Ellie as she flitted about, peering curiously into store windows.

"Not so far ahead, now," Penelo called, and, dutifully, Ellie scampered back to a more acceptable distance.

"She has so much energy," Balthier marveled. "It's wearying just watching her."

"I know." Penelo blew out a breath. "She has this penchant for getting into mischief." Her gaze darted sideways, appraising him. "And she certainly didn't get it from me."

He laughed, delighted – it was the first time in recent memory Penelo had teased him. The subtle shift in their relationship was welcome; they were no longer enemies. In fact, they shared a tenuous friendship of sorts. Though she was by no means affectionate with him, she'd ceased to snap at him given any opportunity.

He stopped abruptly – Ellie was occupied with a display of dolls in a window – and Penelo stopped beside him.

"Balthier?" She asked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He took her hand in his, linking their fingers. She looked down at their joined hands in confusion, and he took the opportunity to move closer, brushing her bangs away from her face to kiss her forehead. "She's beautiful, Penelo. I never thought I would have a child. And now that I do, I can't remember what it was like without her." His free hand cupped her cheek, and he touched his forehead to hers, humbled by the magnitude of the love he felt for both of them. "Thank you."

An odd lump had formed in Penelo's throat. She didn't want to believe him. She didn't want to love him. But…he sounded so sincere….

"Papa?" Ellie tugged at Balthier's sleeve, and Penelo drew away, embarrassed at having been part of such a spectacle on a public street.

Balthier took her withdrawal in stride, but refused to relinquish his hold on her fingers. "What is it, sweet?"

"What does bastard mean?" Ellie asked innocently.

Penelo drew in a sharp breath. "Where did you hear that word?" She asked.

"That lady over there," Ellie said, pointing to a well-dressed, middle-aged woman a few yards away. Her back was to them, but Penelo felt Balthier stiffen beside her. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

"What did she say to you, darling?" He asked tightly.

"She said I must be Balthier's bastard child. I didn't know what that word meant, but I told her you were my papa. She laughed, but it wasn't a funny sort of laugh. It was a mean sort of laugh." She frowned. "It didn't sound right, Papa."

"Balthier?" Penelo asked softly. "Do you…know that woman?"

Without answering, he swept Ellie into his arms, then grabbed Penelo's hand in his and headed for the woman Ellie had indicated.

"Hello, Iola," he said in a tone that made Penelo's stomach clench. Instinctively she know that whatever had happened between the two in past, it had hardly been good.

The woman went rigid at the sound of her name and turned about slowly. Penelo was surprised to see that, although the woman was well past the first blush of youth, she quite lovely. Only her mouth, which was pinched into the unpleasant expression of a woman consistently dissatisfied with life, marred her beauty. Few lines etched her face, but the tiny ones at the corners of her eyes were telling. Penelo put her at eight to ten years older than Balthier.

"Ffamran," she acknowledged frostily. "How dare you bring that child into this city?" Her cool green gaze slid from Balthier to Penelo and back again. Penelo had the uncomfortable feeling she had been measured and found wanting.

"And your harlot, too," Iola said peevishly. "Is there any low to which you will not stoop?"

"If you insult Penelo or our child again, you will regret it," he warned. "You should be aware, as Father's only living male heir, I control all of his assets. Your settlement is in my hands."

"Bah." She waved a hand dismissively. "My husband –"

"Is a drunk, a cheat, and a coward," Balthier finished for her. "He is well on his way to bankruptcy and he will take you with him if I should withdraw your portion. Don't tempt me to do so; I have no great love of our family, Iola, and I like vicious harpies even less. You would do well to make your peace with me and attempt to stay in my good graces."

Iola drew herself up, raising her chin defiantly. "I pray that you someday receive your just rewards," she spat hatefully. "You are a deserter of your country, a cowardly betrayer of your family. It is my fervent hope for you to rot in a traitor's prison!"

"Enough," he shouted with enough force to make even Penelo wince. "You will take yourself from the city at once, or I will see all of your husband's vowels called in. You'll find his gambling debts alone sufficient to ruin you. Retire to your country estate and if, in six months or so, you will give me your solemn word that you will keep your venomous tongue in your mouth and refrain from spreading your hateful opinions, I shall allow you to return to the city."

"I do not require your permission to remain within the city," she said stiffly. "My husband –"

"Once again, Iola, your husband on whom you are dependent is, in turn, dependent upon my continued goodwill which, after being on the receiving end of your sharp tongue, is in short supply!"

Iola, realizing she had been outmaneuvered, deflated visibly. But her chin maintained its uncomfortable-looking proud tilt. "Very well," she said. "I shall repair to our country estate in a fortnight –"

"Now, Iola. Go now." That muscle ticked in his jaw again, and even Penelo was aware that he was nearing the end of his patience.

Apparently Iola had come to a similar conclusion, for she bobbed a hasty, impertinent curtsey, and turned on her heel with a muffled sound of disdain, striding hastily towards her waiting footman and lady's maid. She stripped off her elegant gloves, speaking sharply to the bemused young woman who accepted the gloves and the harsh reprimand without comment.

"Papa," Ellie said, placing her small hands on either side of Balthier's face to catch his attention. "Are you very angry?"

He shook off his ill temper, softening his tone so as not to alarm his daughter. "Not at you, pet."

"I didn't like her, Papa." Ellie laid her head on his shoulder. "She's not a very nice lady."

"No," he agreed. "She's not. She never has been."

"Your sister?" Penelo inquired softly as they resumed their walk, although at a quicker pace. It seemed the fragile peace of the day had been shattered by that chance meeting, and none of them know how it could be reclaimed.

"Yes," he said shortly. Then, as though he realized he had, in his pique, behaved poorly towards Penelo, he found himself elaborating. It wasn't a comfortable situation – he rarely felt the need to explain himself to anyone, but if he wished for Penelo to trust in him, he knew he had to extend the same courtesy to her. "My elder by nearly ten years. She was wed when I was just a child. Father did an extraordinary job of shaping her to be just like him. I suppose she resents me, in part, because I could not protect her as I could our…our younger sister, Mariette."

"You have another sister?" Penelo asked. She had not known – she had been aware that Balthier was not an only child, but he so rarely talked about his past.

"Yes. I had two older brothers, as well. Both are gone. Our father was not a kind man, and I…I was not an easily influenced youth. He could neither indoctrinate me nor beat me into submission as he so frequently did with his other children. By the time I was old enough to stand against him, Iola was long married and in her own household – only Mariette remained. I protected her from our father's frequent rages for as long as I could. And then I forsook my family when I was sixteen. Mariette was just twelve, and I left her behind. I wonder, occasionally, if she resents me just as Iola does. I failed her, as well."

He had never confessed such things to anyone before – not even Fran – and it left him feeling oddly vulnerable. Penelo knew all his insecurities. She knew how to wound him, where, exactly, to cut to inflict the most damage. He could only hope she would not.

"I'm sure she doesn't," she soothed immediately. "You were just a boy, yourself. I'm sure she knows you did what you could."

He appeared doubtful. "My family was not like yours, Penelo. There was no love, no warmth between us. Just the knowledge that we were all pawns to be used to further our father's gains. I do not know how to be part of a loving family however much I desire it. I have become accustomed to denying I desire such things because they were so frequently snatched away from me as a child. My family never taught me love or respect, or even fondness. I don't know how to feel these things." Sometimes he wondered if he even felt at all – or if it was, in point of fact, another illusion to be cruelly taken from him when it would hurt the most. Just as he had a difficult time trusting others, so he could not trust himself.

Then, in the midst of his brooding, existential quandary, Ellie wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek sweetly to his. "I love you, Papa," she said. And his heart wrenched within his chest – surely such a thing had to be real? Surely his fears of becoming a man in the style of his father were unfounded, if such a simple thing shook him to the core of his being?

Then, to the surprise of even himself, his arms tightened around the child. "I love you," he whispered, shocked to find it the truth. He did love Ellie – for how could he fail to love his own child, the child that Penelo had carried beneath her heart for nine months, had borne in secrecy, had sheltered and loved all the days of her life? And Penelo was nothing like his own mother; she genuinely loved their daughter. She held neither the circumstances of Ellie's birth, nor the identity of her father against the child.

Somehow, they had changed him. And he realized that he had been running from his past, desperately attempting to escape becoming his father's son – and in the process, he had nearly become that which he had striven to avoid. But no longer, for how could he go back to his cold, empty existence when he had seen that there could be more, that even a man such as him could have a chance for greater things?

It strengthened his resolve to win Penelo over, to prove to her – and himself – that he was nothing like his father. Because his father, for all that he had possessed untold riches and the respect of kings and queens – had never possessed the love of his wife or children, and Balthier infinitely preferred those things that his father had willingly eschewed to the cold comforts of wealth and prestige. Those he had had in spades, and he had quite had his fill of them. Nothing could compare to the feel of Ellie's arms around his neck, to the peace he felt in Penelo's company.

Feeling dangerously close to an untoward display of emotion, Balthier cleared his throat. "Let's continue, shall we?" He said. "We're nearing the residential district. I should like to see our house, if you're agreeable."

Penelo held her tongue and refrained from pointing out that it was his house, that she had never agreed to live in it, most especially not with him. Ellie seemed so excited at the prospect, and, after all, Balthier had just confronted his vicious sister on their behalf. The thought of ruining the moment with petty arguments left her feeling strangely…deflated.

So she merely nodded her agreement, and they walked side by side towards the residential district, with Ellie chattering excitedly about the house.

---

It was quite a grand house, Penelo thought. She had been under the impression of a small house with a picket fence and perhaps a decent yard in which Ellie could play. However, Balthier led them up a smoothly paved walkway surrounded by tall oak trees that lent an air of country elegance, towards an enormous white manor house. Lush greenery surrounded the exquisitely designed building, wrapping around the sides, hinting at a larger garden behind the house.

"But, I thought…you said it was a house…" she faltered. How was she supposed to express her trepidation over such a thing? Why, the only residences she'd ever been within that were larger than Balthier's "house" were royal palaces!

He blinked, bemused. "It is. Rosewood House, to be precise. As I said, it is on the smaller side, but it is quite lovely within, or so I have been assured. My Head of Staff ought to already have the majority of the rooms furnished by now."

Dumbly, Penelo trailed behind him, dimly hearing Ellie exclaim over the beautifully groomed flowerbeds. Of course Balthier would purchase a manor. Too late she recalled the sort of house he must have grown up in – obviously it dwarfed his newly acquired residence by comparison. Imagine, thinking a mansion to be on the smaller side!

And of course he didn't stop to knock at the door. No, being the master of the house, he simply opened the front door and walked right into the foyer. Polished marble floors gleamed as though they had been freshly washed – and Penelo imagined they had been, in preparation for the house's new owner.

A man dressed in an elegant suit with a frothy white lace cloth at his neck descended the staircase before them. He was perhaps fifteen years older than Balthier and had a distinguished air that made Penelo feel dowdy and unrefined by comparison.

"Ah, Sir, I am afraid we were not expecting you," he said smoothly, dipping into a courtly bow. "Please allow me to escort you to the drawing room while I call for some tea."

Balthier's nose wrinkled comically. "I cannot abide the stuff. Coffee, if you please, Carrison."

"As you wish," Carrison replied. "For you, Miss?" He inquired cordially of Penelo.

"T-tea, please," she managed to stammer out. Even the servants in Larsa's palace had rarely deigned to ask her what she wanted – they had simply deferred to Larsa, and so Penelo was unaccustomed to being treated like anything other than a servant or a bother. She could see that Carrison knew she was not yet the lady of the manner, however he treated her as though she was.

Carrison nodded genially and turned his attention to Ellie. "For you, Miss?"

"Milk and cookies," Ellie replied imperiously, having grown used to being made much of while in the Palace, for Larsa had seldom denied her anything.

"Very good." He sketched another bow. "I shall see to it at once. If it pleases you, I shall prepare the servants so that after refreshments I may give you a tour of Rosewood House."

"It does," Balthier replied. "Have the…ah…preparations we discussed been completed?"

"Exactly as you have asked, sir."

"Good, good. Well, then, Carrison, if you would be good enough to summon our refreshments?" Balthier took a seat on the sprawling white sofa behind him, looking ridiculously out of place between the plush white cushions and the dainty, ornately carved coffee table before him. She noticed he barely resisted temptation to plunk his boots upon the polished, shiny surface. Carrison left them to their own devices, and Ellie climbed onto a loveseat to peer out the window. Already her scuffed shoes were leaving a faintly-discernable trail of dirt on the immaculate furniture, and Penelo prayed that she wouldn't reduce the room to a shambles – at least before their refreshments arrived.

She gave up attempting to live up to the grandeur of the house and plunked herself down on the sofa, not too near Balthier, but not too far away, either.

"This," she said irritably, "is not a house."

"It's certainly not a marketplace," Balthier countered. "What, pray tell, were you expecting?"

"A house," she insisted. "A small house with possibly two or three bedrooms, and certainly no servants. This probably has its own ballroom and library!"

It had a library on each of its three floors and a sizeable ballroom in the west wing, but Balthier refrained from pointing it out. He fell silent as Carrison entered, bearing their refreshments. Ellie retrieved her milk and cookies and retreated to the far side of the room, gazing happily out the window.

He sipped his coffee, pleased to discover it was a decent brew – unlike the swill he'd been forced to drink in taverns of late.

"How many bedrooms are there?" Penelo asked. Something about her tone told him to tread lightly – she was not as pleased as he had hoped she would be. Too late he remembered Penelo's upbringing as the only daughter in a small family that had lived crowded into a tiny apartment in the heart of Rabanastre. It was likely that she would prefer something less ostentatious. He, on the other hand, had been raised in a much larger mansion and viewed his newly-acquired residence a good deal more conservative than that to which he had previously been accustomed.

"Eighteen," he answered truthfully. "Not including the Master's suite."

"Oh." She set her empty tea cup down on the silver tray. "Don't you think that's a bit…excessive?"

"Not at all. We count among our friends and acquaintances royalty and other distinguished personages. I can well afford Rosewood House, and should any of those people come to call, I should like us to have an adequate home in which to entertain and keep them." In truth, he had cared little about anything besides impressing upon Penelo the knowledge that he could care for her and their daughter, that they would want for nothing while in his care.

"Oh," she said again, looking conflicted.

"Penelo," he said. "If you do not like it, I shall purchase a home elsewhere."

She stared at him in silence for a moment. "Why would you do that?"

"I want you to be happy." I want to make you happy. I want to keep you and Ellie with me always.

Carrison cleared his throat near the door. "Sir, if it is convenient, might I suggest that Miss Elionora take a turn about the garden with Alana?" He motioned to a non-descript maid who bobbed a hasty curtsy. "I imagine that a tour of the household might be frightfully boring for such a young lady."

"May I?" Ellie forsook the remainder of her cookies to grasp Balthier's hand imploringly. "May I, please, Papa?"

Balthier looked to Penelo for her consent. She gave it readily, foreseeing Ellie getting into all kinds of mischief if required to accompany them. "Behave yourself," she said. "And don't go jumping into mud puddles!" The last thing she wanted was for Ellie to track mud onto Balthier's lovely white carpets.

The maid ushered Ellie away, and Carrison escorted them out into the foyer. "If you will follow me," he said, leading them up the staircase. He launched into a history of the house, its previous owners, interesting facts about the area and such, but Penelo heard little of it. The house was splendid; elegantly designed and furnished, a veritable masterpiece of fashion and good taste. She found herself surprised by the warmth of the servants, who all smiled and greeted her kindly, and the general joyful feel of the house itself. It felt like a house that had been well-loved, that had seen many happy marriages and families. It had none of the cold, impersonal feel of the palaces she had been within. She couldn't help but like it, even if it wasn't the small house she had imagined.

"This is the Master's Suite," Carrison was saying as he flung open a very large door. "It has been recently renovated as per the Master's request."

Balthier led Penelo inside, while Carrison lingered in the doorway. As he showed Penelo into the small sitting room within the bedchamber, he heard the subtle sound of the door closing. Penelo was examining the bathing chamber and its overlarge bathtub with something akin to awe, and never heard it. A few minutes later, after admitting that the room was very pretty, she twisted the handle of the door. It didn't budge. Frowning, she twisted again, harder, but to no avail.

"I'm afraid it's locked," he said.

"Locked?" She repeated, bewildered. "Why would it be locked?"

"Because I requested it of Carrison. We will not be disturbed for several hours." He gently pried her fingers from the door handle.

"Several hours? What are we supposed to do for several hours?" She asked blankly.

His smile was immediate and sensual. "Ah, darling Penelo," he said, drawing her into his arms. "I'm going to make love to you."