Chapter Thirty-Six: 707 O.V: Balfonheim

It was dusk of the next day by the time the last of the smouldering fires of Balfonheim had been completely doused. The Imperial Alexander had arrived and departed along with the Shiva Mk II some hours' prior transporting rebels to waiting incarceration. The rebels seemed to be relieved as they were carted off into Archadian custody for at least Imperial prisons were not known to be filled with ambulatory corpses handy with a sword.

The long hours since the Alexander's arrival had been taken up treating the injured and de-activating the fiendish array of booby-traps Rikken, Elza, and Raz had set up in the town. Slowly, as the hours crawled by, the Balfonheim civilians had started to return, aided and escorted by the Imperial Remora and cutter squads. The civilians stood in clumps in the dusk shadows, huddled in blankets, as they assessed the damage done to their homes.

Sometime in between fighting fires and poking through wreckage Balthier had suggested that the Nabradians retreat to rest aboard Eraldo's ship (Fran claimed the vessel was called the Daikon Rider – Balthier thought she had just made the name up, but didn't object all the same).

Once his merry band of returned from the dead Nabradians were comfortably in the Moogles care Balthier had managed to attain his longed for bath using the intact facilities of the old manse on Saccio Lane, and Fran had taken the opportunity for a brief nap. Then the sky partners switched over and Balthier passed out across the bed while Fran drew herself a bath. (Balthier had chivalrously offered Fran use of the bath first, but she had declined. He didn't waste time offering twice).

Thus it was that as darkness drew in across the port like a silken shroud of lilac shadow the pirate Balthier, born Ffamran Mid Bunansa of Archades, boarded the Ifrit alongside Fran, Vaan, Penelo, and the Nabradian Rogan, to parlay with the head of the Archadian state.

To say that the Imperial soldiers aboard the Ifrit were a little disconcerted to see that the pirate Balthier's party included a rotting fiend was an understatement, but they were well trained and said not a word as the odd party was shown to the main meeting room aboard the ship where Larsa Solidor waited to negotiate terms alongside Magisters Gabranth and Zargabaath.

'Good gods, man.' He who was pretending to be Gabranth exclaimed when he laid eyes on the zombie.

'What do you think you are doing?' the Judge Imposter demanded of Balthier, none too politely, as the pirate moved forward without observing any form of protocol or politeness and slumped into one of the waiting chairs. His nap had not so much refreshed him as left him more aware of just how sleep derived he was.

The alleged zombie Rogan staggered toward the table and looked across its glossy length to the Archadian Emperor. Larsa grew a touch pale but remained calmly seated in his chair, hands loosely clasped. Zargabaath reached for his blade but hesitated to draw steel. Everyone waited somehow sensing that the next few moments would change everything.

The suspected zombie spoke, '……I am Rogan Nare of the….' The creature struggled to enunciate…….'of the Nabradian Royal Guard…..' the mis-proclaimed zombie raised his saggy, leprously pale face to regard the boy Emperor and the two judges. 'I am not dead….I am not a monster……'

'What is the meaning of this?' Zargabaath demanded furiously from within his helmet as Larsa's eyes widened impossibly. Basch, under the guise of Gabranth, took a step back, swore hoarsely, and drew his double bladed sword. Instantly Fran moved, fingers flickering and a second later Basch was immobilised.

Larsa tried to speak, 'You…..you are not….' He could not find the words. Penelo dashed around the table to drop down beside him. She clasped the boy Emperor's gloved hand tightly.

'It will be alright, Larsa.' She promised him in a rough whisper. 'No one is blaming anyone, but it's true. Mister Rogan and his people are alive and they need help.'

Her blue eyes were intense and she turned to the terribly damaged man leaning against the table. 'This isn't about blame. This about doing the right thing to help people now we know there are people to help.'

Larsa leaped from his chair and jerked away from Penelo. The usually beautifully controlled and reserved Emperor's eyes were wild and his face blazed white.

'No,' he said and he pointed a shaking finger at the Nabradian Rogan. 'No, I will not believe this. There were no survivors of Nabradia.'

He turned to stare at Balthier and he was angry, so very, very angry. An expression passed across his face, lasting no more than a second, but in that second it was possible to see the shade of Vayne in Larsa's terribly youthful countenance.

'This is your doing; you who despise the Empire so much you would see her dragged down to ruin simply to justify your own prejudice.'

Larsa's eyes flashed rage as he faced the destruction of everything he had worked for; the compact of peace with Dalmasca, the good opinion of the lady Ashe and the rest of Ivalice – all would be lost now, because of this, because the sins of the past do not go away and the Empire's debts were weighed in thousands of lives ruined, sundered, and destroyed.

'Your own father was the architect of Nabudis' fall.' Larsa shouted at Balthier as the pirate remained quietly seated in his chair, head cupped in his palm watching with mild and remote eyes. 'Do you seek to shift the blame – or do you revel in any chance to bring shame and ruin to your homeland?'

Balthier merely looked at the over-wrought boy-emperor and smiled tiredly. The expression was inscrutable and he gave no indication he cared to defend himself. Fran swayed forward to stand by his chair. She too stared impassively at Larsa and the Magisters' from across the table. The Viera, with her hand on the chair back and the pirate slouched in said chair, seemed to exude an enigmatic unity of confidence and nonchalance that appeared quite indomitable.

Into the silence Rogan spoke again. 'We waited for rescue…..days, weeks, months….years…….some died and rose again monsters…..our children died and rose again, maligned…..we waited, waited…..no one came….forgotten we have been…..our allies as our enemies abandoned us for dead…'

Larsa stood shaking by his overturned chair. He clenched his fists and shook so hard he seemed almost to convulse. His eyes were too wide and his lips formed a pursed white line that nevertheless trembled despite how thin and taut it was.

'Stop it,' the boy Emperor did not look at the man across the table, because to look was to acknowledge and there are some horrors, some debts of guilt, too great to handle at any age. Instead he kept his eyes fixed on the two pirates. They must be responsible for all this.

Penelo hovered close to Larsa watching him with pained eyes, but did not know what comfort to give – she rather thought that there was none. Basch remained frozen by more than just a spell and Zargabaath could only stare through the visor of his helm. He was a man of unshakable adherence to his duty, but at this moment he could not think to defend his Emperor. As the only true survivor of the old regime he stared across the table and saw the manifestation of his own guilt made flesh. He could not look away from this creature who would call himself a man.

'Enough with this charade; this cruel mummery,' Larsa demanded of the two pirates. 'I have never acted against you, either of you. All I desire is to make my home something all can be proud of.'

The Nabradian moved, no more than shifting his weight, but it drew the eye of all in the room. Larsa stared at the Nabradian and the Nabradian stared back. The spell of denial collapsed. A single tear escaped Larsa's eye and he swiped at it with a trembling white gloved hand.

'I am sorry.' Larsa said through clenched teeth, voice shaking. 'I am sorry for what my country, my father, and my brother did to you. I cannot be more sorry!' He cried desperately turning wild eyes to stare at everyone in the room.

'Do you not think I would turn back the hands of time and stop my brother and Doctor Cid if I could? Do you think Nabudis' destruction is a burden I carry lightly?'

In the far corner of the room by the door Vaan looked down studiously at the richly carpeted floor. Penelo bit her lip and twisted her hands together wretchedly but said nothing. Balthier and Fran remained saturnine in their silence; closed books in regards whether they enjoyed Larsa's distress or not. The two judges, one with guilt his own through a lack of action in the past, and the other guiltless, but wearing the mantle of a brother collaborator, knew there was nothing they could do to defend Larsa from this moment.

Larsa looked around the room at those who would not look at him and those who did and seemed to look right through him. 'I do not know what you want from me.' He exclaimed almost piteously. 'What more can I do?'

Rogan stared at the boy in tears; he struggled to formulate the words he had waited three years to speak.

'Help us.' The Nabradian asked of the Archadian. 'Help us.'

Larsa seemed to almost collapse into his chair once more, covering his face in his white gloved hand. Penelo gently touched his hand and the boy clasped at hers tightly. He was always so very, very alone.

Penelo gave him a tremulous smile. 'It will be alright. No one is doing this to hurt you Larsa.' She glanced obliquely towards the still silent Balthier, 'This can help Archadia, just as it will help Nabradia.'

'How?' Larsa beseeched, 'Soon all Ivalice will see what monstrous cruelty the Empire is truly capable of.' He threw out a hand towards Rogan, 'Do you not see what horrors my kinsmen unleashed upon this man? Do you not see?' he demanded.

'Empire's cruelty is well known,' Fran spoke, surprising the others in the room that might have expected Balthier to be the first to break their silence. 'The byways and highways of Ivalice whisper and sing with tales of Empire's fearsome might, and did so, long before Nabudis.'

Fran had perched herself on the arm of Balthier's chair and she now regarded Larsa with eyes that might almost have been called compassionate. After a moment she turned to Rogan and nodded to the man respectfully.

'Here now is time for a new song to be sung.' The Viera said. 'Let it be spoken that Empire, though she cannot erase the pain she has caused, turns her great might to making amends. Let a new chorus rise in Ivalice; let the voices tell that Archadia pays her debts in kindness, in honour, and in sorrow.'

Fran's eyes pierced through Larsa, 'Let it start with this man and his people, and though you cannot ever do enough for all ill deeds wrought, you do all that you can.'

Larsa wiped his hands over his face and turned frightened eyes to Rogan, 'I do not know how to help you.' He whispered. 'I know not what was truly done that night in Nabudis. I cannot undo this wrong.'

Rogan said the only thing he could, 'Help us.'

Larsa's face twisted but a movement from the pirate duo saved him from being forced to speak. Fran shook back her fall of hair. She rested one hand on the back of the chair as she made herself more comfortable before she spoke.

'To undo will ne'er be in your power,' she told Larsa in the implacable voice of truth, 'but to help, to care, to try,' she paused and exchanged an odd look with the still and quiet Balthier before returning her solemn gaze to Larsa and the Judges'. 'This be your gift,' she told the boy-emperor, 'use it now; help and let the cruel cycle end.'

For the longest moment no one spoke. Vaan moved forward from his space almost forgotten at the back of the room. Without a word he pulled out a chair and helped Rogan to sit in it. The Nabradian shuddered as if not used to even such small comfort as a chair to sit in. Larsa reached a hand across the table towards Rogan. It still shook violently.

'I am truly sorry; so, so sorry.' Larsa repeated. 'I give,' the boy licked his lips, '….I give my word….whatever can be done for you will be done. This I swear: the men and women of Nabudis will be abandoned and forgotten no longer.'

Rogan blinked filmy eyes at the outreached hand. Three years of being viewed as a monstrous fiend had made him unaccustomed to such gestures. Rogan did not see the hand of his enemy; he did not see the representative of the Empire that had wrought such pain and destruction upon him. Such matters had long ceased to matter to a man like Rogan. All he saw was another hume reaching out to him not in horror, not offering violence, but instead with the tenuous promise of help. Awkwardly, painfully, he extended his one good hand towards that white glove.

'Want to live again,' Rogan tried to explain what it was to be rendered not even a man, less than beast, to be cast aside and abandoned by the living world, in but a few hard too form words. 'Want to live in the world again.'

The Emperor's trembling fingers closed carefully around Rogan's damaged, blistered flesh.

'You will.' Larsa said. 'You will live again.'

Zargabaath cleared his throat and the sound would have been no less raw had he not been wearing his helm.

'I will dispatch the Alexander to Nabudis, my lord, as soon as she is finished refuelling in Archades.' He said in his careful, respectful tones.

'We will find all the survivors and bring them forthwith to Archades for treatment.' Underneath his helmet it seemed that the old soldier's voice shook.

The man Rogan looked up, '……no armour…..no helms……..I must take you……we hide…hide from men……' he shuddered and looked away, ashamed of what he and his people had become.

'We'll go too,' Vaan spoke up exchanging a look with Penelo. The boy rubbed the back of his neck. 'Ashe needs to know about this.' He said quietly and a little reluctantly. It wasn't hard to imagine what her majesty Dalmasca's reaction would be.

'She might take it better from me and Pen.' Vaan added dubiously.

Larsa managed to keep his trepidation from his face for the most part and nodded briefly in agreement. 'Yes, at once.'

Zargabaath saluted. 'With your permission, my lord, I would brief the men on these….developments….and,' Zargabaath paused to pull off his helm so he could meet Rogan's eyes, 'if master Rogan will permit, I would go amid the rest of his people. Those who are in greatest need can be taken to Archades via Remora this very night.'

The stately silver haired man's eyes were cast with unexpected and deep sympathy. 'The suffering of the people of Nabudis need not last an hour more than necessary, and it is long time past that Archades repay her debts in more than words alone.'

'Yes, yes that is a good idea.' Larsa looked up almost dazedly, still struggling against the shock of these developments.

He turned to Rogan. 'Will you permit this, sir? Will you permit my men to convey your sick and wounded to Archades, where they shall be offered the best care my capital can provide?'

Rogan nodded slowly; so many changes, come so fast, and hope was such an unfamiliar sensation to him now.

'Will speak with my people……' he turned to look at Zargabaath and the still helmed Gabranth. Words were not easy for him to wield but he managed to express his meaning well enough.

'No armour……see the faces…..not helms of metal.' He insisted. Zargabaath seemed taken aback by the prospect of the Archadian army moving around unmasked but Larsa was swift to agree.

'Yes – send out an order: all soldier's to go without their helms except in times of battle.' The boy Emperor, whom himself had never worn full armour, nodded resolutely. 'I think it good that the people see the true faces of Archadia's army from here on in.'

These words worked as a cue to action and Vaan and Penelo helped Rogan from his chair and out of the room. Zargabaath, helm clasped under his arm, followed them out. Soon it was just Larsa, Basch, Balthier and Fran in the room.

Basch spoke up, dropping his discarded helmet onto the table top and discarding with it his disguise, at least for the time being.

'How long have you known the true fate of Nabudis?' He demanded suspiciously of the two pirates.

Balthier turned a neutral regard onto Basch but maintained his silence. Fran cocked her head to the side. For the longest moment it seemed that neither had any inclination to respond. There was something almost synergistic in their combined silence.

The strangeness was confounded by the fact that Balthier was still yet to say a word since entering the room. Fran, perched on the chair arm, was more of a presence than he, almost as if the two had switched roles.

Larsa licked his dry lips, well aware of his previous outburst against the man seated across from him on the other side of the table. He was acutely aware of what that outburst had revealed about his own feelings towards Balthier and the insecurities he had regards his own position. Larsa would not presume to know much of anything about the other man's character, but he would be prepared to wager that Balthier was shrewd and sly enough to recognise the power and advantage Larsa's outburst had given him. The boy-emperor could do nothing but wait to see how the pirate would choose to exploit this exposed weakness.

'Some twenty hours; no more,' Fran answered Basch's almost forgotten question coolly. 'When taken by Eraldo to the Necrohol Balthier was aided by those he thought were undead. It was thus that we discovered the truth.'

'Then this is not…' Larsa hesitated, 'You do not intend to render the Nabradians as leverage against the Empire?'

Balthier and Fran exchanged a silent look between them. After a moment Balthier offered up a lazy shrug and slouched comfortably down into his chair. He nodded for Fran to do the talking for both of them. This alone was enough to startle Basch. Balthier's passivity was truly disturbing.

'You assume we have power to exert such leverage.' Fran rejoined pointedly arching a brow. 'You accord us more power than is ours to use, we think.'

Larsa and Basch both frowned. There was something beyond peculiar, and beyond strange, about the two pirates. Not only was it highly out of character for Balthier to remain so silent, but it seemed almost as if the great depth of understanding the two pirates had always shared between them, had matured into an even greater symbiosis. It almost seemed that Fran could literally speak for both of them. They appeared like two beings with the one mind and will. The impression was an eerie one, indeed. Basch was not at all sure he would be able to cope if Fran began calling him 'Judge Imposter' with an arrogant curl of the lip, as Balthier was wont to do.

Larsa cleared his throat and shifted nervously in his chair, 'Then you have not come to barter terms between Balfonheim and Archades?' he asked in abject confusion.

'Depends,' Balthier murmured, returning to life and animation so suddenly it seemed almost as if someone had just flipped a switch to power up his engine. The break in the pirate's silence was so sudden Larsa jolted in his seat. Balthier caught the movement and smirked insouciantly, before drawling with total indifference. 'What terms of treaty does the Empire offer a ruined pirate town?'

Basch shifted his weight with a creak of armour. 'Larsa is prepared to present any terms Balfonheim would like to offer before the Senate.' He said gruffly, 'It is for the Senate to decide if Balfonheim warrants special treatment.'

'Hmm? So the onus falls on us to make demands of Empire?' Balthier's eyes danced wickedly, 'What an odd way to do business, for an Emperor.'

The lazy disrespect in Balthier's tone immediately had Basch on edge. He remembered how difficult and unhelpful Balthier had been during the crisis in Lemures (a crisis Balthier had had a hand in helping to escalate due to his thievery, no less). Basch did not relish having to deal with Balthier in that mood. Damn the man for his mercurial temperament – and to think, Basch had once admired the pirate for his seeming common sense and decisiveness. How very little he had known, back then, of Balthier's wildly uneven character.

Thankfully for Basch's temper, after saying his piece Balthier once more subsided into the strange morass of passivity he had adopted since entering the Ifrit. The pirate relaxed back into the upholstery of his chair and actually closed his eyes, as if dismissing the whole affair from his consciousness. Basch found himself halfway to reaching for his sword. There was no man alive or dead who could irritate and infuriate quite like Balthier.

'We wonder,' Fran brushed aside the shorter tendrils of hair that curled and clustered around her cheeks. She regarded Larsa and Basch with something akin to amusement gleaming in her almond tilted eyes, 'If the Emperor might want to speak of other terms – those that have bearing upon matters closer to his own heart.'

Fran flicked her gaze over Larsa tapping her long fingers over the back of the chair. 'Spoke you did to me,' she said addressing Larsa directly this time, 'of friendship not so long ago. We wonder now, if that offer, you would now choose to take from the table?'

Larsa blinked in total surprise at this sudden about-turn in proceedings, 'I would never turn aside an offer of friendship,' he said honestly. 'But in all things there are terms that must be carefully considered,' He added warily, but not impolitely.

Balthier smirked at that delicate evasion but did not speak. He fixed his own steady regard on Larsa just as Fran did and the similarity of those looks was truly disconcerting. Basch shifted his weight again, both disturbed and uneasy.

Basch was of the opinion that, if Balthier and Fran had been a gift to Ashe during her quest and worked to ease her burden and clear her path, then during the crisis in Lemures they had been, in some cases (primarily Balthier – though Fran had done little to mitigate the situation), no better than indifferent opportunists offering no information when they had it, and allowing even Vaan and Penelo to venture great risk, simply because they had not the will to raise arms to aid them. It had been Lemures truly, that had soured Basch's opinion of the pirates considerably and he now looked on them with antagonised suspicion.

'Speak plain.' He exhorted them. 'What angle do you play?'

Fran looked up at Basch then, and appeared to read everything he had been thinking from his face with in one glance. She flicked her ears and took on a brisk manner of speech more in keeping with her usual manner.

'Balfonheim has not the resource to rebuild; with Empire's Gil the port will grow. In exchange for exemption from the usual taxation Balfonheim will be home to the refugees of Nabudis.' She met Basch's eyes calmly. 'These are the terms we offer.'

Fran flicked her gaze back and forth between Basch and Larsa as she spoke more, 'Ashe will not abide to permit those of her late husband's kingdom to reside in Archades. The inferred insult is too great. Yet Draklor is the only key to their restoration.'

She shrugged one shoulder and once again shared a lightning quick and silent communion with Balthier before continuing. 'Thus Balfonheim, that was once safe haven to the queen in exile and holds no bias, shall prove good compromise betwixt and between.'

Larsa frowned, thinking swiftly. 'The senate will not countenance allowing the port to continue to traffic in illegal wares. If Balfonheim would have advantage of Empire she must abide by Empire's mandate.'

'Exemption under section eighteen of the mandate of colonisation,' Balthier spoke up again as abrupt and unexpected as the last time. He had closed his eyes once more and his face was still in repose.

'Unless the statutes have changed in the last seven years,' he said without the honey-poison of his previous utterances, 'the law stands that in certain circumstances where it is in the interest of the Empire as a whole, a new colony may continue to administer their own justice, and invoke their own local authority over trade, whilst still remaining a part of Empire.'

Balthier opened his eyes and smiled; an odd and vaguely bitter, but also wistful, smile. 'I was always a good student, your honour. I remember my judiciary training well enough.'

'Balfonheim is not a colony,' Basch argued. 'Presently it is not much of a town.' He added a little acerbically.

'And yet,' Fran rejoined whiplash fast, 'soon she shall be haven for the last remnants of Nabudis - and is not Nabradia a conquered territory of Empire? Do her people not deserve to be treated as such?'

Basch opened his mouth in surprise and shock. Now Fran was even beginning to mimic some of the bite of her partner's sharp tongue. Had Basch not believed it impossible, he might have thought the pair had switched minds and bodies.

'In return for the right to administer her own rules of commerce and law,' Balthier murmured before Basch could think of anything to say. 'The Balfonheim ship yards and aerodrome will agree to perform maintenance for the Imperial patrols of air and sea along the Phon Coast.'

Balthier regarded Basch very keenly. 'You cannot tell me that the Empire is not sorely in need of a refuelling and maintenance site on the southern coast.' He argued dryly. 'Archades is several hours' flight inland from here, and the fuel depot in Saffroza Bay is deep out to sea.'

Basch didn't bother to wonder how it was that Balthier would know of the Empire's ever present resource allocation concerns. It was the sort of thing both Fran and Balthier seemed to make it their business to know (perhaps because they had made a career of stealing those scant resources?)

'And so Balfonheim would expect the Empire to waive taxation and then pay for services rendered?' Larsa asked bemused.

'No,' Fran replied. 'This will be service given in exchange of the taxes many cannot afford to pay.'

Balthier's brown eyes were mild as he took up the narrative. 'You cannot wring blood from a stone, and you cannot squeeze taxes out of pauper pirates.' He pointed out patiently. 'But Balfonheim knows boats and she knows airships and the workers of the Aerodrome and the shipyard always need work.' He flapped a hand casually, 'Imperial or not, they don't give a damn so long as they are paid.'

'And how will wages be paid if the service is rendered freely?' Larsa frowned, 'If one is to accept the compromise of labour in exchange for taxation that does not take into account the needs of the people for Gil to subsist.'

Fran's gaze flicked to Balthier again; her expression complicated and hidden. 'Balfonheim will pay the wages of her people through other means; the port needs not handouts.' She said enigmatically.

'What other means?' Larsa and Basch demanded simultaneously instantly alert. They were in no way reassured when Balthier's wide and expressive mouth curved up in a scimitar like grin.

'Does it matter, so long as it costs the Empire nothing, hm?'

Fran nodded speaking before either Judge or Emperor could draw breath, 'We would speak of another matter; one of import to Archades, and to us.'

Larsa frowned, 'What matter would that be?'

'Draklor,' The renegade son of the late Doctor Cid said with a certain dark relish.

'What?' Basch squeaked in his armour.

The Magister and Larsa stared at Balthier, sure they had misheard. Larsa once again shifted in his chair and cleared his throat.

'Draklor?' He repeated incredulously.

'Yes.' The pirate hume purred. Fran's long clawed fingers tapped on the chair back as she watched the Emperor and his guardian Judge just as keenly as did Balthier.

'What of Draklor?' Larsa asked more than a trifle hesitantly.

'I want Draklor.' Balthier elaborated with almost callous bluntness. 'I want the labs, I want the secrets; in short gentleman, I want it all.'

'I don't understand.' Larsa admitted in total confusion after a long, long moment of silence. 'What can you, you who disdain the Empire, who ran from your father and actively rebelled against the designs of Archadia, want with the laboratory?'

Larsa shook his head trying to puzzle out the pirate's motivation and finding only more questions. He continued as one might try to argue another out of a bad purchase or poor decision.

'Draklor was stripped of most of Cid's designs, his schematics, his works on nethicite; everything pertaining to the Occuria. All your father's research, since his return from Giruvegan, was handed over to the Gran Kiltias as part of the amnesty treaty between the Empire and the other nations of Ivalice over a year ago.'

'We seek not nethicite,' Fran said somewhat disdainfully. Her clawed fingers continued to tap, tap, tap on the back of Balthier's chair. 'Let the past rest where it can hurt no one. Our object is something more benign, but perhaps, of greater worth by far to all.'

Larsa was unnerved and recognised that there was little to be gained by attempting to hide the fact. 'What object can you possibly seek in Draklor?' He asked simply enough.

'I'm tired of running,' Balthier stirred in his chair and leaned forward across the table, palms splayed over the glossy surface. His smile was sharp as a knife.

'My father destroyed kingdoms, as you so rightly said. Now he is dead and I want to rebuild all that he destroyed. Give me Draklor,' Balthier said precisely, 'and I'll give you something I suspect you want rather badly, in return.' The pirate smirked lazily. 'I'll turn myself over to the Empire.'

Larsa felt a certain fission of something sharp and bright run down his spine. A child weaned on politics Larsa wondered if Balthier could possibly mean what he said. The young Emperor found himself considering the political fallout and, more pressingly, the potential uses handing over the reins of Draklor to another Bunansa would evoke within the Empire and without.

What manner of message would it send out to all Ivalice if the Prodigal Bunansa, Archadia's greatest ever dissident, returned willingly to his homeland and took a part in the reformation of the Empire?

Larsa's heart thumped excitedly in his chest. Even the truth about Nabradia could be mitigated somewhat if it was revealed that the famed pirate Balthier discovered the survivors only to then return with them to Archades and throw himself, with the support of the new senate and the new judiciary, into the work of finding a cure and righting past wrongs.

'You would….you are suggesting that you return to Archades as part of any negotiations between Archadia, Balfonheim, and Dalmasca?'

Larsa licked his lips. Behind him Basch seemed to almost hum with tension as he watched the two pirates.

'You would be prepared to barter yourself as part of the negotiations?' He added trying not to say anything that the pirate might enjoy refusing simply out of spite. 'That is what you are offering? In exchange for favourable terms for Balfonheim, you will come home to Empire?'

Larsa's mind was racing; he knew that the amount of leverage Balthier could bring with him was the political equivalent of picking up Mount Bur Omisace by hand and moving the mountain from Kerwon to Ambervale. If Cidolfus had been the engine powering Archades former war machine, was it conceivable that Larsa could use the younger Bunansa as the vehicle to power his reforms? Would Balthier even allow him that indulgence?

The pirate in question was watching him with strangely patient eyes. Fran too seemed to know precisely what thoughts danced through Larsa's head. He had the strangest sense that the old adage "beware what you wish for" might be rather pertinent right now. Certainly anyone who thought to manipulate either pirate could only be cursed for a fool – and was like as not to find himself the one being used.

'Hm,' Balthier agreed casually and for a moment Larsa wondered if he in fact responded to Larsa's thoughts rather than his words. 'As you say; and as I am feeling generous – I shall even bring my Moogle friends with me to the Empire.'

Larsa frowned in confusion as a very incongruous, and not a little worrisome, grin suddenly ruined Balthier's deliberately nonchalant composure. The pirate beamed up at Fran and released a peal of mirthful laughter.

'I think it high time Grand Arcade was introduced to the philosophy of the Fraternity of Kupo. The fallout from that alone will be well worth the ignominy of returning home.'

In a moment's mildly terrified clarity it came to Larsa that the revelation of the Nabradians was but a ripple in the ocean compared to the seismic shift Balthier could incite within Archades. Doctor Cid, after all, had only wanted to make war…..Balthier, well, the gods only knew what he wanted, or what he might create with Draklor in his hands. Was Larsa prepared to unleash the prodigal on the unsuspecting citizens of the capital?

The pirate held out a bejewelled hand across the table, 'Well, m'lord, what is it to be, hm? Do we have a deal?'

Larsa did not look to Basch, for he was Emperor and must be resolute in his decisions. Instead the young Emperor did what he did best. He thought things through.

He thought about undead who were not undead and pirates who made sport of defying mortality and all reasonable expectations regards their behaviours. He thought about his Empire's past and her present. He thought about the halcyon future he would usher in. He thought about Draklor, stripped of her greatest creations, almost empty, unused. He thought of the innovation that would be needed to transform Archadia from what she was, to what Larsa longed for her to be. He made his decision and could only hope they would all survive it.

Emperor Larsa Ferrinas Solidor reached out and grasped the ringed hand across the table.

'Yes,' he said, 'We have a deal. Draklor is yours, Ffamran Mid Bunansa.'