Disclaimer: And remember, no disclaimers.
A/N: Hello everyone! I apologize profusely for the delay; RL turned crazy and the chapter simply refused to get written and all that often-quoted jazz, but partially because I needed to take a little break. I have several other writing projects on the go and I wanted to spend some time with them. Whatever the reasons, I'm back now, and stronger than ever. I originally had this chapter written months ago, but then the story started shaping up in another direction and a complete workover was required. The process was exhaustive, but I think the results are worth it. Please enjoy!
My flight to Rozarria was considerably less anguished than the one to Dalmasca had been. For one, there were no nightmares. For another, I knew beyond a shadow of doubt that Balthier was alive. I let myself focus on that, finding it ironic that news of his survival should come so soon after I'd finally managed to convince myself he was dead. Concentrating on that, I tried not to think about what I was leaving behind. It was still hard to get my head around.
It was late evening when I finally arrived, due to the detour that the carrier had to make around the jagd conditions of the Yensan Sandsea. I thought of the four fresh, unmarked graves that lay somewhere below and sighed. They'd gotten what they deserved, but… to have been the one to do it…
Such were my thoughts as I disembarked and entered the Aerodrome. I had never been to Rozarria, and I was quickly overwhelmed by the polyglot babble surrounding me. Since I had no luggage, I could not fall into the "porter" trap, and I ignored those who presented themselves to me with oily bows – I'd seen their type before. "Guides" who would strip you of every gil you carried and then abandon you down some dark alley.
Dimethicone was large – about the size of Rabanastre. It was not the capital, but the city center was as clustered and bewildering as that of my own city, and twice as foreign (since I did not know the language). Clutching my satchel tighter around me, I foraged out of the Aerodrome, the foolishness of my actions staring me full in the face. How did I expect to find a single man in all this, without even knowing the words with which to make myself understood, my very nature screaming 'foreigner!' to those with even the slightest inclination to rape me, pick my pocket, or both. I almost had a longing for a warm, stable presence at my side, but before the thought could come to fruition I dismissed it. I was very glad Basch had not asked to accompany me; I imagined him handing me off in some sick reflection of the father of the bride and shuddered. It was comforting to me that Basch had some notion, at least, of his own limits. His being here would just be a mistake, and heartbreaking both for him and for me. I drew myself up, gathering my resolve. There was nothing in this bewildering metropolis that stood even the slightest chance of standing between Balthier and me. If I had to walk up to every door in the entire city with only the word 'Allantoin?' on my lips, I would do it.
But first, I would look for a tavern of sorts, or anything that looked like it might serve the same function. Drink was a language everyone could understand, and aletap rumours often held grains of truth. I mentally calculated my funds as I walked down the street, keeping a careful eye on my purse. I would only be able to frequent one or two before I ran out – I had plenty of money, but carrying it all with me would have been begging for trouble. I would have to make my inquiries wisely, and trust to luck. Praying might also be in order.
As it turned out, I was not driven to such desperate measures. Hardly a block in a straight line from the Aerodrome (it is always best to keep going in the same direction when one is unsure of one's whereabouts), a poster made me turn. Countless other advertisements and propaganda had been jockeying for my attention in just the distance I had walked, but it was not flashy colours or a catchy slogan (however incomprehensible to me they may have been) that drew my eye. It was a name; a single name, solitary in the lines of text that preceded and followed it: Allantoin. Closer inspection revealed the citation of our most favoured playwright, and I gasped and the subterfuge. It was so simple… so brilliant. Players were above suspicion, and were too difficult to pin down in order to be implicated in anything because their stage names changed on a whim. And they were free to go anywhere, and see anything: no one would think twice about seeing a well-known player in the royal archives, in the ancient legends section, perhaps, looking up something to flesh out his character, no doubt. It was with great difficulty that I kept the chuckle from my lips; 'mad foreigner' was not a title I wished to acquire at this point. If only I could understand Rozarrian so that I'd know where this play was to be held!
And then something extraordinary happened. What can I say? Sometimes the gods see fit to grant wishes.
"A countrywoman in need?" The voice came to my ear. I turned to see a man, pale blond and lanky, smiling down at me. He spoke Dalmascan with a heavy Rozarrian accent, putting me in mind of Al-Cid.
"You're Dalmascan?" I asked stupidly.
"Half," the man said affably, extending his hand. "Name's Paraben. May I be of assistance?"
He seemed nice, but I was not foolish enough to trust his motives. I did not take the hand at once.
"How did you know I was Dalmascan?" I asked suspiciously. I didn't even look the part.
"A countryman always knows," Paraben said solemnly, keeping his hand out. "You are wise to be wary, miss, but I give you my oath – I merely seek to help you."
I took his hand against my better judgement – in truth, I had no plan, and it would be no more than I deserved if this man played me false.
"Siyana," I replied, returning the handshake. "I am interested in seeing this play – I am familiar with it, and with the main actor. Unfortunately, I am ignorant as to the language in these parts and do not know where it is to be held."
"Ah, a simple translation, is it?" He bent in closer to the poster. His eyelids flickered, though his expression remained the same. "Ah. You'll want to hurry, señora. This showing is the final one, and it begins in just half an hour!"
Panic came to my face. Paraben saw it and whistled. One of the rickshaw pullers idling on the side of the street came running up, earning disinterested looks from his slower fellows. Paraben began to give him a hasty explanation in Rozarrian, the only words of which I caught was the name of the play. Suddenly he turned to me. "Have you gil, señora?"
I nodded, touching my purse. That, I had in abundance. "Enough."
The rickshaw was pulled by a brawny, homely youth who was willing enough when Paraben filled his hand with my gil. Paraben helped me into the cart and then got in after me, urging the youth to go. I glanced at him dubiously, realizing that it would be all too easy for him to have given the driver an order to bring me to some abandoned place and then have his way with me. My hand twitched towards my sword. He would find that a rather more difficult proposition than expected, if that was indeed the case.
We set off at a brisk pace. "To assure you my intentions are honourable," Paraben said, in response to my questioning look. "I'll see you right up to the doors of the theatre, and perhaps show you a few of the sights along the way."
I smiled, beginning (not fully) to trust. "That would be lovely."
But my mind was not on the ancient monuments and villas we passed. Paraben seemed to note this and fell into a companionable silence.
"You must care deeply for this player, to fly into an unknown land without aid to seek him," he said at last. "Are you perhaps… lovers?" Though he spoke in Dalmascan, he said the word with all its Rozarrian delicacy.
"We were," I said absently. "Now… I'm not sure." Still wary, I twisted to look at him. "Do you know Allantoin?" I had been careless – I'd not yet taken the time to take the measure of the man, to see if he was one Balthier would associate with.
"Not as well as I might like," Paraben replied with an easy smile, leading me to speculate about his sexual preferences. "He's a secretive man, is Allantoin. Hard to know what's going on up here." He tapped his temple. "Brilliant player, though. Absolutely genius. When you watch him, it's as if the world around melts away and you truly are looking at a suicidal prince. Almost makes you want to go off yourself."
I returned the smile uneasily. Nice to know that his personality hadn't changed. Though, had he truly wished to get undercover, it would have made sense to be less brooding.
…Brooding? What was I thinking? Balthier would never show so much emotion in public. I wondered why he was acting so out of character. He only seemed brooding to me because I knew what was underneath.
"You've known him long?" For a first, Paraben's voice was uncertain.
I had to consider. Gods, had it only been a year? "Yes, a very long time."
"We've arrived, señora," Paraben said gently. I gripped the rail of the cart tightly.
"I thank you, messire." I tried to offer him some gil for his service, but he refused.
"If it please you, señora, I will see you inside," Paraben replied.
"As you wish." I inclined my head. Whatever Paraben's interest in this was, I had more important things to think about.
Balthier was here.
We rushed into the theatre, flinging gil at the man who gave us tickets in return, and found our seats with moments to spare – I preferred it this way, as it was better than waiting. The curtain came up, and I found myself holding my breath.
And then I remembered. The main character did not appear for the entire first scene. It took quite a bit of willpower to keep myself from bouncing in my seat, waiting for the guards to quit standing around and ruminating on a ghost that none of them could understand anyway, though I clapped politely with the rest of the audience when the scene was done. In the second scene, I knew it was time for the main character's entrance, and when he appeared onstage, flanked by other characters, I couldn't help myself. I let out a small sound that was lost in the flourish of trumpets as the king prepared his speech. I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming, because the whole thing seemed so surreal; Balthier, alive, playing a player playing a prince on some foreign stage. He looked exactly the same as ever, but there was one thing different, a shifted aura that I couldn't place. Putting it down to the player's disposition needed to play such a moody character, I waited while the king meandered through his endless soliloquy, waiting with bated breath for the first line, because no heaven would be complete without the sound of his voice:
"A little more than kin, and less than kind!"
I clutched the armrests of my chair, to keep myself from barging onstage and spoiling the performance. His dulcet tones sent a wave of nostalgia through me and I found myself falling in love all over again. But that slight difference was made evident as Balthier continued to speak, and I could see what Paraben had been talking about: the speech the prince made was no speech. These were words from the soul of the player.
"O that this too too sullied flesh would melt
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew
Or that the Everlasting had not fixed
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O Gods, Gods,
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on't, ah, fie, 'tis an unweeded garden
That grows to seed. Things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely. That it should come to this…"
As the speech continued into more story-specific information, I bit my lip, unable to look away. I had a sensation of being just in time for something, though for what, I did not know. It was an exceedingly angst-ridden speech for the Balthier that I knew, but I had trouble believing that the words were not meant for himself, and I was suddenly very concerned about getting to him as soon as possible after the play for a different reason than closing the space between us.
I continued to watch as the prince encountered the ghost of his father and resolved to put on an 'antic disposition'. This time, he was closer to the man I had known and loved: witty, resourceful, flippant… I had a hard time remembering that this play was about an Ordalian prince and not a showcase for Balthier's caustic tongue.
But with the arrival of the players within the play, the darker side emerged again, and with the prince's famous soliloquy I had my first real shock, rather than mere suspicion:
"To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep –
No more – and by a sleep we say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to! 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep –
To sleep, perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay…"
And it went on. I watched with a growing clarity of thought as the story progressed, and suspicion turned to certainty during the scene in which the prince and his one-time lover bantered while observing the play within the play. The tone in Balthier's voice was so familiar, so natural and accustomed to me, that while the other player was delivering her lines I felt irked, empty, needing to say the responses myself with my own inflection and expressions, finding the lover's all wrong. And that was when I knew that it was not merely a production for Balthier any more. And I was frightened for him.
My strongest reaction came at the end of everything, as I was forced to watch Balthier die, again, this time more intimately and nearer, however false I might know it to be. I just barely kept myself from crying out, as he took the poisoned wound and drank the poisoned cup. Though I knew it just a play, my subconscious burned. I won't lose him again! I won't, I won't!
It helped me realize something – I would be physically unable to allow Balthier out of my sight for some time. I couldn't imagine he would take kindly to that, but if he valued my sanity, he would have to abide by it. As it was, I had lines in my palms made by my nails from clenching my fists so tightly, and I bit my lip until it bled to keep from making a sound in the silent hall as I had to endure Balthier whispering "The rest is silence."
The final speech, a tribute by the foreign prince to the carnage now present on the stage, affected me most of all, because it had been what was in my head as I gazed on Bahamut all those days: what I might have found, had I gathered the courage to go there, and the regrets that I could not admit even to my unconscious mind, thus the numbness.
"For he was likely, had he been put on,
To have proved most royal; and for his passage
The soldiers' music and the rite of war
Speak loudly for him.
Take up the bodies. Such a sight as this
Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss.
Go, bid the soldiers shoot."
The solemnity with which the players were shown off the stage and the astounded soundlessness of the audience at the incredible performance made it seem as though someone actually had died, there on the stage. I felt a sudden shock of worry for Balthier, caught up in the world created by the skill of the players. The curtain fell, and the theatre suddenly erupted in applause as everyone recovered from their trance. As all the players came up to take a bow, I was relieved to see Balthier there, still alive and well, though he did not smile, as the others did. There were several more curtain calls, and my hands hurt from clapping. I waited impatiently for the audience to begin to leave before I launched myself out into the aisle, pushing past the accustomed flow of the crowd; eyes trained on the door where I had seen Balthier disappear. My brain was in a fuzz, and I didn't have a real plan – as usual, I was reacting purely on the whims of my heart, and not thinking things through. But what I did know was that I had waited for four months to get this close to Balthier, and our continued separation was wrong – so wrong. I was also driven by the feeling that had accumulated throughout the production: that time was running out.
I shoved my way backstage, paying no heed to anyone's attempts to stop me – they were half-hearted attempts, and I figured I could deal with them later once I'd seen Balthier. Some people called out, and a few even whistled, but I didn't stop, searching every face for the one I sought. I wondered if Balthier was important enough to have a dressing room, and how I would find it.
Someone grabbed my wrist, and I spun, ready to fight my way free, but it was only Paraben. He jerked his head to the side, dragging me along with him down another hallway.
"This way, señora," he called over the general bustle, leading me down the hall. He pulled me to a stop outside a plain, unmarked door, knocking in a complicated pattern before falling back and allowing me to step forward. I gathered my nerve, suddenly self-conscious, and reached for the doorknob.
The door opened before I got there.
I stood there, dumbly, the background noise fading into incomprehensibility, staring like an idiot, with the real, living Balthier inches from my face. Abruptly, all the time I'd spent thinking he was dead seemed silly now. How could I have doubted him?
"Can you love a fool?" I gasped, the first words that came into my head and the first out of my mouth.
A shadow of the old smirk I'd loved so much crossed his face.
"Can you love a player?" he replied. I took a slow step forward, feeling terribly un-coordinated. I'd spent so much time concentrating on meeting Balthier, that I'd never thought of what I'd do when I actually saw him. So it was that I acted purely on instinct.
I slapped him full across the face, with all the force I could muster. Into my palm I put the long, sleepless nights, the nightmares, the tears, the distress of the party, the hurt I'd given Basch, my near madness. And then I fell sobbing into his arms.
"I suppose you didn't deserve that one either, sir?" Paraben's voice came from far away. I couldn't concentrate on the words. My focus was on Balthier – he was my entire world. When his arms tightened around me, his embrace felt like a homecoming.
"No." Balthier's voice, low and close, made me shiver like a leaf in the wind. "No, that one I deserved."
*
He drew me inside, set me on a low couch, pushed a glass of mulled wine into my hands which he had produced from gods-knew where. I sipped tentatively, gazing at my love through tearstained eyes.
"Thank-you for bringing her, Paraben," Balthier said quietly. I blinked, unaware that the man had stayed.
"It was no trouble," my guide replied, somewhere behind me. "Is this she you've been moping over?" His tone was one of comfortable teasing. "It's an honour to meet you at last."
I turned to give him a tremulous smile.
"Oh, please," Balthier returned. "I have not been moping."
Paraben's responding chuckle was as refuting as spoken words. "I'm sure I've duties elsewhere," was all he said, leaving us alone. Balthier sighed.
I set the winecup down and reached for him, burying my face in his shirt, drinking in his scent, pulling his head down to mine with trembling hands. "You're real?" I said, half-asking, half-stating. The strangeness of my surroundings made it difficult for me to trust my own senses. "You're real."
"Yes," he assured me, arms around my shoulders. "Yes, I'm here."
"Oh gods!" I whispered, kissing every part of him I could reach. "I am glad. I am so very, very glad."
My handprint was forming, red and blatant, on his face. Apart from feeling very sorry, it gave me a sort of perverse pleasure to see I'd marked him so – as mine.
I stroked the imprint. "I'm sorry," I murmured. "Does it hurt very much?"
Balthier grimaced. "I cannot believe that you are apologizing to me," he said. "Why are you here?"
Fear washed over me. I'd been so focussed on Balthier being alive, I'd never even stopped to consider… Did he not want me around any more? And here I was, selfishly seeking his embrace. My need had been so great…
"Forgive me. I wasn't thinking," I replied, trying not to look as though every word was tearing off a piece of my soul. "Do you want me… to leave?" I would, I told myself, if he asked me to. It would kill me to do it, but I would try.
There was a moment of silence, and then Balthier took me by the shoulders and shook me, very gently. "A sigh escaped his lips. "You silly, silly girl," he said quietly. "What did you ever do to deserve this? I was merely referring to your safety… and the state of your sanity," he explained, before I could react. "Flying into this city on only a word… to find me." I didn't like the tone he put on his name. It made it sound dirty.
"Of course," I replied, frankly bewildered. "Once I found out where you were, I couldn't do anything else. And then I saw the play…" I trailed off, seeking his eyes, which were suddenly hidden. "Please tell me you're just a most convincing player. Tell me I didn't see what I thought I saw."
He did not reply, and I did not get any further before Balthier pulled me roughly into his arms.
"Fran sent a communiqué telling me how bad it was… with you," he said. "She told me you were coming." He sounded oddly breathless. "I couldn't believe it. I thought for sure I'd lost you…"
"I love you," I said, tears threatening again. "Compared to that, what's a little actual madness?"
His embrace tightened. "Can you believe, after everything I've done to you, that I love you, too?" he asked. I nodded mutely into his chest, the words crashing through me like stormwaters bringing life to a dried up stream bed. I did believe it. From it stemmed my ability to keep coming back to him, time and again, without so much as a second thought.
"You should have known," I told him seriously, "when you told me you loved me. If you couldn't get rid of me beforehand…" He laughed shortly, kissing the top of my head.
"But I have to ask," I continued, lifting my face to his, "why? You sent Paraben out to look for me." Now that I had seen them together, their connection was obvious. Paraben had been a scout. "Fran told me about the treasure you're hunting. But to not send a word – not a single, solitary note? To go off and leave me alone? Why – how could you do that? Is this some kind of test?"
"Maybe a little bit," he admitted ruefully. "Only after the fact," he hastened on as I stiffened. "Not because I doubted you. Not being able to see you, incapable of sending a message…" He squeezed my hand in his tightly. "It was torture for me, as well." And suddenly I understood the meaning of his portrayal of the prince. It twisted my heart in an oddly pleasant way to know that I'd been the driving force behind such a performance.
I returned the gesture, still lost in his eyes. "It's good to hear. But at least you had your hunting. You had Fran, you had your distractions. I had nothing. And I missed you. Gods, I can't tell you how much I missed you."
He held me tighter still, yet somehow it might never be enough. "You must be a glutton for punishment." His words made me realize something. My words had not been quite true. I'd had something. I'd had Basch. And look what had happened to me. Perhaps it was self-centered of me to think so, but could Balthier's distractions have been the same for him as Basch was for me? A boon companion and a goal, but only enough to keep one's grip on sanity? Could it be possible that my loss had affected him the same way his had me? He'd had reason, too, to think that I'd been lost to him, I saw now. If I hadn't been in Archades with Basch, if Fran hadn't managed to slip away and find me there… how would we ever have met again, with him unable to send word, and me still believing him to be dead?
I laughed tremulously, because if I didn't I would scream from the pain and terror of what might have been. "I suppose I've yet to learn my lesson."
His whisper in my ear was low and sensual. "I could always teach it to you."
The words were out of my mouth before my head caught up with them. "If you're feeling didactic, I can think of a better place for it."
He rose to meet me, kiss heating, heartbeat throbbing… I was suddenly unsure. I didn't know if I wanted him to push it further, and I couldn't decide what I would do if he did.
"No." The word was hardly a whisper, and it did not come from my lips. I simply stared up at him, relieved without knowing why.
Balthier raised his eyebrows. "Siyana," he said gently. "I told you. Fran had… stories. You've changed – I understand that. Don't force yourself to do anything you don't absolutely want."
I looked away. "Yes, well. It doesn't matter." Shaking my head, I forced myself to face his eyes, which had remained the same. This was not the Balthier I remembered. I wasn't the only one who'd changed. "I need time," I whispered – it was a terrible admission. "I think… Please." I suppose it was foolish to think that everything would be back to the way it had been.
"All right, then." He smiled when I glanced at him, shifting his arm so that it was no longer so intrusive. "Just don't keep me waiting forever."
"I won't." The words caught in my throat; I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen him smile, except in battle. "I promise. Ffamran…" I pressed my fingers to my aching temples, willing the too-ready tears to subside. What lay between us was too vast, too much. I felt a stranger in my own skin. There was love, still; that much, I knew. My heart ached at the sight of him. And Balthier… I heard it in his voice, saw it in his calm gaze, felt it in his touch. Love, broken and damaged, mayhap beyond repair. Some things, once broken, can never be made whole again.
I prayed we were not one of them.
"I'm sorry!" The anguished exclamation burst from my musings. I hadn't wanted our reunion to be anything less than perfect. Anything like… this.
He caught my hands in his, bringing them to his lips. "Don't be. I'm just glad you're here. The rest can wait."
I leaned into his touch, that I still wanted and needed, even if my sensibilities had changed somewhat. I read in his words what he left unsaid: he was unaccustomed to sleeping together without sex, but he was willing to try… for me. Was this his way of saying he was sorry?
If it was possible to love someone more than I loved him, I had yet to find it.
He stood. I felt the space between us like a physical pain and hurried to stand close to him again. He gave a wry smile, as if guessing my motives.
"Shall we?" he held out his arm as if to escort me.
We left through the same hall I'd entered, which was now nearly empty. Balthier called a carriage, giving some orders in Rozarrian, the only words of which I caught were 'Villa Recutita', before pulling me in behind him.
"Come here," Balthier whispered as the coach lurched into motion, and there was no order in it, but I slid, helpless and obedient, into his arms. He knew what I needed more than I did myself, and this was exactly right. Gods know I had been kissed by him before, but never like this. Everything in me surrendered to it, and I startled even myself by how completely I was undone. The garrotte that I had been slowly, but surely, applying to my feelings, was a graft that had been the only thing holding me up, dragging what little there was left of me thinner and thinner as I pressed onward – that part of me that I had been so carefully cutting off from life and yet forbidding to die – that part was finally freed. The backlash was violent. And then he kissed me again, until I could return it with no artistry, but mere craving, clinging to him and drowning under his mouth.
Until the coach stopped, shocking me with its suddenness. Balthier laughed as the driver opened the door onto the courtyard; I could not imagine that we had arrived so soon. He helped me out, face studiously averted – I cannot even begin to imagine what I looked like, glaze-eyed, tousled, and tear-stained in my travel-worn clothes – and Balthier stopped to pay him. Too far from him, I shivered with dismay until he joined me, and guided me, gently, into his home.
"This is a players' lodging house," he said. "There are a few other tenants, but they're very quiet and discreet. They're all out at the moment, probably at the curtain party. We'll have to think of a good story for your presence, but it should be easy enough – they aren't too nosy."
I leaned into his shoulder as he led me up the stairs, saying nothing, happy just to be close to him. He entered the room second from the end of the hall, and let us in to a well-apportioned, modestly decorated suite with a living area, bedroom, and kitchen complex.
"Allantoin's quite famous, as you may have observed," Balthier said, turning on a lamp as he moved about the room, "so I could afford to upgrade to this place. It's as well you found me now, and not a few weeks ago – the hovel we were living in before didn't bear mentioning."
He was trying to make light of the situation, and I smiled, but I preferred not to think about it, and Balthier understood.
Carrying the light, he turned to me. "After you," he said, indicating the bed.
I glanced about, abruptly bewildered. "Already? But it's morning?"
He shook his head, smiling. "You chased the sun on your flight here," he informed me. "Didn't you notice the sun setting as you arrived? The darkness outside the theatre?"
I blinked, frowning. I seemed to recall something of the sort… it had all been driven out of my mind.
His smile grew wider, and he placed my hand on his arm. "What am I going to do with you?" he asked. "You're a hopeless case."
I shrugged, grinning. "You're the one who's studied all that medicine. Surely you could suggest a cure?"
He brought my hand to his lips. His touch burned like fire, and his eyes smouldered. "I know just the thing."
Once we were in the room, too overwhelmed to move, I simply stood there. Balthier came up behind me, his arm resting lightly about my waist. It was enough. As much as I loved him, I couldn't have borne anything more. My need having been assuaged by the interlude in the carriage, I wasn't sure if I could even kiss him any more.
"It's going to take me a while," I said quietly.
"I know."
"I'm sorry," I said again. I wished I didn't feel broken inside.
"Siyana." He turned me gently to face him. "I know. You did what you had to do. I would that it had been otherwise, but I don't blame you for it." I knew then that Fran had told him about Basch, and I cringed, waiting and ready for the inevitable fury, the rejection.
"Then why do I feel so awful?" I whispered.
Balthier touched my hair, looking sober. "Do you… do you want to speak of it?"
"Of what happened?" I laid one hand on his chest, keeping him at bay, feeling his heart beating steady and strong beneath it. Tears came to my eyes unbidden. "Oh, Ffamran! Even if I did… could you bear to hear it?"
His answer, when it came, was rough and honest. "I don't know."
"So." I swallowed hard, nodding. "We'll wait and see." Somewhere, the gods were grimly satisfied. If, even a week ago, someone had come to me and told me that I would willingly refuse the chance to sleep with Balthier, I would have laughed in their face. But being with Basch had changed things, and I found that I couldn't be so callous as to immediately disregard our time together.
"You know," Balthier said, "you're still very foolish."
I said something in acquiescence, I don't know what. It was hard to concentrate with the heat of his presence so near. "If I was rational, I'd probably be far away by now."
"That would be logical," he conceded, tracing patterns on my hand that restrained him. I locked my fingers with his, drawing him nearer.
"But there's just a little problem with that," I mused, when I could think again. "I've been irrevocably in love with you since I first laid eyes on you."
His face, when I looked up, was almost severe with the depth of his emotion. "Yes, I suppose that would be troublesome," he said at last.
I smiled. "Now you see. This…" I gestured vaguely to our continued separation, "this is only a passing thing." I hope, I added silently.
His eyes had not yet lost their reverent look. "I love you."
I traced the shape of his face with the tips of my fingers. The touch of his skin was still a marvel to me. "I must, however, admit to curiosity," I murmured. His eyes widened in mock horror.
"Curiosity? Gods forbid!"
I placed my hands on either side of his face. "Was it only that one girl that made you… like that?" I had been wondering about that for a while, ever since he had admitted that his separation was partially a test. My voice was soothing, serious. Caring, not condemning.
His face sobered. "No, there were others. Never so bad, but enough. I'm not that fragile."
I nodded gravely. We each had our skeletons. "Will you tell me about them?"
He considered slowly. "But not now."
"No, not now."
I moved my palm from his cheek along his neck and down his chest, revelling in the contact, in the planes of his skin.
"Basch couldn't understand it, this pull you have on me," I said, feeling a twinge of guilt and gratitude as I said the name. "But he knew, in the end, that no matter what happened, no matter what anyone said or did, I would still feel the same way about you. And the truth is, he was right. Nothing's changed it, not time or distance or madness. I love you. I could look at you forever. And I do believe that for whatever unfathomable reasons, it is meant to be this way." I hesitated, a lifetime of insecurities surfacing. "Unless you feel differently?"
"No." He shook his head, then reached down and drew my head up to stroke my face. His touch made me shudder slightly, and whether it was with desire or despair, I could not say. "No. Never."
Ah, gods! It felt like a benediction. I wrapped my arms around him, drawing him closer. Even the half-inch of space between us suddenly became too great.
There is a point where joy becomes too great for words, when no form of communication is sufficient to describe the feelings inside. When you hold the other close enough as if to absorb them into yourself, and yet know that it will never be close enough. I reached that point that night. It is one thing to dream hopelessly every day of your life – it is another thing entirely when those dreams come true beyond your wildest dreams.
I loved him so much.
My falling asleep was a gradual thing, marked with sighs and caresses and gentle words. I slept and, for the first time in a long while, dreamed of joy.
Next up: vicarious fun with Balthier and Sephira!