Author's Note: this is a mostly canon-compliant attempt at a novelisation of Final Fantasy XII. For details about my headcanon, see my profile.

This chapter is set after spending around a week training together in preparation to travel to the Tomb of Raithwall.

Rating: PG (some mentions of violence, blood, gore; adult themes; light Basch/Vossler shipping)

Chapter 21: Luck Will Not Save You from Weakness

After the incident with the sky pirate's little jab, Vossler, in overreaction to his harshness to Vaan, called him over as they walked.

"Boy, let me see your worth in battle."

Vaan narrowed his eyes. "Whaddaya mean?"

Vossler sighed silently. "What abilities do you have? Magicks and technicks, for example?"

"Oh," Vaan replied. "I've learned a few."

"Demonstrate."

Vaan swallowed, then nodded clumsily, not sure whether he even wanted to impress the man. Nonetheless, he cast Libra first, the green shimmering lights dancing around his feet, giving Vaan more information about the beasts within range. "That cockatrice is an axebeak, weak to water magick."

"Do you have any water magick?"

Vaan shook his head.

"Then don't mention it. Say as little as is needed. The battlefield has no place for idle chatter." Vaan childishly mimed Vossler's words with an ugly expression. "What else have you?"

Vaan dutifully demonstrated Dark on a nearby wooden crate, ripping chunks out of it that looked like the claw of a hellish beast, then Blinded an Alraune that Vossler subsequently bisected in one blow, Silenced another Urutan-Yensa on his second attempt, Drained another, and Berserked a third. As one of the foul beasts approached fainting after Vaan Drained it, Vaan successfully used the Poach technick to transform its body into a small pebble, then used the Traveller technick to crush the pebble underfoot into dust.

"Impressive." Vossler folded his arms. "And at seventeen years of age, with no formal experience?" Vaan nodded, wondering where this abrupt change of tone came from. "I have trained many boys your age in years past and few possessed your adept and flexible range of magick."

Vaan blinked. "Thank you… sir. Captain. Captain Azelas." He seemed flustered, wringing his hands.

"Captain is fine." Vossler said smoothly. "What of swordplay? What weapon have you brought?" At this point, Basch had placed himself equidistant between Ashe at the vanguard, and Vossler and Vaan to the left of the formation. They were now rounding a closely aligned collection of tanks in a zone demarked "Primary Tank Complex" by a sign on a tank, which Fran read aloud.

"Well, I've got my brother's mythril sword. It's good enough. And it's one of the only things I've got left."

Vossler seized it and ran a finger along the blade. It failed to draw blood, though Vossler's fingertips were calloused and knurled enough that it didn't surprise him. "You are Reks' brother, correct?"

"Yes, Captain." Vaan felt the title come more easily now.

"I knew him not, he was not in my battalion. The weapon is familiar, a mass-produced, Rabanastran make of mythril sword, inexpensive and common. It was meant for the inexperienced so they would not injure themselves." Vossler handed it back to Vaan, handle first. "It is hardly a weapon."

Vaan felt himself flush with annoyance. "It's good enough for me. I've done plenty of hunting with it and haven't been killed yet."

"Well, soon you will learn." Vossler challenged. "It is insufficient for this journey, and will be worthless against stronger fiends in far-off lands. Go, prove me wrong – slay that axebeak with sword alone."

Vaan glared at him, then ran off.

"Vaan's gone off the path."

"Indeed, he has," Basch replied, stomach churning. Incompetent. Worthless. Uncertain whose voice was playing in his mind.

Penelo turned and called after Vaan, seeing him go off course, but he ignored her, threw up a Protect spell, and went off to hack the spherical bird into bits. It resisted Vaan's assault easily, since its feathers and down were so thick that Vaan struggled to penetrate its body with the blade. Vaan narrowly dodged an attack from the bird's beak, pivoting on one leg to throw his body around it, and jumped ahead to try to sever the beak from the bird's body. From a distance, the rest of the party watched on. Ashe shouted at Vaan not to waste everyone's time, Balthier called out deliberately useless advice, Fran countered with actually useful advice, Penelo cheered him on, and Basch just watched silently from the distance.

"The beast is vulnerable to attacks from the rear," Fran exclaimed. "Strike its rear and it will suffer grave injury. Cast no magick, I sense a Salamand Entite nearby." Ashe immediately stilled her staff and took out her dagger instead.

Vaan nimbly ran around to the back of the bird and stabbed at its tail feathers. Fran's advice was perfect – the mythril sword met flesh and let forth a stream of crimson blood, leaving the bird squawking in pain, hobbling on the ground.

"Finish it off!" Penelo shouted, waving.

"Use magick!" Balthier shouted, suppressing laughter.

"Hurry up!" Ashe ordered, tapping her foot. Vaan did just so, beheading the axebeak in two awkward swings. The beast fell silent, and Vaan stood, triumphant, looking to Vossler for validation.

Instead, Vossler let forth an unimpressed grunt, and said, "Inefficient. A superior weapon would have ended the fight in moments, eliminating the need for your dancing. Serve Dalmasca better – let go of your past and find a better weapon."

Mid-scavenging on hands and knees, Vaan rifling through the bird's carcass for anything of worth, feathers, bones, gizzards, livers, he stopped and stood up, feeling twelve years old, parentless, worthless. Basch looked on in pity, Ashe passing him by again, Basch only looking at Vaan, seeing Reks in his place. The greatsword-wielding Captain left Vaan alone and passed Basch. As he did, Basch murmured, "Vossler, must you be so dismissive?"

"Aye. The Lady Ashe should not bear those who claim to serve but only sully her with incompetence."

The sting of those words choked Basch for a moment. Once upon a time, he and Vossler were entirely trusting of each other, sharing a bed on the off-chance their days of leave were in synchrony, sharing an office in the Royal Barracks with two other Captains, sharing a mission to protect His Highness Lord Prince Rasler, to protect His Majesty King Raminas, from conflict, from battle, from pain, from loss. A shared mission, an oath of service, made bearable for the both of them in their years, growing older, devoid of their own lives, a chance at a family and progeny. Exceptional in their prowess – Vossler a skilled greatsword wielder, magickian, and technickian, strategist, mentor, spy, leader; Basch capable with every weapon, with unique Landisi immunity to magick, a father to his men, diplomatic, charming, dependable, steadfast – neither could be considered incompetent, but certainly if the events of the last two years were writ on parchment in judgement of Basch's soul, he would find himself wanting for competence.

With a dry mouth, Basch husked, "Vaan is not incompetent. He wants not for valour, strength, or haste. He lacks experience. So train him." Hands stiff at his side, Vaan near him, Vossler disappearing ahead of him, the rest of the cortege hundreds of yards away in their competence, Basch hoped his words would be carried on the wind so he would need to repeat himself.

Vossler stopped, turned around, walked back. Vaan stared, wide-eyed, feeling impending judgement. Vossler closed the distance between him and Basch until they were an inch apart, Vossler's muscular chest heaving, the sun shining right off Basch's armour into his face.

"As you wish." Vossler said. "Boy, walk with me."

Vaan's hesitation melted away and his characteristic fountain of speech bubbled forth. "So you're going to train me? Basch already showed me the basics: the first three Dalmascan forms, two ways to hold a shield, evasive rolls-"

"You will start over." And Vaan shut up.

The sun was low in the sky, their shadows stretching out behind them for ten, twenty feet, and the shimmering, dancing light cast by the Salamand Entite forty yards away, glowing an aggressive orange, encouraged them to hasten. Basch ran ahead to join Ashe and Penelo at the vanguard, whispering in Vaan's ear through the steel visor, "Be patient and humble, he takes pride in this."

Vossler barked orders and delivered harsh criticism at Vaan for the next few hours as they walked the paths of "Platform 2 – Refinery", then descending the final ramp to the sandy ground. Basch was an accurate judge: Vaan was fast, strong, and bold, but like all novices, he wasted his energy on unnecessary movement. Vossler snapped at him to restrain himself, to stay in one stance without changing, to strike with basic forms – a vertical strike, a pointed jab, a horizontal slash – that would be efficient and brutal against Hume and beast alike. The hum of Urutan-Yensa movement declined, replaced by the buzz of insects and the throaty croak of the croakadile beasts in the distance, and the sound of Vaan's grunts and exhortations as he swung Reks' sword through the air echoed off the rocky formations to their left.

Sand and dirt crunched underneath their feet, finally. "Now roll dexter, rise, and cast Quake." Vossler ordered, loud, a shout entrained by a decade of ordering oath-bound soldiers in the salle. Vaan wiped his forehead, sweat sticking his hair to it, and blinked.

"I don't know Quake. And which way is dexter, again?"

Vossler sighed. "Your right. Like this." And for the first time, Vossler actually demonstrated rather than shouted: greatsword back in hand, he nimbly rolled on the ground over his shoulder, sword pointing forward, then stopped the roll on his knees, and cast the magick, summoning a line of raised earth that tore a scar into the ground for twenty yards, bringing forth jagged rocks along its length, and rumbling the ground. Rising to his feet and replacing his sword on the magnetic holder, he said, "Dexter roll with rising Quake magick. Faster avian foes that retain weakness to earth magicks are vulnerable to that combination. If you have not such magick, what else could you try?"

Impressed, and rubbing the back of his head, Vaan suggested, "I could do the Dark spell again? It's pretty easy for me." Dark magick, and all the related magick in the Arcane Magick class, was empowered by harmful feelings in the caster: trauma, resentment, rage, loss. Vaan had enough of those to channel them effectively into the violet-onyx shadows that burst forth in the form of a Dark spell, leaving marks like the talons of a hellish beast tearing into the target.

Hands on hips, Vossler nodded. Vaan sheathed his smallsword and strapped his shield to his left hip, rolled on the ground ungainly, stopped on his knees, and let forth the shadow, which reached forth its tentacles five feet into the cooling night air and dissipated into nothingness, leaving the smell of ozone as its only trace.

"Well done, Vaan." Vossler almost smiled. Almost. It was all Vaan could hope for. "Let us rejoin the Lady Ashe." He ran off at a fast pace, Vaan barely able to keep up despite carrying much less weight.

Five minutes later, they had reached the edge of the Rozarrian oil complex, Fran holding a handful of fire in her hand to illuminate the way. Ashe inquired hotly about their whereabouts; Vossler deigned not to apologise or explain himself. Vaan said enough to Penelo in a loud enough voice that Ashe, and everyone else, got the gist of it.

"So in the army they use some Old Nabradian words: sinister for left, dexter for right, abant for forward, dereter for backward, and so on. So if you jump abant, you jump forward, right?"

"That's very useful, thanks so much." Penelo rolled her eyes and took a drink of Ether. "I've always wanted to learn a language that Archadia killed. Where is everyone?"

The sun was now dipping below the horizon, but Ashe still pressed on. Her legs aching, her body yearning for rest, she still moved, unyielding, onwards, holding her own ball of flame in her left hand to light the way, and sipping from her water canteen. Penelo, Vaan, Basch, and Vossler trudged on. Balthier and Fran were almost out of view, Fran's ball of flame flickering, illuminating her face, her ears, far off in the distance.

"We continue on," Ashe ordered, addressing her companions. "Balthier, Fran, hasten your step, or we will leave you behind!"

"Not bloody likely!" Balthier replied, his voice far away. Fran suppressed a smirk, though her fire did grow just a little brighter for a moment.

Balthier felt no small resentment from being coaxed into travelling on through the dusk. They were clear of the Ogir-Yensa Sandsea, and all had touched the salvation crystal placed conveniently in a clearing, taking a short opportunity to eat and drink. Basch and Ashe were still wearing full plate armour, with visors now open to aid their vision in the limited light. Vaan and Penelo were sitting on the sandy ground, sorting through their loot gathered along the journey: feathers, pelts, magicite, the numerous slimy body parts they ripped from carcasses of the many beasts felled. Fran had removed her coat and hat, and was contorting her limbs into a complex stretching position, breathing deeply, eyes clothed.

"Yoga, at this time?"

Fran opened one eye to glare at Balthier. "Aye. Mermaid pose. My limbs grow tired. Leave me be."

"Tch." Balthier walked off. "Princess, are you certain we must carry on?"

"Yes. Unless you would rather stay here and relinquish your opportunity to see the Tomb of the Dynast-King."

"Far from it, Highness," He bowed, mockingly. She made a face, then turned away from him and stood on a boulder.

"Everyone, gather your things, we move on." She called, walking forward. "Basch, Penelo, you stand at the vanguard. Vossler, at my right. Vaan, my left. Balthier and Fran, if it please you both," and here Ashe tried some light sarcasm, "remain at the rear guard, and closer, if you please. I'm certain you both have ammunition to spare."

"But of course," Balthier said, shuffling to Ashe's rear, Sirius rifle in hand.

"Fran, would you please maintain the fire magick to illuminate our path? I will do the same." Fran acquiesced.

"Highness- Ashe- would you like for me to do it for you?" Penelo asked, a little meekly. "I haven't been doing much of the fighting."

"No, thank you, I am fine. Just… keep doing what you're doing." And they were off, the seven staying closer to the magick casting light upon their journey. In the dusk, at the edge of the Ogir-Yensa Sandsea, the Urutan Yensa were scarcely to be found, but different beasts emerged: more of the bagolies, their giant eyes well adapted to seeing in the dim light; speartongue toads, croaking endlessly to pierce the silence; and more alraune plant beasts chittering and bouncing around, ready to shove their horned bodies right at the party.

Basch and Penelo walked purposefully forward, scanning carefully for any beasts that would be drawn to their light. Vaan kept being drawn to whatever rustling motion he could see or hear to his left, creeping away from the formation. Vossler remained with Ashe, walking alongside, maintaining another conversation about the Resistance in Rabanastre and Bhujerba, and the nature of the nethicite. Balthier and Fran kept to themselves.

"Stay on your guard, Penelo, and hold your metal rod with both hands, one foot apart, across your body," Basch instructed. "If you shall be at the vanguard with me, then you must be prepared to engage in battle by striking with your weapon."

Penelo nodded, "Okay, but I don't have a lot of experience. I mean, I learned a little, but that was a while back."

"Oh?" Basch inquired. "From whom? Did you take a private tutor?"

"No way. My parents couldn't afford that," Penelo replied. "I had three brothers in the Army, and they taught me a thing or two. Something like, you can place magicite inside a magick rod at any of eight points to improve your casting, and you can strike with the heel or the head of the rod, but they're not really as good as a quarterstaff for attacking…" she trailed off.

"Well, that is a good place to start. What was your father's name?" Dalmascan families did not carry a family name, rather a patronymic, modifying the name of the children's fathers, and trying for a unique name each generation; Basch, being Landisi, and Vossler, being from a Rozarrian family, did not follow this tradition. Ronsenburg was the name of the property where Basch's ancestors had lived, growing a birch forest for lumber, and mining a granite quarry, thus Basch fon Ronsenburg was Basch from the family living at Ronsenburg. Azelas was a corruption of the Old Rozarrian word for nobility, as the house Azelas had been Rozarrian gentry for centuries. Vossler's middle name, York, was known to very few – he had only told Basch after living together for some time – and was the name of a friend of the family, from north-east Archadia, later defecting to Rozarria.

"My father's name was Olev, so my brothers' would have Olevkin on their dogtags."

Basch thought for a moment, then recalled three blond men, fair skinned, blue-eyed, of moderate height. "Yes, I think I remember; two swordsmen, one magus. None were in my battalion but I remember their names on the conscript lists. What became of them?

"They all died in the war." Penelo said. No sigh, no downcast eyes, no mourning tone. She'd already answered this question many a time. No use dancing around it, just rip off the bandage and press on. "In 703 Old Valendian, within six months of each other. My parents were dead from the plague by then, so I got each letter from the Army at Migelo's home. I still have them, somewhere, the last piece of each of my brothers. Never got their dogtags, or any of their stuff. But, well, life goes on." A stillness emerged between them for a while. Ashe and Vossler were now talking about King Raithwall, the man whose tomb they would see. Balthier and Fran were out of earshot, once again straggling behind, disinterested in maintaining the urgent pace Ashe desired. The outline of Vaan's body glowed blue as he reapplied a Protect spell and defeated an alraune with a burst of dark magick.

"My father, elder brother, and younger sister all perished the day that Archadia invaded my home." Basch said grimly, daring to pierce the silence. "My twin – Judge Gabranth – and my mother, who bears Archadian blood, were forced to repatriate to Archadia."

"Repatriate? What do you mean?"

Basch shook his head slightly. "I can't be sure of the circumstances, I was fleeing our home at the time. But Vossler once performed espionage upon the Archadian Empire, and stole documents about Gabranth, including his family – our family – indicating that our mother lived in Archades a while. We have some distant relatives, of no rank or status, living there, so I surmise they found a new home there."

"What was the point, then? Of the invasion of Landis, I mean."

Basch started to answer but instead heard the muffled yell of his partner from the rear, and Ashe's concerned cry. "Vossler!" She shouted. Three bagolies had emerged from the north and converged on their location, whipping up scythe-like winds that struck Vossler and knocked him down. Ashe took her staff in hand and made the movements to cast Quake, assuming a broad, strong stance, while Penelo waved her metal rod overhead to cast Cura. Vaan was running towards the group, too, and Basch drew his dagger. Unbeknownst to any, Vossler was preparing a counterattack. Three orbs of white light sprung forth from his body, zooming high into the air, each the size of a man's head. They floated overhead and then accelerated towards each of the bagoly beasts. Penelo's Cura spell, a warm bluish-white glow, waved over Vossler's body. As her spell met him, his spell shrunk in size until each orb was the size of a grape and sputtered into nothingness before evaporating in front of the bagolies' eyes. They descended, and Vossler arose, furious.

"What are you doing, stupid girl?" He roared, swinging his greatsword in grand sweeping arcs. He made a gash in one of the bagolies' bodies, then leapt up high on a burst of wind magick and performed a front-flip, crashing down through the body of another avion. Ashe had lamed the third bagoly with a Quake spell, then Basch jumped forward to slash its neck.

"What do you mean, what am I doing? I healed you!" She cried defensively. The bagoly that was still standing, bleeding from Vossler's horizontal slash, was descending on Penelo, preparing another wave of cutting wind magicks. She hesitated, then looked at Basch, who mouthed, "Go!", and shoved the ornate, bejewelled end of her metal rod into the bagoly's wound. That was enough to knock it down, then she ejected a ball of flame from the end of her weapon into its belly, killing it.

"Well done, Penelo!" Basch put his hand on her shoulder. "An effective and brisk end to the battle."

"Well done? Are you mad?" Vossler was less than pleased, ripping Basch's hand off Penelo and grabbing both of her shoulders roughly. "The balance magick waned because you healed me unnecessarily! You bring shame to her Highness with your foolishness!"

"I-" Penelo didn't have a response. "You were knocked down, what did you want me to do?" Her voice broke a little. She hated herself. She shouldn't have to defend herself, she shouldn't feel humbled, she was a good healer, and she was worth accompanying Ashe to restore her home. Wasn't she?

"Vossler." Ashe stepped forward, her tone soothing. "Let her go. She didn't know what she was doing. She did what any reasonable person would do. So let her go." Vossler did, fuming. Penelo correctly evaluated that if not for Ashe's order, he would have berated her into tears. But still they came, making Penelo blink rapidly and look away in shame.

Basch went up to her. "Pay him no mind. He is chasing at shadows. You did the right thing. You saved us." But that did nothing to ease the tension. Making matters worse, Vaan and Balthier were now accosting Vossler.

"You're such an asshole-" Vaan shouted.

"-attacking the only person here who would deign to heal your wounds-" Balthier challenged.

"-'s not like she's actually in the Army-"

"-Balance magick is foolhardy, to say the least-"

"-so back the hell off!" Vaan concluded, chest right against Vossler's, jabbing a grubby finger into his face, ignoring the one-foot height difference between them, and the fact that Vossler wouldn't hesitate to cleave Vaan's body in twain. Balthier's hand was on his rifle, his brow furrowed, glaring holes into Vossler's eyes.

Vossler stood and glared right back. "Highness. Is this who you want accompanying you? Two children with no experience, rank, or honour, and two sky pirates, who think only of their own gain and pleasure?"

Ashe exhaled, her ball of flame flaring up for a moment, then diminishing again. What would her father do, she thought. What would a queen do. On the one hand, Vossler was the strongest, the most experienced, the most ready to support her in her quest to retake the throne. On the other, Vaan and Penelo were exactly the people she wanted to help by retaking her throne. Ashe visualized having to traverse all Ivalice with the loud, impudent, inattentive Vaan, and the fickle, naïve, passive Penelo. Then she considered traversing all Ivalice with Vossler: wake-up-before-sunrise Vossler, ever the martyr, brusque, undiplomatic, blunt, dispassionate, cantankerous, scheming Captain Vossler York Azelas of a military that was in ruins.

At no point did Basch feature in either hypothetical journey.

"Captain Azelas." She made to sound imperious. "Take the vanguard. Alone. Vaan and Penelo, I apologise for my soldier's tone. Please gather yourselves and stand in the middle guard with Basch. It won't be long until we can break for camp. Move."

Disbelieving, Vossler followed her orders. Ashe fell into step with him and they proceeded on. The Rozarrian oil constructs disappeared behind them, the smell of petroleum fading too. Basch, Vaan, and Penelo walked behind them, leaving a very comfortable distance of twenty paces in between. For a while, only Vossler and Ashe engaged with the few beasts they found as they came closer to the border of the Nam-Yensa Sandsea, the next section of the Jagd Yensa they would need to traverse. At that border, they would make camp. Penelo sniffled occasionally. Vaan's fists were balled up so tight he thought he would draw blood, his dirty fingernails about to pierce the skin of his palms. Basch breathed in and out steadily.

"I am ready to try casting magick once more." He declared. "Show me again."

"Wait, what?"

"I've been trying to teach Basch to use magick." Penelo said to Vaan. "No luck yet. Something about being born in Landis makes him unable to use the Mist for magick, but he can resist magick attacks really well."

"Cool," Vaan replied. "Go for it, then!"

Penelo ran her fingers through her hair, then inhaled. "Alright, one more time. Feel the Mist around you like you're about to use the Wither technick, but this time, pull it into your body like you're breathing in, and move your hands like this-" she raised her index fingers up in the motion beginners used to cast Cure.

Basch copied her precisely, and yet no magick emerged.

"I am sorry, Penelo. It does not seem possible." Basch said quietly. Incompetent. Still unsure whose voice it was, Basch thought.

They tried, on and on. With Vossler and Ashe too far ahead, and Balthier and Fran too far behind, Vaan tried to make his own ball of fire, and succeeded on his third attempt, though needing a potion to quickly heal his burned fingers. The potion made the burn scar disappear entirely. Penelo noticed Basch watching the healing process intently.

"Maybe that's what you need," Penelo said. "Some inspiration. Maybe if you're in charge of healing with potions, you'll get the knack of using Cure."

Basch smiled a wan smile. "Someday, maybe."

"Okay, enough of making Basch feel bad," Vaan cut in. "You should show Penelo how to use her magick staff better."

"Rod, Vaan." She stressed. "Staves are wooden, rods are metal. Rods are easier to change to suit the user's needs, 'cause you can put in magicite into the shaft. Staves need the magick that's already in the wood, so they're less, I dunno, flexible?" She swung her rod around. "But not literally flexible like a reed, I mean… adaptable?"

"Well said, Penelo." Basch nodded. "Though I of course had no need for such weapons."

"What weapons are you good at?"

"Most that I have tried." Basch replied. "I have a preference for blades and bows, but I am- rather, I was the Order of the Knights of Dalmasca's lead instructor for swordsmanship, mace arts, archery, and kickboxing." There it was, that bubble of pride. Was it impudent to boast? Basch did not remember his mother's face, but did remember her chiding him once for boasting about felling a tree faster than Noah. With the humbling of two years' imprisonment and torture, had he earned the right to pride?

"That's impressive," Vaan said. "I like the sound of kickboxing, is that literally just punching and kicking? Or is there more to it?"

"Indeed, it is more complex than it sounds-"

"Come on, then, show me!" Penelo adopted the battle stance Basch showed her earlier, eyes twinkling, a brazen grin on her face. "I bet we're evenly matched, me with a weapon, you with kickboxing."

Basch mourned the children he never had. This almost seemed fun. Maybe teens weren't as painful as he thought. "Well, if you insist. Here, Vaan-" he handed his dagger and shield to Vaan, and then his helm, until he was just wearing plate armour. "Come, swing at me."

"You're on." Penelo said, jabbing forward with her rod.

"Do it, Pen!" Vaan encouraged. Basch batted away Penelo's strikes with his gauntlets or by raising his knees so the rod would strike his greaves harmlessly, and ducked when she swung horizontally, but was a little too far away for him to reach in. She took advantage of this, keeping him at bay, mixing vertical and horizontal sweeps, turning around to keep abreast of Basch's side-to-side movements, his fists balled up, close to his chest, his stance slightly on an angle to her.

"Your brother taught you well," Basch remarked, the clang of metal on metal as he raised his vambraces to block her attacks. "You strike quickly and cleanly, constantly changing the trajectory of your attacks. A quarterstaff would suit you as your next weapon."

"Thanks," Penelo panted, noticing that Basch wasn't even sweating or out of breath despite carrying around probably eighty pounds of metal on his body. "Don't give up just yet, though."

"A good knight never gives up," He replied. He thought he found an opening, sliding neatly past her forward poke to strike at her shoulder, but Penelo reacted just in time, swinging the heel of the rod into Basch's cheek with a glancing blow. He stumbled past, holding onto his cheek.

"Oh no, I'm sorry!" She cried, quickly casting a Cure spell on him while Vaan doubled over in laughter. "Are you okay? I didn't break anything, right?"

"No, no, you are fine," Basch muttered, the soothing wave of calm warmth washing over his face. He spat on the ground; no blood, no teeth. Good. "Very well done. I was careless."

"Maybe you want to use an actual weapon now?"

"…Aye." He said, breathing hard. "Vaan, pass me my mythril blade and buckler from the pack."

Vaan reached into the tiny little pouch, deftly moving bits and bits around, until he spotted the weapon inside, only the size of a toothpick. He lifted it out and it magickally expanded to real size. "This charm that Larsa taught you is wicked cool, Pen. 's gonna save us a lot of time and money. Here-" and he threw it at Basch, who caught it effortlessly, assuming plow stance. The buckler followed, starting out the size of a coin and expanding to the size of a dinner plate.

"En garde," Basch said in Old Nabradian. Penelo blinked, unaware of its meaning. "It means, on your guard."

Twelve seconds later, Penelo was disarmed, on the ground, with Basch's blade at her throat.

"Okay, you're good," She said, as Basch sheathed his sword and offered a hand to her. "You can fight stuff, I'll just cast magick and occasionally hit things over the head."

Enough time had passed that Balthier and Fran had caught up to them. Balthier was fiddling with his rifle, the smell of salt water on him. "Firearm in regulation order and ready for battle, my good Captain. Should a flying beastie creep up on us in the middle of the night, I shall send it straight to the depths of the Naldoan Sea."

"Very good," Basch said, deadpan. "Come, let us hasten to close the distance between us and Her Majesty."

"Anon, anon." Balthier did no such hastening, nor did Fran, who was drinking an ether to sustain her Mist. "Ought we camp soon?"

"It appears not," Fran said, noticing Ashe's glimmer of flame now just a pinprick of red-orange in the distance. "Her Highness is intent on journeying through midnight to dawn. I knew not any Humes who could traverse such distances without ceasing. She is remarkable."

"Remarkably stupid," Balthier muttered. "She will send herself to an early grave, and her kingdom with it."

Basch broke into a light jog, Vaan and Penelo aside him, Basch's plate armour clinking and banging in the still of the night. Ashe and Vossler were a fair way ahead, though their progress was halted by another engagement with some bagolies. Vossler was trying balance magick again, declining Ashe's offer of a Cure spell or a high potion.

"So your parents perished in the plague, and then your brothers, too? Where did you live at this time?" Basch asked, carrying on the conversation easily despite the pace and the weight of his iron armour.

Penelo was jogging with less ease. "See, we were living in the western borough of Rabanastre. Dad was a baker, mom made and fixed women's clothes. We weren't rich but there was food on the table, fire magicite when it was cold, ice magicite when it was hot, and my brothers did some schooling. So did I, for just one year, when I was ten. But the plague came that year, 700 OV-" she swallowed- "and almost every Hume I knew who had kids, or was the age where they could have had kids, was in the infirmary, coughing their guts out. Vaan's parents died that year, so Vaan and Reks moved in, but my parents died in 701, and the six of us were turned out on the street."

Vaan took over while Penelo sucked on the night air. "Migelo knew Penelo's mom 'cause he sent some customers her way, and she bought some fabrics from him. Migelo knew my dad 'cause he was a glassblower at the Dalmascan Glass Works, and all of the potions and ethers and stuff in Migelo's shop were poured into dad's bottles. So when Penelo and her brothers, and my brother and I, were orphans, Migelo took us all in."

"So generous," Penelo added.

"He found work for us. Anything to earn us some gil so we could rent out a small apartment. Six of us sharing three beds, Penelo trying and failing to make bread as good as her dad-"

"-Hey, I tried, it's not like he left behind a recipe book-"

"-then Penelo's oldest brother signed up to the Army in 702, and the other two followed in 703, then Reks in 704. They all died. It was just the two of us. And Migelo couldn't pay us much anymore because there just wasn't the work, 'cause there wasn't the customers, they all died." Vaan's tone was matter-of-fact to stop himself from crying. "Penelo lived in the back of the shop, while I found a bed wherever I could."

Basch drank their stories in, mourning the loss of an entire generation. He was the prime age to be struck down by the plague, being thirty years old at the time of its spread, but the medicaments needed to treat the plague were exceedingly rare, and rationed out to the royal family first, then to the army, then to the public by random ballot. It wasn't enough. Over 5,000 Humes died within a year.

"I know I apologise for things that are not my doing, but please accept my apologies, for the many losses you have incurred in your young lives." Basch stared ahead of him. "Ivalice has been a cruel place for some time. I feel privileged to hear your story and to aid you in your lives, though I have known you only a few weeks yet. You are… quite remarkable young people."

"Thanks, Basch." Vaan replied, smiling. "Now if you can just get your boyfriend to stop being a prick, then we'll be alright."

At long last, they reached the border, where another stone marker, much aggrieved from bearing countless lashes of sand against its surface, was beat into the ground at a careless angle. Vossler pulled it upright and used the hilt of his greatsword to hammer it back in, rumbling with exertion.

"We stop here to make camp," Ashe said, laying down her staff and removing her helm. "Vossler, assist me with the armour." He gave her a look of mild disbelief, then dutifully, though without enthusiasm, traipsed over to unfasten the straps of her armour. The rest of the party strode over and similarly unpacked and disarmed themselves, Vaan dropping his ringmail roughly on the sand with a thump, Balthier carefully folding his brigandine with the care of a tailor packaging a wool tunic in parchment, Fran laying her coat on the sand, lining facing down, and sitting cross-legged on it elegantly, Basch with numerous pieces of plate scattered about him, and Penelo offering her loaned clothing back to Balthier, who refused it smoothly and encouraged her to keep it for now.

"So where are we sleeping?" Vaan asked, stretching his arms. "I'm beat."

Ashe paused for a moment. "Right here, where else? There are no inns. You said at Westgate you were prepared."

"I know," Vaan replied hastily, "But I figured we might find a cave or something."

"The Zertinan Caverns are the only caves in the vicinity," Fran said, unmoving from her seated position, "and they are a very poor choice for shelter."

"Aye," Vossler added. "We make camp here. Replenish our canteens," He ordered Penelo, thrusting his at her, "and Basch, take out your fishing rod and hunt something worth eating." Unaccustomed to being ordered around by the man with whom he had shared a bed for a decade, Basch nodded curtly, reached into Vaan's pouch, and fetched the rod, which sprung forth from the size of a stick to a length as tall as Basch.

Basch walked over to Vossler to ask him to accompany him, but Vossler walked in the other direction, directly at Vaan, seizing the pouch and upending it. He and Vaan leapt backwards suddenly as all of their belongings poured out of the pouch, spilling everywhere, forming a pile as large as a bagoly, six feet high: tent tarpaulin, tent poles and hooks, potions and ethers aplenty, weapons stashed away, magick scrolls, loot and scavenged beast parts in their slimy, feathery multitudes, and no small amount of gil.

"Apologies, Highness," Vossler spluttered, surveying the mess he made, paying no mind to Vaan's burst of incredulity. "Allow me to remedy this situation."

"You damn well better," Vaan said, crouching down to grab his own tent tarpaulin and poles. "Penelo, I'll be there in a sec, we'll get the water together."

Balthier and Fran walked over to fetch their own tent and dragged it away, far away from the rest, along the edge of the clearing where they stopped. Fran assembled it expertly, Balthier watching with some interest, then ducking inside.

Basch and Vossler were sorting through the mess, while Ashe walked around gathering some sticks and boughs of fallen trees with which to sustain a fire; difficult, since she was still holding a fireball in her hands, and now with her armour off, doing so barehanded. Resting on their heels, the two knights dutifully lifted weapons, tent material, blankets and linens, down pillows, sweat-stained, rations, potions, giant feathers, and gil from the pile and placed them in smaller piles with thoughtful precision. Their eyes didn't meet and no words were exchanged. Twice, Basch looked at Vossler, hoping, wishing, he would look back, but Vossler seemed intent on ignoring it, ignoring him. After fifteen minutes, the mess Vossler made was no more, and they set up two tents: one belonging to Vossler, one borrowed from the Resistance for when they performed training missions in the Estersand.

Ashe had found enough firewood and placed it in a pile about thirty yards away. "Vossler, bring these to nearby the tents, I will light them for our fire." Basch instead responded to her call, but Ashe scowled at him for offering help. Basch ignored her gaze and lifted the mass of wood in two hands, marching over to where the tents were.

"Vossler, would you-"

Wordlessly, Vossler cast a Quake spell, using it to dig a roughly circular pit in the sand, about six inches deep, into which Basch dumped the wood. Ashe smoothly waved her hand holding the fireball at the wood, and it sparked into life. Exhaling deliberately, she added a little encouragement from the Mist to bolden the fire, and it burned brightly, throwing a few sparks into the air, spreading the smell of ash and smoke around them.

"There." She clapped her hands to rid them of sand. "Where are Penelo and Vaan with the water? Basch, hadn't you best be off?"

Basch nodded, glad she was addressing him by his first name again, and grabbed the fishing rod, walking off in the direction Penelo and Vaan went.

Balthier and Fran exited the tent. They were both plainly dressed now, completely disarmed and disarmoured. Both were barefoot. "Ah, well done, Ashe." Balthier held his hands to the fire. "Not as civilized as the crystal-powered climate control system in the Strahl, but it'll do for being in such a wretched place. Where are our humble manservant, chambermaid, and sellarm, perchance?"

"Fetching water and food," Ashe replied. "They should not take long. There are rations, Vossler has organized our supplies over there."

"Did Basch not assist?" Fran asked pointedly, tiring of the subterfuge and emotional blackmail in which the Humes were engaged.

Ashe and Vossler looked at each other. "Well, yes," she finally said. "Vossler and Basch organized our supplies. Please help yourself to the rations. There is chocobo jerky, damper, hard cheese, cashews."

Fran's nose wrinkled. "I thank you for your hospitality, but they ill suit me. I eat only raw vegetables."

"Then you'll need to get your own," Vossler disparaged. "I like not your chances in this part of Ivalice."

"Is that a challenge, good sir knight?" Balthier posited. "Fran does not take well to those who doubt her skill. Isn't that right, darling?"

Fran rolled her eyes at Balthier and walked in a different direction to where Basch, Penelo, and Vaan were. "I take few things well lately, least of all your cheek, sweetheart." The name sounded like knives on her peculiar tongue. Balthier grinned, tongue-in-cheek.

"She really does adore me, she does." Balthier watched her go. "Well, I have no need to wait for our companions to return, I have rations and water aplenty for myself. I wish you both a good night and good rest, we shall see each other after dawn-"

"I think not, pirate, we needs must organize a schedule for the night watch." Vossler folded his arms. "And all of age in Her Highness' party must share this duty."

"Duty?" Balthier's head had ducked into his tent but was now retreating, turning to face them. The sound of footsteps in sand and the smell of freshly-caught fish heralded the return of Basch and the two Rabanastran teens. "Whose duty? I am not commissioned in the service to the Kingdom of Dalmasca. No, I'm just a humble citizen of Ivalice, far removed from politicking and public service."

"Just do it."

"Do what?" Vaan asked Vossler.

"It doesn't concern you. I shall take the first watch for four hours, then Basch can take the next four." Vossler watched as Basch speared an enormous yensa fish on a stick, then propped it up on the fire, the appetizing smell wafting over them.

"Four hours?" Ashe interjected, almost concerned. "That is far too long, you have been walking and fighting in the high heat for an entire day. No, I shall take some of the watch too."

"Majesty," Basch said, turning to face her, while Penelo walked around, handing back people's canteens, filled to the brim with fresh water from the nearby river where Basch caught tonight's dinner. "That duty is beneath your station. You need your rest."

"I am no child, needing sixteen hours' sleep nightly on a bed of rose petals," Ashe countered hotly. "No, Vossler, you, and I can share the watch, two hours each."

"Six hours isn't enough. Look, I'll do some, too," Vaan offered. "How bad could it be?"

"Have you ever sat watch in the desert before?" Basch asked mildly. "It is burdensome maintaining watch by firelight; the beasts become only more bold as the night stretches on." The five of them continued speaking over each other, Basch and Vossler mollifying Ashe, Ashe arguing back, Vaan interjecting unhelpfully, Balthier dodging responsibility, Penelo just looking on, bemused, rubbing her eyes, wishing for the pointless conflict to subside.

Fran returned at this point, holding a ball of flame in her left hand, and juggling a collection of fruits, berries, and leaves in her right hand with wind magick, a dervish dancing with delectable treats. As she approached, she extinguished her own flame and stopped the juggling, holding her bounty in her hands.

"Must you bicker all night and deny us any rest?" She asked pointedly. "I propose: Captain Azelas, Balthier, Captain Ronsenburg, and I will share the watch, two hours each. All in favour?" She didn't even pause. "Aye? Very well. Who shall be first?"

"I will," Vossler declared.

"Very well." Ashe tried to copy Fran's matter-of-fact tone, pulling up a seat of stone using magick, and sitting, ankles crossed, at the fire, waiting for the fish to cook. Fran smiled at Balthier, who glared daggers back at her. She copied Ashe and created five more stone seats. Synchrony, thought Ashe. Flashes of Fran the Royal Magus, gowned in mystic robes, standing at Ashe's right hand as she sat on her throne, Mist thronging the air, filled the princess' mind, and was quashed like a bubble burst. It shall never happen. Some miracle that Balthier retains her as a companion. I will take the throne, with or without help.

"I shall retire now and take the third watch. I wake during the night quite naturally, so I will relieve whoever follows Azelas. Good night." Fran retreated to the tent she and Balthier shared, holding her dinner, and disappeared into it, summoning a little ball of flame that cast her shadows on the surface of the tent.

"Bah," Balthier grumbled.

The six of them sat around the fire, waiting for the fish to be ready. They snacked on the rations they brought, Basch chewing deliberately on the jerky, Vaan shoving handfuls of cashews into his mouth, Penelo delicately slicing the cheese and bread and offering it around. None said much, all finally exhausted. Balthier prepared the cooked fish, serving it on the surface of Basch's buckler, freshly rinsed with some of Vaan's water, to the teen's chagrin. Ashe didn't eat much, instead fussing over the blankets and linens in their piles, shuddering over the smears of gods-know-what on the linens she brought. She fetched the magick scroll in their collection for a cleaning charm, and carefully cast it on the linens, disappearing the filth from them, and taking them inside her tent. There, she arranged them just so, creating a cocoon of blankets and duvets and sheets. She took a hunk of fish that Vossler offered her, the scrolls of white magick that Penelo had purchased in Rabanastre, then retired to her tent. "Rest well," she said to nobody in particular, and closed the flap.

Penelo grew suspicious. Chewing on her fish, a smaller and less desirable portion than that served to the rest, is this all I'm worth, she thought, she went over to the piles of things and noticed barely any blankets remaining, just two threadbare, patchwork disappointments that would scarcely keep her warm. In her own room at the back of Migelo's Sundries, she would pile on blanket after blanket, and place fire magicite stones in plain ceramic dishes around the bed, to envelop her body in warmth, or she wouldn't sleep. Now, here, in the cool stillness of the Ogir-Yensa Sandsea's edge, those small graces, for which she worked hard to raise the funds, were absent, and here she stood, cold, humbled, last in line. She wouldn't have it anymore. Walking over to Ashe's tent and not caring who would object, she called through the material, "Highness, might you please give back some of our blankets?"

"You may have what is left," was the curt response. "My thanks for lending your white magick scrolls, I find these achievable."

You're welcome, Penelo thought bitterly, grabbed one blanket from the pile, flicked out the dirt and sand, and walked away to the tent she and Vaan would share. She dragged it closer to the fire, hoping the radiant warmth would do something to combat the chill. She could probably just curl up against Vaan like they once did on the streets of Lowtown and he probably wouldn't object.

The moon rose and the campfire stilled into a dull glow. No words were shared. Basch suppressed a yawn. "Vossler." He said quietly. "Shall we share a tent?"

"No need, I will place my bedroll outside Her Highness' tent. You may sleep alone."

Resigned, Basch rose and retired. Balthier did so too, to where Fran's tent glowed in the light of her spell. Wanting to spend no more time alone with Vossler, Vaan got up, stretched luxuriously, and entered the tent where Penelo was, automatically holding her tightly to share the little warmth they could make between them. Fran's light disappeared. Basch began to snore.

Vossler sat alone in stony silence, staring into the fire, still armoured, his greatsword at his feet.

Next is Chapter 22: Light is Not Good, and Scarcely Pure