This is months late, I apologize! Work has been eating me alive, so I had no time to edit. But we've got two chapters in this update, so. Please accept our apologies.

These Roles We Play

8 – Home, Sweet—

Sweet music, clinking cutlery, and joyful conversation filled the banquet hall of Verdpale Palace. In the day, shining through the castle's stained glass windows, the sunlight bathed its halls in otherworldly light. But it was evening, and so it was the great chandeliers from high above that set the scene with a bright, warm glow. Across the grand windows, tapestries hung from the walls—alternately bearing the insignias of Dalmasca and Nabradia.

This was, after all, the first of three engagement parties for Prince Rasler and Princess Ashelia of the soon-to-be united kingdoms of Nabradia and Dalmasca.

Basch emerged from one of the hall's side doors and, closing it behind him, took a deep breath.

After a moment, Vossler came to stand at his side. Scanning the hall, he chuckled, "Tired already? Meals have only begun."

He shook his head. "These formalities do not suit me. Have you eaten?"

"Have you?"

"I mean to. Captain Geir gave me quite the scolding."

"Caught you trying to make rounds after that dance, did he, in his own territory? And he was right to."

"Force of habit, I confessed."

Vossler began to chuckle. "Yes, well… I suppose he takes the opportunity to reprimand you while he can. Very soon he may have to begin taking orders from you."

Basch wrinkled his nose at that. "That is not the reason I accepted my charge."

"We all know that," Vossler rolled his eyes. "Must you be so curt whenever the matter is raised? Many would tell you there are worse undertakings than wedding a foreign princess."

They looked to the head of the hall, where the kings and their heirs sat together. Next to Lord Rasler sat Lady Ashelia, beside whom stood Lady Amiria. She was seated next to her father, or should have been, but she had gone to whisper something into the other princess's ear with a mischievous grin. Lady Ashe covered her mouth in an attempt to stifle a laugh in vain. Lord Rasler watched them with an amused shake of his head.

"The princess does not lack for beauty or wit," Vossler offered. "Only a particular sense of responsibility."

"She is a peer to her brother and to Lady Ashe, and yet they coddle her. All four of them."

"You are exceedingly harsh upon the young woman, Basch," Vossler said with surprise. "Did not Nabradia's guilds agree to take in more refugees from Bur-Omisace for her efforts? She has always served her purpose where her king required it."

"Or the king has tailored his need of her to suit her liking. What then when the engagement is not, as Lord Rasler predicts?" Basch had a few more things to say, such as the question of why her father and brother refused to inform her of the arranged suit—if this was all to keep her from Rozarria's clutches, as they desired, then secrecy defeated the purpose. But he said no more out of respect for the Nabradian Royal family.

Vossler shook his head. "I am certain she'll come around when the time comes." He clapped Basch's shoulder. "Regardless, King Jenomis and His Majesty chose well."

Basch sighed. "They chose out of desperation."

"Such cynicism! This is not the Basch that I know," Vossler laughed. "You are a worthy man, my friend. If there is any among the Order who can be trusted to discharge their duty, no matter the circumstance, it's you."

"I hope you're right."

"I am. Now go on before Captain Geir catches you loitering again."

Anya found herself in Lowtown again. This was it. Her final chore for an old friend. She would deposit Basch with his people, wash her hands of the whole matter, and return to her crew, free to live as she ought—which was to say, freely, of course. The name Amalia crossed her mind, but was that not Basch's purpose? If anyone could rescue her, it was him. Not some wayward sky pirate.

They walked quietly together in the underground. It won't take long, now that you look too much like you, she had said to him, and she was right. They had entered the way they came and barely passed the shops by which Basch had earlier loitered when Anya spotted at least three pairs of eyes already locked on them.

She stopped abruptly, turning with a hand extended to him. "This is where I take my leave of you."

He faced her, eyeing her before firmly taking it. "Thank you, Anya."

His hand was large around hers, and warm. She released it before she could change her mind as he spoke. "None of that repayment nonsense now," she cut in, when she saw him open his mouth to continue. "Just—just make sure you find that Amalia. Whatever it takes."

Basch nodded and Anya prepared for her next disappearing act, but their audience would prove a tough crowd. Already his pursuers were converging upon them.

"You will accompany us," said one of the two behind him, "Captain."

"Good luck," she said. It would have been a passable exit had two more men not appeared behind her. And they would not budge. "Please excuse me, gentlemen."

"Your presence is requested as well, pirate," said the one who had already spoken. They would learn his name to be Balzac.

With a curl of her lip, she faced Basch again. "And who sends my summons?" she asked of the man next to him. "Last I checked, mine was the last kind with whom your principled selves should consort."

Basch flinched, but it was not he who replied. "This is true," said Balzac. "Only, you were seen with the very woman whose name you just spoke."

Now Basch's eyes widened. "You were captured with her?"

"To her chagrin, I heard," answered Anya, glancing about for an escape route. But this was their territory, and they had already estimated her correctly. Another breakout would have to wait. "I'm afraid I was unconscious for most of it."

Basch looked Balzac in the eye. "...Will she come to no harm?"

He nodded.

Anya stared at him in shock, her jaw falling slightly, her tone straining to keep calm. "Is it your place to make decisions for me?"

Basch looked guilty, but he only inclined his head in apology. "Please. If there is aught you know, it would surely prove a great aid to us. To Amalia. Make it another debt on my account."

It was unfair, using Amalia that way. But he wasn't wrong. "I told you already. This will be the first and the last of them."

"Thank you."

"All right. Let's get a move on," said Balzac, barely permitting Basch to finish his gratitude. He nudged the man in the direction of their next destination, and those behind Anya did the same. She elbowed the one that tried to get handsy with her arm.

To her surprise, they did not insist on ensuring that she did not memorize the road to their hideout. They did insist on bringing her and Basch inside through separate entrances, however, which the former opposed until he was told he would be given clothes that befitted his former stature. Then it was Anya who agreed to the separation, after which her escort shoved her further down the road until finally they arrived at a dark and empty alley. It appeared to be a dead end covered in boxes and barrels until one of the men removed many of the crates to reveal a doorway. He opened it, too.

"Very nice," she remarked.

"Be quiet."

Anya made a face, or would have had she not the reputation of their crew to consider, and entered before they could shove at her again.

The door shut behind her. It was a small waiting room with two men. The colorful tapestries about the walls led to the rest of the hideout, she presumed, but for now, they stared at her. "Your weapons. Surrender them."

Anya stared at them through her mask, hands at her sides. "I wouldn't try to harm anyone here."

"Regardless."

"I thought I was supposed to be a 'guest.'"

"You overestimate your importance, pirate," said the third familiar voice that week. "But seeing as you came all this way, and that you must know the consequences of daring to reach for one of those blades, I suppose you may keep yours."

From one of the doors to the side now emerged Captain Azelas—or just Vossler to Anya, she supposed. He was no ghost, but she had barely spared him a thought in the last two years. On one of the few occasions that she had, she imagined he had been lost in the fighting. Captured, or dead, and so a dead woman mourned him. Now he looked upon Anya with distrust, and rightfully so. She supposed she should be glad it was nothing more.

"Very well, Captain."

He wrinkled his nose and headed to the right, pulling one of the carpets aside to let her pass into a dimly lit hallway. She stepped past him and paused once she was through, but it appeared that he preferred not to keep his back to her. He guided her curtly through the dark of that hollow warehouse until they reached a large, bright room filled with supplies and noisy Resistance members. At its head proudly hung a banner bearing the insignia of the Order of the Knights of Dalmasca. The wall across her bore the crests of Dalmasca and Nabradia, and she averted her gaze.

The members fell to a hush at their arrival, but by Vossler's signal, returned to their discussion. To no one's surprise, it quickly escalated into a full argument.

"Then what do you make of Ondore's proclamation? Are you suggesting they fooled even the Marquis?"

"What if a Judge killed the King, not the Captain? That would explain everything, wouldn't it?"

"In that case, the Captain would be brother to a Judge! How are we to trust such a man?"

Anya felt herself sneer at those words. She intended to turn her back on all this the moment they released her, but certainly it was a luxury to say such careless words with so little knowledge of the truth. She fought to ignore them and closed her eyes beneath her mask, leaning against naked stone. Basch was nowhere to be found, and Vossler did not seem inclined to interrogate her just yet. The waiting game, then. Perfect. Balthier and Fran would absolutely kill her when they discovered what had occurred.

If they discovered. If. Surely she would be free before long; Vossler himself seemed displeased by the very sight of her, so she knew he did not intend to keep her.

"You! Pirate," called one of the men, to her dismay. "What think you of the captain? Was it not your ilk who freed him?"

Anya took a deep breath. Instead of straightening her back, she put two years' worth of training into the practiced slump of nonchalance, half-sitting on the crate at her side. "Does it matter? As I understood it, I was to be interrogated, and then finally permitted to go about my business."

Vossler snorted not far from her. "Yes, we found it terribly convenient that you should free the Empire's most valuable prisoner after having been seen with another of ours."

Anya cursed herself for bristling at that, and worked to unclench her fist before she answered. "If I were an Imperial agent, was it really the best idea to bring me to your headquarters?"

"One of many," Vossler easily replied.

Anya did not even care. She had made her choice and wanted nothing to do with them. Nothing. But out of respect for who Vossler once was, she bit her tongue. "You wish to know about Amalia. I really am the wrong person to ask. If you knew we were taken in together, you would know this to be true—my injuries in the waterway had me unconscious for the transfer. But I heard the Consul himself oversaw our arrest, and if you think he is unaware of who he took into custody that night, then you underestimate him as you did in the fete."

Vossler's lip curled, and he advanced upon her. He loomed over her within seconds, and it was a task to stand her ground. She had never seen this Captain with that expression before. "What do you know, pirate?" came his quiet threat.

She swallowed, but her voice was steady when she lied. "Nothing that still matters to me, I assure you."

Vossler stared her down. "If you have nothing to hide, then why do you wear a mask?" he asked, that low tone just as intimidating as his first question.

Her mind whirred with the other lies ever ready to answer his question, but his familiarity had rendered her nearly speechless, just as it had with the others. The dead had known him as a charming man, at least to a lady. This new treatment still jarred her.

"Stand down, Vossler. Her only fault was to aid me."

Basch now stood before the two of them, the door gently clicking shut in his wake. He was dressed in less strange clothing, perhaps a little more modern, but the garments were still an odd choice. Not that she disapproved of his exposed stomach, but...

"Your optimism for their kind does not avail you," Vossler said, calling her back to him as he peered at her. Finally, he looked to his erstwhile friend with a small smile. "But I suppose that is the Basch that I remember."

"Then will you fight again at my side?"

Vossler's reply was prefaced by the rest of his men, who were perfectly happy to pick up where they left off.

"His word alone convinces me of nothing!"

"I'd take his word over that of a mouthpiece Marquis!"

"Then you name Reks liar with him."

"My brother was no liar!"

Basch and Anya turned to one another at that last voice—and then to its owner. Vaan pushed past the Resistance members crowded together, an interesting little artifact in his hands. A Sword of the old Order. That would make a pretty penny in the right market, she thought, if only to rid herself of the nostalgia that made her stomach lurch.

"...Just the opposite," Basch responded calmly, giving Vaan a small nod. "Reks was the witness they needed. They had to make it appear as if I'd killed the King—Reks bears no blame. The Fates have willed it."

Anya glanced at Basch. What did that even mean? But it was not her opinion that mattered here—it was Vaan's. And to her surprise, he only stared at Basch. There was nothing like his fury in Nalbina two days past present in his gaze. Consideration, maybe.

Nobody was given a chance to think on it, for Vossler had strode up to the boy and snatched the sword from his grasp. "So this is Reks's brother," he nearly spat. More vitriol as he turned to glare at Basch, that old fondness gone. It surprised Anya enough to make her wonder if it was a performance for the many eyes now watching them, but she hardly knew this captain well enough to tell.

"Your words may convince a child such as this, but they weigh far too lightly on the scales for my taste. Our paths will remain separate."

Anya had scoffed before she realized it. "Then why bring him here?"

Vossler squinted at her. "Is that your business, pirate?"

Her head whipped toward him in defiance, though she could not but lower her head to give him the point after a moment.

Basch set a hand on her shoulder in thanks, but turned to Vossler again. "Do you not think Amalia worth saving?"

Vossler sucked in his teeth, turning toward the banner of the Order ahead of the room. "I hold men's lives in my hands. I must see foes in every shadow. The night we moved against Vayne, he knew." He glanced to Basch, shaking his head. "I will not chance such disadvantage again. I must treat you as I would Ondore—as I would treat any abettor of the Empire."

For these last words, his eyes were on Anya. Basch moved to shield her from his gaze. "Then what will you do? Hold me here in chains?"

The tension in the air was now thicker than the Mist beneath Nalbina. Two former captains stared at one another, each daring the other to move. Had they not been brothers long ago? Anya wondered at the tragedy before her—that near-lifelong camaraderie and trust could so easily wither in two years. Wondered still what could have stopped it.

Unlike her, Vossler was quick to act and not to wonder. He averted his gaze first, looking almost regretful, and tossed the sword he had taken from Vaan in Basch's direction.

His old friend caught it. "Some things never change, do they?"

Vossler sighed. "Listen to me, Basch. Your cage may have no bars," he warned, "but it is a cage."

Basch inclined his head. "Let them watch." He exhaled, looking almost amused. Or determined. Anya had never seen him make such an expression. "I know something of cages."

With that, he turned and headed for the door at the far end of the room, past the Resistance members who had watched the exchange in similar silence. They parted for him with some awe, and stood back when he stopped without glancing back.

"Anya," he summoned, with such perfect command of the authority he once wielded that Anya felt her stomach flutter. Her knees felt weak all of a sudden—of all people, she had not expected Basch to know how to make such an impressive exit.

Her feet had begun to follow, but she was not under his thrall just yet. Anya turned, giving Vossler a slight flourish. "By your leave, Captain," she said, and then hurried after Basch. She was so eager to speak with him that she hardly noticed Vaan hesitate and follow.

Anya was all grins as she caught up with him outside, strangely exhilarated by the display she had just witnessed. She was ready to tell him as much, not quite sure why, until he turned to her with an expression of such abject dismay that her enthusiasm quickly shattered. Basch was a stoic man, and so for him this look was merely his eyes downcast, his head lowered slightly in defeat; but for a man so quick to hope, this was enough.

"Basch," she murmured with pity, approaching him. Suddenly she felt silly for having been so excited at what had clearly been a performance. Not when he had suffered what he had and endured still the scrutiny of one who was once a brother to him. "I'm sorry."

His eyes stared ahead now, gaze stretching beyond the shops ahead of them. "I never expected them to welcome me with open arms, but… Vossler knew me. Or perhaps I hoped he might."

He startled as she set a hand on his arm, but relaxed when he realized it was her again. "I will tell you what I told them," she offered. "Whoever you think this Amalia is—you're probably right."

"Truly?"

"Would it really be so surprising, now that you're running amok?" she punctuated the last word with a lopsided smile.

He exhaled again, in surprise this time, and now with a small smile of his own. "I… thank you."

"Well, whoever she is, I've definitely met nicer people."

Anya withdrew her hand at Vaan's sudden arrival. She couldn't help a chuckle as he came to stand before them. "Vaan. What were you doing in there?"

"I was supposed to give the sword to that Azelas guy… but I guess it doesn't matter anymore," he muttered. "What about you?"

"I was accosted by Resistance members. They saw us captured with Amalia."

"Huh. What a coincidence, right?"

"It's more than coincidence." Basch said with some uncertainty as he glanced between them, as though he did not expect them to take it well. "Do not our paths keep crossing?"

Vaan looked only surprised, and then as if to make up for his docile behavior in the last ten minutes, glanced away. "It's annoying… Right, Anya?"

She refused to answer. "I should be getting back. I wasn't even supposed to be here," she said instead. Basch pressed his lips together in acknowledgment of that, and she was grateful in turn that he spoke none of what she had done for him. "And I have obligations to attend to."

Vaan crossed his arms. "Like what?"

"Like Riby and Emilie, for instance," she said with a pointed look. "Don't you have Penelo waiting for you with Balthier's handkerchief?"

"Huh. Balthier and Fran said that too..."

"Balthier and Fran? You saw them?"

"Yeah. I went by the Sandsea looking for Penelo, thought maybe Migelo had her running errands... but she wasn't there." He frowned, and then perked up when he remembered her question. "Anyway, they mentioned they were waiting for you."

"Ugh. I really should—"

"Wait." Basch's hand brushed her arm, but he quickly withdrew it when she looked at him. "Anya. Forgive me one last annoyance—another debt."

Anya closed her eyes. She could say no, and she would be well within her rights to.

"What is it?" she asked, though she already knew it.

"Please—take me to Balthier. Even caged birds need wings."

"You'll be disappointed to learn that unlike me, Balthier and Fran are not in the habit of doing favors."

"Then I will repay them, as I will repay you. Somehow."

Anya bit her tongue. She could still say no. But that look of dismay remained, and if Vossler would not take him, who would? And was this not all to rescue Amalia?

With a resigned sigh, she nodded. "Careful you don't make a habit of running up debt, Basch."

His lips turned just at the edges. "Anya, you may be a godsend."

She snorted as she turned away, trying to suppress a smile of her own at his obvious flattery. "Then the gods may expect a reckoning from me as well."

Basch fell into step with her. They went on their way, Anya slowly searching for the nearest exit aboveground until Vaan bolted after them. "Wait up!" Taking her other side, he asked, "Can I come?"

"...Why not? If Balthier is going to kill me, I may as well give him two reasons."

"Great," he grinned. "Hey, maybe we'll find Penelo on the way."

Anya sighed.

"Did you check at the Sundries?"

"That's the first place I looked."

"So wouldn't Migelo know?"

"He wasn't there. Kytes is the one who told me she's been skipping out on work."

"That is strange. Riby always tells me she's the responsible one, between the two of you."

"Yeah…" Vaan paused, then gawped at Anya. "Hey!"

Anya grinned. She walked some ways ahead of him with Vaan on their way to the Sandsea. Basch felt some guilt, imposing on her like this once more, but he found he could not retract his request. It helped that she seemed to care for Amalia, which gave her story more credence in his mind. Certainly she had done enough for him already, all in the name of the woman he would have served, but he needed more from her. Just a little more.

The Resistance had rejected him, after all. He had thought it a very real possibility, but he had also believed that Vossler would listen. Would trust. But then Basch had believed many things, and what had they brought him? Nightmarish solitude for over two years. Still he believed in the old Order, but perhaps theirs was not the only way. In that hellish dark, in his pleas to the gods for freedom, he had promised he would do anything to make right what his weakness had wrought. And for all his disgrace, Basch fon Ronsenburg still did not make oaths lightly. He would see this done.

Now that he was not consumed by the thought of returning to the Resistance, however, and now that he had willingly sought her aid, Basch began to give Anya and her mask more thought. He wondered if it had something to do with losing Lord Harthas. Something about her story made him doubt, but with all she knew and all she had done, how could it be a lie?

He wondered, too, if they had met. Her words implied that they had, if only in passing. But if that were all, then why was her mirth so familiar?

"Whoa—hold on, there."

His thoughts came to a halt as Anya suddenly swerved about and swept past him. Just three paces from his back, she held a little boy by the wrist, her free palm extended to his other hand. "Drop it."

The boy sighed and handed her a small satchel. She offered it to Basch in turn.

"No, I have mine—or don't, it seems," Basch muttered, groping his pockets for his new coinpurse. Anya had given it to him as they left the inn. "Thank you."

"Johm!" Vaan exclaimed, squeezing between Basch and Anya. Unlike her, he hadn't noticed the boy eyeing the captain intently from a shaded alley. "Didn't I tell you not to steal from Dalmascans?"

Johm grimaced. "Er…"

His words both touched and stunned Basch. "You taught this boy to steal?"

"Vaan is right," Anya cut in, still holding Johm by the arm. "Not to mention you stared at your mark far too long before your attempt. Fix your form, or keep your fingers to yourself."

Basch stared at her in disbelief.

"There's hardly any people visitin' the city since the parade," said Johm, looking ashamed. "And blame Vaan! He taught me."

"Not like that," Vaan muttered.

"I'm ten!"

"The boy has a point," Basch cleared his throat, giving Anya in particular a disappointed shake of his head. "And this is not what you should be teaching children."

Anya and Vaan exchanged glances, and the former released Johm. When he ran off, muttering an apology to Basch and waving goodbye to Vaan, Anya spoke. "Can you blame them? But if you must teach these orphans, Vaan, then you'll have to teach them better than that. Or else you only put them into more danger."

Vaan rubbed his nose with a knuckle, chastised. "...Right."

All this surprised Basch in turn. Now he understood why this all rubbed him the wrong way. Anya's attitude, her words, her demeanor on the matter made her sound almost exactly like Balthier.

"Orphans?" asked Basch.

"A lot of kids lost their parents in the war," Vaan supplied. "Mine... mine had already died before that. The plague took them both."

Basch, who remembered the night in Nalbina Fortress vividly for two years, recalled Reks's words to himself. His drive to protect his brother took on a deeper meaning now, if that were possible still. "I am sorry. I did not know."

"It's okay. It's been five years now. After that, I lived with my friend Penelo and her family. Then... the war came."

Basch winced. "I am sorry."

Vaan sighed. "You don't have to keep apologizing. Really, it's all right. I know it wasn't your fault—I see that now. You didn't kill my brother… It was the Empire." He glanced over at Anya, who stared back at him with a neutral expression on her mouth before nodding. Another sigh in resignation left the boy, and finally, he turned to Basch with a tight-lipped smile. "My brother trusted you—and he was right."

Basch felt his heart ache with sorrow and regret. He wished for the words to say, to speak his gratitude for this new trust from Vaan, but he did not trust himself to remain steady. When he thought he might try, the boy had already headed for the Sandsea.

"Despite what you may believe, the children are in relatively good hands," said Anya, watching Vaan go. "A man named Migelo—he owns a thriving sundries store by the East End of the city—took in several of the orphans, and aids many of the widows and widowers left behind by the war, too. The poor man just hasn't the wherewithal to keep all the children in line while making a living for them."

Basch felt relief and his heart warm at that, though he wished the children were occupied with better pursuits. But who was he to judge? "I am heartened to know good men remain."

Anya nodded, and then beckoned toward the Sandsea.

The Sandsea was a lively tavern with two floors, and Vaan awaited them by the entrance. Anya led the way from there, climbing the stairs to the balcony with dread apparent on her gritted teeth. That fell away, however, at the sight of Fran and Bathier—and the bangaa wildly gesturing at them. He was very well-dressed, though his apparent panic hardly left him well-spoken.

Balthier turned at Anya's arrival and appeared to see only her for the moment. "Well, I hope you've managed to stay out of trouble."

"Well…" Anya smiled sheepishly and gestured to Vaan and Basch. Balthier groaned, murmuring something about being on the same side of a coin that day as Anya's eyes landed on the bangaa. "Migelo?"

"You!" Migelo cried. "I trusted you—and what did you do but get Vaan into trouble?!"

"Migelo," Anya stammered, a palm uncharacteristically drawn to her chest, "I assure you I had nothing to do with that!"

Vaan stepped forward. "Yeah—An—I mean, Adela even helped me escape prison!"

The response only made Migelo cover his face in disbelief. Shaking his head, Balthier pressed on. "As I was saying—a misunderstanding."

That appeared to rile the bangaa again. "Misunderstanding!? What I am understanding is they took Penelo because of you!"

"What?" asked Vaan. "What about Penelo?"

"Oh, Vaan! They've taken Penelo!" Migelo cried. "And they left a note—a note for this Balthier! Come to the Bhujerba mines, it said..."

Anya glanced between Migelo and the other pirates. "Who did this?"

"It's Ba'Gamnan. He was in Nalbina," Fran reminded her.

"Ugh."

"If anything were to happen to that sweet child," Migelo began, sounding close to tears, "why, I've her parents' memory to consider! You're going to go to her aid, and that's that! Why, it's what you sky pirates do, isn't it?"

"I don't respond well to orders," Balthier snapped.

It seemed the day was full of surprises for Basch. It was the least composed he had ever seen the pirate.

"Balthier," Anya began with the slightest tone of reproach, but he leveled the same irritation at her.

"You do know that the Imperial fleet is massing at Bhujerba?"

She pursed her lips at that, and suddenly Basch understood his agitation. It had been the man's desire to free his companions, or to keep them as such, and Migelo's demands worked entirely against that. He now felt even more guilt, for saw in this problem great opportunity for his own cause.

"Fine, then I'll go!" Vaan spoke before he could, nudging past Anya to stand before Balthier. "You at least have an airship, don't you? Just get me there and I'll find Penelo myself."

"Vaan, don't be ridiculous," Anya frowned. "Ba'Gamnan and his crew are ruthless. You wouldn't stand a chance against them."

"Then I will join you," Basch stepped forward. "To save the girl—though I admit I have some business there as well."

Balthier gave him a deadpan look. "An audience with the Marquis, by chance?"

Basch inclined his head in affirmation.

"Balthier," said Vaan, reaching into his vest. "Just take us, and… and this is yours."

He offered something to Balthier out of Basch's view, and the pirates looked to one another. Fran sighed. "The gods are toying with us."

"And what do you think?" Balthier asked Anya.

She shook her head. "Our next destination was to be your choice… but I can't say Penelo's circumstances aren't of our making, however inadvertently."

Balthier groaned, pushing himself up off his chair. Fran followed as he passed Anya, clapping her on the shoulder, and headed for the stairs. "Make your new friends ready, Anya. We leave soon."

They disappeared, and Vaan turned toward his caretaker with determination. "We'll get Penelo back for sure, Migelo. The five of us escaped Nalbina together, and who's ever done that?"

Migelo looked to Anya at that. She nodded. "And we don't intend to be captured again anytime soon."

"And you'll protect the boy?"

"Hey! I don't need—"

"We will. You have my word," Basch couldn't help but answer. And he meant it.

Migelo looked surprised at the interruption. Some semblance of recognition appeared to pass his features as he tilted his head at Basch, but if it truly formed in his mind, he did not say. "All right. You get her back, Vaan. And…"

"Adela," Anya reminded him, in spite of Balthier's words. "I would appreciate it if you kept this Nalbina business between us, Migelo. The last thing we need is Emilie to worry."

Migelo sighed, stumbling toward Balthier's seat and rubbing his eyes. After a moment, he waved a hand in her direction. "All right."

Anya paused, appearing to have more to say. She was strangely docile before this man. It was so uncharacteristic as to be almost unnerving to Basch.

But she said nothing more and turned, moving past them toward the stairs. "I still have business in Muthru," she said, stopping by the railing. "If you have something you need to do before we leave, best get to it now."

"So we'll meet in the Aerodrome?" asked Vaan,

"Right."

"Vaan," said Basch, taking Anya's side as if to bar his way forward, "perhaps you could take a little more time to reassure this Migelo. He seems very worried."

"But—"

"He's right," said Anya. "A few words without strangers about would mean much to him, I'm sure."

Vaan licked his lips and pursed them, glancing over his shoulder. Migelo remained by the table, still trying to calm his own nerves. He nodded. "Okay."

Once he was gone, Anya turned to Basch. "And you?" she was all business again. "Have you any other appointments to which you require my particular company? Some warning would be nice this time."

"I am sorry," Basch offered with some guilt, though he mirrored her small grin when he saw it on her mouth. "But no. I am at your disposal."

Her lips parted in evident shock. And then she nodded, beckoning, light on the balls of her feet as she turned and hurried down the stairs. Basch remained, watching her go. The idea that he could surprise her pleased him, though he could not imagine why.

He followed.

Basch had not wandered the way of Muthru Bazaar in his search for the Resistance earlier that day, but he was pleased to see that not much of it had changed. Save perhaps the Imperial guard that marched about, it was as chaotic and as colorful as he ever remembered, though he was rather more careful about his coinpurse now.

Anya led them past the stalls, waving at a few characters who gave her looks of surprise before greeting her in return when they recognized Adela. Eventually, they came upon a stall surrounded by all manner of woven items. Inside glass cases behind them were peculiarities unknown to him, and manning the shop were a woman and a boy who shared the same dark almond eyes—and then the same smile as Anya approached them.

"Adela!" the boy exclaimed. He sat upright, the pen and little notepad in his hands forgotten.

"Is that you, Adela?" asked the woman. "We were so worried! Riby said you hadn't sent word since the fete, and what with the commotion…"

Anya smiled, leaning against the high counter of the shop. "That whole night was a catastrophe. Almost seems lucky that I got sick before things got interesting. I've been recovering since then, really."

"Oh, dear. I hope you're feeling better," said the woman, patting her hand on the counter. Her eyes flitted to Basch, and she gave him the same welcoming smile. "Who's your friend?"

"Oh! This is…"

Basch politely inclined his head. "Noah. My pleasure, miss."

"Emilie! The pleasure is ours. My son, Riby," she nodded, nudging the boy. He gave a small wave, about to speak, but his mother beat him to it with a tilt of her head and a squint. "Have we met before, Noah?"

"Actually, Emilie," Adela cleared her throat, "It's about time for me to make my way again. I was hoping to talk about the rest of the stock coming in before I left."

"Oh? A trip?" she asked. Basch did not notice the slightest grin as she glanced between them. "But of course. Riby, why don't you see if Mr. Noah doesn't find some of the gear over at Clive's shop interesting?"

Riby's eyes raised to his. With Anya expectantly turned toward him as well, Basch tilted his head. "Why not?"

"Okay, mom." Riby hopped off his seat and squeezed his way over from behind the counter.

The boy led him across the Bazaar's main path, staring up at Basch as they went. Instead of taking him to the man selling armor to a particularly prickly viera, however, he stopped right before they came within hawking distance of the shop. Not truly caring to purchase anything new, Basch did not question him, though Riby's stare began to grow rather unnerving. He was unsure what one should discuss with a child.

"So you're with Adela, huh?"

To his fortune, the boy did the work for him. Riby was much less bashful than he appeared.

"I guess that makes sense," he continued.

That piqued Basch's curiosity. "What do you mean?"

Riby grinned in response. "I'm smarter than I look, and I pay attention, unlike the others. Only Bucco and I notice these things," he said precociously.

"I don't understand."

The boy sighed. "Look, you don't have to pretend. I hear her and my mom talk sometimes. Adela likes," he paused, and then recited as though reading from a book, or rather more obviously, overheard from his mother, "older men with gravelly voices."

Basch blinked.

Riby gave him a once-over, clearly sizing him up. "Though I always thought she'd end up with Monid. She's always flirting with him." He shrugged. "Oh, well."

Basch felt embarrassment and a strange sense of interest as he listened to the boy discuss Anya's private preferences. But he was no gossipmonger, and so he could only remain silent. (Who was Monid?)

"So are you a nomad, too?" Riby continued, perfectly capable of carrying a conversation on his own. "Is that why Adela's wearing a mask today?"

Basch paused, glancing over at Anya. Emilie was laughing at something she said. When he looked back to Riby, he could not help his question. "An—Adela does not regularly wear a mask?"

"Nope. Is she supposed to?"

Entirely new questions sprang to life in his mind, but he spoke only one. "What does she look like without it?"

"Like Adela. She's real pretty," Riby smiled, a slight flush on the bridge of his nose, and suddenly Basch understood that the boy had not been shy entirely on his account. "Shouldn't you know?"

"Er…"

Again it seemed his fortune had taken a turn for the better as Emilie waved them over, saving him the answer. When they returned, Anya glanced over with a smile. "You certainly looked thick as thieves over there. Find anything you like?"

"Yes," Riby gave the lie away with a grin, though his mother only shook her head.

"Thank you for minding him, Noah," said Emilie.

"It was no trouble."

"Well," said the woman, squeezing Anya's hand as she exhaled. "Be safe. And write if you can."

"I will," she smiled in return. Basch saw it now—Vaan's words for her upon freeing him; Migelo's disappointment in the trouble he believed she had caused; Adela's quick defense and yet capitulation to his accusation in a manner different from how he had thought Anya would deal with the matter. Anya was cheerful, but also matter-of-factly and oft exasperated. Adela was only sweet and beloved of those she met.

Whoever you are, Vaan had accused in Barheim.

"Take care, Mr. Noah," Riby waved, now settled back in his seat. Anya faced him expectantly, head tilted as if to question his pondering.

"Ah." Basch cleared his throat. "Farewell," he again nodded toward the pair. After another goodbye from Anya, she led him seamlessly into the crowd passing through the main road.

When they were out of sight from the stall, she glanced his way. "Noah?" she enunciated. "Interesting moniker."

"My brother's true name."

He imagined her eyes widened beneath the mask, for she simply stared—and then she grinned. "So you do have a sense of humor."

Basch was surprised himself. He wondered if he should take offense, but already he found himself smiling a little. "I may yet."

Anya and Basch met Vaan on the way to the Aerodrome. He was carrying an almost ridiculous amount of packed food for their journey. Migelo made me take these! he insisted upon her laughter, but was rather unwilling to part with any of it.

Not that there was anything wrong with being prepared, she thought; who knew what would go wrong during this visit, or when they would next return to the city? She had assured Migelo, and she believed they would find some way to escape Ba'Gamnan as they always did, this time with Penelo. But she had believed the night of the fete would be just as easy, and where had that taken her?

Still, she wasn't too disheartened. They were in the Aerodrome, after all—her favorite place in any city. It was very subtle, since the place was of course infused with relaxing scents to calm agitated arrivals or frightened first-time travelers, but the scent of skystone fuel lingered in the air, and it reminded her of home. The Strahl, to be precise.

For all that they were fugitives, nobody seemed to mind them as they entered, though Basch continued to draw confused attention at times. He would have to start wearing a mask, or Fran would have to put the enchantment upon him. She would have to raise it with her…

"There's Balthier and Fran," Vaan exclaimed, waving at a couple at the end of the lobby. Fran's ears visibly perked, even from a distance, and she raised a hand to call them over.

Vaan ran ahead, predictably. "He'll love flying," Anya remarked with a slight chuckle. "Or he'll realize he hasn't the stomach for it."

Next to her, Basch was silent.

Strange. She thought he had grown comfortable enough with her to smile when she attempted to prompt it, or at least was polite enough to respond when she spoke. He seemed lost in thought.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, making her voice just a little louder. Finally, he looked to her with that same startled expression he wore whenever she called him away from his own mind. With a small grin, she guessed, though she knew it to be untrue, "Afraid of flying, perhaps?"

"Ah—no," he answered, and then confessed, "It has been... far too long since I was outside, and longer still since I was truly away from Dalmasca."

"Oh." She fought to keep her face from falling and managed a sagely nod. "I think you'll enjoy it."

"What makes you say that?"

"You were trapped for two years. Now you're free. You'll enjoy it."

Basch smiled at her, his eyes crinkling, and Anya felt her stomach flutter. "I admire your certainty."

"Hah," she shook her head. "You'll get yours back soon enough."

"Thank you, Anya."

"Mm-hmm," she hummed, not quite knowing what else to say. Anya had never wanted for a snappy response before. Or, she supposed, not before all that had happened at the night of the fete. "Well, we should go. Balthier and the others are waiting."

When they reached the others, Balthier had his arms crossed at them. Not far from where he stood, Fran waited next to Vaan. They looked out the Aerodrome's wide windows as she told him and his many packed meals of the commercial routes available to and from the city.

"You certainly took your time," said Balthier.

Anya gave him an infuriating smile. "Obligations."

"Delaying the inevitable?" he returned the expression. "You would have had to see him again sometime."

"Balthier," she frowned at him. He never let her win.

He only shrugged, and then clapped his hands. Fran and Vaan looked up and joined their little gathering. "All right. We've taken on more baggage from Rabanastre than we planned, but… let's be done with it, shall we?"

They arrived at the hangar. A private one, of course, thanks to the strings pulled by Clan Centurio's head to keep his brother safe, and thanks to no small amount of gil regardless. The ceiling was pulled back, letting light flood the large chamber, and there she sat—a beacon of new life amid the memory that was Rabanastre.

"This is the Strahl," Balthier declared, that smirk only a leading man could affect on his face. "She airship enough for you?"

Vaan bounded into the hangar, pushing past Balthier's shoulder with an excited breath. "The Strahl," he grinned, and Anya found herself mirroring it for her pride in their home. "You really are a sky pirate!"

Balthier shrugged. "Well, the headhunters seem to think so."

Just then, the hatch opened and lowered upon the ground, revealing a set of steps into the ship. At their head was a moogle clad in green, his orange pom standing straight over his head in indignation. "You!" he swung a small arm in their direction, slowly for dramatics, until the wrench he held pointed straight at them. At three of them, at any rate—the crew that had abandoned him.

"Was anyone going to let me know that you lot survived the fete, kupo, or was I supposed to find out an entire week later, and from rumors in the street, no less!?"

"It's hardly been a week. Did you really think that nonsense would have taken us?" Balthier quirked a brow at him.

Nono squinted. "I never knew the crew to be impervious to the Ifrit's fire, kupo!"

"We apologize," said Fran, drawing forward alongside Anya. "Will you accept our offering?"

The viera looked to Anya, who fished a little satchel from her pocket with a grin. She gave it a little shake, and the distinct sound of knocking clicked out from the humble receptacle. "Kupo nuts—imported straight from Goug."

Nono let out an excited little squeak, but by then Balthier had come forward with their companions. Vaan was happy to ignore them, still gawping at the ship, his neck craned upward to take in the details. All this while Nono regained his composure, putting on airs when he noticed the two strangers. "Very well, kupo, but I expect reparations."

"Such as?" asked Fran.

"One round of cleaning duties," he said, turning up his nose, though notably in the direction of the kupo nuts Anya held.

"That's fine," said Balthier. "Anya will take it."

"Me?"

"It was your chosen job," Fran said, nodding sagely. In truth, she hated cleaning duties as much as anyone.

Anya bit her cheek and then sighed. "Fine," she muttered. "One round. And the kupo nuts are mine."

"Kupo!"

Anya laughed, tossing them to him. Nono caught the satchel with a scoff and finally motioned to their new companions. "And who are these two, kupo? Stowaways?" he asked, eyeing Vaan. And upon seeing Basch, "Or new crew members?"

"Guests," said Fran. "Vaan… and Basch fon Ronsenburg."

"Our esteemed mechanic, Nono," Balthier introduced him in turn.

"Ah. My pleasure," Nono nodded at them both, though now his gaze settled on Basch. "Well, well. That must be quite the story, eh, kupo?"

It surprised Basch (again) that they would tell him outright, but he supposed it was unfathomable that they would bring in anyone they did not trust. Almost as unfathomable as an adorable moogle sizing him up. He inclined his head.

"One best told inside," Fran agreed, brushing past Nono. "Come."

Anya followed, turning to their mechanic. "Did you miss me?"

"Like an ulcer, kupo."

"Nono! You wound me!" she cried, reaching to grab him, but he scampered further up the deck. When he was gone, cackling himself, she shook her head and glanced over her shoulder at Basch. He stood at the foot of the steps. When she jerked her head in the direction of the ship with a soft smile, he followed.

As for Vaan, the silence finally gave him the peace to think of his question. "So is she armed? How fast is she?" he gasped. "Could she take the Ifrit?"

Balthier shook his head, climbing the steps and tapping the hull by the door. "I suppose I could tell you, but… wouldn't you rather see for yourself?"

Vaan grinned as he disappeared, giving the Strahl another look of admiration, and bounded inside with their food.

I'm coming, Penelo.

Thank you for reading!