The Port of Balfonheim
A/N: this is a slight departure from the tone of the rest of this story, but play time only lasts so long, after all.
Ashe did not know what to do.
She lay rigid in her bed in Reddas' Manse, twisting the light sheets in her hands and staring sightlessly up at the ceiling.
It had been exactly a full day and night since the destruction of the Sun Cryst and still whenever she closed her eyes she saw that horrid, bloated, maligned orb, pulsing with Mist.
Turning her head Ashe looked to the Treaty Blade and the Sword of Kings, her props of status, her weapons of inheritance. Her fingers twitched in memory of the scything blow she had struck against the phantom of Rasler before the Cryst, with those same swords.
Intellectually she knew that it had never been her Prince, from the beginning the spirit that had guided her through her quest had ever been a construct of Occuria deceit, designed to enslave her.
Yet the burning in her soul, the acidic twisting of guilt and self-loathing that prevented sleep and construed to make her violently sick with every morsel of food she attempted to consume, was because deep down she knew the truth.
It had not been the Occuria she struck out at when she raised arms against the visage of her dead husband, her beloved Prince. It had been him.
Rasler.
She had wanted to eradicate him. Scant months short of three years dead and she was so tired of bleeding in her heart for him. So tired of feeling guilt that she lived and he had died, of the agonising question that plagued her mind.
Had Rasler lived and she had died in his stead, would he have made a better job of fighting the Empire?
Growling with frustration, tears prickling her eyes in a hot dazzle, Ashe threw back the coverlet and launched herself out of bed.
She paced to the window and looked out towards the beach, and suddenly all thoughts of dead Princes fled her mind.
What in all the gods names was he doing out there?
Without really thinking it through Ashe grabbed up her dressing gown and slipped into her silver gilt slippers before hurrying out of her room and away from the Manse towards the shoreline.
The breeze coming in with the tide was shockingly bracing and Ashe's teeth set to chattering as she carefully picked her way over the slippery, seaweed strewn black rocks towards him.
Framed by the huge and expectant full moon he had his back to her and did not appear aware of her presence. He stood on the very edge of the natural pier of jagged rocks that forked out into the Naldoa Ocean.
'Balthier?'
Her call was swallowed instantly by the sonorous rush of the waves breaking against the rocks, the wind sweeping across the surf, and he did not even twitch.
His white shirt, untucked, flapped about his lean torso and she noticed, irrelevantly, that he was bare foot.
More troubling to her, and the more pertinent observation a snide voice in her head pointed out, was the rifle he held braced against one shoulder, the business end of which was dangerously tilted towards his right temple.
The damned Pirate had been as a ghost these last twenty-four hours since their escape from the Pharos; most of that time he had spent caring for Fran, who had nearly died due to the massive amount of Mist surrounding the Cryst.
He hadn't let any of the rest of them near Fran until she regained consciousness; Ashe had caught the tail end of an altercation between Balthier and Basch when he tried to see Fran that had actually made her fear for her Knight's safety.
As soon as Fran was up and talking Balthier had vanished from the Manse, to be found neither in the aerodrome or the Whitecap; now here he was facing out to sea as still as one petrified by magick.
'Balthier!' She was only feet from him now and she pitched her voice to be heard over the crash of the ocean. She was unprepared for his response.
In less time than it took to blink an eye Ashe found herself staring down the barrel of his rifle, and up into a pair of brown eyes which were neither sardonic nor arrogant. Instead they were bloodshot and glazed.
'Bloody hell!'
Balthier almost over balanced himself and teetered on the edge of falling off the rocks, as he jerked his arm back so fast, upon recognising her, that his rifle nearly flew into the sea.
Ashe, though her heart was fighting to climb free of her throat, he had been a scarce second from pulling down on the trigger after all, found her voice was calm, the epitome of sardonic disinterest.
The regal part of her was pleased for this fact as she would not be much of a queen if she could not stare calmly down the barrel of a crazed pirate's gun.
'A tad distracted tonight, aren't we, Pirate?'
If he recognised his own words to her from weeks earlier in Jahara he gave no sign of it, she fancied he was still ruffled from how close he had come to shooting her dead; which was gratifying at least.
What was the fool pirate doing out here at this time of night?
'Ashe what are you doing out here?'
He demanded his voice sounding odd, as he pressed the heel of the hand not clutching his rifle against his forehead and tried to smooth his hair off his brow.
Even traipsing about sundry sewers, caves, ancient underground palaces, and prisons she had never seen him look so dishevelled, Ashe found herself feeling just vaguely alarmed.
'Balthier are you drunk?' She accused him as she watched him keenly.
He met her eyes with brown gaze that was so far from cynical it left nihilism for dust and squinted down on her.
'I rather think I am at that, Princess, unless you happen to have an identical sister with a tendency to waver in and out of focus.'
He made a vague gesture to the thin air beside her right shoulder and squeezed his eyes closed. Ashe felt a surge of pure anger, tainted with some deeper emotion, closer to fear, rise up in her.
' You – you stupid, irresponsible...pirate!' She yelled at him.
Ashe made a grab for the tail of his shirt and hauled him forward away from the rocks edge, causing him to stagger, reaching out a hand to steady himself against her shoulder. Ashe slapped him, with considerable force, around the face.
'How can you do this to me now!'
Balthier had raised a hand to his reddened cheek and was staring at her as if she was the one who had taken leave of her senses.
Really the conceit of the man staggered her.
'I beg your pardon?'
The tone of Balthier's voice made it clear that, despite his words, he was most emphatically not apologising. She had never heard such a clipped, unfriendly tone from him, at least not directed towards herself.
Ashe glared at him, almost quaking with fury. She jabbed a finger into his chest, which was much easier to do with the heavy velvet and leather vest he usually wore absent from his current attire.
' You are not supposed to do this.'
Ashe almost screamed, aware that she was verging on incoherent, behaving in a profoundly un-regal manner and possibly making a magnificent fool of herself, but for once she did not care.
' You are not allowed to fall apart, Balthier, I forbid it.' She swallowed back her angry tears and hissed through her clenched teeth in an icy rush.
Since the war Ashe had found that she had few absolutes that she could depend on, sooner or later everyone she trusted failed or betrayed her.
Despite this she had come to believe in him; this astute, erudite, self-aggrandising pirate who was completely imperturbable come hell or high water and as free from pain as a bird in the sky.
She was not going to let him fail her now.
' What is wrong with you, Ashe?' Balthier had snatched up her hand as she poked at him and was holding it between them, frowning at her blearily.
Ashe did not try and wrest her hand free of his grip, which was warm and firm despite his decidedly unsteady stance.
' Me! There is nothing wrong with me.' Ashe almost choked on her incensed incredulity.
'I am talking about you, Balthier. Look at yourself, you are a disgrace!'
Balthier flinched at her words, letting go of her wrist and looking down on his barely fastened, untucked shirt, his bare feet, and sand splattered trousers.
'Ashe..' He began on a long, defeated sigh.
' No!' She snapped not wanting to hear him betray them both with excuses; she longed to hear arrogance in his voice not apology. A leading man did not apologise, gods damn it, anymore than a queen.
' You have done everything in your power to have me believe in you, despite my better judgement. You have cajoled, teased, and insinuated your way into my trust, Pirate. Forced me to depend on you and now you would do this? How dare you betray to me this way!'
Balthier was left blinking dumbly in the aftermath of her tirade for a handful of seconds, his silver tongue drowned in drink it seemed.
'I have never betrayed you Ashe.' When he did respond it was deadly serious.
' Then what were you doing out here? This is hardly behaviour conducive with the role of a leading man.' She spat back, waving her hands sharply to indicate his sorry state and the suspect location she had found him in.
Why had he been staring out towards the depths and the distant Pharos, why was he carrying his gun when no fiends ventured onto the beach?
Her eyes beseeched him to smirk at her, to give her some beautifully eloquent throw-away excuse.
Balthier turned his head to stare out at the choppy waters, ' Yesterday I killed my Father and watched my best fri ...watched Fran... fight for her life, forgive me, your Highness, if I am a little out of sorts.'
Ashe remained silent against his cold, humourless rebuff, for a moment. It felt to her as if something intangible and yet vital and strong was dying between them out here surrounded by the cold and eternal ocean.
Ashe was sick and tired of watching things die, of grieving for things lost that she had barely obtained to begin with. She'd be damned if she was to do it again.
'Yesterday I killed my husband's ghost, and saw a good man die to destroy that which I could not, but I must always stay strong for Dalmasca.' She whispered back defiantly.
She looked down at her feet even as she felt Balthier's attention snap back to her, the weight of his gaze heavy on the top of her head.
' In the Pharos you spoke of terms, Balthier.'
She began, intently studying the lichen covered rock, her own dainty slippers and Balthier's bare feet, until she thought this visual recollection would be indelibly tattooed into her memory ever more.
' You left the setting of those terms in my hands. Well, I have a proposal for any future - engagement – between us, Pirate.'
She looked up at him, her eyes hot but dry, heart hammering, but for once her mind was settled, no dissenting voices arguing and questioning her every decision. Both the woman and the queen-in-waiting were in agreement.
She needed this Pirate and it didn't matter if it wasn't proper, if it was against her status and her rank.
So much had been stripped from her that what she had, even if she was not sure how to define or condone it within her own mind, she would nevertheless fight for.
' Indeed Princess?' Balthier drawled and either he was abashed by her rebuke or the cold sea breeze had sobered him somewhat, for his words did not slur.
' I am surprised you would want any further engagement with one such as myself, as I have clearly disappointed your expectations thus far.'
The dry irritation in his tone heartened her; she saw the affronted dignity in his eyes and was glad of it.
' I am willing to overlook your current state, as you have been under some strain, but in future I insist that if you are so keen to play a part, Balthier, that you maintain that part while in my company, always.'
Her words were crisp and at odds with her actions as she barrelled into his arms and pressed her face into his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist, and greedily sucked in the scents of mechanical oils, gun-powder and linen soap that clung to him.
After a moment, in which time Balthier shifted his weight awkwardly to accommodate her body leaning into him, he put his own arms around her, rubbing his hands up her back and bringing some warmth back to her.
'Hmm, so the Princess would lay claim to the leading man, would she?'
The flirtatious lilt to his words heralded the restoration of the beautifully constructed pretence of the leading man.
He chuckled, 'Very well, Ashe, I accept your terms, from this moment hence you shall never see so much as a hint of genuine pain or distress in my countenance.'
' Good. If you would be morose, Pirate, do it on your own time, not mine.'
Ashe muttered, brushing her cheek against the open neck of his shirt, so that she could feel his skin, she buried her hands under the loose cloth and splayed her fingers up his sides, enjoying the sensation of his ribs expanding and retracting as he breathed.
They were silent for a time, Ashe feeling content that while she may have no husband, no father, no family at all, save an uncle who was nuisance more than anything else, and currently no throne to call her own, she at least had one pirate she could depend on.
speaking of which...
'Princess?' Balthier murmured, his lips gently pressing a kiss to the top of her head while his hands, those wicked hands, busied themselves roving over her night gown swathed body.
' Yes?'
She was barely listening as her hands found what felt like old scar tissue, thin lines which may have come from a whip, striping his shoulder blades, she wondered what fabulous fabrication he would come up with should she ask him how he came by the marks.
' Forgive my curiosity Princess, but why do you wear more clothes to bed than you wear during the day?'
Ashe wrenched away from him and glared up into his face too startled to be outraged, though the anger was barely a step behind.
'What did you say?'
The damnable pirate was smirking at her, dark eyes all but swimming with wicked humour at her expense. He gestured languidly to her white raw silk night robe, sash drawn closed around her full-sleeved, ankle length satin nightgown.
' Your sleep attire is an interesting contrast to your day wardrobe, Ashe, I was just wondering why that might be?' He quirked an eyebrow at her in infuriating fashion.
' Surely the pretence of maidenly virtue is somewhat redundant, hmm?'
Ashe felt her cheeks flame; her tongue failed her and her mind lit up with indignant anger, even as a tiny, paradoxical, part of her rejoiced.
Ashe reacted in her own self defence in the only way left open to her.
Using Balthier's lingering drunkenness to her advantage, she gave him a straight armed shove to the stomach and sent him falling backwards into the icy sea waters.
She sprinted over the rocks and back to the beach as Balthier surfaced, sputtering and choking on sea water, and hauled himself back up onto the rocks.
Ashe ran all the way back to the Manse, giggling like a maiden. Vaguely she thought she heard Balthier calling after her, the sea breeze carrying his indignation to her easily like a blessing.
She was fairly certain, on balance that, in this encounter the win went to her. She would have the upper hand in future negotiations for a change.
She had seen the pirate with his dignity undone. That was worth far more than the odd pinch and stolen kiss, surely?
She slipped back into her own room and bed and pulled the coverlet up to her chin, idly she wondered how long it would take the sodden, drunken pirate to pick the lock of her bedroom door, especially as she had neglected to remove the key from the lock?
Tomorrow, or the next day, they could all die. She knew this well.
But right now she was content to have found these few tiny, transient, moments where she could pretend that she was just herself, just Ashe, with her very own sky pirate to play with.