Author's Note: It's been some time, hasn't it readers? Apologies, I suppose, won't matter.. but I suppose with it being the holidays something spurned me to pick this fic back up and try it again –or rather, continue trying. I hope you all find it worth reading still, as I find that there are pieces yet undiscovered about our good princess – now Queen – and a certain knight. But there are more pieces to this game then just them, right? Without further ado and hopefully no FURTHER delay, here.. part three. R&R welcomed.
" –can't see us??..what's that supposed to mean..!?"
In mere seconds an angelic face of calm and happiness twisted into a mask of confusion and hurt, accentuated by a turn of pouty lips straight toward the cold marble floors. Her pulse raced and her cheeks flushed. Her shoulders tensed and bucked upward to her ears. Pale skin turned a threatening red in the edges and what was once clear, beaming eyes grew dark with anger.
Penelo's brow streaked dangerously upward as her fingers clenched into the only nearby source of punishment: a young man's arm who was quick to grimace and wince in discomfort.
" – we told her we were coming," the dancer offered back to the quiet handmaiden who had been the one to deliver the queen's saddening news. "So that doesn't make any sense.."
With a sigh the young man Penelo had tugged at finally jerked her backward away from the other young woman who by now had grown flustered with embarassment under the blonde's verbal assault. Penelo noted the tug and turned to him, her face turning from one of hurt to something more like sadness, begging for an explanation of some sort. The young man sighed and shook his head with a light chuckle to the attendant to try and break the uncomfortable moment.
Vaan had never been verygood with awkward situations and struggled to keep his hand from covering his face in embarassment.
"C-can we uh, just have a minute? It was Altressa, right?– thanks. Just give us a second!"
While the handmaiden walked away with a sigh Vaan winced as Penelo jabbed him in the ribcage. The dark skinned young man huffed and took the dancer's hand with a tug, moving them away from earshot to a nearby window. Once they were in relative privacy they spent several moments staring each other down until Vaan finally sighed and shrugged with a lean to the wall.
"Well what do you want me to say to you? What exactly are you trying to do, huh? So Queen Ashe is busy, that shouldn't surprise you at all, Penelo."
The young woman grumbled and threw her hands up in frustration, eyes growing wide with emotion. Clearly she wasn't satisfied with such a trivial answer, even from the new royalty.
"Vaan," she countered worriedly. "It isn't just that she's busy – I mean she's seemed so sad lately!" Penelo's mood shifted and her worried look turned into sudden frustration. "I'm not stupid, you know. I know she's the queen now.. I know she's busy! It's something else, I know it. And a good friend always looks out for another. It shouldn't matter that she's Queen now ..she's still Ashe, you know."
The young man sighed and regarded his childhood friend – now so much more – placing his hands on her bare soldiers with a nod of his head outside the window. Penelo stared sadly back at him before following his gaze, past the grande view of the promenade where the palace offered a majestic view of Dalmasca's crown jewel city.
"C'mon," Vaan murmured. "..just take a look at that! I mean really look at it…"
And so she did. The streets were alive again, full of trade and teeming with more people than ever before. Commoners no longer gazed up at the palace with ill thoughts but rather basked in its precense, laughing and carrying on with their lives. The precense of guards and soldiers was minimal at best; Ashe had been careful to make sure Rabanastre never again felt like a prison to its own people. Fountains ran bright with water while children played in them without a care in the world. Men and women mingled to discuss everything from business to the weather and politico from every corner of the world came to see the sights. Commerce bustled wether it be a pauper selling fruit or a noble selling treasures.
It was the world they had fought for so long and sacrificed so much for. They had their home back; even now the freedom they had won and life they had helped restore tasted new and sweet.
"You know.. when you have that much to protect," Vaan offered quietly, feeling the sadness creeping into his own voice. "..sometimes you don't have much time left for friends. Even the best ones."
Penelo chewed her bottom lip and continued to stare out into the streets for a few more moments before fixing her eyes back on Vaan. He matched her gaze with his own, out of answers to give her save that one, and offered the best smile he could muster.
"Maybe it's not that simple, Vaan.."
Unfortunately it must not have been enough. Penelo shook her head and wrapped her hands into his – slowly, and held them – before unlacing her fingers and pushing his hands away.
"Hey, wait! Penelo, I didn't –"
Vaan started to speak up but was nudged aside, left to stare at her retreating form as she paced down the hallway away from him.
All he could do was frown and glance back out of the window, folding his arms behind his head with a defeated sigh.
In Archades…
Basch slowly pulled his hand free of the inner glove of his armor, flexing his fingers with a relieved breath. He studied its battle worn skin, noting that some of the scars were finally beginning to dissapear with time – at least on the surface. These hands had shed to much blood to ever forget the past and he would never dare lest he forget the oaths he had made. There were promises to be kept and debts not yet paid; that solemn fact kept his purpose in the front of his mind at all times.
Still, on quieter nights, his thoughts did sometimes stray on their own..
The former general placed the glove atop the growing pile of leathers and light armor in the center of his bed, an unremarkable piece of furniture in the center of a room that was for the most part equally unremarkable in its trappings. In the time he had spent in the Empire as Larsa's guardian he had resisted most offers of House Solidor's "gratitude" and instead found simple decorations to keep him at ease. His home was gone long ago of course but Dalmasca had always called him home during times of peace and war. As a soldier he found himself keeping the occasional fine weapon or suit of armor as trappings. Magnificent rapiers, longblades and helms from the many corners of the world were stored upon racks and shelving such that the two longest walls of his quarters resembled a small armory. The lamplight drew strange shadows and reflections across this collection but it bothered Basch little; even now he turned to the other half of his room, walls curving together into a tapered corner in which a grand desk of fine oak rested stalwart. The former general sighed as he sank into the leather chair in front of it, letting it swallow his weight as he closed his eyes and steepled his fingers together. Several minutes slipped away before Basch opened his eyes again, and when he did his gaze found itself upon Gabranth – or rather the heaviest armor he wore – fitted over a leather mannequin to the left of his desk. This was where the bulk of the armor always came to rest.. ever watchful, ever a reminder. He supposed it might disturb some that the armor Noah wore might be displayed in such a fashion but in truth Basch felt it almost comforting; the spirit of his twin wrought into metal form and a sentinel to the desk, the one place he ever dared show his feelings.
"How I wish you were here, brother," Basch whispered to the metal form staring down at him. "How I wish you could see what your sacrifice has brought: a fine leader and a fine young man to save this empire. Another chance - for both of us - to make right the wrongs we both committed. Perhaps that was why fate granted us that second chance, even if it meant staring the other down from the other side."
Basch drew a deep breath and forced his gaze to the desk and the blank parchment and pens atop it. He kept the items mostly for decoration rather than functionality; except for the occassional writ or missive that came from Judge Magister Gabranth's hand he wrote to noone and never received letters. Yet on the desk however there was something he had not noticed before, and in a flash of recollection it came to him.
A letter was delivered to me while you were away..
I made sure it remained sealed and left it in your quarters.
I'm confident you will find something in its contents to keep you occupied for awhile, Gabranth.
I have faith in you my friend..
Fingers gingerly worked the folded missive over and true to Larsa's word the seal remained undisturbed. Dressed in a handsome gossamer colored paper and bearing a royal seal it could have only come from once place, but even so Basch found it difficult not to stare at the name GABRANTH written delicately on the other side. There was no cause for confusion in the letter's origin but still his brow furrowed upon recognizing the unmistakable writing that belonged to the missive's creator.
"Lady Ashe?" The former general whispered in question, mentally cursing himself for the sheer absurdity. There was no question who the letter was from.
Basch released a breath he didn't know he had been holding. His thumb worked across the seal, breaking the simple wax in one smooth motion and letting the letter's bottom half unfold freely. The rich writing continued for nearly fourteen lines but what caught his attention was the first word – a simple thing: Basch.
He licked his lips, suddenly dry, and fought an unfamiliar sense of uncertainy as his heart seemed to grow heavy. The feeling only swelled as the letter was tipped finally to catch the lamplight to be better read.
And then – ever so slowly – he put the letter back down.
Basch sank back into the chair and sighed, hand slipped over his face with a rub to the fine stubble along his jawline. His eyes narrowed nearly to closed as they tiredly stared at the page set before him, somehow unable to read it and yet not knowing why. With the unliving eyes of Judge Magister Gabranth staring down ever watchful, Basch remained sank into the chair for minutes, and then eventually hours.
In time sleep took him by force and he fell to slumber much the way he had been sitting, in the chair – alone – with the letter as yet unread.
Obviously, to be continued… was it worth it? Shall I keep going? Only your feedback will tell me so. Thank you for reading and if you're still interested, look forward to the next. – Vic Viper