I Know
FFXII
Fran/Balthier, Ashe/Basch in a platonic sort of way
Spoilers through Salikawood
Game Present Tense
Began 7 December 2006 01:07 GMT
Finished 7 December 2006 17:43 GMT
Author's Note: Still for Jadie and Shikee
Chapter Two: Faith
Ashe had slipped off as the others, sans Fran, collected at the bungalow. She kept her hand on the hilt of her sword, and jumped at every noise, but she had to be alone. Working with the resistance, she'd had her own room, though it had been small. She could disguise herself and walk about at night, so long as she walked outside of town. Now that she was travelling with five other people, she rarely had time to herself. Even when she politely excused herself for physical necessity, she had the sneaking suspicion that Basch sent Fran and Penelo to tail her, just in case.
She was becoming extremely irritated by her captain and Vaan. Vaan wasn't as protective of her as he was of Penelo, but he still followed her like a puppy. The last night she had any time to herself, she'd been kidnapped.
It was unfortunate, but things happen that way when you happen to be a fugitive heir to a kingdom.
More than anything in the world, she missed her father. She thought of Rasler often enough, but their love had been more akin to that of warrior fellowship than of rolling-in-the-hay and growing-old-together. She and he had… but nothing had come of it. She had the sneaking suspicion that she was barren; her mother had been unable to bear children without the aide of magic, and she accepted that she would likely require the same assistance. In a way, she was glad she did not have any children by her husband before he rode off into battle and ultimately off the mortal coil—though it would be a pleasant thought to have an heir to follow her, and a part of her husband still at her side, a child would prevent her from finishing this fight.
She walked for a long time. The sun set, and the forest fog settled thick on the path. She cast a small light spell by which to see, and lingered about the boughs of the old spirits for hours. The others would probably be out looking for her, she knew; she prayed she would not cross their paths. Her mind was finally drawing inward, and she stopped thinking the hundred things the daylight forced upon her. Instead, she had time for those dark thoughts which shadowed her closer than any friend or enemy.
I was the youngest of my family, and the only girl child. I will not reproduce by natural means. I was not educated to be a warrior or a ruler, as my brothers were. I went outside father's will to learn to fight and lead. I hesitated and forfeited my chance to rule in peace because of my pride, and now Vayne Solidor will do his worst to strike me down should I claim my throne. He will strike down Halim and he will strike down every member of the resistance and there will be suffering and death in Dalmasca again. Perhaps this world has no need of small kingdoms and the old ways. Perhaps this is an epoch of great empires and not nationalism. Perhaps I am leading my people astray from what is best for them. Perhaps I am not meant to be a queen at all. Perhaps I never was.
Her thoughts became more and more troubled, and the weights of the Sword of Kings on her back and the less important sword strapped 'round her waist were an increasing burden. Lust for revenge. Perhaps this is only revenge I seek.
But King Raithwall left the nethicite and the sword. Surely he foresaw all of this.
She argued herself in circles, and finally gave up to the weariness in her feet and her heart; she stepped off the boardwalk path and made her way down a mossy branch to where a lower branch and a curtain of curling vines promised cover. Halfway to her intended destination, she heard a noise that stopped her. Carefully, she waited until she heard it again. It sounded like a sigh, but more sickly than the forest breeze could be. She quickly ascertained that it was a person, singular, and half-drew her weapon. She crept forward, reached out a hand, and pushed aside the vines to reveal—
Basch von Ronsenburg, gazing back at her with mirror suspicion, with his weapon half-drawn and a hand reached towards the curtain of vines. He relaxed his posture, returned his sword to its scabbard, then set it on the ground. He gave her a deep nod which bordered on a shallow bow, and waited for her next move.
She sheathed her sword as well, and gave him a sideways look. She approached and sat beside him. They shared a moment, and then turned to gaze over the woods, into the misty abyss below them. "I must say, Captain, I rather expected you to come after me some time ago," she told him wryly.
"I did," Basch admitted. "I cleared your path, my lady, then left you to your thoughts." When she did not reply immediately, his gaze softened and he added, "Sometimes, everyone needs to be alone."
Ashe nodded, then jumped a little when the last sentence registered. "I—I'm sorry, I'll leave you—"
"No," he sighed quietly.
She stopped, halfway to her feet, and stared for a moment at her captain's profile. "I am not keeping you from being alone."
Basch was silent for a long moment, then bowed his head slightly. "No."
She sat again, quietly understanding and grateful for the company which was not much company at all. They sat together for what seemed like an hour, until each seemed to forget that the other was there. Without thinking about it, she dropped her head to the side and rested on his shoulder. Strange, she thought idly. He's still so thin. He used to be so brave and strong, and now… she felt him rest his head against hers, and a sort of sob shook its way through him and into her.
Surprised, she froze, then pulled away to have a better look. As sure as her shock, he was attempting to hide tears—she was unable to catch a good look in the dim light before he turned his face away, but she was sure even so.
"Captain—"
"I'm sorry," he cut her off swiftly.
She frowned, a small but strong hand closing about his chin and forcing him to look back towards her. "What—?"
He averted his gaze, ashamed. Her suspicions were confirmed. She released his chin and he turned away again.
She sighed, knowing she would never get him to speak his mind, though she came to understand that his mind was much like hers. "Captain Basch von Ronsenburg, sometimes you are positively infuriating."
"I'm sorry," he repeated. "You… you deserve a better knight, my lady, to protect you."
"Stop apologizing," she snapped.
He dragged his arm across his face almost angrily, then turned back towards her. Walk it off, white knight, he chided himself mentally. This life is twice as hard for her. Protect your lady.
"I… I believe upon occasion that Dalmasca deserves a better queen than I could ever be," she admitted quietly, offering tentative sympathy with his previous confession. "I believe that you deserve a better liege lady." After a moment with no response, she looked up.
Basch stared at her, completely bewildered. "My lady, there could be no such person in this world."
Ashe gave him a sad smile, and looked away. "Basch, I do not believe I was ever meant to rule, let alone restore the kingdom. I was the youngest, and the only female. Father did not impart to me what skill he did impart to my brothers. My becoming queen and restoring the kingdom will only begin a larger war, and bring more suffering."
"It is right," he told her, taking her right hand firmly and giving it a squeeze. "It is right that you become queen."
"You may speak as if you are not sworn to serve my family," she replied bitterly.
"Is that your wish? For me to speak freely?"
She nodded, awaiting painful words.
When he answered, his voice was warm and strong, and for a moment Ashe heard a Basch she thought no longer lived. "Ashelia, you are a strong-willed and thoughtful lady of great intelligence and you wield a keen blade. Descendency from King Raithwall aside, I would choose you for my queen and I would swear my shield to you a hundred times."
She turned to watch him intently, completely enthralled by the dedication not in his words, but in his eyes. "I… thank you."
"That said, you are being foolish," he allowed. "Your father was a wise man; he taught you a great deal and his lessons, when heeded, will assist you one day in ruling Dalmasca."
Ashe, despite her invitation for him to speak freely, prickled with a mild resentment for the chiding. "My father did not assign to me a weapons master nor indeed a teacher of military strategy. All that I learned of the martial I learned against his will."
"Verily, a good part of it you learned from me," Basch smiled with a hint of the mischievous playing across his usually sharp features.
She watched him carefully for a moment. "Father knew I would come to you."
"Should your father have ordered that I teach you naught of warfare, I would have obeyed his command," he answered. "But your honourable father was cunning, and gave vague orders when his will was not what it seemed."
She dropped her gaze in shame. Here was an honourable man left by her father to protect her; it was if her father had found a way to protect her even now. She wondered briefly how far in advance he had planned in contingency. "I am sorry to have doubted him."
Basch chuckled softly. "My lady, do you remember… do you remember when your father required you to study dance, though you wished to study cavalry tactics with your brothers?"
She nodded, puzzled by the odd reminisce.
"Your brothers took no lessons in cavalry tactics; they took a class of dance, as well. As did the Lord Rasler," he informed her with an air of conspiracy, attempting to make her smile.
She did, and like a younger woman with less cares. "Rasler told me none of this."
"Indeed," he nearly laughed, "Would he have told you that he studied the self-same dance that you studied, he would have been embarrassed. Dance has long since left the courts, shunned by men especially and out of fashion where it would have been useful."
"Useful?" she doubted.
He leaned closer to her in a manner that bordered on the playful. "My lady, dance of the style of Dalmasca is training for heavy armour. Without the ability to move with strength and precision outside of plate metal, how are soldiers to move and fight inside of it?"
"Did you have to learn to dance?" she asked, feeling much as she did seven years ago, before she was married, before there was a war, before there was killing and death and vileness and back when the world was perfect and Basch and his white-armoured knights of the order protected her and her family from harm.
Basch was feeling much the same way. He grinned as a younger man might. "Of course I did, my lady, I was their instructor."
Ashe laughed quietly. "Is that so?" she asked playfully. "Will you dance with me, Sir Knight?" She had always called him thus, before: 'Sir Knight.'
His expression became very grave, and he stood up abruptly. She was afraid she said something to offend him, or asked too much. Before she could realize she was no longer twelve and no longer allowed the indulgences a twelve-year-old princess could demand, Basch bowed solemnly and offered his arm. "My lady Ashelia, I would be greatly honoured to share a dance with you." He straightened and awaited her response, the same out-of-place smile dancing across his face.
She mirrored him and stood, curtseyed, and set her arm in his. He led her out of the vine-covered alcove and onto the broad, flat branch of the ancient tree. With a gentle turn of the hand, he moved her to turn and take her steps. She obeyed, enjoying the softness of the moss beneath her boots. She fumbled through a few steps at first, out of practice and woefully off-balance. His hands on her waist guided her and corrected her form all at once.
"A la première, plié, up to seconde, turn out, chassé left, cinquième, relevé, demi-plié, echappé… Can you still dance en pointes?"
She gave him a self-satisfied smile and elevated herself to her toes while forcing both legs to a seconde turned out, sweeping one arm up in a controlled arc and one arm forward, by which Basch guided her.
He smiled back. "Alright, young miss, let us see what you can do." He nudged her away and she obeyed, making space with glissades and pauses every once in awhile to show off a point. She piquee-d some, turned, and executed her best rond de jambe en tournant—with both arms above her, she whipped one leg around, passed at the knee, and turned in both directions, leapt, spun once in the air with her arms circled in front, landed somewhat less than gracefully, and smirked a little at herself.
"Your form is a bit sloppy, but you've an excellent memory," Basch smirked back. "Leap if you are able, and I will catch you."
"I never studied dance with a man," she admitted, blushing slightly. "Thus I have never practiced in such a manner."
He chuckled lightly. "I have never taught a woman, but I can certainly catch one. Let me do the work, my lady."
"Very well," Ashe allowed, backing up a bit and giving herself a somewhat skipping start to the highest and most graceful leap she could manage without a great deal more practice. She held the form when Basch caught her easily at the waist, turned, and lowered her in one movement. She capered away in the same direction, trusting him to follow her.
They danced well into the early morning to the ancient choir of the wind between the trees. Having brushed up somewhat, Ashe attempted one last leap, pulling her leading leg up to passé at the knee, brushing her arms one forward, one back, from the shoulders, and stilling her fright as the mossy ground raced up at her. Basch caught her along her belly and just above the following knee, holding her for a moment before necessity required he guide her to her feet and set her down. He indicated his wish for rest, and they went back to the alcove surrounded by vines.
"Thank you," she told him as soon as she was able.
"My pleasure, my lady," he told her. "I am sorry I am not more versed in court dances, which may have been more appropriate, and that I am no longer in practice."
She leaned over and wrapped both arms around him, hugging him closely and closing her eyes. "Quit apologizing." She remained where she was, though she noticed that he was hesitant.
After a few moments, he returned the embrace, gently holding her to him and settling his chin on her forehead. "Then… thank you, as well."
She smiled, and rested her head against his chest.
The forest slowly took on a grey glow as the morning approached and the unseen sun's rays reached over the horizon and lit the forest fog. Ashe allowed her mage-light to go out, and the two sat in the darkness as the sun came over the rocks of the canyon ahead of them. The sky bled crimson and shone gold, and the clouds were a strange, stark whiteness against the sky of blood.
As the light reached her, Ashe allowed the events of the night to fall away, and slowly acknowledged the last seven years of her life. She felt the pain of exile and her inability to do more, her hatred for the empire and her wish for revenge, the weight of it on her soul seeming heavier than before. She felt decades older, lifetimes more solemn, and the joy of the dance seemed to bleed away from her with the retreating shadows of the forest. She felt her aching feet and her bruises from battle, but in that moment she also felt safe. The man next to her was her protector and her guardian, albeit only the emaciated shadow of the white armoured knight that used to stand between her family and danger. She could feel his ribs through his undershirt, knew the form of his collarbone through her cheek, and heard his heart thundering in his chest from the exertion of near-constant battles, prolonged stress, malnutrition, and a demanding session of dance. His breathing possessed an edge of the ragged.
She looked up carefully, fixing a soft gaze on him. He understood what the dawn meant, and that terrible dawn crashed down around them, and he was crying again. She had not noticed the deep circles under his eyes, the clamminess of his skin, or the wrinkles developing on his forehead from frowning so much. His scars seemed to stand out in the newborn sunlight, and the seemingly hundreds of years of grief no longer hid behind his eyes, but ate away at him.
"You are," she told him firmly, "the best white knight for which a lady could ever hope."
He turned towards her, once again the battered man who dragged himself from Nalbina and across a desert to collapse in the company of those who hated him. She could almost hear the doubts in his heart and the angry accusation in his memories. King-slayer.
"My father trusted you with his life," she gently said. "He trusted you with my life, and he trusted you with Rasler's life. And he was right. You are an honourable, strong, and beautiful man with integrity and great fortitude. There is no one on Ivalice that can be trusted more."
By now, he had closed his eyes and bowed his head as if in shame, tears streaming down both cheeks and reflecting the terrible dawn.
"I cannot restore to you what you have lost," she continued regretfully. "I can only give you my word that, if my name is exalted in the years to come, so shall yours be. I cannot give you back my father, nor your fellow knights, nor your home."
"My lady," he sighed brokenly, "You are my home."
She smiled sadly and accepted him into her arms, and the two shadows of what once was held each other and shared tears, grieving themselves into exhaustion. They fell asleep, Ashe curled up against Basch's left side with her arms around his middle, and Basch with his left arm set around her, his shield between them and the world, and his right hand gripping his sword. Nothing would disturb their slumber and live. In this way, these two shadows slept peacefully, and knew that though kingdoms crumbled and fate fell away, they would always know one other person who was constant and righteous. For that moment and forever, Home was them.