8.

Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca. The name sounded over and over in the young Queen's ears. It sounded like a drum, beating in rhythm with her heart. The last three years striving for peace….and soon it would be an absolute reality. In two more days, her kingdom would be back in her hands. She smiled to herself as she overlooked her city, putting a small fist to her heart. Her name would soon bring peace to Ivalice. It was more goodness than she was recently accustomed to.

To add to such fierce joy, she was well aware she would be seeing him again. No doubt in the cockpit of the Strahl, straight as an arrow and twice as tall. He'd have that serious look on his face, as always, no doubt thinking of every troublesome thing in the world. She wondered if he ever thought of her as much as she thought of him. And yet, how inappropriate for royalty like her to be taken so much with someone like him!

Her father would have called her a spoiled child (in that affectionate way that he always did), stating quite plainly that even royalty couldn't have everything they wanted. She could almost hear his gentle voice in her mind: "Ashelia—to have gained everything and yet you lust for more—it is vanity!" She closed her eyes. Indeed. To spend so much time in fighting for her freedom, to avenge Rasler, and yet she was still not satisfied.

The evening in Rabanastre was still a swirl of color and glory. She noticed this as she leaned over the railing, watching a group of children at play many stories below her. She rested her elbows on the cement railing. It was cool to her arms and midriff. "This is what I wanted," she whispered.

She confused even herself. She had been focused only on the Resistance, on her love for Rasler, all this time. In the end, she was still left feeling empty and hollow. She knew her father and Rasler had wished her every happiness. Yet, it was so disheartening to understand what true happiness was. She muttered an obscenity as she slammed her hand down in frustration.

"My Lady Queen," One of her servants called.

She whirled, startled.

"My Lady, the Strahl will be here momentarily. Might I escort you to the landing bay?"

Then apparently he hadn't heard her last remark. "Of course," she replied, standing a bit straighter. It was a long walk to the castle's new landing bay. Oddly enough, her thoughts weren't anything particularly important. All she wondered was whether or not her friends had changed, or if their personalities and appearances had remained mostly intact. Several moments later, she found herself in front of the docked airship, waiting for the doors to open.

When they did, she held her breath. She kept her pleasant smile fixed, though she felt more like ripping her hair out altogether. Her smile wavered as she thought she saw Basch in the back—only he was standing with a strikingly pretty woman and a small child. So already he had found a new life in Archades, she supposed. He had fallen for some lovely widow and her child…

Balthier could be heard in the cockpit faintly, yet growing stronger. "Let us not waste our time idling about. I'd fancy returning for half of my cargo I dropped to be able to take all of you along in one cart load."

"Come on, Balthier!" Definitely Vaan's voice. She squinted to find other shapes in the shadows, but being only able to see Basch's right side and the woman he was with. Maybe this woman was a friend of Larsa's or…? Vaan blocked her view as he was exiting first, followed by his mentor. Penelo was quick on his heels, as always. Ashe struggled to see past them. "Eight fit last go 'round, and we're only nine this time."

"A fact of which I'm painfully aware, I assure you. Peace in your tongue, Vaan, or my mood will become most uncomfortable. Come along…"

"Ashe!" Penelo raced up to her, long braids bouncing. She grabbed her up into a hug quickly. All the guards stiffened for a moment at the sight of the saucy little sky pirate rabble embracing her, but they eased when Ashe didn't appear to be in any danger. "It's so good to see you!"

It was then that she suddenly remembered that she hadn't seen Balthier and Fran in over a year. Furthermore, only a letter had quelled her last impressions of their death. What she had seen of Vaan and Penelo had been infrequent, stiff, and informal. "I am happy to see you as well," she replied.

"Hey, Ashe." Vaan's turn for a greeting.

She shook his hand solemnly, eyes betraying her decision as to whether to hug him as well or not. However, when Balthier got close, she couldn't be contained. She took a few quick paces to him excitedly. "Balthier!" She fairly threw herself at him.

Of course, nonchalant, cool Balthier—the epitome of chivalry and self-worth—at first couldn't react in a decisive manner. But it didn't matter. She had let go of him just as quickly so as to move to Fran. Surprisingly, she then gave him a sharp look of anger. "I didn't care much for your little ruse, Sir Balthier. Next time I would have you inform me before you perform suicidal attempts for the sake of my city."

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied, dusting off his vest.

Larsa was the next to follow. To her surprise, the man she had thought to be Basch did not follow. No, but the real Basch Fon Ronsenburg passed just in front of his exact replica and came down the ramp. He had the Judge Magister's helmet under his arm, sporting the war wound that trailed from his left eyebrow down past his earlobe, hair cut in his brother's fashion, cloak swinging behind him, a large smile on his face. "Your Highness!" He spoke, pure delight in his features.

She couldn't reply. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. From out of the shadows came the undeniable double—Judge Magister Gabranth, back from the dead.

--- ---

It had taken quite some time for Lord Larsa to explain why the Fon Ronsenburg twin wasn't dead and buried. Furthermore, after the information had been divulged, Queen Ashe didn't know how to react. On one hand, he had murdered her father. She felt as if forgiveness for such a crime was inexcusable. On the other hand, he had helped them in the final battle against the empire and Vayne. In his last words before that decisive action, he appeared to feel true remorse. All she could hear of his voice, however, were his taunts at Ridorana: "Lady Ashe! Your father's murderer is here!" "I slew your country; I slew your king!" "Avenge your father!" In light of all this, all she could do was stare agape, helplessly glancing between he and Basch.

"This must come as quite a shock," Balthier offered. "I hardly believed it possible myself."

Her eyes shifted to Nadia questioningly. "I am the scientist Lord Larsa spoke of. I am also his wife and the mother of his son, Leith."

"I see."

Larsa glanced between them for a moment before taking another step towards Ashe. He had grown taller in the last year, and now was nearly able to see her eye-to-eye. "I have imposed on the Lady Fon Ronsenburg the restriction that she may never practice magicks again, and that she may never possess Nethicite, manufacted or otherwise. However, I believe her actions—while disapproved—could work for the benefit of us all. Therefore, I have kept he and Basch's identity carefully hidden. By your leave, I wish to do so here as well. Recent events have encouraged me to proceed with further caution. I meant only to reveal him so as not to diminish your trust in either I or this alliance."

Her pale blue eyes settled on Gabranth. She registered no emotion. If she felt any one of them, she kept it carefully hidden under a neutral farce—as a good ruler should. He was unable to meet that stare at first. Finally, his wife nudged him. With a nervous swallow, he stepped forward to face her directly. "Your Highness," he bowed humbly, "My memory is little, so I know not the reasons why I slew your father or betrayed my brother. However, should I only be allowed a chance, I would do all possible to ensure your forgiveness for my unfathomable actions."

Her eyes narrowed—not exactly in anger, not quite—as she stared down at his bowed form. "Rise," she fairly snapped. "Now is not the time to discuss such things." She glanced at Larsa. "You have my leave to do as necessary to keep you and your new Advisor safe. It matters not to me."

"Thank you."

Later that night, after the arrangements had been made for their rooms, she managed to muddle through a pre-arranged celebratory dinner. (That had been somewhat easier. The real Gabranth had to loan Basch his family to keep from arousing suspicion. He acted as a secondary guard, standing at the end of the table in full armor while his brother was allowed to remove his helmet and eat to his satiation.) She made her way to the training room to blow off some steam shortly after. All of her guards knew better than to interrupt her here. She was well secluded, and allowed to work out her frustrations on holographic beasts instead of the true subjects of her wrath.

She had worked up a pretty admirable sweat by the time she heard the double doors whoosh closed behind her. "I ordered no disturbances!" She bellowed, spinning on the Behemoth violently. His holographic severed head rolled a few feet before flickering and fading away.

"As I was told," the person responded. She fairly gasped, turning to the speaker. Indeed, it was he! Basch smiled at her. "They decided to make an exception." He was still in Gabranth's uniform.

"Naturally. You always did enjoy the love of the people, even more than did her royal fathers." She turned her back on him, using the back of her hand to wipe off her glistening forehead.

He set his helmet down on the floor before approaching her. "Not always, though it pains me to admit," he replied.

"Fear not. Your shame vanished the day Vayne did," she answered. "Can you still handle a sword, or do you prize your brother's weapons, now?" She tossed him an extra sword from the casing and took her stand ready.

He gave her a half-smile. "Bearing a sword against Dalmascan royalty is a serious offense."

"You should know better than any else," she retorted sarcastically. "Stay your hesitation. If I trusted naught else, I would forever lay my trust in you."

They proceeded to spar, each carefully avoiding harming the other. Nevertheless, it was a vigorous workout for the both of them. Ten minutes later, Basch was sweating and panting for breath. "You have not lost your edge," he told her.

"Nor yours!" She stepped away and then dove back in. Suddenly, however, just as he caught her sword, she lowered her weapon and backed away, giggling.

He stared at her in wonder. He never could remember her laughing, as long as he had been in service to Dalmasca. Perhaps when she had been a child she had been jovial, though he hadn't known her, then. She had always been so serious. Born from birth to rule, she had always carried a tremendous burden of responsibility. Joy had always suited her before—now was no exception—but he had assumed the troubles of her ruler ship had forced her to dispense with laughter altogether. "Your Majesty?"

She covered her mouth with the back of her hand. "I was thinking of the perchance of a servant walking in just now!" She shook her head, laughing harder. "They ought think you to be at it again!"

At first, he didn't know what to think about that. And then, as the images played in his mind of such a scenario, a smile crooked into his lips, as well. That would have been peculiarly ironic, indeed. "Majesty, is there a reason you are in here battling into a rage instead of preparing your coronation speech?" He took her sword from her hand and placed it on the rack.

"Is there a reason you are here with me instead of Lord Larsa?" She had apparently been sensitive to his question.

He nodded readily. "Each room holds a memory," he answered. His voice sounded distant, reminiscent. Just like she remembered, it was rich and laced with gentleness. "Emperor Larsa has given me leave to explore them." He kept his back to her, trying to stay occupied with the sword rack.

She frowned to herself, turning her back as well. "I must admit it was hard to believe you and he were twins. That is, until you arrived carrying his persona. The resemblance is…startling."

"This disturbs you?" He asked, softly.

"You carry his manner well."

"I've been told I carry it miserably." He chuckled to himself. "Hours of lessons from Lord Larsa on how to walk more arrogantly, talk more decisively. I remember once how Judge Zargabaath said I had softened since Ridorana. He spoke something of my personal situation taking a harsh toll on my manner. I thought he meant 'Gabranth' had changed from Vayne's death. Never could I have imagined he thought I was going through a separation with my supposed wife."

Ashe smiled faintly to herself. Poor Basch must have had quite a shock with that one, she supposed. "I'm beginning to worry for Larsa's love of secrets. He was able to keep everyone's tongue at bay, even about a matter such as that?"

"Indeed, at Nadia's request."

She hesitated for a moment, unsure of how she should proceed. "And why would she wish to keep it a secret? Why bring your brother back at all?"

"You are doubting her loyalty."

She spun to face him finally, being taken aback by the realization of how tall he was. "Should I not? She knew more of Gabranth and Vayne than any of us. Perhaps the plot…" Her eyes fell to her hands.

He shook his head. "I knew her well; as much as I knew Noah. Though my hatred for my brother festered, my hope n'er died. I knew the man he was within. Though she's made her share of mistakes, I would never doubt her motives. She no doubt wished only good."

"And you can accept this, can you? He killed my father!"

Basch gazed at her for a moment in a way that made her feel shame. "At one time your hatred for me burned just as strongly." He could still feel the sting on his jaw from when she had slapped him. Worse yet were her words, "You're supposed to be dead!" He could remember the shame, the pain roiling up inside of him, threatening to quench the relief and determination he had felt when he had seen her alive. "Nadia claims part of her reason for raising him was to give a chance of absolute redemption. Majesty, should we not give him such a chance?"

His words had hit home. Her eyes filled with sadness and regret. She was remembering the same incident, when on the Leviathan she had mistaken him for a traitor. "Your council is wise," she answered humbly. How she had missed him! His words of wisdom, council, honor, and nobility…She regretted ever doubting him at all. She realized not long after Vossler placed him over her care that he'd sooner die than betray her. "Welcome back, Captain Basch."

He took a step towards her. Her face flushed as she realized again how tall he was, how close he was, how much the new shave and haircut showed the piercing blue of his eyes. Her heart fluttered up into her throat as she smiled. "I've missed you terribly, Majesty."

--- ---

Balthier couldn't leave the aerodrome fast enough. Lately Fran had acted as if he had tied her ears in a knot. Everything he said and did seemed to put her on edge. Sweet, humble, saucy little Fran had turned on him, baring her teeth like a cobra. He thought maybe being apart from her people and the wood had driven her totally insane, at first. As he played the sequences through his mind, however, he knew why things had gotten so overwrought. Seeing Gabranth happily settled, catching Vaan and Penelo at the airship…one could only figure it was a logical step to follow. She apparently felt the driving need to settle and have a family of her own. This brought him to an invariably difficult decision. He despised the thought of losing her, but if it would be the only thing to make her his old satisfied Fran, he would have to let her loose.

He was thinking these things as he crossed through Westgate into the Southern Plaza. He knew not why there were never any Moogling systems about when you needed one. Currently he was on his way to the Sandsea Tavern and felt he couldn't get there fast enough. He happened to look to his right to the fountain as he waltzed past. There, he caught sight of Nadia sitting by herself at the fountain. "Passing strange," he muttered aloud. Only a few other people muddled about this time of the evening, and none were her husband or progeny. He thought at first of leaving her be, as that was what she obviously wanted. His noble, chivalrous senses convinced him otherwise. Any decent leading man would check in on the estranged lady.

He sighed aloud in exasperation before he made his way over to her. As he got closer, he thought that one day he just might do something for himself. She was quite attractive in the Dalmascan moonlight: her hair was down about her shoulders; she wore an outfit similar to the one she used to wear in old Archades. "I should think hardly anyone tours this city alone," he called to her.

She turned to him with a faint smile. "Actually, I believe I'm lost. It matters not, though. I'm quite comfortable here."

"I see." He parked himself next to her in timeless Balthier fashion—one knee up, leaning back on the opposite elbow. "Trouble in the homeland or some such?"

She didn't reply, a sure sign that he should take this conversation in a different direction.

"You wouldn't mind helping me with my particular frustration, perchance?" He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, keeping his tone neutral and unconcerned. "Where might a thirsty pirate find a good bottle of spirits about?"

She shook her head. "I trust you know better than I; you've been here before. You aren't the best at wayward conversation, are you?"

He raised an eyebrow. Nailed. He shook his head quickly with a shrug. "Noticed, have you?"

She smiled to herself. "I never did thank you properly for your help in old Archades."

He waved his arm casually. "Think nothing of it. It was naught a leading man wouldn't do for a lady." In his mind, it was nothing worth speaking of, besides. He only knew her for two weeks before he fled. Just before he left, he told his father that if 'ever the need be for a conscientious assistant with a mind greater than gold', he would be wise to choose the new Landian woman by the name of Nadia. Everything else he did was merely in his jurisdiction as a Judge.

She laughed. "So this is your story, is it?"

"Naturally. How else would it be told?"

"I understand. Tell me something, Sir Ffamaran Bunansa…er…Balthier. You warded off my husband before he died last year, did you not?"

He stiffened. "As did we all."

"Then you must know some of what proceeded. Military secrets are kept even from the wives. Tell me, did he murder Sir Zecht?" She turned and looked at him squarely as she spoke.

His lip twitched as he thought of how to say it. He could have, of course, said that he tried to. He would have if given the chance, despite what Zecht had done for him in the past. All in the line of duty for a Judge, be it told. Instead, he kept a passive expression and replied in the most truthful way he possibly could. "No."

She let out a breath of relief. "There were rumors of such…and—did he murder Judge Drace?"

He gave a frustrated huff. "I know not. I was no longer a Judge, remember? I hadn't been for more than five years."

"I apologize. Most likely it is a life you would just assume forget altogether. I only thought perhaps you had learned the truth of it, somehow." Her eyes went glassy as she looked away. "She was his one true friend in the empire. Of all the judges, Emperors, Justices, and common soldiers, she was the only person who ever wished him joy. She was the only one who would come to check on us if she was there and he was on assignment. She was relief he found—nobility in his profession. I cannot imagine him taking her life."

"Then why doubt at all?"

Her lower lip trembled for a moment before she spoke. "The last memory I had of my husband before his death…" She frowned. "Vayne told me such, with that evil snarling grin on his highly unattractive face. I know what you are thinking, you know: Why should I believe him at all? Truthfully, I did not want to. But…Gabranth and I…we had a… discussion about her death before. It bothered him in a way I had never seen before. When Vayne spoke such words, the distress was too much for me. When I awoke, Gabranth was arguing with a group full of people and with Vayne himself. I was too tired to even speak, so I fell back to sleep. Two days later, Larsa informed me that he had died." Her face flushed as she turned to gaze at Balthier. "I cannot imagine him being a murderer! I must know the truth!"

"And that is the key reason for your experimentation?"

She nodded. "And yet I am afraid to know the truth. If it is indeed the truth, mayhap he could redeem himself. I—cannot imagine him to be a ruthless killer!"

He gave her a decisive stare before he sat up to speak to her more levelly. When I was first appointed Judge, I served under the emperor to subjugate a small town by the name of Landis." He dared not dwell on her wondering expression, for he had a clear motive in mind for his words. "The people there fought valiantly. So eager were they to protect, so strong their leadership that we hastened to think we may lose altogether. When it finally did fall to the Archadian arm, I sought to find whomsoever was strong enough to be called their leader. We took the prisoners, one by one—my incorrigible father at my side—until there was only one left. We spied him running through the back lines. Most thought he was running for his life, and sought to quench it in one bold stroke.

"We found otherwise. He fought and ran to protect something more important than himself. He respected and loved the young woman he fought to save much more deeply. If only had his life been on the line, I would have thought less of him. There is, however, an insurmountable difference between sacrificing one's life, and sacrificing one's determination to live. He chose to sacrifice his honor and pride for your sake. That is no small task."

She blinked. The leader he was speaking of was Noah. Honestly Basch had been the one to urge Landis to defenses. However, when Basch went for help, Noah had to step in and take his place. Rightfully then, Noah could be called leader. It would have made him proud to hear Balthier speaking of him so. "Why are you telling me this, Ffamaran?"

"Any man who places such a high value on life—besides his own—is not capable of being a killer without conscience. Though I must say I was surprised to discover he and the infamous Minister of Law Judge Gabranth were one in the same." He shrugged, falling back to his former position after he made his point.

"Do you remember how you would come and check to make sure General Neveritt left me be?" At his nod, she continued. "After you left, he did try something appalling. Judge Magister Zecht stepped in and saved me at the last moment. Noah remembered that and how well you treated us on the way to Archades from the fallen Landis. He saw Judges as men having incorruptible honor. He felt he could protect the Landian refugees with a position of power, consequently reclaiming his lost honor." She fumbled with the wedding ring on her left hand absent-mindedly as she spoke. "I remember how passionately excited he was about the whole ordeal. To move his new bride into nearly the throne-room of the most powerful man in Ivalice! He could scarcely contain himself!"

He looked up at the stars, counting how many were possibly airships floating lazily through space. "And yet the man in Landis and the man who confronted us at Ridorana were not the same." He wished Fran were with him. There were a few stars he didn't recognize here, and she would no doubt teach him their names. She was well versed in such unworldly things.

Her face fell for a moment. He was almost sorry he had said anything at all. "Being a Judge did slowly change him," she agreed. "At first, he was appointed only as a Minor Judge. He enjoyed the love of the Landian refugees, as he kept them safe. He became Judge Magister quickly thereafter. The changes were gradual, but it bore enough weight to crush my heart. You know how they are trained," she almost seemed to be pleading with him with those last words. "Nary a day went by that he wasn't drilled to exhaustion, brain-washed by their propaganda!"

Balthier nodded. "I remember well." His voice was grave. He could thank the old man for the hell he was put through in his late teens.

She turned her face away. She was ashamed to feel the beginning of tears in her eyes. "And yet, every day, there was but a glimmer—a brief ray of hope. Perhaps only a word, an expression, or a smile. Somehow I knew beyond all doubt that Noah had not died in Gabranth's wake. He lives inside still."

"Gratitude belonging to you," he replied.

She turned to him, smiling again. "I cannot say an apology for my actions. I know they were correct. I came here thinking I wish eh could remember his life. Now, I am forever grateful he does not."

He winked at her. "He remembers the more pleasant things by now, no doubt."

Her face flushed instantly and she hid behind her hands, giggling. "Thank you, Ffamaran."

"Balthier, my lady," he reminded her.

"I'll never be able to train my tongue to that."

"Do try. I'd rather not relive my Judge Ffamaran days. I'd fancy being in your gallant husband's shoes, I'd wager."

They sat looking about the plaza until she suddenly turned to him. "What of you, Balthier?"

"What of me?"

"Don't you conjure someone in particular by now? You aren't lacking in valor or attraction. Certainly by now…"

The color rushed from his face all at once and he appeared extremely agitated. He sat up uneasily, brushing at his sleeves. "A page I'd rather not turn, peace needed."

"What about that little Vie--"

"I'd fancy a drink, remember?" He replied, changing the subject. "I've shaved off enough gil for a bit more. Care to join me?"

She looked at him helplessly for a moment before she flashed a reconciling smile. No more would she mention that particular subject, as it troubled him so. 'That is, at least, for this present moment'. "I would rather enjoy a drink myself," she replied.

He extended an elbow to her as he stood. "Then let's be about it, shall we?"

--- ---

She had been slowly becoming more melancholic over the past two years. It had started when she noticed his hair growing, how he kept a trimmed beard. She enjoyed the appearance, and often told him so. He always disliked it—and at one point, he even fairly yelled at her, wondering how she could "find it so appealing?" She had been confused, somehow figuring that was the point. He couldn't help his jealousy. He was aiming to look like his brother, after all.

When he came back from Nabradia, after he had framed his brother, she had met him at the door—not with the rapture that she normally did—but with a somewhat dubious air of mild pleasure. She knew he had been up to something. At that point, she asked him plainly what had happened. He pretended all was well, but she had known better. "You're different," she replied, eyes staring into his. "I can see it within you now. Something has forever changed you, has it not?" He had informed her he was now whole, a better man. She was unconvinced.

Slowly, after the months to follow, she slowly began to slip from him. He became more interested in the affairs of state. He only spoke of the Senate's treachery and the vows of House Solidor. She would politely listen, but he could tell her heart was not with her. At times, he caught her sitting at the window, staring listlessly out to the city beyond, fingering her wedding ring. In guilt, he tried very hard to be a dutiful husband. He still loved her and wished to prove it. However, it was becoming increasingly difficult to be a Father, a Husband, and a Judge Magister, which is one reason that he supposed he was the only one who was married.

Things took a turn for the worse the day Vayne Solidor became emperor.

When he met his wife at the door, as was their custom, he could only imagine how he looked. He had just returned from Bur-Omisace with Larsa. Drace had only been dead for a few hours, and already the government had buried her (dishonorably, at that). If he could have imagined, he could see he himself with hollow eyes, a displaced stare, and a haggard, lifeless expression on his handsome features. Nadia, always the nursemaid, took him into her arms. "Gabranth! Whatever happened?"

He brushed her aside, marching numbly to the couch and falling into it.

"You look so strange," she followed him in. Her hand was suddenly on his face, cool against his warm skin. "Are you ill?"

"I need to eat," he told her. Even at that, he forced the words out of his mouth. He pushed her hands away roughly and refused to meet her hurt gaze.

She did as she was told. "Perhaps I should call Drace," she put in kindly. "She always makes you feel better."

"Drace is dead!" He snapped.

Her hand flew to her mouth. "Dead?" She wondered aloud. She asked how it

happened. He replied that he couldn't say, but she kept after him. Constantly, all evening long, pleading with him to tell her so that she may help him. Finally, he lost his temper and everything within him snapped. "Damn your questions, you silly woman!" He yelled. "You can know nothing of duty or obligation! You consistently want me to change! I cannot speak! I will not speak! I am a Judge Magister of the Archadian law! My orders surpass your incessant demands! If you knew me at all you would be silenced! Now let me be!" He stood to walk into the next room. His heart was beating violently in his chest. Every muscle in his body ached. How he missed Drace! He would forever be haunted with the knowledge that he had been the one to drive the sword into her side. Even if he was not under obligation to keep this sworn secret, he felt he could never tell Nadia. It would shatter her. He had to be forceful to protect her.

As he made his way into the bedroom, he heard the sound of the front door clanging shut loudly. He froze for a moment before turning to the sound, looking into the kitchen. Nadia was indeed gone. He dove for the front door in harrowed frustration. "What was I thinking?! What have I done?!" He asked himself angrily as he ran after her. She was running away from him—he was losing her!

He caught glimpses of her hair and skirt as she tore down the hallway, stumbling ever so often over her own feet. She was making her way out of the castle, to the lower deck street. If she reached the street, he may never see her again! "Nadia!" He cried, as he ran after her. At first, his call was laced with anger. As he considered his actions, however, and continued to give chase, it gave way to regret and then fear. "Nadia, please wait!" All the memories came back to him from over the years—from the day she celebrated her sixteenth birthday to now. His heart broke inside. He was destroying her—the one thing he had always never failed to protect!

He put on an extra burst of speed and managed to shove open the front doors, catching her by her wrist. It was raining outside. The thunder and the lighting almost frightened him, as it clashed the same time as she spun, wrenching away from him. "Leave me be, Gabranth!" She cried. Tears ran down her face in a way he had only seen once before…when their homeland was destroyed…it stung him that he had caused that grief.

Icy-cold raindrops struck his skin in quick succession as he pleaded with her. "I would not let you go!" He offered, stepping forward to catch her again. "Those words…I meant them not, Nadia!"

She was wrestling away from him, stepping closer to the street. The two guards at the door glanced at each other as they observed their Judge Magister of the law having this falling-out with this woman. "But you do mean them!" She managed to break free. She stepped away, clutching the necklace he had given her on her sixteenth birthday in her palm. "I mean nothing to you now! You are involved with your loyalty to this country—your…" she paused, glancing over him bitterly. "With your glorious redemption of your honor! You will never find it this way! All this hate…it destroys you! It destroys us! I cannot live with such hate!" She backed up a few paces further, away from him.

"No, please, Nadia…"

"All I ever wanted," she was shaking all over, the sobs racking her body. Her face twisted in grief. "All I ever wanted was Noah! He lives within you still. You have covered him, suppressed him with this—warlord that you call Gabranth! Your son! Your son knows you not! This used to bother you! It does not concern you anymore!"

"But it does concern me!" He was shouting, but not out of anger, though it appeared that way. In reality, he only wished to howl in frustration.

"The only reason he calls you father is because it is forced upon him by his mother! You are a stranger to him! What is worse—you are becoming a stranger to me! I cannot live like this, Gabranth! Just leave me be! I need…" she paused, licking her lips and glancing about almost wildly. "I need time. I will return when I can. I need time."

"But you'll never return!" He pleaded. The officers had gone inside so as not to intrude on the private conversation. Whilst they could no longer hear, they stood staring out the window to see what would occur. "I cannot bear it!"

"You will learn to survive," she shot back heartily. "As you always do!"

"The only reason I have survived is because of you!" He yelled.

She had turned to cross the street. Now she turned to him on her heel. The rain trailed down her face. Suddenly she seemed to calm a bit. She observed him coolly. "What do you mean? I have nothing to do with your military success."

"That means naught to me if I cannot prote…" He hesitated, forcing down the vomit rising into his throat. Between Drace's murder and this…the stress felt as if it would rip him apart. He gasped for a moment. "Everything I have done, I have done to keep you safe, comfortable. I have gotten confused in the way I handle matters—but my love faltered never."

She stood still, gazing at him for a moment. "I…I don't…"

"Forgive me." His head bowed in defeat. His stomach was sick. It was not just this moment that tortured him. Every sin he had ever committed had suddenly come crashing in one him in one pace. He was devoid of honor. He had no reason to feel any pride. He was a stray, a lonely hound in a foreign nation. Just like a hound, he had turned on the one thing that had brought him happiness. His hatred for Basch had consumed him. It had been the only thing that had mattered for two years, now. How long had she lived with him, going through the motions, realizing that? How long had she done her duties toward him, knowing that instead of her face being his comfort, it was the tortured face of his long-lost twin? How long had she realized that his whole energy and joy towards anything he had done was because he felt he had satisfied his vengeance? But it was not Gabranth that pleaded with her now. It was that young man from Landis, the young man that had loved her since he was old enough to know what love was. Noah was the one begging, imploring her forgiveness. "Forgive me," In his mind, an image of Drace, just before he ran her through. Nadia's eyes, round in disbelief and pain, as he yelled and swore at her.

"Noah," she whispered. He looked up to realize she was standing just in front of him. Suddenly her small hands were cupped around his face.

"You will not leave?"

"No," she assured him. "Quickly…" She cast a glance at the soldiers looking through the window. "I have insulted your pride enough."

"I have no pride," he told her. "A man like me deserves nothing."

They returned to their home, back to their son, who was in a fright over where his parents had gotten off to.

The days that followed were meant to repair a broken relationship. However, Gabranth soon learned that divided loyalties did not appeal to the new emperor. Just after sending Gabranth on his mission to find Ashe, Vayne found Mrs. Fon Ronsenburg in the hallway. "I have sent your husband on another errand," he told her. "I hope it will not be too much of a discomfort to you."

She forced a smile. She didn't care for Vayne and they both knew it all too well. That, in fact, was his purpose for speaking with her, though she knew naught of it, yet. He had found her alone in the hallway, going to pick up her son from the school Archadia provided. She was wearing her Researcher's garb, and he knew she had been at work. Furthermore, he had heard the reports that she and Gabranth were on the outs. He viewed it as an advantage. While his father had encouraged the union, believing this to give Gabranth strength, Vayne had a different idea. He had seen Gabranth's power in action, and he knew his ultimate strength came from tragedy. "I have learned to live with such errands, my Lord," she replied. "He always knows I'm waiting for him to return. It brings him back safely."

"A wonderful incentive it must be, to return to a beautiful woman," he mentioned aloud. "Though if I were he, I would think to be ashamed of it."

"Whatever do you mean?" She asked, a bit shocked.

"Asking for the love of such a compassionate woman, when he has committed the most contemptible sins." He glanced over his shoulder, realizing that she was about to come to her husband's aid. He moved quickly, never allowing her time to answer. "Why, to murder his own partner at a mere suggestion…"

She shook her head. "What do you…?"

"He hasn't informed you? Why, I thought he would have by now, as you are so close."

Larsa was coming just up the hallway, observing the goings-on from the distance.

She was afraid to ask, but she did. Her face went pale as she forced the words, "What do you mean?"

"Drace, madam. He murdered Drace. But be assured; he did it for the good of the Archadian empire. Good-day." He nodded at her and then walked away coolly past Larsa, smiling to himself.

What was left of the color in her face completely washed away. She put her hands to her chest for a moment, eyes and mouth round.

"Are you ill?" Larsa cried, running towards her.

"Noah," she breathed, before she passed out cold.

Larsa knelt beside her for a moment, giving his brother a cold glance. Whatever he had just said to her had upset her enough to have a breakdown. "Fetch Judge Magister Gabranth!" He called to the two guards standing at the door. He shook his head sadly as he gazed at her. 'Poor woman.'