Author's Note: Firstly, I just ate an Arby's brocoli 'n cheddar baked potato, and it was freakin' delicious. Secondly, I'm glad you're along for the ride and here's the third chapter! Also, keep your eyes peeled for a three-chapter long winter fic coming from me. Vague details can be found in my profile!


"Inconvenient Incarceration"

Balthier awoke hours later in a daze. Darkness dissipating, he glanced around and found little familiarity in his prison. The stone walls and gilded glory of the treasure room were gone, and in their place lay the gleaming metal floor that blatantly told him he was on an airship. Hauling himself to his knees, he looked up to see a handful of imperial guards guarding his spacious cell.

"I don't see why they need this many of us to guard one lousy pirate," one said. His heavily accented voice dictated his Archadian heritage.

"He's not just a pirate," another replied tremulously. "He's Balthier."

"What?" came another, sounding incredulous. "Balthier Bunansa?"

"Yeah!" said the second voice. "They caught him in Lord Bryther's treasury!"

"So what?" another asked, voice thick with skepticism. It was the first guard that had spoken. "He's not the first to have breeched the treasury, and he shan't be last. Never treated any other thieves to more than one guard and a quick execution, so why're we taking him to Nalbina on a fleet ship?"

"You can't be serious," spoke the tremulous one, this time sounding flabbergasted. "Haven't you heard about him?"

"He's right," affirmed the third. "I heard he stole all the Dynast-King's treasure."

"If he did that, he wouldn't need Lord Bryther's treasure," the first reasoned.

"You don't know that!" exclaimed the second. "You don't think like a sky pirate, do you?"

"No, and I'm right glad I don't!" Balthier barely kept from laughing. Apparently, his reputation had greatly preceded him.

The third voice spoke up, sounding mystified. "I heard it wasn't only the Dynast-King's treasure, but he also stole from the treasury in Rabanastre!"

"And Archades!" piped the second.

"That's nonsense! Nothing but a bunch of fairytales and gossip! Where have you been hearing all this, then?"

The second muttered something, and the first scolded him. "The Sword and Scabbard," he said louder.

The first let loose a hearty, mocking laugh. "Right! From a bunch of drunks and peasants, that so? Reliable sources they are!"

"It's true!" protested the second voice, though it was now considerably feebler.

"Well, he may not have robbed Rabanastre or Archades, but he did have the gall to rob Lord Bryther," interjected the third.

"A lot of good that did him," the first chuckled. "He's on his way to his death in Nalbina dungeons. There's no amount of treasure what's going to save him now!"

"Now, that's just unfair," Balthier spoke up. The three guards turned and peered into the cell, shocked to see the sky pirate standing and regarding them smugly. "I believe the right amount of treasure can do anything, don't you?"

"Y-you quiet down!" said the tallest guard, who Balthier recognized to be the tremulous one.

"Careful," Balthier chided. "I bite."

"That's enough!" another fumed. He was of medium height and was the skeptical one. "You'll sit and be silent!"

"Can't I join in on your conversation?" Balthier asked in mock innocence. "It did sound so intriguing."

"Now, listen here you…" the guard's sentence was cut short as the ship lurched suddenly. All three imperials were flung down the hall, and Balthier's shoulder smashed into the corner of his cell painfully. Red light flashed lambently, accented by a sharp alarm.

A voice came over the PA. "All hands report to battle stations, the Ixion is under attack."

They took me on the Ixion Balthier thought, picturing the relatively small carrier ship in his mind. Well, that's embarrassing.

Kneeling and glancing up, he barely saw the imperials rush past his cell. Groaning, he heard their footsteps fade in the distance, drowned out by the ship's alarm. "Oh, don't worry about me," he called after them. "I'll be fine!"

Leaning back against the wall and steadying himself despite the constant shake of the ship, Balthier made quick work of his restraints. Within minutes the heavy metal fastenings slid off his wrists and clattered to the floor with a resounding thud that was audible even over the discordant siren.

Reaching into his pockets for his lock pick, Balthier frowned. Glancing down, he was dismayed, yet unsurprised, to find all his belongings had been taken from him. Taking a look around, he searched for anything that might aid his escape. He found nothing but his recently shed shackles, which were too large with which to pick a lock and too small with which to break down a door. "Damn," he muttered.

"Need some assistance?" a recognizable voice beckoned from the cell door. Balthier turned quickly to see the woman from the previous night standing there looking rather proud, a set of keys dangling precariously from her fingers.

"I suppose you're the valiant one now," he remarked as she went through a process of elimination, shoving one key after another into the lock until she found the right fit.

"I like to keep things interesting." A tiny click! was heard and the cell door swung open, narrowly avoiding a collision with its prisoner.

Balthier strode out of his confines and gave her an inquisitive look. "You've no trouble accomplishing that, it seems."

She grinned, handing him his gun and lock pick. "You travel light, a fact for which I am grateful. Now we'd best be off, as my ship can only distract those imperial nitwits for so long."

They headed down the narrower sets of halls, the ones used by researchers and scientists rather than guards. "Your ship?"

She nodded, veering left and heading down a darkened set of stairs. "The Quill, a fine threat to any imperial fleet ship."

"If she can take the Ixion then why the rush?" he asked as they neared the bay.

"Even if your child could take on a cockatrice, you wouldn't let him, would you?" He grinned as they both fell into silence, skulking into the Ixion's bay. They snuck surreptitiously behind a large carrier vessel, weaving through lines of smaller one-man war vehicles. Finally, they reached one close enough to the others being deployed to not appear suspicious. Slipping another key into the door's lock, it slid open and they slipped inside.

"I hope you're not a backseat pilot," she said, approaching the controls.

"Not at all," he assured. "In fact, I'm rather the front-seat kind." He slipped past her and slid into the pilot's seat, fingers flying over buttons and levers. Rolling her eyes, she took a seat beside him and told him which way to head. Within minutes they were gliding out of the Ixion's bay and through the myriad of attacking war vehicles.

A few hundred feet from them sat the Quill, a thin, streamlined ship. Even from a distance, Balthier could tell it was slightly rusting, and appeared aged and decrepit – not at all threatening. "The perfect disguise, don't you think?" The woman's voice broke the silence.

Balthier shrugged. "Even if your child could creep by cockatrices dressed as a peasant, would you let him?"

She laughed. "If it keeps him humble."

They said nothing more as the small vehicle sped towards the airship, and further away from yet another of Balthier's daring escapes.