The words don't sink in for a while, and all she can do is sit in her chair and stare at the papers on her table, the water she spilt gradually smearing the ink. But as her eyes struggle to focus, she realizes that these are papers listing grievances against Rozarria – these papers are written proof that something very grave has happened to her. War? She's fought tirelessly to maintain peace and in one day – a day she lived and cannot recall – she may have negated everything.
She rises from her seat, and everyone remains quiet while she paces the room, pondering what to do. Perhaps all is not lost. "Has our intent to declare war made it outside of the palace?"
There is a shuffling of feet, and the chamberlain speaks up again. "Yes, my lady. There is…there are planned demonstrations this afternoon against your decision." She presses her hand against her mouth to prevent herself from screaming. "Surely word has reached Rozarria by now."
"What reason have I to declare war against them?" she mutters, more to herself than to her councilors. She moves to the window and looks out at her capital. No wonder the courtyards were devoid of life. She has managed to terrify her entire staff in the course of a day. And now demonstrations? She must stop this immediately.
Walking steadily to the table, she picks up the formal declaration papers and shreds them before the doubtful, pitying faces of the people in the room. The scraps litter her gown, and she tears at them until her hands ache. "My lady," her defense minister interrupts. "What are you doing?"
"I…I was not myself yesterday. We must tender apologies to the Rozarrians immediately before this escalates. Surely Dalmasca has not geared up for conflict in less than a day," she says softly, feeling the pounding in her head grow more insistent as the implications of her lost time become more and more real. Al-Cid is her friend – he will not let his father act hastily against her. She cannot even imagine what ridiculous reason her addled mind could have come up with to lash out at a country far stronger than her own.
"You had the gates of the Ianusa Temple opened."
She whirls to face her top ranking general. Ashe remembers the last time they were opened – when word of Nabudis' fall reached Rabanastre. Ianusa is the temple of war, and Ashe has longed to keep its gates closed for the remainder of her reign. How did they all obey such an irrational decision? No wonder her people are protesting. There is no more symbolic representation of a Dalmasca at war than to see the heavy iron gates wide open.
"I want them closed immediately." There is more muttering. "Stop whispering as if I am not here! There will be no war, and the gates will be closed. Seal them shut if you must!"
The military men exchange glances and depart the chamber hurriedly. She must appear to be a madwoman, and as the realization of her grave errors in judgment continue to sink in, she wonders if she is losing her mind. Her council is quiet, awaiting her next decision. She has become too powerful in so short a time – how could they have allowed her to behave in such a manner?
The chamberlain's eyes are weary. "We do as Your Majesty commands. I will dispatch messengers to the Ambervale with all haste – I just pray that the Emperor Hammad will forgive us."
Her trade advisor nods. "We rely upon their grain, my lady."
"I know this, sir," she responds irritably. "Do not speak to me as if I am ignorant of the grievous errors I've made." Ashe pinches the bridge of her nose and tries to control her temper. She cannot alienate her most trusted officials any more than she has already managed to do in one short day. "What time are the demonstrations?"
-----
Thousands throng the streets leading to her palace. She recalls the military line-up the day Rasler went off to battle, and then the horrific sight of Vayne Solidor being applauded by her people. Will she come across in the same manner? A despot seeking to court their favor? The day Vayne as consul spoke to Rabanastre, Ashe had spent the majority of the day under the streets preparing to assassinate him.
Despite Vossler's insistence that she not listen, Ashe had climbed out of Lowtown and joined the crowds. None recognized her, and she recalls how the man's words carried across the open space – the promises to respect Dalmascan tradition, to restore Rabanastre to glory when it was his Empire that had brought her low in the first place. And they had applauded him. Ashe remembers how she fled the streets in tears, not caring what anyone thought. It had only served to galvanize her against the Empire all the more.
But now she comes to speak before an angry and confused crowd as the Queen who has abruptly declared war against a friend. Will they harangue her as they did Vayne when he first began to speak? They shouted for him to return to Archades – how will they curse her? Will they ignore her pleas for forgiveness? Will they ever look upon her favorably again after she has unknowingly and unwittingly caused such disquiet?
She's had a platform placed in the center of the square, choosing to stand amongst them all when she apologizes. It places her in a more vulnerable position, but she does not care. She has wronged that which means the very most to her – she must face the consequences. A retinue of guards marches ahead, having the people move aside as she marches resolutely to the platform.
Their words sting harshly as she moves through her people – the same people who humbly sought to petition her days before. Each person's words write themselves upon her heart, and she knows she will carry them as scars for the rest of her life.
"We cannot go to war, my lady, I beg you…"
"I lost both of my sons in the last war…how can you…"
"The Rozarrians will enslave or murder us…unless they would see us starved, Majesty!"
She must bear it all, and her eyes burn with tears. Ashe rises to the platform, and she looks out at the hurt and confused faces of her people. Some have hand painted signs begging her to call off this war. She sees the innocent faces of children atop their parents' shoulders and would give anything to have her lost day back.
"I come before you first to make it absolutely clear that there will be no war with Rozarria," she shouts, her voice straining to make itself heard amongst the protesting thousands. "I was in error, and I am here to beg your forgiveness." A Queen cannot show weakness – she must be strong for her people, but she cannot in good conscience speak to them without seeking absolution.
They are stunned into silence, but where she expects them to say or do something – curse her or praise her – they do nothing. Instead they are riveted to her as she walks in circles, trying to let her eyes reach as many faces as she can. The sun beats down hot on her, and her headache returns harsher than ever. But she must press on.
"I acted without thinking, and for that I am ashamed. I did not act with your wishes at the forefront of my mind, and that is inexcusable. Dalmasca is devoted to peace, and so am I. Please, return to your businesses. There will be no war."
The crowd finally begins to disperse, the signs pulled down and some smattering of applause and shouts of "Long live Your Majesty" reaching her ears. There is still doubt in their faces, and she cannot blame them. She doesn't even remember declaring war in the first place, and perhaps it is time to see a doctor.
When she turns around on the platform to return to the palace, her vision blurs again. The guard who rushes to her side is doubled in front of her eyes. The sun bakes her skin, and she cannot breathe. She hears the murmurs of the guards as she feels herself sink to her knees, and they seem to be arguing whether or not they can carry her without violating her sacred and untouchable status as their Queen. The voices sound like they are underwater, or perhaps it is she who is drowning. Closing her eyes against the pain, her body shakes and she smacks her palms against the wooden platform that was erected for her speech.
Some of her subjects have remained around the dais, and their concerned voices mingle with the continuing shouts of her guards. Finally she feels gloved hands on her arms and shoulders, and voices beg her to stop screaming. Has she been screaming? All she can think of is the disappointed looks on the people's faces, the people whose Queen is no longer herself.
-----
There is a pulsing light, and its blinking is the only illumination she can see. Somehow, her limbs are not responding of her own will, and she feels drawn to this light. As her footsteps carry her along this invisible path, there is a chiming like bells as her foot makes contact with whatever lies beneath her. There is a hum in the air, and she does not merely hear it – she feels it. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stand on end, goosebumps rising on her flesh as she releases shuddering breaths.
The light blinks slower as she comes closer, but it is blinding. Her feet continue to act of their own accord, and Ashe realizes that this must be a dream since she has no control over anything. She knows this place, has walked these paths before, but she cannot recall when. She closes her eyes as she draws closer still to the end of her path, and when she opens them again, she knows where she has been drawn.
She is in the sky on a rounded floating platform, not so very different from the one she used to address her people – but larger. And this one has massive stones – and she knows that these are not mere stones. Ashe has never had dreams of this place since Bahamut fell, so why would her mind pull her back here?
Far below the platform and others like it that hover mysteriously in the skies, the ancient city of Giruvegan sleeps. Ashe can almost imagine the harsh light within its walls, the glowing crystal in the center and the steps dripping with flowing water. But for now she resides above, the stones quiet and still. Stepping forward, she wonders if the one who spoke to her two years ago, Gerun, will speak with her again.
Of course, Ashe wonders why she is even here. The Occuria hold sway over Ivalice no longer – the Sun Cryst in Ridorana was destroyed. She moves to rest her hand on the stone she remembers to be Gerun's and where she expects it to be cool, it burns her fingertips. There is a flash before her eyes, and she is once more blinded.
But she can hear their voices in her head, Gerun's loudest. They speak in a language Ashe doesn't know well, something far more ancient – the words that Fran could read so easily at the Pharos, words etched in the many pillars scattered through the building. Finally, Ashe listens more closely, and while the voices of the others are still unclear to her, Gerun's language changes, reflecting Ashe's own native tongue as it had when the Occuria had addressed her previously.
"Look upon Giruvegan, Ashelia B'Nargin."
She cannot open her eyes. "I am unable to see."
"Look with your mind," the gravelly but still ethereal voice demands. Ashe visualizes the city below, the enormous crystal pulsing rhythmically like the beating of her own heart. "Though Cryst be rent asunder, we Occuria have not departed these lands."
She tries not to let the implications of that break her spirits. Destroying the Cryst was the wisest decision she ever made. "I care not," she replies steadily, though her heart is pounding like it had before in the presence of those undying.
"Blade was given, yet you turned your back on those who would have given you power unknown."
Ashe remembers the Treaty-Blade, how the falsified image of Rasler coaxed her to pull it into her hands on this same platform. She also remembers how she set it down at the Pharos, hoping it got blown apart when Reddas took the Sword of Kings to the Cryst. "Such power is easily abused. I would be no slave to your whims."
"Words of a Hume child, to be sure. But slave you are and shall remain."
Gerun's words vanish from her mind, as do the voices of the other Occuria, their hissing, foreign sound stopping abruptly.
She awakens.
-----
Ashe does not recognize the chambers she is in. Rising from the sheets with a sick feeling deep within her belly, she knows that she is not in Rabanastre – but nor is she in Giruvegan. Despite being a dream, the ancient city of the undying ones seemed as real as the stone floor and woven rugs now beneath her feet.
The room is austere, windowless and devoid of most creature comforts. When she reaches the door, she is angry to discover it is locked. The wood is solid, but she thumps her fists against it until she is already bruising. "Let me out!" she cries. Where has she been taken? And how much time has she lost now? Gerun's words about enslavement trouble her – are the Occuria the ones responsible for her irrational acts?
She is rewarded and shocked by the clanking sound in the halls – the sound of heavy metal armor that no Dalmascan soldier ever wears. How in Ivalice had she gone from the platform in the center of her capital to Archades? The clanking passes her door and moves on despite her insistent pounding on it. Her fear increases – what has happened? She is locked away, out of her own country. What has she done?
"I want to see Judge Magister Gabranth!" she screams loud enough for it to ache in her lungs. "I am the Queen of Dalmasca, and you will bring him to me!" Her hands pain her, but she beats on the door until she no longer can. Moving away to the bed, she lies back and tries to prevent tears from falling. Has she been cast out of her own country – forcibly removed from power? She needs to see Basch – he has always shown her kindness and loyalty, something obviously lacking in Dalmasca at present, but most likely for good reason.
The minutes pass, but finally she hears a key being turned in the lock. She wipes at her eyes hastily and rises. A familiar set of Judge armor greets her vision then, but she stays in place as Basch locks the door and pockets the key. He keeps the Judge's helmet on, and she longs to look upon him, to seek his counsel and to see whether his eyes fear her.
"Take off the mask," she demands quietly, gripping the bedpost to stay standing. His body language is defensive, but he obeys her and sets the heavy helmet down on the cheaply constructed wooden table in one corner of the room. She looks upon her friend, not having seen him for months, and is grateful to see not anger in his eyes, but a profound sadness. "Basch, what have I done?"
His face is composed as it usually is, but there is no denying that he sees her in some different light now. "I cannot presume to know all that has transpired, my lady, but you have been here in Archades some three days now."
"Three days?" She sits down on the bed – it feels like only minutes have passed since she was struck down with that headache in the middle of her own capital city. "I swear to you by everything I know that the last thing I recall is being in Rabanastre. I was addressing my people and…"
"If you speak of the day following your intent to declare war, that was eight days ago."
"Eight days," she murmurs aloud. "I have lost eight days…"
Basch stays in place, his eyes still watching her shrewdly. "You truly have no recollection of what you have done in all of that time?"
She glares at him, gripping the bed sheets tightly in her fists. "Do I appear at all well to you, Basch?"
"I must admit that your behavior now is a far cry from the state you were in upon your arrival here."
He is cautious with his words, perhaps trying to ascertain if she speaks the truth. She must have done something so horrifying that he cannot speak of it yet. Has Rabanastre been annihilated by Rozarria because of her own belligerence? Have any of her people perished because she cannot maintain control over her own actions? What have the Occuria done – how harsh has their revenge against her been?
"You will tell me everything you know. Not as Judge Magister, but as a true and loyal friend," she orders him, begging him to sit beside her. To let her know that he is not afraid to be near her – she cannot afford the loss of his trust as she has probably lost the trust of her people.
Basch remains standing, and it pains her greatly that he will not move closer. "Word from Rabanastre is conflicting at present. We received notice of your surprising announcement against Rozarria which was then followed by news that you had called it off suddenly."
"Has war been averted?" she asks shakily, begging for him to tell her it is so.
He cannot meet her eyes. "In some ways, yes…and in others…" Basch rubs his chin nervously. "Your erratic behavior made little difference to Emperor Hammad. While Al-Cid was able to convince him that you had made an error in judgment, he was not so very lenient." Ashe stares at the floor, awaiting the news. "In response to your hasty diplomatic blunders, Rozarria has temporarily ceased all trade with Dalmasca."
She stands. "But we rely upon our imports of their foodstuffs!" A trade embargo is almost worse than a war. But she can see that Basch has still not completed his tale. "I honestly recall none of this, Basch…please, what happened?"
He finally looks at her once more, and the words seem to be difficult for him to speak. "You did not react favorably to this news. You expelled any Rozarrian immigrants from your borders and cut off talks." Ashe caused so much harm in a manner of days? "And although Rozarria has carried out no further threats, the citizens in Rabanastre were not…amenable to your continued behavior."
She recalls how doubtful her people had all still appeared when she had addressed them in the square. It feels like only a short time ago, but it has been over a week since then. "Was I overthrown?"
He shakes his head. "Not exactly, although there is talk reaching us here in Archades to that effect." Basch finally moves to her side, and she hopes it is because he is sympathetic to her plight. "You would see no doctors, my lady. You lashed out at your ministers, verbally and…I'm afraid to say, but physically as well. When word of Emperor Hammad's decision spread through your capital, there was rioting and you had them broken up with force."
It tears her heart in two to hear this. Without Rozarrian trade, her people will be vulnerable to starvation if they did not receive the usual grain shipments. Rioting in Rabanastre against her? And she had them dispersed? "Was anyone harmed in the rioting?"
Basch's hand grips hers tightly then, offering her a fraction of his strength. "Seven hundred dead, another few hundred injured." She is numb now, ashamed and appalled. "Many of them children."
Tears stain her cheeks. "And Archades? How did I come to be here?"
"When the rioting calmed down, you seemed to have a change of heart. You boarded your transport and came directly to have an audience with Lord Larsa."
She is grateful that even under the influence of the Occuria or whatever madness had possessed her, she was able to see reason and reach out to her ally. She is also happy to learn that she left Rabanastre before she caused it any more distress. Hopefully her ministers are working to correct her errors. "I sought his aid? To bring grain to Dalmasca and to negotiate with Rozarria?"
Basch's thumb strokes her hand gently. "So we had been led to believe, but when you arrived you…" She closes her eyes, not wishing to hear any more, but she must. How much more harm had she caused her people? "You cursed Larsa and spat on him. You called him a false Emperor and shouted that you would make war with Archadia. We…we had you restrained here in the dungeons and here you have been for three days. I am sorry, my lady."
She has lost all of this? She will never remember these shameful deeds, but the whole of Ivalice will. "Do not apologize to me, what I have done is unforgivable."
"We had doctors examine you, but they found nothing wrong."
Ashe nods. "It is the Occuria – they are stealing time from me, Basch. You must believe me."
He withdraws his hand and rises. "I will inform Lord Larsa of your repentance. I am sure there is some explanation – perhaps you have been overworked and overtired with…"
She grips his arm, the cool metal armor digging into her palm. "I have given you the explanation! I have been…possessed, enslaved, whatever you wish to call it. I dreamt I was in Giruvegan, and their leader, Gerun…she spoke to me."
Basch moves to the table and grabs his helmet. "I will tell Lord Larsa this, but you know as well as I that the Cryst is destroyed. We want you to get well – for the sake of your people, and the sake of yourself." He moves to the door and glances back at her. She knows he doesn't believe her – he thinks she has gone mad. "Please get some rest, Ashelia."
As he departs, she bangs on the door again. "You must believe me! Please!" His footsteps trail off, and she knows she has lost him. If their roles were reversed, she'd probably react in a similar way. Sinking to the floor, she finally lets herself truly cry – for the damage she's caused her country and people and for the bonds she has broken with those closest to her. Her eye catches then on the small table where Basch's helmet had lain for those few minutes.
Rising to her feet, she shuffles over and smiles sadly at the vial of water sitting on the table. Ashe surely hasn't lost everyone's support yet. If Basch and Larsa will not believe her, then she cannot stay in Archades. She certainly cannot go back to Rabanastre – she would do more damage or be run out of the city by her own subjects. Picking up the former snow and rolling it in her palm, Ashe realizes that she must break more bonds before she can even begin to fix them. She must become invisible.