Her ladies arrange the pins in her hair and set out a pair of pearl earrings. Her gown feels heavy for the weather, but it is her finest one, and she always feels in control wearing it, as if the cloth itself is imbued with power. The girls embrace her in turn, kneeling down to kiss the hem of the gown before departing the room. A guard appears at the door and won't meet her eyes.
She nods and allows him to escort her from her chambers. The palace is awash with light, as though the sun itself has burst and it hurts her eyes terribly. Her shoes click and echo off of the tiles as she descends from her wing of the palace and down the stairs to the main hall. She can already hear the shouts outside but concentrates on the pulsing of her heart, the sound of her shoes keeping an even beat, and the way the jewels around her neck seem to clack against each other as she walks.
The sunlight on the ground level is even more unbearable, and she keeps her eyes to the floor. The light seems to bounce off of the metal of the guard's armor as he leads her out into the open, and it almost burns. The shouting is even more raucous now that she has been spotted. The usually manicured lawns and gardens within the palace walls are trampled and full of her people. There are children atop of parents' shoulders and unwashed faces watching every footstep.
The platform is simple and constructed from wood. The steps creak as she climbs them, and she can see the stone, the tiny dip on one end where she is to rest her chin. A hand reaches out for her, and she sees the rings upon it and knows it is him. He kneels before her, lifting the bottom of the gown to his lips and letting it go before he disappears from her vision.
Basch waits beside the block, not in his armor as Judge Magister but in the military regalia of the Knights of the Old Order. She remembers him in this armor the day he and Rasler departed Rabanastre, and she smiles at the memory. "Hello, Basch," she whispers despite the raucous crowd, and he nods.
He unsheathes his sword and holds it by his side. "I ask your forgiveness."
"And you have it. You have it," she replies earnestly. She turns away from him and faces the sea of people before her. Their faces are indistinct now, but in the front row, Balthier is there. There is a sullen smirk on his face, that nonchalant look Fran often termed "intense panic" and only then does she begin to worry. "Basch, what is happening?"
She feels the knight's hand upon her shoulder, and he gently eases her down to her knees before the stone. Her hands shakily grip the block, and she hears some cleric, probably an acolyte of Kiltia, begin to recite scripture but she doesn't recognize the passage.
"My lady," Basch's voice whispers beside her head. "It is time."
Somehow she knows what she must do, but Balthier is shaking his head in the front row. Basch's hand is in the pins and jewels of her hair as he urges her to lean forward and lay her chin in the dip of the block. Why is Balthier so convinced that this must not be? She can see him being restrained by soldiers, but now that her chin is pressed down she can only see a pile of straw and a woven basket on the platform before her.
Gerun's voice is in her head then. "It will end this way if you allow it."
-----
A cold sweat is on her skin as she stirs from the dream, the crates in the stone room around her informing her nightmare-addled mind that she hasn't moved from the bed under Occurian sway. Ashe blinks a few times and sighs, stretching her limbs overhead and rising shakily to sit up in the bed. Three nights on Ridorana and each night the same dream. The palace, the platform, and the basket waiting to catch her head.
She sets her feet on the floor and relishes the cool feeling of the stone floor beneath them, the roughened texture poking and prodding to assure her that she is awake and alive. Rising, she moves to the door and opens it, letting the breeze from the sea raise the hairs on her arms and the roaring of the cataract reach her ears. It is a cruel prison here. Had he even thought it through?
Under persecution from those Undying and he left her in sight of that damned Pharos, a construct of Occurian design. Her eyes can never look away from it for very long – and these three days have been full of the blasted building. Don't go near it, he told her. She has not and will not. She would rather dive into the sea than set foot inside the place again, but it is never far from her thoughts. The place mocks her. Though the cryst within was destroyed, the immortal ones still hold sway in Ivalice. Balthier's father was wrong – history is not yet in the hands of men.
Ashe is losing track of time. Most of her hours have been spent sleeping or laying about in a deep melancholy at her present lack of freedom. After so many days on the road fleeing, she is now "safe" but is not safe from her own mind. Gerun only seems to visit in her dreams, and during the day Ashe only has herself for company. And thus she spends those hours of sunlight wondering if he and Fran will actually come back for her.
The Occuria are mighty – they could manipulate the fates to keep the Strahl away, could they not? She will run out of supplies and will die starved and alone, the giant shadow of the Pharos looming over her as a reminder of what has beaten her. Why do they not twist her mind and have her jump? She's walked through the ruins and around to the cliffs at the eastern edge of the isle – the waters there disappearing into foam so far down she cannot see the bottom.
What lies there? She's grown so starved for something to do that she has imagined that the afterlife lies there at the bottom of the waterfall. Her father and mother are there, Rasler and Vossler as well. Why not join them? Perhaps the people who lived on this isle hundreds of years earlier thought the same and did not so much vanish as just jump. Maybe they too ran out of a way to subsist on the island. The Jagd may have disabled any means of leaving, and they were left to die as Balthier has left her.
But her mind always returns, and she is able to turn away from the falls. He said he would return for her, and she knows that Fran is not so heartless as to leave her. But the promises of pirates mean little if they are detained or something happens to their ship – one of only a handful that can make the journey here to Ridorana. Turning away from the door, she snags one of the books from the crate and laces up her boots. If she doesn't distract herself, she will waste hours imagining what will befall her.
There is plenty of moonlight to read by, and she trudges up the paths to the abandoned arena. What events were staged here? She clambers over the broken steps and sits down, clutching the book in her arms. She envisions men fighting animals, fighting one another. Sighing, she opens the book and tries to ignore the ghosts of the civilization that disappeared. He had not lied – all of the books he left for her are about pirates.
This is the story of the Dread Pirate Balthier.
She blinks a few times and reads the opening line once more.
This is the story of the Dread Pirate Balthier.
Ashe cannot stifle her laughter and must set the book down. Three days of misery are forgotten for a few minutes as she marvels at the book he's left. She's known all this time that Balthier is not his real name – he changed it when he first took to pirating, but he had never been ready to explain where he came up with the name. He'd been dismissive when she'd asked years earlier, simply saying that his real name was too well-known and not theatrical enough for piracy. And after all of that he'd simply stolen it from a book?
She smiles and opens the book again. The moonlight fades and the sun rises while her eyes flicker across the pages. It is not the best written book she has ever read, but it is certainly one of the most amusing. The Dread Pirate Balthier is a gentleman rogue and wears a grand hat with a feather. Ashe wonders what her real life Balthier would look like in a feathered cap. The character is a lover of many women but most loyal to the sea and his ship. He has no other home but the wooden planks of his deck and the wind at his back, and she sighs. The whole persona Balthier crafted is a theft with just a switch of venue from sea to sky.
What Ashe has given little thought to is the way Balthier parted from her days earlier. It is pointless to think about, she tells herself. Meaningless, surely. Balthier has been a friend for some time now, and though she pondered it years before and her mind has wandered to thoughts of him during her exile, there isn't really a chance he feels anything more. She's reasoned that the kiss was a way to shut her up, to stun her so completely that he could run off and be gone with the Strahl before she drew breath again.
And he had done a remarkable job shutting her up. She presses her fingers against her lips, remembering how roughly he'd forced himself upon her…almost as if he could not contain the emotions within him. His hands had caressed and nearly possessed her skin, the groan she'd heard from deep within his throat almost sounding primal in her ears. Sighing, she wonders if it was really an act. It wouldn't surprise her – the very same Balthier, ever cool and confident, had managed to get Basch to slug him. He could probably convince anyone that a kiss from him is genuine if he kisses like that regularly.
Why in Ivalice had she kissed him back? By all accounts she should have slapped him. Ashe tries to consider it all rationally. She was out of sorts and in shock at the time. She was vulnerable, and a man like Balthier was able to use that against her. Nothing more. But doubts linger. What if it wasn't another of Balthier's games? What could it mean? He'd never overstepped the bounds of their friendship even in their most threatening hours years ago – why lose restraint at that particular point in time? It's not like him.
And here she is doing the one thing she'd vowed not to waste time on. She picks up the book about the Dread Pirate Balthier and hurls it from her seat in the stands until it falls onto the dirt arena floor, kicking up a cloud of dust as it skitters against the other wall. This is all pointless behavior, she tells herself. Balthier kissed her, she kissed him back and that should be the end of it. There is no time for a romantic dalliance with him, especially not now. Especially not ever, she reminds herself.
Has she forgotten so quickly where her duty lies? Dalmasca is far from her in distance but not in feeling. Her country is her love, her people are as her own children and no arrogant, greedy, insufferable, thieving, conniving man could come before that. But the way he'd looked at her…
"Oh, for a way to excise you from my brain, pirate!" she shouts to the heavens in her frustration, rising from the steps and departing the arena as the sun rises higher in the sky to bring the morning fully to Ridorana.
Ashe hates having nothing to do. This is the worst torture imaginable, this holiday-like imprisonment. As Queen, her ministers had oft urged her to take a moment's respite, but she did not see the point. The laborers in the fields did not rest, the soldiers at their posts did not holiday in a summer palace…why should the Queen be different? And she would rather be busy. Idleness sets her into a frenzied state.
She trudges back to the little stone house and begins digging through the crates from the Strahl. Thinking of Dalmasca rather than the curious business with Balthier's show of affection has renewed her spirits. Before all this Occurian nonsense, she was working on rewriting her laws. And why should she stop? Her duty is to her country and now that she is not on the run, she should be using her time for Dalmasca, not for wallowing and pining.
There are some rather fancy pens and a jar of ink in one crate, and Balthier had not expressly outlawed her from defacing his property. She rips blank pages from the front and back of Balthier's books, feeling some satisfaction in this task since he has left her so confused. Gathering up the papers, the pens and ink, she departs the stone dwelling again since she feels too claustrophobic within its walls.
There is an open square just down the path, and she gets to work. The next two days are spent not in misery but in excitement. She fills the blank pages front and back with suggestions, with changes, with completely new ideas for laws and regulations. She fills the margins of Balthier's books with ink, crafting policy for Dalmasca as she had done every day for the two short years she spent ruling it.
Who knows what is happening there? Five days on Ridorana and a fortnight on the run and away from her troubled country have left her ignorant, but she finally feels useful once more. Inspiration has struck her, and it never would have had she not been so afflicted by the dreadful influence of Gerun and the other immortal ones. Ashe has written something that would have perplexed and confused her but a month earlier, but it all makes so much sense that she wonders why Dalmasca had never considered it before.
At the edges of Reanne the Pirate Queen, Ashe has set in motion the end of the Dalmascan monarchy. She smiles at the thought of it as she glances down at her work once more. It is almost too amusing that she chose such a book for this scribbling, but she would rather be possessed by this sort of madness than any other. When the Occuria set upon her mind and stole time from her, her ministers had done nothing but verbally reprimand her. In the laws Ashe has now conceived, any monarch that stands as a threat to the logical governance of Dalmasca can be ousted from office.
She has stolen a bit of Archadia's system, she realizes. The Dalmascan monarch's council will receive an elevated status not so unlike the Archadian Senate, and though the Solidors now stand as undisputed emperors, it was not always so. In Ashe's new proposed constitution, the monarch is no longer to be anointed as Dynast-King and treated as some god come down from the heavens. If the monarch fails at his duty, his reign is to be terminated. She understands, smiling at the pages, that were such a law in effect now that her rule would now be over. But she intends for it to be a check on her own power so this can never happen again. When she returns to Dalmasca, and by the gods, she has vowed to do so, Dalmasca will change. She will see to it that the will of the people outweighs the will of the sovereign.
She is rereading these pages again and again, pride in her country and this potential new direction seizing her with such joy that she barely notices the sound of the airship engines over the roar of the cataract behind her. Though Dalmasca may hate her now, she will make things right. Ashe reads the words aloud, tears brimming in her eyes at the thought of a Dalmasca that could never come under tyranny as Archadia and Rozarria had in years past.
"Highness," she hears behind her, and she finally turns around to see Fran standing behind her. "Did you not hear us approach?"
Hurrying to her feet, she greets her companion with a smile. They've come back for her – he hadn't lied, and she has not been abandoned. "You've no idea how glad I am to see your face once more, Fran."
The Viera nods. "I am afraid that our reunion comes at a price, Majesty. Let us gather your things, and we depart finally for Paramina."
Fran is already walking away, and Ashe barely realizes everything that is happening at once. Just moments earlier she was drafting a new form of government and reality has come crashing down again. Dalmasca, threatened by Rozarria, must be saved – and only she can do so. Gathering up the scraps of paper and the books she's ruined with her scribbles, Ashe hurries after Fran and back to the stone house.
There is tension in the air now, her past few days of frenzied writing having distracted her quite effectively from the dangers she still faces. Now that she will be leaving her prison and setting out for Giruvegan again, Ashe realizes that she's given little thought to what she must do. Drafting legislation has been almost too easy – she has yet to contend with the immortals who would rain destruction down upon her people and herself. Fran is already emerging from the dwelling with a crate in her arms, and Ashe hurriedly tosses her drafts back in with the rest of Balthier's books and follows the Viera back to the Strahl.
The reality of seeing Balthier again also strikes, a slow burning embarrassment that she's been able to bury for the past few days but that now emerges all the more painfully. As she and Fran travel back and forth to the building for the remainder of the supplies, Balthier does not leave the cockpit. Will it be awkward between them now? Will he simply laugh at the silly feelings she can no longer deny? Can she simply stifle them and move on with what she must still accomplish? Is such a thing even possible after the way she'd returned his affections?
The house is emptied after a few more trips, and Fran has told her to leave the mattress behind. Taking one final look at the Pharos, its shadow blanketing part of the island in darkness, Ashe carries the firearm Balthier gave her into the Strahl and closes the hatch.
Moving to his cabin, she sets the gun down by the wooden armoire where he keeps all of his weapons locked away. She hears the Strahl's hum once more, and the past five days are all but erased as she feels the airship lift from the ground. Ashe steels herself for the inevitable and emerges from Balthier's cabin. Her steps are measured as she walks to the cockpit, seeing the clouds parting and nothing but blue skies and seas ahead.
Fran is in her seat beside Balthier, and she wonders how much the Viera knows about what went on between her and her partner. Ashe keeps her eyes anywhere but on the pilot's chair as she enters and sits down and buckles in. Fran turns to her and nods, and she can hear Balthier's fingers tapping on the control panels and can already smell him.
"Welcome back," he greets her, his voice not indicating any change in the slightest between them, and since she cannot see his face, she can only assume that the kiss meant nothing or will not be discussed in front of Fran…or at all.
She grips the armrests of the seat and looks out the windows, the color of the waters below calming her racing heart. "I am happy to be away from there. Rather thoughtless of you to leave me in a place of such Occurian influence."
He snorts at that, the usual humor surfacing. "I'll have no complaining in my cockpit. Go converse with the walls of the engine room, Princess, for I've little patience for moaning when I'm flying."
Ashe cannot help but grin at that, and it soothes her. There is no cruelty in his words, no indication that he dislikes her. Fran does not react to what Balthier says, instead looking over sympathetically. "We have done what is necessary to evade their suspicions," the Viera explains. "Two days in Archades, two in Nalbina. The ship was searched each time."
"And we would have been in Rabanastre right now…" Balthier begins, but even the name of her capital has immediately set her on edge again.
"What of Dalmasca? What troubles yet face my country?" she interrupts, seeing Fran's face darken considerably.
Fran exchanges a look with Balthier then, and Ashe's worry grows. "It is…the same. Your council still maintains order, and Ondore continues to deliver grain – at least that is the news from Nalbina."
"But?"
Balthier chimes in this time. "But there is some rather strange business in Rozarria that is giving the good councilors of Rabanastre cause for alarm. Word has it that the Emperor Hammad has been acting…out of sorts these past few days."
Ashe's heart sinks. "Out of sorts in what way?"
Fran frowns, tapping her nails on the console before her. "Erratic behavior, claims of missing time. One day, he called off the embargo on Dalmasca only to reinforce it the following morning."
The realization of what is happening leaves her nauseated. "My gods, they've gotten to Hammad. Why bother with me when Hammad could destroy all of Ivalice?" The Emperor of Rozarria has long been obsessed with warring, and his people have always been overwhelmingly supportive of his military – Al-Cid and his loyal followers being the only truly peaceful faction of that empire. "They will have Hammad crush Rabanastre all to punish me." A much more comprehensive revenge against her, surely.
"Which is why we came to fetch you," Balthier explains calmly. "If the Occuria are occupied with their new little Hume friend in Rozarria, perhaps a bit of poking around Giruvegan will escape their notice."
"Balthier thinks the Occuria to be a rather single-minded group of immortals," Fran responds critically. "I do not think them so foolish."
"They let us wander about the place before!" her partner shoots back, and Ashe doesn't understand how the pair of them can be so casual about it all. Hammad is now more dangerous than ever if he is under Occurian sway, and Dalmasca can be crushed within days if the Rozarrian war machine is assembled. "It isn't like they have much security!"
Ashe forgets the scribbles in the books, the thought of laws and regulations and rises to her feet. Finally, she stands in between Balthier and Fran, meeting his face for the first time since she's been back on the ship. Though she can feel her face flush at the sight of him, the thought of Hammad striking her capital is enough to give her the strength to endure whatever feelings she seems to have more strongly developed in Balthier's presence.
"I do not care what we have to do. We will go to Giruvegan and think of some way to stop them. The means of their own destruction lay there, I am sure of it. Rozarria cannot stir against Dalmasca – it would only set Archadia up for war again, and I will not be the cause of more death," she argues. "If you must fly this ship apart, Balthier, you will get her to Paramina before the night is over."
"As Her Majesty commands," he responds cheerfully, and Ashe is jolted back against the seat as he casually flicks a switch and the ship propels forward at top speed. She doesn't bother chastising him – they'll need their wits and tempers about them for the next several days. Paramina is always treacherous and the Feywood even more so.
The journey from Ridorana is long, and she brings the books and papers into Fran's cabin to examine them again while she has time to spare. The hours pass as she makes a few more edits here and there. A knock at the door reveals the cabin's owner, and she looks up. "Balthier will be displeased with what you have done to his books."
She stretches and sighs. "He left me little choice. There was no parchment to write on, so I used what was available to me."
The Viera sits beside her on the floor and begins examining the papers. "You drafted legislation?"
"Better than spending all of my time bemoaning my situation," she replies. "Although I must admit I did spend the first few days doing so."
"As anyone would were they faced with the same dilemma," Fran assures her. "We are sorry to have left you. We were torn over the decision, but you understand why?"
Ashe nods. "I suppose it has given us clearance to travel to Paramina unhindered." Nagging thoughts of Balthier that she cannot suppress bubble up and catch in her throat. She busies herself with the papers before she asks Fran about her partner. Ashe is aware that Fran is the person most likely to know the innermost depths of Balthier's heart, but it would only complicate things further. The three of them will be in close quarters for the next few days – there is no time for such silly things.
But why can't she put it from her mind? She was able to ignore it successfully for the last days on the island, but now that she is back aboard the Strahl, she is troubled by her feelings. Her renewed and reaffirmed love for Dalmasca remains unchanged, but a new love is working its way inside as well. Can she even call it love after one hurried kiss of desperation? Will she even have time to confront Balthier about his intentions?
Fran seems to sense her retreat into her own thoughts, and she rises. "Rest here, Majesty. We will wake you when we reach Paramina. And I promise you that there will be no detours this time."
The Viera is almost to the door. "Fran?" She shouldn't, she mustn't. Why can't she suppress this? "Can I ask you something?"
But somehow Fran has seen it coming. "That is not for me to say. You'd best speak with him yourself." She turns back and is almost smiling. "Get some rest."
Her sleep is troubled, and it takes Fran a few moments to rouse her when they arrive. The Viera gives her a warm coat to wear in the snows and a brand new sword and shield. She doesn't ask who paid for it, but the look Fran gives her when she hands them over is the only answer she needs. Damn him! He is the most confusing man she's ever known.
They gather their packs together while Balthier activates the Strahl's cloak. The wind whips at her face, but she is grateful for the new coat to protect her from the elements. They will spend a day wandering through to the Feywood from here, and it will be slow-going. Balthier walks ahead, his gun perched lazily on his shoulder and Fran follows.
Ashe stands back, examining the snowy mountain terrain around her. She kneels down and scoops up a handful of the snow in her hand. She remembers the vial Balthier brought her only weeks earlier and how it was merely water then. Ashe lets the snow fall through her fingers and back to the ground. Giruvegan awaits.