Author's Note: OKAY!!! I'm still alive, not that it really mattered, but... I've finally decided to post this one of many parts to Chapter 12 now instead of waiting for who knows how long until I finally finish the thing! I know I had said I wasn't going to post this in pieces but.... meeehh... I'm tired of seeing it just sit on my hard drive. So, I'm just posting it anyways! And part two is nearly finished, not that is means anything with my outstanding record for quickness, lol! Last but not least, I haven't forgotten about all my wonderful friends that I've made on here and I'm truely sorry for being such a stranger the past year... the motivation to even look at my story isn't quite there anymore, but I will try to keep moving on with it. Anywho, on with the story!!!
Dsclm: I own nothing, really!
Chapter 12
"Aaaaaaarrrrhhhhh!"
Just as Basch began to feel his bones again, a sudden tight and sweaty cold hand latched on to his neck, startling the man onto his rear and right out of his mirth. He hadn't known what hit him in his momentary daze. But seconds later he found its owner being the young, emotional blond who had caused this mess – the ruckus, the fall and the crash – who now was trying to mercilessly strangle him while pulling back an angered fist destined for his face. He was so shocked at the boy's knockback that he mechanically winced, closing an eye, in preparation for the punch and pulled a weak arm up hoping to block some of the force.
'This is going to hurt!'
But the impact never came. Peeking apprehensively, he was just in time to see Balthier interject, grabbing the riled teen's elbow and effortlessly tossed him aside onto the broken cobble floor with a thud.
Annoyed with the boy's rage for vengeance, Balthier quipped, "Spare us your quiddities!"
"Yeah, but - but he's a —"
"A traitor, I know," he cut in, hands posed on his hips. "Stay here and fight, if you want."
The boy was fuming, almost to the point of throwing a full on temper tantrum, as Basch scrutinized the exchange. Daggers were piercing his thin flesh left and right as this kid scowled hatefully toward him in resolute refusal to accept what was being told.
Next, Balthier whipped his head in Basch's direction and offered him his helping hand in alliance as he plainly stated, "If you can walk, let's go."
Basch nodded his thanks while taking hold of the rouge's outstretched hand and flinched when the teen, again, protested his accompaniment.
"You're taking him with us?!" he shrieked in disbelief.
Balthier rolled his eyes at the immature fit happening next to him - and the thought of dropping this teen off the side of the hover bike back then at the palace never felt so tempting before - as he slowly hoisted Basch up to his unsteady feet, holding on to the frail man for a moment until he was confident that he wouldn't fall.
"We could use another sword arm."
It wasn't a question, it was an offer. You scratch my back, he'll scratch yours kind of thing. They had brought him an escape, freedom, at the time he needed it most and he was truly indebt to them, so it was only fit that he lend what services he could to help their cause. If they wished for his strength and support, then so be it, they would have every ounce of it, no further inquires would be made.
With a new feeling of vigor, Basch replied as he stood up, "And you have it."
An understanding was built between the two men as they shook hands, ignoring the mumbled gripes from behind Fran's tall feminine figure, before moving on down the poorly lit walkway.
Barely able to make out the floor's texture, let alone the direction it was heading, the three men heavily relied on the heightened senses of Balthier's viera partner, Fran, as Basch had finally been introduced to everyone, to guide them from harm.
Her petite bunny-like nose twitched periodically, catching any scents that would be cause for alarm, as her statuesque ears ticked rhythmically scanning the dead air for the minutest of disturbances, along with the clarity of her crimson eyes giving her the gift of nocturnal sight. Fran, partly leading the way because the young teen, learned to be Vaan, had pushed his way to the front hoping to gain his pride back somehow - by thinking he knew the way - followed closely and had placed a hand on his shoulder when she saw the danger coming in front of him which his Hume eyes would not allow him to see.
"Stop," her stoic purr echoed, "The stone becomes uneven here."
The boy looked at her and snarled, slightly raising his upper lip in an irritated fashion.
"Ah, then we proceed with great caution. Wouldn't do us anymore good to suffer from two left feet and get all scraped up," Balthier glibly remarked stopping behind Fran.
"I will go first. Then you can follow," she replied curtly.
Now irate, Vaan yanked himself out of her long fingered grasp and continued trekking oblivious to what was in front of him, negligent to her warnings.
"Vaan, I don't think that is a very good idea. You should listen to Fra—"
"I know what I'm doing!" he snapped as he shot Balthier a menacing glare not paying any attention to where he was going, his footing abruptly falling out from under him.
In a blink of an eye, the boy's body disappeared from their sights and horrible cries shot from the blackness before them, decreasing in volume as he became farther away from the trio. The sounds of crumbling rock, scrapping skin and battle armor sparking from friction filled their ears, the three mentally wincing with every audible 'thud' Vaan made on the way down.
"Like all teenagers, it would be a wonder if he actually listened. Fran, what was that all about?"
"Stairs," she answered without expression, cocking her head nonchalantly thought her eyes gave away her enjoyment.
Slowly and carefully, the three traversed the blackened stairwell, Fran obviously leading the way since Balthier nor Basch wanted to repeat Vaan's little mistake, until they reached a flat stretch of pathway and the rumpled up blond-headed body of the ingenious teen.
"Uuugh," Vaan groaned as the sky pirate rolled him over with the toe of his black leathered boot so that he was lying on his back.
"Fun ride?" Balthier threw out, his silky voice sounding volumes louder that it really was inside of the boy's pounding head.
"No!"
"Well then get up. This is no time to be lying around."
Meanwhile, as the pirate and the boy snottily exchanged words, Fran had managed to find something that resembled a power supply generator of some sort. Of course, the main switch happened to be located at the opposite end of the skinny plank which looked as if it was going to crumble at the slightest gust of air.
"Look, there is a power source," she called over her shoulder, ceasing the quarrel behind her.
"Well, let's take a look see, shall we?" Balthier answered immediately changing his priority from the boy to the generator as he walked over to the plank she was standing on.
When he got close to the switch he was able to make out the characteristics of the lever and the box with all the wiring harnesses inside by the tiny faint light that flickered above, struggling to keep illuminated.
"Hmm."
Balthier studied the contraption for a couple moments making sure it wasn't dangerous and then proceeded to pull the iron lever upward hoping it would do something.
It clicked, then clunked and that was it.
"Huh. Guess it's not working," Vaan piped up, startling the pirate when he hadn't realized how close the boy had gotten to him.
He rolled his eyes at the obvious then further searched the masses of dusty and frayed wires finding the problem almost instantly. Taking his hand, Balthier grasped the busted glass tube and weaved it back out of the fuse box, examining it more closely when he held it up to the feeble lamp.
"Hm… the fuse is blown. That would explain why there's no power reaching the switch," he proclaimed turning back to the ancient alternator to scrutinize it further, "If the wiring is any indication, I'd say this is a central power relay of some sort. As it stands, I doubt we'll find much still running down here."
"Then what should we do? We can't very well escape this underground prison without our sight," Basch finally cut in.
"I don't think we can find an electrician down here, Captain. And I'm afraid I am fresh out of fuses," the pirate remarked smartly, "So I say we send Vaan into the passage first."
"Ok… HEY! Wait a minute!" Vaan stuttered not catching his jab too fast.
Finally the party decided to regroup knowing that they had no other choice but to navigate the halls blindly… well semi-blindly since Fran could still make out the landscape, but none the less, an unavoidable handicap.
Basch hated not being able to see what was preparing to assault him, the sudden flash of an enemy's mug in his face did little to keep him from a heart attack, but at the same time it gave him new life and a huge adrenaline rush making him feel younger than he really was, keeping him on his toes. The only problem, though, was the fact that he was unarmed and without armor since the Archadians were so kind as to strip him of it during his cozy stay, so the only combat he could do was close-range hand to hand. Something that not even Basch was sure he could muster right now in his ill state. He would just have to wait and find out as everyone started to move, with Fran maneuvering through the almost pitch black void with Vaan followed by Balthier and then Basch bringing up the end.
Once again, with just a few feet travelled, the Viera suddenly stopped and this time, so did Vaan, who had learned his lesson the hard way from previous experience; however, Balthier wasn't too sharp to notice. He was busy tossing the worn out fuse over the edge of the railing that was visible, that he crashed right into him. The collision was strong enough to knock Vaan forward and make him physically vanish into the darkness, but not vocally, as more hollers and wails spewed from his mouth every time his poor bruised up body struck an object.
"Let me guess… more stairs?" Balthier sallied as he adjusted his barely wrinkled cuffs in a huff.
Fran nodded and Basch shook his head sympathetically.
"Errrm," Vaan moaned when he lethargically hoisted himself off the ground.
Looking ahead, his features lit up making him forget his new lumps and bumps as he caught sight of another shuttering glow. It highlighted an outline of what resembled another switch.
"Hey guys!" he called walking toward the mechanism, "I think I found another swit—"
Something hit the floor with a loud 'smack'' and the crushing of pottery filled in the silence afterwards.
"You found a sa-wit?" Balthier inquired confused but only received a shrill shriek for an answer.
"AAHH! Something is down here!! It's grabbing me! HELP!"
"SHHH! Calm down my boy! I mean no harm," a gravelly voice appeared from thin air.
"Who goes there? Name yourself!" Basch demanded, his old instincts kicking back in gear.
"My name be Burrogh, sir."
By now they had scurried down to the main floor and where Vaan now stood studying the figure cloaked in the corner.
Discovering the new switch box, Balthier hoped that it would bring power to this mammoth piece of junk as he shoved the lever up, clearly ignoring the mysterious form.
It clunked then clicked this time, but again that was all.
"Hunk of junk," he grumbled quietly. Only Fran was able to hear with her super-sensitive ears, and flashed him a scowl.
Basch walked up next to Vaan peering suspiciously at the blackened shape situated on the rubble. "Show yourself, Burrogh, so that we may see you not as a threat."
"Aye," he croaked, flopping himself down onto some lower stones, closer to the pale light. "Don' get many visitors down here. Nice when someone comes topplin my ways."
Though the lighting did little good for impressions, Basch could clearly make out that Burrogh was indeed a Bangaa. His skin tough and scaly from hanging around these parts for too long, the moisture sucked dry from it, and those long blue webbed fingers and toes were distinctive characteristics of the race.
Burrogh sniffed the two men closest to him catching their scents - Basch's probably being the most pungent since his last bath involved a good amount of Seeq slobber - and then the creature cleared his throat and roughly spoke.
"You come scavengin' fer odds and ends, have you?"
"Not exactly, we need to find the way out," Basch replied.
"Oh, the way out? It's just back up those stairs—"
"Nope, they're gone. Smashed to smithereens," Vaan interjected before he was even finished.
"To smithereens, you say?!" Burrogh lowered his head, bringing a clawed hand up to his chin in thought, "then there's nothin' left but to find some other way out through these tunnels. You'll need to get the power workin' again, 'fore that gate'll budge, though."
Finally Balthier butted in, "And how do you suppose we do that? Those relays only click and clunk at us."
"The fuse in that contraption up the stairs is blown…"
"I could have told you that one..."
"But this oughta fix it up," he quickly rummaged through his bag and found the needed part, handing it to the edgy sky pirate.
Balthier took the piece and examined the tied up hunks of scrap metal and glass, then retorted, "What's this wad of oddments going to do? It looks like a chewed up rifle barrel to me."
"Made that tube fuse from parts I found down in these very tunnels. It's good as any you'll find, and better 'an most, mark my words," he snapped back at his silver remarks.
The tube fuse was quickly installed and the power relay was switched on, illuminating the darkened tunnels. Then the gate's power was turned on and the rusty iron bars screamed to life when they opened – to everyone's surprise, especially Balthier's - giving the group access to the rest of the Barheim Passage.
Before they continued their journey through the gates, Burrogh gave a friendly warning letting everyone know that if the charge drops too low, "some fierce beasts start comin' out in the dark." He also advised the four that they would need at least thirty percent power to operate anything as large as the gate in this room or else they might want to forget seeing blue sky.
Basch kindly thanked the scruffy blue Bangaa before proceeding through the metal gateway with the rest of his new acquaintances. As they all entered the next room, a surprise was awaiting them. Some were of the four-legged variety and others were a little less… alive, shall we put it.
The hall had opened up into some kind of expansive stone chamber, similar to the brickwork that Basch had to stare at for every waking hour while in the dungeon. It was supported in the center by two… or was it three… cement pillars, one being partially disintegrated in the middle, that ascended into the ceiling, forming beautifully curving arches, all made with various types of stone.
Thick cords of wiring decorated the walls, the domes and even the center pillars with the large gray strands spiraling downward to the broken floor where they laid haphazardly everywhere. Who knew where they went or what they came from; Basch thought he could have spent hours following each and every wire in that place and not found a single origin for any of them.
He seriously wondered how the Passage was even completed, let alone worked without a fire, with this sort of idiocy all over the place!
But he had to give the contractors a little credit, the architecture was absolutely amazing, save for the imperfections of time and age, and gave an otherwise dark and scary tunnel unique character. Limestone, granite and black marble all assembled into something truly extraordinary creating brilliantly symmetrical structures that almost masked those inside the Dalmascan Palace from years earlier, but obviously these had many, many more centuries passed over them than the palace and lacked major restoration.
"Hey! Who turned out the lights?" Vaan cried when the lights began to strobe, breaking Basch out of his admiring. Quickly, they found the culprit at the end of the hall, "one of those?"
In the far corner to the left, a very large blue and neon green arachnid was hungrily chewing on one of the power lines, slurping up every last drop it could of the tasty electricity causing the lighting to flicker and dim.
"I've heard of these: Mimics. They disguise themselves as all manner of things, and then strike when you're least wary. Some of them have a fondness for energy, I'm told. They gorge themselves on the stuff till there's naught left," Balthier informed.
"So… what happens then?"
Suddenly, as if to answer the boy, a vile, rotting corpse materialized out of the ground, moaning and groaning horrifically as drool filtered through its carious teeth and down its festering skin. It had no life or color, just decaying gray skin which clung to its visible bones waiting to be torn off like bark on a river birch tree, flaky and withered past its purpose. A putrid stench quickly over took the air causing Vaan to pinch his nose closed to avoid retching at the smell of such rancid breath mixed with the scent of decomposing flesh, as the thing slugged toward them.
"Lights out. And it's much worse in the dark. Much worse." Balthier emphasized, beginning to ready his pistol which he had nicely pilfered back from the 'Archadian Prison Repository of Wrested Relics and Raiments.'
He continued, "so, let them get too close to one of those conduits and they'll suck it dry. But don't worry."
Vaan abruptly looked at the sky pirate with an incredulous expression, thinking exactly how was he not suppose to worry when there was a five foot high, seriously huge robotic spider in the room and a half-dead person who really could use a lesson or two in hygiene, dragging itself toward him!
"It'll give the energy back if you ask nicely. Sticking it with a sword helps too. Clocks ticking!"
In a flash, Vaan and the ex-knight jumped into the fray taking up the close-ranged combat while Balthier maintained the advantage by giving long-ranged cover for the two men up front and Fran, as well, kept her distance firing her Silver Bow, providing support.
"Ashelia"
A faint whisper, barely audible, in the nighttime breeze that carried the quiet beckoning like a loose chocobo feather, startled the slumbering princess. It called, lulling and soft to her ears, sort of like a hummed melody creating a hypnotic essence around her.
Once opening her tired, bloodshot eyes, she quickly became confused, hastily turning to find that nothing was behind her. Just a tranquil and unfamiliar scene high up in some wooded, green canopied forest with dark wooden planked walkways that were all roped together creating some form of accessibility through this strange place.
The trees were large, thick at the trunks and very rotund and plump at the top, with fresh and healthy, vivid green leaves blocking out almost all the moonlight above her. Twisted vines accented almost every trunk and limb, cris-crossing here and there between the gaps above her head and below her feet. Some produced gorgeous hibiscus blooms, all in various lucid colors, which brought this all too creepy picture a radiance and beauty not commonly found without looking for it.
Ashe felt the moderate zephyr brush against her cheeks, cooling the heat filling them, and felt almost content that this was a safe setting when it finally encompassed her, bringing a wave of comfort to drown her fears. She reluctantly let her sleepy lids flutter shut over her calm blue orbs once more and her achy body became weightless, her eyes rolling up into her head, when she let the gentle gusts cushion her, summiting to its tranquility.
"Ashelia"
There it was again. This time it was louder, still a whisper but more distinct and almost right next to her ear.
Ashe jumped, awoken in a panic, and in her frenzy to get as far away from the mysterious voice as she could, she hadn't noticed that one of her boots was entangled in the fat vine rope holding the bridge together and she abruptly fell to her hands and knees.
Her heart raced a million beats per second it felt like suddenly, as it drummed inside her chest. Small beads of sweat formed at her temples (… had it gotten hotter here?) and she was laboring for breath, finding it harder to take in the midnight's sweet air.
She peered out into the distance in front of her, and again saw nothing, the scenery fading to darkness.
This was becoming ridiculous. She knew she wasn't just hearing voices in her thoughts. Surely she hadn't lost her sanity either.
Ashe tried to call out, to at least establish communication with whomever-- or whatever-- was haunting her, but not a single sound was heard. Not a peep, scream or whisper left that petite little mouth. Absolutely nothing.
Disconcerted, she brought her fingers up to her lips and was taken by surprise when she felt them cold and trembling to the touch.
What happened to her voice?
What was going on?
"Don't be afraid, Ashe."
The words were soothing and soft, but were deep and distinctly spoken by a man; strength and confidence dripping from every annunciation as they came to her ears. A sweet melody that had been played before but she couldn't exactly picture whom, for it had been too long.
He spoke again.
"Please."
Nervous habits took over. She began to shiver when the chills crept up her spine and she apprehensively started to nip at her already short fingernails, not really realizing what she was doing.
"Don't worry your fingers like that," he spoke mildly from behind while attentively resting a tender hand on her shoulder, "You know I will not harm you."
The stranger's touch was warm and gentle but Ashe was still taken by the unexpected sensation, quickly whirling around onto her rear, in a crab walk position, and gasped in shock, and horror, at the person she saw looming over her.
'You!' she had wanted to say, but again, not even a squeak could be squeezed out at the six-foot tall, blond-headed figure.
A slight five o' clock shadow of golden stubble was visible and nicely highlighted his perfectly angulated jaw line, framing every handsome feature about his face. She remembered each and every one of them like it was yesterday, as the memories came flooding into her mind, from the pale pink flesh of his slightly up-curving lips, which had kept concealed her special smile that he would show only to her, to those absolutely captivating icy blue eyes that seemed to sparkle every time she would gaze into them.
Broad shoulders gave him structural stability to his defiant, but noble, stance and set the blue-print for the rest of his muscularly toned body. His arms and legs showed his years of rigorous training, nicely formed, but not overly too bulky, and the sight of his almost washboard abdomen and chest was like candy to her. She couldn't help but sneak a peek or two--or three--at it. She had been helpless to avoid him.
He took a step toward her and she slid herself equally away, not too sure what to make of all this. Cocking his head with a perplexed look on his face, he tried again and she repeated the same reaction.
"Do you not trust me?" he spoke with a hurt tone.
She wanted to. Her body and heart screamed for her to. But her mind, thoughts and most importantly, the memories, stopped her and told her otherwise.
The image of Ashe's dead husband, Prince Rasler, flashed in front of her, reliving it all-- that night, the funeral and the burial. It had been a cruel blessing; she had wished him to feel the pain and deception that he had put her through on their wedding night but she had never wanted what he was dealt… his death.
Rasler had been taught to be greedy but she knew there could be a chance to change him for the better. To teach him that not all things in leadership require avidity or constraint, but her ambitions would be useless.
It was plain to assume, on that night, he was dead the instant Basch carried the ghostly pale man into the Great Hall of the Palace, his limbs flaccid and drooping inanimately from his body and the dark liquid smears down the front of the Captain's uniform. The fancy gold armored plates that encased the prince's body were now coated a rich red and dripped his dark congealing blood from all edges.
Though Basch's expression remained indifferent, Ashe could see the turmoil in his eyes as he briskly marched past; giving her a better glance at the ghastly injury to Rasler's neck where the fatal arrow had been broken off leaving a blood soaked stump protruding from the wound.
She had felt no pain in her heart, she had felt no joy either… she really didn't know what to feel. She had been in such confusion the day of the wake and the night of the burial that she had just forged her sorrow and fooled those around into thinking nothing had been unordinary with her relationship to Prince Rasler, and it had worked flawlessly.
"Ashe,"
She was shaken from her reverie, completely baffled to where she was and what had just happened until she looked up into those aqua colored irises of her ex-guardian. Her eyes grew wide, and everything, again, came crashing back.
Ashe remembered the terrible news Vossler had brought informing her of King Raminas's, her father's, untimely death. She had been desolate and completely inconsolable, but what pushed the envelope even further was the revelation that her protector, Captain Basch fon Ronsenburg, was indeed her father's murderer. It was total devastation. She didn't know who she could put her trust in anymore and over time the betrayal caused her to be solitaire, depended on no one but herself, eventually fueling her anger, forcing her to truly hate the knight.
Small clips of a dream she had dreamt most recently after the King's death, played over and over in her head causing her to ignore all the inquiries that she could no longer determine who they were from, here and now or inside her riddled head. She ingested everything of this nightmare, the Captain, with his Excalibur in hand, quickly jabbing the defenseless royal in the gut at the Treaty signing with a merciless joy plastered on his face. And her father's insistent pleas for his life to be spared as he spoke calming words of reason to try and sway the crazed knight from his murderous plight.
The blond man standing in front of Ashe watched intently with curiosity as the princess looked far away within her own thoughts, her expressions and emotions flickering wildly the longer she kept inside herself.
Careful to not startle her, which might prove impossible, he crouched down before her, placing both of his hands on her shoulders and firmly grasped them, shaking her back to the present.
"Huh?" she mumbled in a fuzz as her eyes began to flutter when she came out of her daze.
"Is everything alright?" he questioned truly concerned.
Ashe blinked a couple times to clear her head of the fog when she instantly laid eyes on him, the traitor, the kingslayer and her father's murderer. It was so very clear to her now and she was right to trust her hunch versus his trustworthiness.
Tactfully, she swatted his hands off and scrambled as far away as she could until her backside smacked into a stump near the end of the pathway. Though the words wouldn't be heard, Ashe still screamed as hard as she could.
He tried to advance on her in hopes of comforting her but stop abruptly, his face suddenly pained, when he interpreted her lips.
'I hate you Basch fon Ronsenburg!'
"I HATE YOU! LEAVE ME ALONE!" the princess cried in her sleep.
The Imperial guards on duty in this wing of the ward, rushed to her cell. Afraid that someone had broken through the security checkpoints and was trying to assassinate her before Vayne got what he needed, they unlocked the padlocked and barred door hastily, shoving it open to find her completely unharmed.
All the unnecessary hype had created a loud clamor, so when the hatch was busted open it filled the tiny cubicle with all the metal racket sending Ashe shooting upright, scaring her wide awake.
"What is the meaning for all this!" she demanded crankily for the rude alarm.
"You are unharmed?" one of the soldiers asked ignoring her shrewdness.
"Yes, I am fine."
"What's the meaning of this commotion?" boomed a militant tone, though it wasn't very discernable in its muffled bark.
"Sir! There were screams heard coming from the Lady Ashe's quarters. We investigated the area but it seems that her Highness was merely having a bad dream."
The Imperial soldier twitched nervously with his sharp movements, saluting his superior in robotic fashion, when confronted by the helmed Judge. Stiffly, the Judge marched past his insubordinates and into the cell room stopping directly in front of the princess, who, at the moment, wasn't very pleased with all the company.
Ashe watched in agitation as the Judge's plainly etched helmet followed its owner's head downward, the hollow eyelets scanning inch by inch of her body. It stopped when he noticed her bloodied arm, the stitches ripped and the wound reopened, but most of it was dry and crusted all over her arm.
Without looking away, the Judge called to the guards, "Bring me a med kit."
Nobody hesitated, they didn't dare question a Judge, no matter what rank.
Just as noisily as when they barged in, the soldiers left to heed the man's request leaving the cell empty save for Ashe and the lesser Judge still staring at her.
"Like what you see?"
It was a snotty reply but it was enough to gain the man's attention back and away from her body.
"No, not exactly," he said bluntly, returning his position to her.
She cocked her brow, signaling for him to explain. The Judge merely nodded his head toward her injury, stating, "You are hurt."
His voice was calm, almost custodial, when he spoke now that no one else was present. His demeanor was unusual, he was very altruistic and warmhearted in his body language and tones as he communicated, something an ordinary Archadian soldier disregards.
Now, knelt on one knee before her, the Judge gently tried to lift her damaged arm but Ashe quickly yanked it away, an eye twitching when the pain shot out.
"I can tend to myself," she huffed.
"Please, your Highness, these injuries need proper medical attention or infection will fester," he coaxed trying to reach for her hand again.
She looked at the cloaked person uneasily, skeptical of his trustworthiness, her eyes narrowing into slits when she tried to read him. He was nervous, she knew. His armors rattled the slightest when he exhaled a shaky breath, almost afraid to touch her or even be near. The hand that held on quivered, just barely, but enough to sense it tremble through her own. Who was this Judge? And why was he so apprehensive?
"Why are you doing this?" Ashe inquired in a softer voice, confused.
"It is my duty to see that you stay well and are taken care of."
Sarcastically, Ashe rolled her eyes. Fine bloody Inn this was. Guess bed sheets and pillows were extra in Archadia. And don't even think about room service.
"Now let me take a look at that wound. No doubt it aches," he soothed.
"That—"
Ashe was cut short as he held his plated glove up to silence her argument, noticeably agitated by the fact that his medical kit had not arrived fast enough, and quickly stormed out. Somebody was going to get an ear full later, she could only imagine. Moments passed before he returned with said case in hand, placing it at his feet, and then closed the bulky cell door behind him.
This had put Ashe in a stupor as she nervously watched when he popped the metallic case open displaying a bunch of medieval-looking medical equipment and supplies. She could only imagine some of the torturous things he could do with the tools she spotted inside and quickly, she fought the fearful panic chewing at her gut.
"This is not necessary, Judge…" she paused suddenly remembering that she didn't know his name since they hadn't been formally introduced.
But he caught on, finishing it for her, "Emeric, Judge Emeric."
"Judge Emeric," she repeated. Her voice was broken and sounded all wrong in her ears as it choked out her lips.
Without hesitation, he reached for her cradled limb once more and Ashe instinctively jerked it away again, uncertainty waging war inside her head.
A loud sigh escaped from under his helmet. "Lady Ashelia, please. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
Cautiously, she lowered her arm, her hand resting in the out stretched palm of his glove, just like a moment ago, allowing permission for him to proceed. Something about his now halcyon demeanor begged her to trust him even though he was the heartless enemy, the scum that plagued her kingdom.
"Thank you," he breathed and went to work peeling the useless, bloodied bandages away.
Ashe watched in silence, finally, as the guard gently tended to her wounds, never once being harsh or rough. This confounded her even more. A compassionate Imperial? And a Judge, no less.
"Why are you doing this?" she blurted out again, truly not understanding this person. How could he be an Imperial Judge and still have a heart?
Judge Emeric continued to work as he spoke, finishing the tedious stitchery on her arm with dexterity. "Like I already told you. My job is to see to your safety while aboard this airship. Your wellbeing is my top priority."
"I understand your orders, but why this?" she gestured with her free hand toward the medical case, "Why not send a healer to do this job? Why bother yourself with such a trivial matter? "
The tenor in his voice changed, becoming soft and jovial. It sounded like he could have been smiling but she would have never known because of that stupid helm blocking his face underneath. "Personally, I never cared for their healing magics. Too unnatural in my opinion."
Ashe levied an eyebrow. The conversation was taking on a casual note and it fueled her curiosity. She would have to exploit this as much as she could if it would, indeed, work in her favor.
"Too unnatural? Explain yourself."
"Yes, very unnatural." He spoke calmly as the menacing helm shook from side to side. "It feels as if you are having an 'out of body' experience. You see yourself; well your body, actually, void of your essence, through a distant fog for a short time before your body reconnects to its… spirit, if you will. All the while, scorching flames liquidate your veins, surging everywhere your blood emanates, and all you can do is scream in agonizing silence. Quite undesirable."
Emeric stopped for a split second, looking up to weigh Ashe's reaction, before continuing. To his acknowledgement, she was truly immersed in his opinion. Her expression one of true interest since her only experience with healing magics ended very badly and left her with little desire to further her education in the subject.
"But, with a couple minutes of agony comes relief. The soothing cool floats over your body, soaking into the depths of it and squelching the roaring blaze in an instant. Then, it's all over, like nothing had ever happened."
"But when somebody is already in that much pain, they couldn't possibly feel the intensity of the Cure spell's side-effects. The relief granted would be enough of a reward for enduring such," Ashe rebuked.
"Yes, undoubtedly so," Emeric agreed.
"Then why?" she pressed; stumped that he agreed with her views but still preferred to support his own.
A small chuckle escaped keeping the atmosphere light, which she greatly appreciated. "You might think less of me for my true reasoning."
She snorted in disagreement. "You're an Imperial Judge. That gives me sufficient reason to think lowly enough of you," she pointed out, a faint smirk appearing on her lips.
"Good point."
The gaudy helm now tilted towards her, almost shamefully, and sighed, "The truth is that I can't stand the awful migraines afterwards. Turns my stomach inside out, if you know what I mean."
'Oh please. It couldn't be that bad! Grow a pair… really!'
"And just when I thought I couldn't think any lower…" She mumbled mostly to herself but the Judge still heard her remark and laughed heartily despite the jab at his ego.
"There. I trust that you will be healed in a few days time, your Highness."
Sudden surprise caught Ashe off guard as he cleaned up and packed the kit in record time. She had been so interested in his strange-- and rather childish—reason for not ordering a healer to do the job he just did, that she hadn't even noticed the slight ending tug when he was finished, her arm securely stitched and bandaged again. He then turned and quietly began to leave.
He had to. He was already bending protocol beyond his clearance as it was, but he couldn't let her know that. She would only inquire further about his uncharacteristically odd behavior and possibly put her in greater danger.
"Wait!"
He still hadn't given Ashe an adequate answer to why he had done this. Yes, she knew he had been instructed to oversee her care but not on a personal level. Vayne wasn't that Hume, that was for certain. There was definitely another explanation that she gathered he was hiding and she knew only by the way he had delicately touched her, like she could instantly break with the slightest pressure; by the way he had cared for her, that there was something that went far deeper inside.
Emeric was halted by her plea; his back remained to her and his breath suddenly caught in his throat.
Ashe chewed her bottom lip, uncertain now, if she really wanted to know as she gazed at her hands resting in her lap, trying to gain some courage before slowly asking, "Why?"
"You seem to fancy that word, Princess. Please, explain." his voice was filled with confusion and ambiguity, but it stayed strong.
"You never told me why you are really doing this."
He released his breath in a silent gust, his shoulders slouched with exhaustion. The Princess was too keen and he had to choose his words carefully, keeping them controlled as he spoke, "I didn't want to see you endure anymore pain. You don't deserve what they—we have done to you."
The warmth and sincerity he communicated stunned her. She inhaled sharply and looked up just in time to notice that he had his head turned and had been peeking at her from the corner of his eye—not that she could actually see them—over his plated shoulder.
"I am truly sorry," he barely whispered.
But before she could calm the shock to speak again, to say anything that could keep the one friendly attachment she had in this room with her, he had disappeared outside the cell door, effectively leaving her mystified.
The days flew by and, soon, so did the weeks. Ashe's prison had no windows, only bare walls, which prevented her from watching the rise and fall of the sun or anything that could remotely constitute as a timepiece. Only after learning the routine feeding schedule they carried out, delivering mouse-sized portions of yokeless scrambled eggs and plain old burnt toast for breakfast accompanied by a half-gil sized cockatrice medallion-- clearly it had to be past sanitary codes-- and stale potatoes for dinner, could she begin to decipher and count the days of her imprisonment.
So far, it had been exactly fourteen days since her capture. Two weeks of complete boredom, and no more sightings of the Judge, gave her too much time alone with her thoughts; soon, she probably would lose herself.
The repetition at which her food came was like clockwork. Every morning and every night the same thing; the hatch at the bottom of the door would open and the ancient metal pie plate of rancid grub would be kicked in, sending it skittering across the floor. The panel would then slam shut and she would be graced with only fifteen minutes to eat before the jailer came to reclaim the dish, fully expecting the contents to be consumed. That meant, in turn, fifteen god-awful minutes of having to smell such putrid shit; fifteen minutes of painful attempts to stop the dry heaves before retching up air and, sadly, there wasn't even a single vent to lessen the severity of the stench. Ashe had to pinch her nostrils shut and breath through her mouth in order to keep from passing out.
It was obvious, just by the agitated manner at which the Imperial soldier snatched up her filled plate, that he was miffed at her reluctance to eat. She figured he was getting a verbal reprimand every time he came back with an untouched meal in his hands and after two weeks of continuous scolding, she would be fed up with herself too. But the repulsiveness always killed her appetite, refusing to even think of putting anything that bad near her lips… yuck! Think again.
Undeniably, Ashe would rather starve than be forced to choke down green speckled meat and charred bread, plus, Vayne could be trying to poison her; one less obstacle in his path to world domination.
But, this was the case; she was already malnourished, some of her features had become slightly boney, and she continued to deprive her body more of the sustenance it desperately needed. At that instant, a loud grumble groaned from her stomach and begged for something to fill its empty void. She refused to succumb to her needs and tightly wrapped her arms around her aching abdomen, trying to hold herself together and force the nausea away.
Suddenly, Ashe heard the lock to her cell click loudly and the iron door grinded open. There in the archway stood Vayne himself, flanked on either side by an Imperial bodyguard, and backed by the previously astray, Judge Emeric. All but the Judge stormed the tight space. He seemed very averse about entering, like something bad was going to happen and opted to remain stationed in the corridor never glancing once into the room.
A scowl graced her features when her stomach, again, rudely complained. The noise echoed resonantly inside and Vayne cockily raised his brow, "Hmm, you do not eat well, your Highness."
"I eat just fine, what's it to you?" Ashe sneered, but its bite was dramatically nullified by another growl. 'Dammit! Shut up, Shut up, Shut up!!!'
"I see our hospitality doesn't appease you. I clearly can hear that," Vayne scoffed, a smug grin itching at his lips.
"Forgive me for thinking that the Archadian menu choices are a bit too poor and distasteful for my likes."
Vexation flickered through his strange teal orbs but he still managed a chuckle and the presumptuous smirk effectively plastered itself to Ashe's face as she toyed with him. But quickly he became serious, his face hardening, signaling that playtime was over. He meant business now and she mimicked the same, putting up her stone-cold façade as well.
His eyes drilled into her before he motioned to his guards a command. With a faint nod, they instantly responded and swarmed her; the first forcefully yanked her up from the metal cot and restrained her arms behind her back. The second drew a large syringe out of a small case and satiated it full of some bizarre blue liquid and then, after removing the needle from the vial, proceed toward the Princess.
All the color drained from her face and her stormy eyes grew wide and fierce. She remained calm as best she could to hide the qualm behind her perfectly illustrated mask as she growled, "You wouldn't dare!"
"Now, Lady Ashe, I think you should know by now that I would," he quipped smoothly. His wide grin was contemptuous and his sinister gaze became more vivacious by the soldier's every step.
Ashe struggled impetuously against her captor's vice-like grip to no avail. She shot a gander at the distant Judge in hopes for help and was dumbfounded when she saw that he remained frozen despite her strife. His blatant negligence sent her ablaze; instantly regaining her vigor. After all that talk about not deserving to be treated so harshly and he had the nerve to ignore it all!
Guess she was on her own now.
A tiny stream of liquid cascaded out the needle end as the multi-trained Imperial Marksman removed all the air bubbles inside the syringe before he advanced his subject. Seconds raced by and Ashe was wrangling for an idea to keep the guard at bay. She had to do something to keep that funky stuff out of her blood. There was no telling what would happen.
Finally, as a last ditch effort—and the only thing she could come up with—Ashe braced her back against the Hoplite restraining her and abruptly swung a heavily armored boot at the oncoming target; a satisfactory 'crunch' filling the thick air when it forcefully met the man's groin. The syringe immediately dropped to the floor the instant the soldier doubled over, grabbing himself in agony, and fell to his knees with a loud groan.
Ashe could hear a stifled snicker escape from behind her, but Vayne's expression became even more indignant as he nodded a hushed command toward his guard, which quickly deadened the air. In an agitated huff, Vayne bowed down and picked up the loaded instrument himself; always having to clean up after everyone's screw-ups and coolly ordered, "Ivick, do it."
The Hoplite acknowledged and slithered his glove around Ashe's neck, prying her head back to expose the jugular artery. She fought hard against his strength, straining to look down, but it was useless.
"What do you want from me, Vayne?" Because of her compromised position, her words were moaned more than spoken.
"You've already been informed, Lady Ashe."
"Then I am of no more use to you, release me! You have your answer!" Ashe demanded as she tried to pull an arm free, but it was impossible.
The disgusting sneer reappeared as he answered, "Incorrect. You are still of great value to me."
He took a step closer, the syringe twirling between his fingers.
"This is against the law! If Emperor Gramis were to hear of this—"
"Ah, but that's the beauty of it. You see, what he doesn't know won't hurt him," he chuckled executing another step.
Ashe swallowed hard, a sunken feeling gnawed at her insides, "What more could you possibly…"
Vayne's devilish smirk grew into a full-blown, toothy smile when she suddenly stopped in mid-sentence, her eyes growing wide when reality hit her upside the head with the truth. He needed her because she knew every single movement of the Resistance. She knew every battle formation and strategy. Every piece of information they could ever get their hands on of the Archadian military and the Imperial strategies. And more importantly, she knew of Marquis Ondore's secret involvement and issuing of funds to support the Resistance. Ashe was the key to everything Dalmasca was protecting and she knew Vayne would strike gold if he could just get it out of her.
His heinous laugh saturated the cell, amplified by the bare steel walls, as he rested the tip of the needle on the skin at her neck. "Do you finally understand your worth to me? I have many questions and you have my answers, Majesty."
"You'll never get them! I won't talk!"
"Haha, sadly, I know this already. If you weren't as stubborn as a Victanir, I wouldn't have to be giving you this newly developed serum."
"I am not some laboratory rat to be manipulated!," she sallied curtly.
"My scientists will greatly appreciate your sacrifice." Vayne praised in a sickeningly sweet tone, while the needle proceeded to break the fine skin, "Now, this shouldn't hurt a bit."
'Liar!'
Just as it pierced and the serum entered her blood, tremendous pain shot through her body like wildfire. Her veins blazed with extreme heat and her body felt like it was beginning to boil. In total agony, her eyes rolled up into her head as she thrashed against the soldier to free herself from the torment. It felt like she was being burned from the inside out, droplets of sweat trickled down her forehead, and her harrowing screams bathed the dead ward until finally, the tube was empty and it was all in her system.
Panting through clenched teeth, Ashe snarled, "You bastard!"
"Now, now, Lady Ashe. Where are your manners?" Vayne chuckled enjoying every moment of her furry, "That sort of language is for foul-mouth soldiers and crummy, dirty little pirates. Quite unacceptable for a beautiful Princess."
"Take your manners and shove them where the sun doesn't shine…" Ashe mumbled under her breath so that he couldn't hear the rude retort.
"My Lord?"
The Hoplite that restrained the extremely irate Princess interrupted, ceasing the banter. His tone was an inquiring one, which subconsciously signaled Vayne to check the time crystal under his gauntlet before responding.
"Sixty seconds," his head nodded once, "Release her."
With her eyes narrowed, Ashe yanked both arms free and flexed her sore joints with minor relief. She was very leery of this questionable arrangement as she hesitantly scanned the room, from the soldier behind her to his untrustworthy lordship standing adjacent. A snort abruptly liberated and tiny giggles bounced from her mouth, "Might I suggest the Imperial Government use their money to hire a qualified scientist next time. Whatever the purpose of this drug might be, it has failed because I feel none of its effects."
Vayne raised a comical brow at the smug retort, smirking crookedly, "Nothing?"
"None."
And it was the true. Well… partly. Nothing felt abnormal inside or outside. Nothing felt wrong or askew about her body either. She couldn't feel a damn thing and that seemed unexpectedly odd. Everything was still there; everything was still appropriately in place and intact like it should be. No worries right?
Wrong.
That's when it all sunk in and realization reared its ugly head to bite her in the back. Her hand shot up to her face, her lips, her neck and then her arms. Nothing. Franticly, she clutched her hand and pinched as hard as she could the tips of every single one of her fingertips. Still nothing. Ashe's body could no longer acknowledge any kind of sensation. Her skin was no longer able to perceive the frigid draft in the cold cell nor could it sense the heat that flushed her checks.
She looked up with a fearful expression and met the total darkness of Vayne's eyes. His smile was heartless and cold as he clasped his neatly gloved hands behind his back in waiting. It wouldn't be long before the full effect took over.
"Ah, a little presumptuous, are we?" he taunted.
'I should learn to keep my mouth shut next time.'
Yes, just a little bit cocky. She would kick herself right now, if she could only feel her legs, but she couldn't.
Quickly, everything began to distort. Her hearing muffled and her vision became narrowed as if she was looking through a bright tunnel. Ashe shook her head and closed her eyes several times to clear the fogginess, but it only intensified. Her head was pounding terribly and was spinning so fast that she might vomit from the sensation. Everyone watched in amusement as the dazed Princess stumbled, tripping over her own foot, and swayed unsteadily losing her balance. A perplexed look plastered Ashe's face as she wondered why the heck the sterling floor was coming at her so fast. Was she hallucinating?
'SMACK!'
Nope. When she collapsed, the ground harshly kissed her cheek when it met and Ashe remained conscious for the matter of a few minutes, but her body was completely immobilized. She watched as the activity in the room suddenly flourished. Iron clad boots and greaves moved around her with dexterity as they surrounded her, one pair, in particular, was recognizable at her vantage point on the floor. There was no noise, for once, and Ashe greatly enjoyed it. Her lids started to feel heavy with sleep and her body succumbed to weightlessness as somebody hoisted her limp body off the ground.
Her eyes fluttered as she fought through the haze to keep consciousness. She strained her neck to see what was going on, if this was all just a really bad dream, but the struggle was useless, the drug finally triumphed. The last picture her royal irises captured, albeit blurred, was the prominent dark steel helm of a Judge with his invisible eyes staring down at her before blacking out.
Please review... No flames, please!
Landis Icelilly