Chapter Sixteen: Nature's pulse and the terrible sweetness of forbidden fruit

'I feel bad about having to kill those Mandragoras.'

'Why?'

'They were so cute.' Penelo sighed.

'Huh?'

'Vaan, can't you go five minutes without saying 'huh'?'

' Huuuu – uuuuuuh?'

' Now you're just being dumb.'

Penelo rolled her eyes affecting as mature a pose as she could muster. Fran watched the two Humes as they padded along ahead of her with quiet enjoyment.

' Ahhh, Penelo, you luuuurvvee me really.'

Vaan reached out and wrapped Penelo in a fierce bear hug. Her squeal punctured Fran's eardrums.

' Still why can't you talk more like Balthier? He would never, ever be caught dead saying 'huh'.' Penelo persisted.

'Penelo you don't understand half the stuff Balthier says, admit it.'

'Yeah, well, it sounds really good.'

Fran swallowed a smile, her eyes seeking out the man in question who was trudging a little ways ahead somewhere between the orphans and Basch who led the way back to the Hunter's Camp for better provisions.

Although the party had managed to vanquish the Mandragoras for the precocious and unpleasant Archadian boy in the chosen path, the Imps and the Pitfiends had dealt heavy damage to the party and dangerously diminished their supplies of curatives.

A tactical withdrawal was the only option, even the Lady Ashe had not objected, though she was unhappy with the further delay in reaching Archades.

Basch remained serene in his constancy and the children were content to enjoy the experience, Balthier, Fran suspected, was relieved that necessity had demanded this delay.

Certainly he had been the most vocal in his insistence that they needed to re-stock and better prepare for the dangers of the Sochen Cave Palace.

As Balthier was the only one who had ever traversed the subterranean faded grandeur of the stone palace it was difficult to dispute him, especially after the third near fatal Imp ambush.

Fran, for her part, was also relieved they would not be traversing the Cave for another day or two, but her reasons were subtly different.

She had noticed as she awoke this dawn that her senses were sharper. Always sharper than a Hume's, Fran's keen sensory awareness did fade in and out of focus. Now they were painfully acute.

Most Hume's knew about a Viera's ears and the sensitivity of their hearing. They did not know that a Viera's sense of smell and sight were almost as refined.

This day she was almost overwhelmed by sensation. The scrape of the high grass of the Tchita Uplands against her bare thighs became a tactile feat of endurance to remain passive in response.

The sounds of small vermin in the grasses and the distant thrum of Archades, too far away to see on the horizon but close enough for her to hear, remained in her ears like a pulse until they reached the Phon Coast.

But it was the scents that threatened to be her undoing. The scent of dry grasses and parched soil was a canvas for the varied palette of scents arising from her Hume compatriots.

Not just the scent of their bodies, but the scent of their emotions, flooding the open plains in a rainbow of invisible nuances only she could detect.

Vaan and Penelo's scents mingled to create a warm stew of youthful energy and the sharpness of nearly ripe, but not quite ready, berries hanging on a vine. The salty overlay of sexual tension was the reason Fran preferred to walk behind them both.

She had tried to walk up-wind of the pair earlier in the day, as the sun reached its zenith and the aroma of sweat and flirtation verging on suggestion twisted Fran's gut, but the scents of fear, rage and lingering despair that emanated from Basch had driven her back.

The Princess was the scent of sand and ice, her purpose and drive reminding Fran of the mint and clove cleanness of Mount Bur-Omisace.

It was ironic therefore that it was since Mount Bur-Omisace that Fran had become aware of a change in Ashe's focus.

Not a massive change in the rhythms of her body, the swirl of emotion that encapsulated that restrained, steely passion, but a subtle fragmentation of purpose, a drifting of mental sights from grief and rage to something else.

Fran knew what it meant of course, just as Fran knew the reason for her own sudden over-sensitivity to those around her.

Why the brilliance of the sun through sparse foliage, the lulling sonorous murmur of the ocean drawing closer as the weary party returned to the Hunter's Camp and the intoxicating sweet nearness to her comrades had become almost too much for her inborn solitude to withstand.

Spring was edging summer, all about Ivalice, beyond the pillars of stone and iron that Hume's hid behind, the green world was spilling forth new life.

Fran, a creature of nature even if that bond had weakened since departing the Wood, was still sensitive to nature's will even if, since losing the ear of the Wood, she herself was no longer subject to nature's dictates.

It worried Fran that the Princess, who seemed in some ways still a girl almost as Penelo was, an unopened bud, but was in truth a woman widowed these two years, was also swayed by Nature's pulse.

Fran turned her keen senses on the Princess and was not surprised to see the woman focused with intense preoccupation upon Balthier.

Fran frowned. It was not often that she doubted the right course of action, but here now, faced with what her senses told her, she did not know what to do, or if she should do anything at all.

She came abreast to Balthier, ' You have confided in the Lady Ashe.' It was not a question.

Fran's fingers twitched as she was enveloped in his scent, pepper and gunpowder over-laid with a thoughtful preoccupation, the aroma of fine, vintage wine, both sour and sweet that demanded she breathe it in.

Balthier sighed, dragging himself back from the depths of his thoughts. ' It was necessary, better from me than have him do it.'

Fran knew to whom he referred; his scent had taken on the high, sickly sharpness of rotting fruit, pain and bitterness that bore the name of father.

' You believe we shall confront Dr Cid in Draklor?'

She knew better than to refer to the man as his father, at least now, when he was wound tight.

' I'm almost certain. The spider will be waiting at the centre of his web, Fran. Tis the best place to watch and see his labours bare their bloody fruits.'

' What of the Princess, do you fear her ambitions?'

Balthier flicked a sideways glance her way, dragging out a handkerchief to swipe at his brow.

Fran resisted the urge to snatch the handkerchief from him and inhale deeply so that she could taste the truth of his feelings for the Princess.

' Do you?'

Fran took a moment to consider, Balthier always listened to her when she ventured an opinion and would follow even her most vague predictions with total faith, for this reason she tried to give him the best information she had at hand, clearing her mind of her own apprehensions.

' There is more to this tale than the ambitions of power-greedy Humes. I am certain there are other hands that pull the puppet strings from the shadows.'

' Power begets slavery in one form or the another.'

Balthier nodded, head down as they spoke in low, intense whispers.

' I believe the Princess is strong enough to resist the machinations of others. She has strength greater than would appear.'

Fran admitted. She did have high regard for Ashe, who was barely more than a girl and young to bear such a burden.

'Strong men and women have fallen before her, the noblest intentions are the most dangerous.'

Balthier argued, not so much in contradiction of Fran but as way of working out his own feelings.

Concern for the Princess was high in his scent. He cared for her in some fashion. That in itself was strange, Balthier kept others at arm's length lest they see through his performance to the man he was.

Fran looked around as they reached the Hunter's Camp and the sun began to set. Unable to hold back she spoke her mind.

' I worry for you.'

She curled one hand around his forearm, the cloth of his shirt stroked against her palm and Fran quivered inside against the brush of sensation.

It was a bittersweet torment, to be so close to others and so aware of nature's siren call and yet be unable to be part of the cycle of renewal going on all around her.

She was inside, where all women, Hume or Viera are equal, barren as deep winter.

Balthier turned to look at her blankly, ' Why for?'

Fran shook out her hair. She was loathe to say anything at all. He was still young in years, though he had never been young as Vaan was even at that age, she did not know how he would react to her warning.

' I have had words with the Captain.'

Balthier blinked at her then his eyes narrowed in understanding, the pepper scent flared with his temper. He turned as if to make for where Basch stood conversing with the children.

Fran kept hold of his arm, ' Do not go looking for a fight Balthier, he said nothing that was not fair.'

Balthier turned to look at Fran, something like hurt in his eyes. When he spoke his voice was leaden.

' You doubt me too, do you?'

Fran clasped his hand, turning her body so that none of the others could see the gesture should they look up to the bluff where they two stood.

' You and the Lady Ashe are well suited. She is a match in spirit to your own and you provide her with a voice untainted by demanded and expected fealty, the voice of reason to her passion. Yet she is a Princess bound by blood and oath to her people and you are a renegade by design.'

Balthier, not given to shows of anger, simply watched her curiously, the ironical amusement clear in his ever-present smirk.

' I have no designs on the Dalmascan throne, Fran, you make it sound as if she and I are planning a secret elopement.'

Fran sighed, struggling to explain to him her fears. It was not possessiveness or jealousy, she well knew that he would one day look to build a nest and find a mate.

It was only natural and she would never begrudge her dearest Hume companion what she had seen his predecessors enjoy.

' The call of spring is loud in my ears, Balthier, Ashe is a woman who has lost one mate and has few she can depend on, you play with fire with every promise, no matter the intent.'

Involuntarily Balthier looked down on the encampment where Ashe was standing by Vaan who was telling her something with elaborate sweeps of his arms.

' The best intentions produce the worst reactions.' Balthier sighed, shaking his head.

' I suppose I shall have to nip this one-sided blooming of affection in the bud?'

Balthier quirked an eyebrow caustically but Fran was riding Nature's wave and could scent the falsity in his words, the affection was not only on the one side.

Fran looked down also on the camp, Penelo's laughter was soon joined by Ashe's, as Vaan japed for their mutual amusement playing the fool with the consummate perfection that only the truly good of heart can; those who value the happiness of others before their own pride.

' Nothing good can come from its blossoming.'

Fran said with regret, the Princess had lost too many people she depended on and now would lose them too.

' It is better to cause a little pain now, then a deeper wound later.'

Balthier sighed, 'So much for the Leading Man, eh? Ruin my image in front of the boy, as well. I swear Fran if I did not know better I'd think you were out to ruin me.'

Without a backwards glance Balthier began the descent down to the Hunter's Camp on the shoreline.

Fran followed at his heels wandering how exactly Balthier would affect their leave from this party, her own heart conflicted she would miss the children, Basch and Ashe also.