The Nature of a Coward
Rabanastre, 706 O.V.
...Six years pass before Balthier finally decides to do something about his father. Things do not go as planned. A brief vignette occurring in game, in the Garamsythe Waterway, on the way back to Lowtown...
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Balthier knows Amalia isn't Amalia. He knew it the moment he saw her, but the sudden resurrection of a suicidal princess wasn't what caught his attention. No. It was the stone. Or, more precisely, it was the flare of bright, morning sun orange light that the stone emitted when Vaan held it near the princess. That was unexpected. Something interesting, in fact, as it meant that Cid's notes weren't the scribblings of a madman. At least, not entirely. While Vaan startled and the princess gaped, Balthier wondered who else knew. His Lordship Vayne? Certainly. The Honorable Magister Gabranth? Perhaps.
Fran flashed one of her "you didn't believe me, did you?" looks. Balthier ignored her then and he continues to ignore her now, doing whatever he can to distract himself as they creep through the sewers under the palace. He glances at his pocket watch. Flips his compass open and shut. Reholsters his gun. Checks his cuff links. Fixes the lacings on his armored vest.
Two paces in front of him, "Amalia" teeters on her boot heels over wet cobbles. Each time she slips, Vaan catches her arm. Her body is steel tense and unforgiving, and the stone Vaan holds glows again and again, taunting Balthier, reminding him that he and Fran should be up in the Strahl right now, crossing out of Archadian-controlled Dalmascan airspace and heading west.
Balthier watches the princess's heavy scabbard slap an uncomfortable rhythm against the side of her thigh. She slips again on her next step. Vaan reaches. Her shoulders stiffen. The stone glows.
I thought you to be the one holding the stone and escorting Her Highness? Although Fran never voices these words aloud, Balthier swears she thinks them with every sidelong glance she gives.
Balthier checks his pocket watch again. He opens his compass without bothering for the needle to still before taking a reading and closes it with a satisfying metallic click.
"Restless?" Fran whispers.
Balthier doesn't reply. For the rest of the length of the corridor, he works on distracting himself with the pale curves of flesh peeking from beneath the princess's hemline. The late princess's hips sway more than any feminine hips should ever sway in the filth of this sewer. She rocks them side to side like a moored boat, swinging them as if she has just learned their power but isn't yet sure how to wield it. She slips again, this time going down hard on her knees. Balthier confirms that her underwear is, indeed, pink. In fact, it appears the same shade of pink as the bow she wore in her hair the only other time they met six -- almost seven -- years ago.
He hopes she doesn't remember him. She doesn't seem to. He looks nothing like he did back then and she has no reason to remember him, grown into a woman now, although she still wears her hair cut at her shoulder just like she did as a little girl. But no pink bow. Same pale grey eyes. Ashelia Dalmasca, the Royal Princess, heiress of the mythical Raithwall's lineage. Although, perhaps not so mythical after all it now seems.
She stands and adjusts her sword belt. Once again, Vaan reaches to help her.
"I can take care of myself." She glares at the thief and this time he has the sense to back away.
Balthier listens for unwanted footsteps as they wait for the princess to signal she is ready. Fran stands next to him, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. Perhaps you will take the precious stone you came for? Or have we lost my hover just so you can have your brief glimpse? Balthier scowls and turns away.
He checks a reading on his compass. Still heading due south but he can now see where they need to turn. Maybe a hundred yards ahead? Close enough. Just a little further and they'll be under Lowtown. He needs to make a move before then. Can't have that little thief running off with that stone, can he now?
"I was merely thinking," the princess says as she motions for everyone to step forward.
No one replies.
"It appears we are almost to the stairs into Lowtown," she continues. "There, I will seek my companions and you will be free to go your own way."
"Well, let's get movin'!" Vaan splashes ahead.
Until now, Balthier never believed what he had read in notes that Gabranth meticulously recorded on Cid's activities. Oh, he had no reason to doubt the omissions in his father's accounting, the incomplete status reports his father filed about his research, or even the secret excursions to Kerwon. What bothered Balthier were the lab reports.
Somehow, that bastard Gabranth found ways to make copies of hand written lab reports that Cid kept locked away in his office. Slept with the lab assistant, perhaps? It took Balthier an entire summer to make his own copies in long hand, three pages a day, hidden behind the intelligence briefings that were part of his daily assignment. Every evening, Balthier stayed late just so he could return the pages he took back to their file.
Had anyone else collected those copies of his father's private reports, Balthier would've stolen them. But not from Gabranth. The man tossed away nothing and he kept meticulous files of every scrap of information that came his way. Cabinets of neatly organized mission notes going all the way back to exercises when Gabranth was in training at the Akademy. Even old copies of his course notes and Akademy exams. Every scrap of data from the experiments he used for his thesis. Years of his work as Chief Judge overseeing the Imperial Division of Mist Cartography, housed within the Ninth Bureau. All of it, neatly cataloged in addition to his work in military intelligence.
Gabranth had been the first person Balthier knew to agree that Cid had gone mad. "He worships tattered texts telling old tales of mythical stones as if they hold the answer to life. The fool. And I know you think you're father's a fool. I suspect you hate him for what he has become. So, what does his son plan to do? Can I trust him to the sword of the law while my two cartographers and my lead scientist inspect Bhujeba's mines? Or, instead, will he fail to report tomorrow at seven a.m.?" That day, Gabranth had not bothered to look up from his papers. He spoke in monotone words of a man easily annoyed when forced to confront the obvious. The next day, as predicted, Ffamran mied Bunansa failed to appear at the airdock. Gabranth doubtlessly had to cancel the mission until he could get another judge cleared for the highest level of military secrecy.
A few years after Balthier left, he heard a rumor that Gabranth tried to resign as division chief of Mist Cartography but Solidor refused his resignation. Then, the following year, they made him a Magister. Whether or not Gabranth knows it, Balthier once snuck a look through all of Gabranth's cabinets of files. He knows why Gabranth was promoted. That man worked as Gramis's personal spy shortly after entering the Akademy, right after Gramis realized that some unimportant kid on a scholarship was working for Dr. Cid. The eyes of the empire was once nothing more than an Akademy student hired to spy on the Bunansa household.
Gabranth is sitting on a goldmine of information by now, all neatly labeled, neatly filed. And that man is a nothing but a coward hiding inside his magisterial armor. He had enough evidence years ago to force Cid's resignation, even put Cid on trial. But what has he done instead? Skulk around, record his notes, and wait for the Solidors to stop issuing contradictory orders. Gabranth has done nothing. Balthier expected nothing from Gabranth six years ago and he expects nothing now. Someone else has to stop Dr. Cid.
A splash of water. The princess's left boot heel catches on a metal grating. She slips again, righting herself as she reaches for the wall beside her. The stone glows as Vaan moves toward her. Balthier watches how she tries her best to ignore the thief.
So, who else knows? Vayne knows. Gabranth should know but that would assume Gabranth has the balls to make sense of the data he collects. He doesn't. But what about Ghis? Certainly he is doing more with the 12th Fleet than merely patrolling the airspace along the western edge of Dalmasca. His men stop and search airships too frequently, casting too broad a net. Ghis is looking for something. Balthier is sure of it. He's looking for something -- the same something Balthier has already found. That something the petty thief named Vaan currently holds.
The bend in the corridor is just up ahead. Lowtown. So close, Balthier can smell the kabobs, the cooking grease, and the body odor.
Vaan jogs ahead, obviously recognizing where they are. "Don't worry about a thing, Amalia. We've got you covered."
Indignant, the princess squares her shoulders as Vaan pockets the stone. He peers around the bend, body pressed against a wall. Balthier thinks of tackling the thief now but misses his chance when Vaan yells back that the the coast is clear and runs forward.