PART II
Royal city of Rabanastre, Dalmasca
One year later
Rabanastre had changed so much in the space of a year that it was nearly unrecognizable. Ashe had indeed pulled together the rent fabric of her nation, had taken her time carefully patching it up again, and the kingdom had thrived and prospered, becoming a beacon of hope, a shining example for all of Ivalice to follow.
Even the fall of the Bahamut had done some good for the kingdom - Balthier and Fran had successfully steered it away from the city instead to crash a short distance away. The impact had forced it deep into the ground, cracking the crust of the earth and bringing a hidden spring of water to the surface. So it, too, had revitalized the area, forming a large lake and softening the harsh desert climes of the region into something more temperate. Wildlife returned, drawn by the lure of budding greenery and fresh, clean water. Flowers - which had been a rarity in this region prior to the fall of the Bahamut - now bloomed freely, wantonly, in such lush profusion that even the massive harvesting that they had undergone in preparation for the queen's coronation had hardly put a dent in their numbers.
The city was rife with color and life once again. Diplomatic relations with Archadia had been reestablished, and Ashe and Larsa had presented a front united in peace to their respective kingdoms, thoroughly quelling any further rumors regarding war and conflict. Ashe was currently acting as a mentor of sorts to Larsa in matters of state. Larsa, who had only recently celebrated his thirteenth birthday, was thankful to be able to call the new queen a friend and ally. As a younger son, he had had no expectations of ruling, but under Ashe's guidance, he was taking to it rather ably.
Balthier had not meant, precisely, to return to the city on coronation day. However he had never been one to thumb his nose at an opportunity that presented itself, and this particular day was a riot of excited furor, a constant thrum of confusion and commotion as the city prepared, finally, to greet Ashelia Dalmasca as their crowned Queen Regnant. It would be a simple enough task to slip in - he would never be recognized amidst the chaos - and liberate the airship that he had missed so this past year.
Or at least he had intended to do so. Until certain eager whispers had drifted to his ears, and he knew he would have to somehow witness the ceremony.
It seemed Ashe was not the only one being so honored on this day, for while she would be officially instated, she had planned an addition to the ceremony, a celebration of the anniversary of Dalmasca's freedom and also those who had fought alongside her to bring it about.
And so he tucked away the information he'd gleaned from his discreet inquiries regarding the location of the Strahl and had instead gone in search of the palace. The noise grew to cacophonous levels as he approached, and he appreciated for a moment the renewed beauty of the city. No longer downtrodden and humbled, these people flourished.
The dais rose above the marble steps leading to the palace, and he saw at once what he had been looking for. Not merely Ashe gazing out over her adoring public, no - Larsa, with Basch at his side stood there, too, and Vaan, and...Penelo.
He let out a breath he hadn't realized that he had been holding. She was there, she was well, she was beautiful still. Her hair had been artfully curled into glossy, perfect ringlets, tumbling over her shoulders and framing her face, saved from total wildness by a few pins which kept the curls tamed. A wreath of orange blossoms crowned her hair, interspersed with a few sprigs of lavender for color. She was clothed in a silky gown of lightest blush, the bodice gathered just under her breasts and then cascading to her feet in graceful, simple lines. Her hands were clasped demurely before her, eyes downcast, listening in respectful silence to Ashe's speech.
So beautiful, so elegant, so...utterly wrong. He frowned. There was almost a brittleness about her; that brilliant glow that she had had about her when last he'd seen her was dimmed, subdued. What had happened in the past year?
He should have left then. He should have merely requisitioned the Strahl and gone on his way. He should never have given into the temptation to check up on them. On her. He had tried to tell himself that he merely wanted to assure himself of her safety. But already his hands were curling with the desire to slide into her hair, grab fistfuls of those perfect, tamed curls, and rumple them into a sensuous tangle of wild waves.
Or something ridiculous like that.
He edged closer, slipping between clusters of people in the hopes of getting close enough to hear without the excited chatter of the townspeople drowning out the speech. Close enough to get a better look. Close enough to see her face clearly, to see if that brittleness was mirrored in her eyes.
But the crowd grew too thick, bodies pressed together, sandwiched so closely that he could not pass. Ashe drew Penelo to the front of the dais and though he could not hear, he could see Penelo's mouth flatten into a thin line. And then Ashe was lifting something from a cushion, a dainty filigreed diadem. Compared to her own exquisitely ornate crown of state, it was modest, but he thought perhaps it was intended to be symbolic. As Ashe set the diadem on Penelo's head, tucking it safely into her hair just above the wreath of flowers, a thunderous roar of approval shuddered through the crowd, flowing from the front of the crowd to the back in a great cresting wave of sound.
Well, well. It seemed Ashe must've made a lady out of the former street urchin.
The grand wonder of it all was that no one else seemed to be able to see how terribly wretched Penelo found this prospect. Ashe was smiling benevolently as she leaned down to press a kiss of peace to Penelo's forehead, but Penelo was utterly stiff, her expression frozen in what might've passed for surprise but he knew instead for horror. How was it that no one else had realized how very uncomfortable she was, how unhappy?
Finally Penelo was allowed to slink back to her former position as Ashe called Vaan to come towards her, and no one else seemed to notice that Penelo had not contented herself with merely standing in the background but even now was edging carefully away until she was fully out of sight. The slowly-setting sun had helpfully provided a haven of shadows into which she might slip and disappear unseen, and Balthier knew her too well to think she would stay around for the conclusion of the ceremony.
Another jubilant roar shook through the crowd; Balthier had been too intent upon watching Penelo's careful retreat to pay attention to what was happening. But it seemed now that the ceremony was drawing to a close; the crowd slowly began to disperse. He, too, had to make haste if he wanted to escape without being spotted; he could hide in a thick crowd, but his camouflage was rapidly disappearing.
He spent the next hour or so searching the city for the warehouse that he had it on good authority contained his airship. The city had changed so much in the last year that he could not rely upon his memory to navigate through the maze of streets. Much to his chagrin, he was finally forced to seek directions from a shopkeeper or two, but eventually he stumbled upon the warehouse.
The door was unlocked, and he slipped inside with half a mind to track down Vaan after all and give him a stern lecture over his lack of care. And then his irritation grew to ire when he realized that the warehouse was...vacant. The Strahl, his beloved airship, was gone. Except for a few chairs clustered around a small table, there was nothing - the warehouse was totally deserted. And he would not be leaving without some kind of explanation. So he dropped into a chair and settled in to wait.
He did not have to wait long. Only a few minutes had passed before the door opened once again, and Balthier rose to his feet.
Vaan, too, had been arrested by the vacant warehouse, so much so that he jumped when Balthier cleared his throat to catch his attention, and then stared in frozen shock as if he was looking at a ghost.
"What," Balthier demanded in clipped tones, "have you done with my ship?"
Vaan seemed to shake himself free of the stupor that had claimed him. His body jerked spasmodically forward, his jaw tightening as he approached. Before Balthier quite knew what exactly was happening, Vaan hauled back one of his clenched fists and slammed it into Balthier's jaw.
"That's for letting us think you were dead," he fairly shouted. "For letting Penelo think you were dead." But even as he spat the words, the anger seemed to drain out of him entirely, and his shoulders fell. He dropped into a chair with a heavy sigh.
"Hell of a day," he muttered, dragging his hands through his hair. "Ashe'll skin me alive me for skipping out on her party."
Balthier worked his injured jaw gingerly. "My airship," he repeated.
Vaan narrowed his eyes. "Oh, no. You owe us an explanation. So you can sit your sorry ass down and damn well give one."
Vaan's speech was an interesting mix of aristocratic and street cant, and Balthier looked him over curiously. Gone were the worn, lower class garments he'd sported a year before. Instead he'd been stuffed into the garb of the gentry, silks and fine, supple leathers. Under Balthier's intense scrutiny, he flushed and slunk down further in his chair, clearly uncomfortable to be caught in such finery.
"Ashe has been forcing us into etiquette lessons," he muttered by way of explanation. "It didn't take so well with me."
"You don't say." A bland, deadpanned response.
Vaan glared. "Do you have any idea what you've put us through?" he asked. "With the way it fell, we couldn't...we couldn't search the Bahamut for your bodies. It's impenetrable, and too close to the city to risk blowing it open."
Vaan gestured to the chair opposite him, and Balthier surprised himself by taking a seat. He had a feeling Vaan was going to impart some interesting information regarding the happenings of the past year.
"It's become a shrine, the Bahamut," Vaan said. "Penelo goes there sometimes. Often, actually. She says she goes there to think, that it's quiet there and she needs to get away from the city noise." He gave a bitter laugh. "Damn you, Balthier, she goes there to mourn."
Balthier was not goaded into an untoward reaction, he was hardly given to sharing his thoughts with others. "A waste of time, that. Even if I'd died."
And Vaan was furious again. "You don't even care! You don't even care what it did to her." He broke off abruptly, as if he were afraid of what he might say. He took a moment to collect himself, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing heavily through his nose, his hands clenching and unclenching as if debating the merits of another swift jab to Balthier's jaw. Finally he calmed himself enough to continue with his story. "She didn't speak. Not a word, not for almost two months. She just...couldn't. She'd open her mouth, and nothing would come out. Not so much as a squeak. After a while, she just sort of...stopped trying."
A wave of concern assailed Balthier, but he managed to keep it from showing on his face, schooling his features into a carefully neutral expression. "Was she seen by a physician?" he inquired.
"Of course she was. Loads of them. In and out of the palace for weeks. It was all in her head, they said. But they had this look about them, like they thought she was insane or something. She stopped coming out of her room after a while. Wouldn't let anybody in. Couldn't bear for anyone to see her, to pity her." Vaan sighed, closed his eyes. "When she did finally come out, she was...different." He waved his hand in a vague motion. "I don't know how to explain it. She was just..."
"Brittle?" Balthier suggested.
"Gods, yes, that's it. That's exactly it. Brittle." A humorless laugh. "She started talking again, finally, but it was like she was out of practice. Whispers. Pieces of sentences. It took a while before she got it back to normal. But this whole time, she's just been...I don't know. Pretending. Waiting, maybe. She only took part in Ashe's etiquette lessons because she said it gave her something to do, something to focus on."
"Where is she now?"
Vaan rolled his eyes. "Probably taking the Strahl out for a spin. She does that from time to time, says she's keeping her in flying condition. She won't let anyone else take her out," he said acidly. "She skipped out of the party earlier than I did, even. Was Ashe ever in a temper. It was supposed to be a presentation party or something ridiculous like that. D'you see this?" He held aloft a golden amulet that hung from a velvet ribbon around his neck. "She made me a lord. Apparently I've got properties and responsibilities now." He appeared no happier about it than Penelo had seemed.
"Ahhh. So the etiquette lessons were to train you up to your new exalted positions."
Another heavy sigh. "Ashe means well," he acknowledged. "And she's taken care of all of us. Penelo especially, like she promised. But it's not exactly the sort of life we wanted." He leaned back in his chair. "Your turn," he said. "You owe us an explanation."
But before he could speak, before he had even decided if he was going to speak, the door flew open and in strode Ashe, accompanied by two guards.
"Vaan, I'll have you know I have deserted my own party to come in search of you and Penelo, and I want to know..." her voice trailed off and she stopped abruptly as her eyes lit on Balthier.
"Your Majesty," he acknowledged somewhat flippantly.
Her mouth went slack as she grappled desperately for words, a plethora of emotions crossing her face, varying from shock to relief before eventually settling on anger. Her face flushed a rather unbecoming shade of red, her hands curling into fists. Finally, absent a more appropriate response, she stalked forward and slapped him soundly across the face. No meager blow, that; she put the whole weight of her body behind the strike, and the force of it jerked Balthier's head to the side.
"How dare you," she hissed. "How dare you be..."
"Alive?" he prompted. Damn, but these people were an odd, violent bunch. Some things about them he had not missed.
She drew back her hand again, but Vaan stopped her. "Save it, Ashe, I've already done it."
"Don't be impertinent," she snapped. "I have a title; I'll thank you to use it."
"My apologies, your majesty." Vaan stood and swept a remarkably insolent, practiced bow - a mocking gesture of insincere subservience. Ashe returned his insolence with a quelling glare.
"If we might hurry this along..."
Ashe whirled on Balthier, eyes blazing. "I will get to you in a moment," she hissed, and turned back to Vaan. "Penelo left a note for me," she said. "What is the meaning of this?"
Balthier glanced over to read the tersely-worded note Vaan had accepted from Ashe.
Queen Ashe,
No, thank you.
Penelo
Vaan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, handing the note back to Ashe. "It means that Penelo doesn't want to be a lady," he said. "And it means," he said, casting a rueful look at Balthier, "that the Strahl is long gone."
Balthier surged to his feet. "Well, then, I've got to find her."
Vaan clamped a hand on Balthier's shoulder, staying him when he would have left. "Which 'her'?" he demanded. "Penelo, or the Strahl?"
Somehow in the space of a year, Vaan had grown from wayward, volatile child into confident man. He was not posturing; he was posing a very serious question, and he had no intention of letting Balthier out of his sight until it was answered to his satisfaction. Balthier had heard the question for what it was, understood the challenge in it immediately. Which is more important? Which one are you truly going after?
"Both, I should expect, considering that they are together," Ashe said in some confusion, for she did not sense the undercurrents of tension between the two men.
Balthier had a grudging respect for Vaan's dedication. And he decided...well, he had already revealed himself to both Vaan and Ashe. His cover had already been blown all to hell. He might as well cast it aside truly. He had gone without the Strahl for a full year already, and...he wanted to see how Penelo truly fared, to see the face that he was certain she would hide from everyone but him. He wanted to see her again, he wanted...things for which he had no name.
"Penelo," he admitted finally. And by degrees, Vaan's fingers unclenched from his arm.
"Good," Vaan replied. "Go, then."
"What?" Ashe cried. "Surely you're not thinking of letting him -" But Vaan fixed her with a stare so intense that even the redoubtable queen quailed beneath it.
"Check at the Bahamut," Vaan said. "First place I'd look, if I were you."
The lake surrounding the Bahamut was a deep, fathomless blue. The raucous noise of the celebrating city only breached the peace of this place as shreds of sound carried by the breeze, almost as if it did not dare to disturb the reverent silence. It had fallen to ruin, the Bahamut. Its rings jutted from the center of the lake, covered in grasses, flowers, and ivy that climbed relentlessly over it, lending the fortress a somewhat softened, melancholy appearance.
A bridge stretched from the far shore to the center of the island formed by the fallen fortress, its marble arches rising like waves from the still waters beneath. He picked his way around the lake towards the bridge, towards the sunken ship that was to have been his tomb. That Penelo still believed to be his tomb. A sliver of guilt stabbed him, and he wondered at it. He had experienced it many times in the past year, whenever his thoughts had strayed to her. He had expected the sharp sting of it to fade, but it never had. Instead it merely grew worse over time, like an untreated illness.
He had also suffered a touch more loneliness than he'd been accustomed to, as if he'd lost something precious. Sometimes he woke in the night to find himself reaching out as if in search of that precious thing he'd lost, but it had always eluded him. Sometimes he awoke, swearing that he had caught the scent of lavender in the air, but it always faded away too quickly.
Beneath the luminous moon, the marble bridge glowed as if it had been polished to a gleaming shine. Dusk had given way to nightfall, and the stars crept out, one by one, twinkling coldly in the black sky. A brisk wind swept over the water, sending ripples trembling across the surface of the lake, ruffling through Balthier's hair as he crossed the bridge silently. The marble gave way to grasses beneath his feet; the surface of the island dipping and cresting in tiny hills and valleys. It was beautiful, in a somber sort of way. He could easily imagine Penelo coming here, tucking herself into one of the many nooks and crannies this place, wild and lush with plant life, had provided, finding peace in the creeping vines and blooming flowers.
He had made almost a full circuit of the island when something crunched beneath his foot, and the fragrant scent of lavender and orange blossoms assailed him. He'd used vines and footholds to climb his way over the less accessible parts of the island and had, unwittingly, discovered Penelo's hiding place - he'd stepped right upon the wreath of flowers she had worn earlier in the day. He knelt down, digging into the small recess that had been hidden amongst the vines. It had been lined with a cloth, protecting the things it contained, but was hidden out of sight - he had found it purely through luck...or perhaps through fate.
She'd left not just her wreath, but her diadem as well. And an assortment of other items, like a child might leave in tribute. Coins, tiny knicknacks, a silver key, jewelry - both costume and precious - a yellowed handful of newspaper clippings, bits of lace, buttons, hair ribbons, polished stones, embroidered handkerchiefs. And he realized at once that she had been bringing bits of her life here for the past year, as if...as if she thought to share it with him. A strange tightening sensation gripped his chest.
But where was she? Clearly she had been here today, not too very long ago if she had left her wreath and diadem. But he had not seen the Strahl anywhere near; he had not crossed paths with her. He clasped the diadem in his hands, staring down at it intently. It was so delicate, a fragile bit of nonsense, all twisting silver curlicues and precious gems, attached to a silver comb to anchor it into her hair.
She had not wanted to be a lady, of course. She had looked so horrified up there on that dais, so trapped and helpless. Of course she would cast off such a hated symbol. Nonetheless he slipped it into his pocket, unable to let it languish away in a secret place, a token left for a dead man who had failed, in point of fact, to be dead.
So she had escaped, then. She had cast off her life in Rabanastre, unwilling to subject herself any further to the responsibilities thrust upon her. But where had she taken herself off to? His eyes searched the sky as if he might find her there, but saw only the stars, sparkling in silent mockery of his plight.
Except, perhaps...
He cast his gaze westward. And there it was, shining like a beacon, winking at him, beckoning him to follow. He fancied it might've shone a bit more brightly than the stars surrounding it.
The Pirate Balthier. His star. She had told him, once, so long ago now, that she would follow the stars to the ends of the earth, and when he'd told her to pick just one, she had by some incredible coincidence chosen his. He had tried to dissuade her from it, but she had insisted on following that particular star.
Now he found himself hoping fervently that she had. And sighed. She had fled Rabanastre in the Strahl, in his airship. Which meant that his own movements would be severely restricted, limited as he was to far more pedestrian means of transport. Stubborn, willful girl that she was, she would, of course, make tracking her down no easy task.
And yet, he would. He knew it with a surety that was almost baffling. He would find her because there was simply no way he could do anything less. Perhaps in this past year, all of that emotion that had never faded when his thoughts had turned to her had merely been a sign that the thread of fate stretching between them would not be so easily severed. It was time, then, to follow it at last.