Author's note: Sorry for being late; FF was down. I'm at my best friend's bachelorette party currently, and I'm updating from it! I've completed the story, so you can expect a new chapter every Saturday, which should conclude with the epilogue in chapter 31. Thank you for your patience and dedication.
Balthier lay in Penelo's bed aboard the Strahl, dangling a ring hanging from a thin silver chain above his face. His ring. It'd been an age since he'd last seen it - not since he'd given it to Penelo on that flight into Archadia, more than a year ago. But she had kept it, it seemed, not to wear on her finger, but to wear around her neck like a pendant. The chain was quite long; probably it hung well beneath the neckline of her clothes and out of sight. It both touched and humbled him that at some point she had worn his ring over her heart, not openly where anyone could see and ask untoward questions, but privately so that only she would know. As if in tribute - a memory, a pain so deep she shared it with no one.
He had found it only because the scent of her hair had been fading from her pillows, and he'd gone in search of the vial of lavender water he'd given her, shamelessly pawing through her meager belongings. He'd uncovered it after only a few minutes, tucked away in a plain, unadorned jewelry box that she had appropriated from among Fran's abandoned former possessions. Only beside the small vial had been a length of silver chain wrapped carefully around a brightly colored ring. He'd recognized it immediately, drawing it out of the box with a curious sense of wonder and hope. She had kept it. She still kept it. She had secreted it away, protected it, kept it carefully hidden. She would see it every time she reached for the lavender water; she could hardly have forgotten about it. She had to care for him still, then, even just a little.
The Strahl felt so empty without her, as though an essential part had been ripped away, leaving only jagged edges that could never be knit back together. He felt empty without her. She'd taken a piece of him with her, and he felt the loss as acutely as if a knife had slipped between his ribs, twisting and rending his flesh and bone to carve out a chunk of his soul. And she didn't even know it - she had utterly ruined him and she couldn't possibly know.
He had wanted to go after her immediately, but knew it would be fruitless - Penelo was under Ashe's protection, and he had riled the new Queen at their last meeting. She would not relinquish Penelo easily. If, indeed, Penelo wished to be relinquished at all. He had not, perhaps, done a particularly grand job of calming her fears. This time, he could not simply steal her away, toss her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and take her wherever he wished without regard to her desires. This time, he owed it to her to ask.
Still, without a particularly cunning plan, he knew not whether he would even get a chance to ask; certainly Ashe was unlikely to permit him within a hundred yards of Penelo. And that meant he was going to have to call upon every resource at his disposal - and perhaps beg indulgence from some that weren't. Such an undertaking would take time; he could only hope that Penelo was well and in good spirits. He had abandoned her once, and he did not care to let her think he had willingly done so again.
He lowered the ring into his waiting palm, closing his fingers around it. Blast it; he was going to have to marry the girl - if she would have him. Gods knew she would be getting the poorer end of the bargain. He had so little to recommend him; he could only hope that she would love him anyway, that she might find her way to forgiving him his unforgivable lapses in judgment, that she might see something in him worth salvaging. Because without her...he would be lost.
Tea was a solemn affair. Penelo and Ashe had gone through two cups of the sweetly aromatic rose petal tea Ashe favored as well as an entire plate of sugared scones before either of them had worked up the nerve to speak so much as a word beyond the customary greetings. Despite the fact that Ashe had been the one that desired to meet with her, Penelo was surprised by how ill at ease Ashe seemed to be, stiff and tense, as if she might be expecting another attack.
More than a bit uncomfortable herself, Penelo finally broke the awkward silence. "I behaved poorly a few days ago. It was not well done of me. I am sorry, Ashe."
At the unexpected apology, the tension drained out of Ashe on a heavy, relieved sigh. "No, please. You had every right to be angry with me." After a brief hesitation she reached out to catch Penelo's hand in hers, squeezing reassuringly. "Truly, I don't wish to order your life for you. In the past year, you have been rather...fragile, I would say. We've had no word from you for weeks; I think we were all a little afraid for you."
Though the words held no censure, Penelo ducked her head guiltily. Ashe had taken such pains to see her well cared for, and she had, like a rebellious child, fled with no explanation besides a hastily scrawled note. Perhaps Ashe had not been owed an explanation, precisely, but now, after the heat of anger and indignation had faded, she regretted causing so much concern in the woman who had done so much for her. She supposed an honest conversation was the very least owed to Ashe.
"Larsa and I spoke yesterday," Penelo said. "He explained some of your concerns. But, Ashe, I really don't see how I could possibly be of any help. You can dress me up like a lady, but it's all just camouflage. I feel like an imposter; I don't belong here. I'm not made for this sort of life."
Ashe made a sympathetic sound in her throat. "Penelo, I know how daunting this must seem to you. But please believe me, you are absolutely equipped for the task. You have always been a lady in the truest sense of the word. You've taught me more about what that responsibility entails than I've ever learned from books or tutors." She gave a brief, self-deprecating spurt of laughter. "You taught me nobility, dear. All I've taught you was etiquette."
"I...I'm sure I don't understand your meaning," Penelo said, entirely bewildered by the turn in the conversation.
"Before we met, I was bitter, vengeful. I sought to reclaim the kingdom that had been stolen from me, to avenge my husband, to make all of Archadia pay for Vayne's actions," Ashe said. "I thought only of my own suffering. I was too selfish to consider how the people I was supposed to protect had suffered. You owed me no allegiance, yet you supported me regardless, not for glory or honor or even revenge, but because all of Dalmasca had suffered, and you wanted only to end it. So you see, between the two of us, you have always been the more noble."
Unaccustomed to such praise, Penelo averted her eyes and refreshed their teacups. "I think you give me too much credit," she murmured.
"I think you give yourself too little." Ashe reached for Penelo's hand, clasped it in her own. "You will never know how close I came to choosing the wrong path," she said. "But for you and your faith in me, I might have done so. I might well have lead us all into ruin. But I learned from you that peace and vengeance are mutually exclusive, and so I gave up that path, and Dalmasca has been the better for it. And I still need you, Penelo - rather, all of Dalmasca needs you." She splayed out her hands entreatingly. "There are so few that I can trust. My father's courtiers are gone, fled - and they would have only their own interests at heart. The people of Dalmasca need one of their own to speak for them, someone they can trust to understand their plight, someone who has grown up amongst them, not the idle rich they knew before. You can be that - and you can help me to choose a new court, new advisors who will work for the advancement of all Dalmascans rather than simply exploiting the labor of the common man."
Penelo hesitated, weakened. "I'll be glad to help you to the best of my abilities," she said. "But this life, these clothes, all the bowing and scraping and subservience...I hate it. I've spent all of my life in Rabanastre; I can't stay here and pour tea for the rest of it. I want to travel, to explore the world."
Ashe gave a short burst of surprised laughter. "I think I've given you a bit of a mistaken impression. Come," she said. She pushed back from the table, ushered Penelo to one of the massive windows. It provided a far-reaching view, well above the walls that encircled the city, and Ashe pointed far into the distance, past the wreck of the Bahamut, over lush green hills, towards the far eastern border of Dalmasca. "Your estate is in that direction, rather far removed from the city. It is currently under the care of a steward, and by all accounts he is doing a fine job. You've around four hundred tenants, and a lovely manor house surrounded by orchards. The rents and profits from the crops promise to provide a fine income. Of course, the management of the estate and care of the tenants will take a bit of your time, but much of those responsibilities could be undertaken by the steward, should you wish to keep him on."
Penelo gazed blankly out the window. An estate, with tenants. She had only vaguely understood before, in an abstract sort of way. But no one had explained the details, and she had felt far removed from the responsibility. Now it was real; now there were people who would depend upon her. She swallowed heavily. "Ashe, I...what if I make a complete muck of it? Don't they deserve to have someone competent in this sort of thing?"
"You are. And you'll have the guidance of the steward. As well as mine, should you require it. It's not a prison, Penelo - it's freedom. Your estate will provide you the funds to travel, and your steward is equipped to handle your affairs in your absence. You'll not be confined to your estate; you'll be free to travel when and where you please." Ashe bestowed an affectionate smile upon Penelo. "Only now, you will always have a home to return to."
Penelo felt the sting of tears behind her eyes, a lump of emotion clogging her throat. Oh - a home. A place of her own, away from the cold sterility of the palace, away from all the obsequious servants. It had been years since she'd had even a shred of privacy, a place where she could have anything remotely approaching a life of her own. She sniffled, swiped at her cheeks, smiled as she watched Ashe pour a fresh cup of tea and a few errant drops splattered the white tablecloth. Larsa had been right; Ashe was out of practice.
"I'm not going to wear gowns," she said.
Ashe smiled over the rim of her own teacup. "By all means, summon a seamstress immediately if you please. I've no intention of dictating your manner of dress. Although you may wish to keep a few gowns on hand - for formal occasions, you understand."
An acceptable compromise; Penelo nodded. "I would also appreciate it if you might see fit to recall my jailors." She gestured to the two guards standing near the door.
"Ahh." Ashe gave a wry grin. "I'm afraid you must keep them for the time being."
"But why? Ashe, you must believe I don't intend to escape at the earliest opportunity. Any longer," she added sheepishly, at Ashe's pointed look.
"As a matter of fact, they were never truly intended to keep you imprisoned," Ashe replied. "They're meant more as a cautionary measure against Balthier. I really don't think he's above stealing you away if he saw the chance."
Though Penelo schooled her features into a neutral expression, she felt her shoulders slump, heard the desolation in her voice when she said, "It's not necessary. If he hasn't come already, it's unlikely that he will."
"Oh, I think you are mistaken. He has come; he is within the city already."
Penelo jerked as if she had been struck. "He is?"
"According to my sources, yes. I could have him apprehended and removed from the city, but I imagine you might take that poorly." Ashe searched Penelo's stunned face. "Please understand; you have no one to speak for you. He has been unspeakably cruel in his treatment of you, and I...I cannot sit idly by and let him make a mockery of your feelings for him."
Hot color rose to Penelo's cheeks. "That is really none of your business," she muttered, cheeks pink with mortification.
"Perhaps not. I know I'm overreaching, but I don't wish to see you hurt again. I don't mean to keep you from him, Penelo, if you wish to see him. I desire only to ascertain the nature of Balthier's attentions. As things stand, can you truly say you would trust him with your heart?" Ashe fixed her with a penetrating stare, daring her to search inside herself for the answer.
And Penelo could not meet her gaze. Of course she could not say that she trusted him. He had done little to earn her trust and much to destroy it. He was by his own admission selfish, and as much as her heart ached to acknowledge it, if she ran off with him she would be setting herself up for further devastation. He had so easily bowed out of her life before. If it happened again, if she risked her heart on him once more and he rejected it, it would destroy her. Only a fool would make the same mistake twice.
But then...she might be a fool. The mere announcement that he was within the city had set her heart pounding furiously, torn between the desperate hope that he would come and the heart-wrenching fear that he would devastate her once again.
"Penelo," Ashe's sympathetic voice cut through Penelo's self-pity, jerked her out of her painful reverie. "Don't mistake my meaning, I beg you. I am sure he will come, and I believe he cares for you a great deal. But shouldn't you like to be sure? If it is what you wish, by all means you should go with him - but you deserve more than to be merely a diversion, an amusement. This time, let him declare his intentions. Let him take the risk for once, and see if he will prove himself worthy of you."
Penelo worried her lower lip between her teeth, considering Ashe's words. "But with the palace so well protected, he would be a fool to risk coming."
"Dear Penelo," Ashe sighed. "With you securely settled here and out of his reach, he would be a fool not to come."
A masked ball was held at the palace a week later, and all sorts of visiting foreign dignitaries had descended upon Rabanastre in droves, eager to be in attendance for the first formal event hosted by the queen.
Ashe had requested - though not demanded - Penelo's attendance as well, and Penelo had agreed to do so despite the fact that it would necessitate a return to the formal wear that she had eschewed over the past few days. Since her conversation with Ashe, life in the palace had been almost pleasant - the servants had, at her request, ceased their bowing and 'my lady'ing, and Ashe had made good on her promise to summon a seamstress to create a number of more comfortable garments.
Even the guards assigned to her no longer seemed quite as annoying as they had once been. They tolerated her good-natured attempts to escape them with remarkable aplomb, although she had sent them into a panic once when she had slid down the grand staircase banister, forcing them to run after her only to find her awaiting them at the bottom, laughing uproariously as they wheezed their way down the three flights. Still, they had been relieved that her black humor had disappeared and hadn't bothered to reprimand her for her prank.
The night of the ball, a maid bustled into her room, all exuberant eagerness as she flitted about, readying Penelo's gown and fussing with her hair.
The ball gown she had allowed Ashe to select for her, and had been surprisingly pleased with what had been chosen - a cap-sleeved gown that faded from so light a blue it was nearly white at the bodice to a deep, royal blue at the bottom of the skirt, sprinkled with seed pearls that glowed like stars in the night sky. Current fashion called for wide skirts that Penelo thought resembled cakes, with hoops so stiff that no wearer would dare to sit in it for fear that the skirts would fly right up over her head. But this gown - it was soft and fell smoothly to the floor, with gathered fabric that would cause it to bell out in a spin to form the illusion of wide skirts without the wildly impractical reality of them. Even the delicate silver slippers were perfect, fabric brushed to supple softness, none of the blister-inducing nonsense most of the other ladies would wear. And she was pleased to note that the hem of the gown left the toes of her slippers peeping out - she would not have to fear tripping on the hem of her gown and making an utter idiot of herself.
She allowed a lady's maid to affix a slim silver mask to her face and tie the strings behind her head, as well as to arrange her hair into an elegant, simple style, pinning it up and away from her face, leaving the back of her neck bare.
The maid shoved a few last pearl-tipped pins in her hair and pronounced her presentable, and Penelo thanked her, shoved away from the vanity, and rushed out the door. She was already a bit more than fashionably late, perhaps, but no names would be announced in deference to the nature of the ball, the masks concealing identities and allowing the attendees to mingle freely, so she would be relatively safe from censure.
Still, the slow descent into the ballroom from the grand staircase was nerve-wracking. She was acutely aware of eyes on her, endeavored not to betray her discomfort by flushing beneath such scrutiny. This was the worst of it - she was far more comfortable standing at the sidelines than in the thick of it, all eyes on her. But she made her entry, her curtsy before Ashe - who had a mask of her own but still managed to be eminently recognizable - and then drifted across the room, catching up a glass of champagne from a passing server as she went, to stand by the open balcony doors. The crowded room was overly warm; she relished the cool breeze that blew in as she sipped at her glass of chilled champagne.
Soon the orchestra struck up a tune, and the attendees fluttered to the sides of the ballroom to make way for those who wished to dance, those who did not breaking into smaller groups to facilitate conversation.
She watched the dancers swirl around the floor, bright ball gowns and black evening wear circling to the sweet strains of the music. Of course Ashe had taught her all of the dances, but etiquette dictated she must first wait to be asked to dance.
Movement at her side caught her attention; she turned her head to see Larsa beside her - though he, too, wore a mask, he was unmistakable for anyone else, what with Basch at his side, a constant, ever-watchful protector.
"You look well," Larsa said. "Happier. Am I to assume that you and Ashe have come to an understanding?" His lips twitched, amused when she rolled her eyes at him.
"Yes, you interfering busybody, we have reconciled. Please, do not feel the need to subject me to any further lectures," she said.
"You know, I don't imagine anyone else in all of Ivalice would dare to refer to me as an interfering busybody," he said thoughtfully. "I can't quite decide if you've a natural aptitude for diplomatic relations or if you're simply so miserable at it that it becomes charming."
"I'd err of the side of charming, if I were you," she suggested. "If you do not wish me to step on your feet."
"Ahh, how remiss of me. I suppose that is my cue to request a dance," he said on a laugh. He sketched an elegant bow, held out his hand. "May I?"
She placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her towards the dance floor to await the next set. They made an odd couple, perhaps, with Larsa still some inches shorter than her, but she knew almost no one in attendance, and she did so want to dance.
When they took their places and the music began, it was for a sedate waltz that would require the dancers to change partners several times. She knew the steps, but she loathed the thought of having to attempt awkward small talk with strangers. But the music had started, and it was too late to back out, and so she let Larsa lead her around the floor until the first change came, and he turned away with a smile. She turned, too, to face her next partner, dropping into the brief, graceful curtsy required.
And then there was a warm hand clasping hers, and bright green eyes laughing down at her from behind a simple black domino mask.
She missed the step, but he smoothly covered for it, guiding her back into the rhythm of the dance.
"Careful." Balthier's warm voice washed over her. "You'll draw unwanted attention."
"How...how did you get in?" The words came out an unsteady whisper, nearly drowned out by the music.
He shrugged. "A masked ball is easy enough to infiltrate. As long as I looked the part, no one would dare question me for fear of offending a visiting dignitary or some such prestigious person."
And he did look the part, in stately black evening wear. She suspected that he would look splendid in anything, but it was the first she had seen of him dressed as a gentleman rather than a pirate. That he could wear the trappings of civility with such apparent ease was almost disconcerting - but then, he had been raised to this sort of life.
The next partner change came, but Balthier refused to relinquish Penelo to the man who approached, whirling her away before the man could do more than mutter, "Well, I never!"
Penelo smothered a grin. "I'll draw unwanted attention?"
"What, you would have me surrender you to that fop?"
"That fop is a duke from Rozarria," she said. "Oh, dear, he'll certainly complain to Ashe and I'll never hear the end of it."
"Darling girl, you needn't hear even the beginning." He leaned close, whispered in her ear, "Come with me, and I'll steal you away from here."
She closed her eyes just for a moment, relishing the feel of his warm hand at her waist, his cheek on hers...let herself imagine saying yes, escaping from the crowded ballroom by way of the balcony, disappearing into the ether for grand adventures and a romance that had no foundation in any reality she'd ever known . Then she took a steadying breath, relinquished that beautiful, impossible dream, opened her eyes, and instead said, "No."