“—And if Vaan were not as enraptured in awe, he would tell you the same.”
Despite Ashe’s fervency, Balthier could not resist a grin. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” she nodded, and wasted no time in elaborating.
As she spoke, her expression was her usual one—needlessly serious, a mite contemplative, masking the sort of mind that was never clear—but there was something about her eyes that made their back-and-forth jesting all the more pleasurable. They weren’t clouded over with some sort of viable distraction. Balthier harkened back to the many times he had caught her in a drifting stare, the first indication that the mind needed a rest. But she never rested, did she? Oh, she slept. Balthier knew that for certain. She slept and it was only then that whoever was in her world at the time—her world in which he would be afraid to tread for worry of losing his footing—got to see the different expression. There was something entirely fascinating in how different people became when they slept, but even then her ghosts did not leave her alone.
Returning to her eyes—Balthier petitioned his thoughts to become more linear before he damned himself—he was pleased to see the laughter and light in them. Less haunted, he decided, and it made him feel less weighed down as well.
“What about Fran?” she asked then, and the name—like a hook suddenly grappling a fish, immediate and without offering time to breathe—had Balthier’s back arch reflexively like a cat.
Wait, what about Fran? In his own distraction, some of Ashe’s words had missed him. “Fran is difficult to read,” he finally decided, the most neutral response he could come up with. There was no immediate reprimand, and Balthier didn’t waste any time in self-congratulations.
“You two have been together for five years, correct?” He nodded and she continued, “Honesty would be necessary in that time for you to survive one another. Inhibitions fade too, with that sort of intimacy.” Intimacy, in his circumstance, had potential dual meanings and Balthier strove to figure out what kind she was referring to—the sort that came out of a live lived with another person, or the sort with deeper intentions and desires? Did she think… And then, almost as a forced addendum, did he care if she thought he and Fran had taken to each other’s bed?
“How long did it take for your, if you’ll pardon my repetition, inhibitions to fade with your prince?”
“Touché,” was Ashe’s whispered response. Her voice seemed less than what it had been and her eyes were toward him no longer.
“I was only asking since you seem so experienced with all facets of intimacy, surely you wouldn’t mind sharing.” Balthier was cross again, and unable to keep damning words from spilling out as his thoughts did.
And then—to his unshared horror—she flinched. Actually, visibly recoiled at the strength of his words.
They were back on the overpass again, the bridge that they had stopped at previously in the evening.
“Since this night seems to be all about questions, I must issue one of my own. Why did you spirit me away rather than leave me with Basch?”
Ah, yes, the fated couplings, Balthier thought with internal amusement. He leaned back against the wall of the overpass, this time meeting the night sky with a challenging expression he had not braved to bring out before. He was aware how much easier it would have been had he just taken off with Fran and found someone—anyone, because there were more than he’d admit—who had sheltered them after a heist prior and taken up lodging until the break of day. Give them a both a break from insufferably headstrong princesses and boys who vocally dreamed of a life of piracy.
Balthier’s eyes took a lazy detour along the subtle curve of her hip and the flash of tanned skin between skirt and boot as he considered his response, “Curiousity. How could I refuse an opportunity to discovery that which vexes her majesty so?”
“Simply,” Ashe responded. “You could have spared more than five minutes of thought to your actions. Did you really see this ending pleasantly?”
“Ending?” he repeated. An odd memory sprung up then—Cidolfus Bunansa, in whatever glory he had maintained prior to his adventure in Giruvegan, frowning on such obvious shows of prolonging. ‘I’d prefer an original thought if you had such.’ Now, he doubted the man cared a wit about Balthier’s thoughts, original or otherwise. “Certainly,” he elaborated in a tone completely detached from the murky path his thoughts had just led him down. “Whatever issues lie between you and I, we would have smoothed them over.”
“Except our pattern seems to be one step forward, three steps back,” she shot back. “We do not get anywhere in conversation, we simply pose more challenges to see who can come out ahead. It is unrelenting and pointless.”
This time, it was she who walked away and he who followed.
“Then let’s get it all out in the open,” Balthier called from behind her.
Ashe stopped, almost reluctantly, but didn’t turn around. He accepted it as a good sign and continued to speak, slowly making his way to her side.
“You asked me to tell you the tale of Adfero Exsentio. You claimed that Adfero took the actions he did out of weakness. If that were so, why do we pray to him come this time every year for the sake of wish-fulfilment? Why did you request the story to be told to you?”
There was the shout of, “Hey, I found them!” followed by a pattering of feet that diverted both their attention.
“It does not matter. It was a mistake.” She was facing him now, and her chin rose defiantly. “If I had imagined you questioning my every motive I would not have bothered.” Ashe’s tone was clipped and controlled—perfectly royal.
“You still believe it. Maybe not the story, but the meaning behind it. Adfero Exsentio is a testament of love and knowledge. Adfero loved his brother, and knew what was yearned for in the deepest recesses of his heart. You loved your family and understand what it is they desire of you now. Is that not the reason you press on, battling tirelessly?"
She said nothing, and Balthier took her silence as an invitation to continue.
"I believe it is, and I'm quite rarely wrong. You cannot be afraid of what it is you do, princess. If you start, we have no chance." He met her eyes. “You’re strong, Ashelia. You are doing this for the right reasons. Adfero himself would be pleased. Don’t doubt that. The moment you do, it’s all over.”
Ashe struggled with her words for a long moment. "Are you trying to teach me the meaning of the holiday?"
"I thought of it as more of a reminder.” Reaching down, Balthier caught her hand in his own and brought it upward, pressing his lips gently against her knuckles in as chivalric a gesture he could afford without besmirching his reputation. “A kiss is tradition. May Adfero grant your wishes, Princess."
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