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By the time they reached the end of the Mosphoran Highwaste late afternoon had set in, and so had Balthier’s temper. The sky—yes, finally, sky! Something Golmore and Bur-Omisace sorely lacked—was a pleasant shade of pink and red, the falling sun spilling an array of colours across a canvas-ether as a gentle breeze tumbled from out the northwest, cooling the slick and smoldering skin beneath Balthier’s attire. Slightly battle-weary and more than a bit troubled, there was a particularly noisome thought buzzing inside his head that he could not chase off: no matter how far he strayed he seemed to loop back ‘round in a circle, stuck in a pattern that infuriated him with the many different ways it concocted, without fail, to deceive him. How clever were history’s chains—his history especially. The further you ran the less you left behind. Traipsing back into Archadian lands after so many years was not his idea of fun, nor did he really want to go, truth be told. He swore to leave that gods-forsaken land behind him as surely as he had his name, adapting a far more stylish moniker in its place. But the princess had put herself on this path and whatever Ashelia B’Nargin wanted, Ashelia B’Nargin was sure to get. Ah, but princess, the heart of the Empire? Wherefore such a chancy trinket, and why not stay satisfied with another? Because of these thoughts he so delighted at the chance to pull out his gun and shoot something in order to relieve the tension that had been coming to a fine breaking point on his level of tolerance, abetted by these unpleasant musings. Luckily the last trails of the Highwaste that wound down into the Salikawood afforded a fair amount of game to be hunted, sniped, and otherwise maimed by the hands of man.

Balthier took supreme pleasure in leveling his gun at a Viper that had sprung up on the party and he aimed carefully at its elongated, scaled trunk, pulling the trigger with so much force in a simple curve of his fingers. The gun kicked back with a resounding pop as the bullets struck true and sank deep into the creature’s flesh. A splatter of blood shot out from the Viper and it hissed in pain, opening its mouth wider to bare the pair of lethal fangs it possessed full of menace and, Balthier hoped, lacked potent venom. The serpent struck out blindly in rage at the nearest foe but Basch parried it with ease, ducking behind the protection of his shield as curved teeth slammed hard against it, a loud clink echoing in the air as bone met forged steel and the strength wielding it. The force of the blow knocked him a half-step backwards but the knight was quick to recover, holding his axe aloft and hacking quickly at the top of the Viper’s hood. A chunk of its flesh fell to the ground with a wet slap and more blood spread across the earth, raining down into Basch’s hair and face like sludge. Taking advantage of the creature’s distraction, Ashe lunged forward and swiped a long, fierce cut into its side, the tip of her sword curving around its body to meet the gun-shot wounds and deepening the already brutal injury. The Viper howled and made to turn its fangs upon Ashe, who seemed not as quick to deflect a swift blow as was Basch, but was blasted instead by a fire spell launched from Penelo’s hands. She stared defiantly at the creature and readied another enchantment, a chill wind spiraling around her and sending her hair aloft.

The stink of charred snakeskin burst into the air and mingled with the fading residue of gunpowder and fresh blood. It was a choking, cloying smell that made Balthier’s eyes water and he stood several feet away from the damn thing. The creature bled heavily now, staining anything within a near radius in its ebony ichor. Balthier readied his next shot and moved to the side, out of the way of his party member. He wanted a clear shot unhindered by the backs of party members.

A desperate creature would best be conquered swiftly ere it dragged another down with it. Balthier could see its tail flailing wildly behind its back but thought little of the frenzied appendage until it blindsided Ashe and knocked her off down in one fell swoop. Ashe cried out as she fell onto her back, the impact knocking her sword from her hand and leaving her open, defenseless. Momentarily dazed she stared up at the sky and fought to catch her breath.

“Ashe!” Vaan cried. He was the closest to her and could reach her the fastest—if he only thought to look before leaping to play hero. The boy made to rush for her but was deflected by the curving swipe of the serpent’s tail coming out of its previous strike, the bulk of it smashing into his face. He sprawled and groaned; Balthier could see the blood gushing from his likely broken nose sticking to his flaxen hair.

Balthier cursed between gritted teeth and curved around behind the Viper, moving nearer to his fallen comrades and hoping to get a good, surprise shot at the bastard in the meantime. From his position he was better able to see Fran, her bow lifted high, her hands firmly clenched on the arrow she wielded as she steadied her aim. Though he would like to say their eyes met across the distance Balthier was too far away to see where she looked—she had keener sight than he—but he trusted her aim would strike its mark. She rarely disappointed. Balthier was flanking up the Viper’s right side by the time Fran released her shot, her piercing Viera cry overshadowed by the louder shouts of their victim. He was only a few feet from Ashe now and by craning his head he was able to see the arrow that lay embedded deep in one of its eyes. The great serpent shuddered as its life leeched away, as surely as its blood fell in pools on the ground, and its body pitched to the right, its shadow falling over a stunned Ashe.

There was no time to cry out or give warning, no time to do anything but stare in horror, holding onto his gun in his hands and gaping like an idiot as the shadow spread itself over Ashe until it was larger than her much smaller figure. Through some bizarre twist of chance Ashe had managed to reclaim her blade and thrust it into the rapidly declining space betwixt her and the beast, screaming with the effort of forcing her body to respond to frantic thoughts. The Viper’s body fell on her sword and split through its trunk with a sickening rip, the point of the blade popping from out its back. Ashe seemed near tears as the Viper continued to sink though slower this time, until the corpse came to rest against the hilt of her sword, its limp head hanging inches above her terrified face. Blood poured from the various wounds and covered Ashe in its sticky blackness—in truth so much of her had been stained that soon her horrified, wide grey eyes were the only colour left. She shuddered from horror or strain he did not know, and her grip on the sword faltered. Balthier’s body found life again as he remembered how to move and he quickly rushed to her side, stooping low to kneel as he slid his gun onto his back and cupped both hands around the snake’s underside. Grunting with the effort moving dead-weight on his lonesome Balthier managed to shove the Viper aside just enough to free Ashe from its weight, her sword still caught in its innards.

Ashe heaved as drips of the serpent’s blood rolled into her open mouth. It made for a grisly sight indeed, watching the supine princess struggling for breath and composure, her face drenched in black blood and her body lurching as if unable to raise herself. Her breasts swelled as she retched, flinging her head to the side Balthier, thankfully, was not on and hacked up as much of foul fluid and spit as she could. The coughs shook her body something fierce and she fought to steady her breath. Balthier placed one hand on her shoulder and retrieved his handkerchief with the other, mopping up what he could of the mess on the side of her face with a tender touch. Ashe turned her head towards him slowly as he continued his ministrations, his fingers lightly stroking her perplexed expression through the folds of the cloth. Catching the look in her eyes and seizing upon it, not unlike how he seized upon attacking that dead Viper, Balthier let his thumb stray over her parted lips and grazed the tip of his skin against hers ever so lightly, delighting in the scarce contact of flesh on flesh. A firmly clenched knot unraveled inside him at the sight of her mouth, the darkness inside it and the unbearably soft skin that surrounded it, a tension he had not realized before, had not let bother him for this long on their journey, now demanded his full attention. It was nothing short of a miracle that he did not let the flushes of his body give ‘way on his face—those wide eyes and pouty lips of hers were making him unbearably hard.

Blissfully unaware of the state of Balthier’s teil and the increasing tightness in his trousers, Ashe stared into his face and knit her brows in confusion, wondering at the cause for such treatment and not quite sure what to make of it. Finally she made up her mind and settled into that familiar, huffy pout, her eyes narrowing pointedly as she snatched the handkerchief from his hands and kept up what he had started. She pressed the cloth to the top of her neck and gently patted the skin her attire her skin did not expose, which Balthier noted was the stretch from her collarbone to the top of her breasts. He watched her without saying a word, half expecting her to throw the sticky and now ruined linen in his face when she was done mopping herself up. Instead Ashe let out a sigh and held onto the cloth, her hand falling into her lap. She looked longingly at the leather pouch on Balthier’s hip and panicked, briefly!, at how low her sight strayed.

He could have thanked the gods themselves so great was his relief when she spoke and addressed not the telltale sight of his erection, but the water stash he carried with him, asking if she could partake of it. He unhitched the sack and offered it to her, which she accepted gratefully and drank deep of its replenishing succor. Balthier watched the muscles move in her throat as she drank down what could be the very last of his ration, but he found it hard to care about such things now. The same hunger that overwhelmed him during the attack on the Viper was meticulously settling itself upon this completely-oblivious-to-anything-sexual princess, and he allowed himself to relish in the thrill such a sight gave him.

Ashe removed her lips from the pouch’s lid with a wet kiss of release. He spotted her tongue as it flitted quickly over her lips to catch any traces of water as she clicked the top shut and handed it back to his open hand, nodding her thanks and attempting an even more fleeting smile. Balthier nodded in return and made to help her to her feet, but the Lady Ashe would have none of it—she nearly shoved his hands aside as she stood on her own, examining her splattered torso and legs with a look of supreme disgust.

“A bath is in order, I feel,” Balthier mused, eyeing the sorry state of her clothes and extending to his full height. He looked down at Ashe and met a disapproving stare, her nostrils flaring in agitation.

“We are miles from any city, village, or square,” she ploughed right along in her haughty tone, trying to look as dignified as one could while they were covered in blood and battle-distressed. “And I will not wait until we reach Archades to see myself properly cleaned.”

“Nalbina’s not too far,” he ventured a guess for the nearest inkling of civilization they had passed but he knew that she was right: the fortressed city was essentially the last stop on a long and untamed road to the imperial capital. And they were a good two days walk from it.

“You would have me enter a city like this? Me, heir to Dalmasca, looking no better than if I’d gone for a romp in the wood?” She asked incredulously.

“Your appearance matters not to those who think you dead,” Balthier saw her wince and the taut expression on her face waver, knowing he had struck a sore spot. “But if you insist. . . we make for the Salikawood, find shelter and a nice, wet place for you to wash your bits. Better?”

He could not explain the odd pleasure gained from engaging in such cat and mouse banter with her. Rarely was he surrounded by minds apt enough to participate in such pleasantries—Fran, bless her, knew when to speak but couldn’t keep up her end of the game no matter how he pestered her, and none of the others seemed to react quite as strongly as Ashe did to his jests and taunts. It was as if every uttered word was like a hand that strayed up her skirt, and her feverish reactions and flares of temper told volumes of how eagerly she wished to keep her distance and slap away at such curious touches.

The corner of Ashe’s left eye twitched as she bit back a catty word, choosing only to nod and look away from Balthier. “Thank you,” she replied stiffly, although not as stiff as, say, something else though mercifully that was beginning to pass. It would not be the most pleasant of trials having to lug such a thing around and he let the flush subside, let his tension recoil and throb with unrequited ache, and chose to watch as Ashe turned and walked away.

They reached the Salikawood by nightfall, the high trees and thick boughs obscuring the sight of the stars and moon, casting the wooden walkways and curving paths in an eerie silver-green glow. Crickets and fireflies shrieked and glowed respectively in the distance, and there seemed no signs of threat or harm as they wearily trudged towards the wooden huts seemingly carved into the trunks of the massive trees by unknown previous travelers. Vaan collapsed in a heap in the one nearest to him and was near to sleep by the time he sank to the floor. His nose had quickly healed but his eyes shone with bruises. Penelo had saw to his care and almost undid her aid by latching onto his nostrils and squeezing tightly, reprimanding Vaan for not being more careful. Their childish spat accompanied them all the way into the wood, but the sight of its splendid flora and the scent of it—lavender mixed with an odd trace of sweet honey—calmed them like children awed into silence and Balthier thanked that omnipresent, benevolent force for it. Eager to get to sleep, the two them started setting up the sleeping provisions while the others conferred on the path ahead.

“Salikawood is unfamiliar to me,” Basch folded his arms and shook his head ruefully. “I know neither its paths or waters.”

“There is a stream that passes through these ways,” Fran said as she shook her wild hair and perched a hand on her hip. Balthier could see her nose twitching and her eyes working hard against the dim light. After a few moments she turned towards the south and extended her finger, making little movements in the air as she gave directions. “Follow the path as it curves east-bound and you’ll reach it.

“The way is not difficult. There is no need for an escort,” she looked keenly at Balthier and even in the rapidly depleting light he could see her smile and that mischievous glint in her eye. He frowned at her and chose to ignore it.

“But there is a need for cleanliness. I’ll not be made to sit sweating in my breeches for another day, thank you.” Balthier headed in the direction Fran indicated and stopped short before the road curved out of sight, turning to regard the rest of the travelers and smirk at Ashe. “Coming, princess?”

Even from this distance he could see her huff and there was no mistaking that firm, petulant stomp in her step as she caught up with him. Without sparing him a look Ashe passed him by and marched down the path, leaving him to follow in her wake.

Balthier caught up with her and quickened his stride to match hers. After several moments of strained silence, and a determined Ashe looking at any spot in the road but to the man at her side, he dared a chance to speak. “I must say I’m impressed.”

Ashe turned her head just barely in his direction but otherwise did nothing to show that she was listening. Balthier pressed on, feeling quite keen on banter though the hour was late and the passing day fretfully long.

“You manage to hold onto your regal disposition when looking a fine mess, matted and sticky with fluids. That’s no easy feat, princess.”

“If you accompanied me for the purpose of pestering you’ll find your attempts in vain.” Ah, but you’re walking right into it. . . “Either turn back and head to camp or follow me in silence: the choice is yours.”

“There is nothing wrong with making polite conversation.”

“You jest by labeling it thus,” Ashe looked at him and her gaze danced about his face, not knowing which spot to land on and glare at the hardest. “If there has ever been a time you opened your mouth to speak in civility I have not been there to witness it.”

“Well I suppose you’ll have to stay with me more often, won’t you?” Balthier silently cheered as she groaned in frustration and snapped her head back to the front, accepting a brief defeat in their verbal clashing. She was not the type to let this pass by unanswered; Balthier could almost see the cogs grinding in her head as she assembled any number of comebacks or counter strikes to inflict with that sharp tongue of hers. Ah, did he have to think on that now? That flash of previously unseen pink flesh as she licked her lips, that wit and ever present passion which acted as a polar opposite to the Dalmascan royal she dragged out as a necessity. . . how Balthier’s curiosity was piqued, how the knot inside him ached and pulsed. He harkened back to the thoughts he had abandoned on the Highwaste and let the weight of reminisces silence him.

A more cynical mind would say the two greatest essentials—apart from food and sleep—for a man would be to fight and to fuck. Now, Balthier would chastise just about every woman who presented this bitter, horribly slanted view of the opposite sex to him, but when you shave off the fluff, when you take off all the embroidery and let’s face it, admit the lies, this was the simple truth about men. His line of work had brought him far and wide and it was all the same thing no matter where he went: men sought nightly companions as they would game to hunt. The hunger was the same, the devious glint in the eye, the quirk on every lip, all of it predatory, all of it animalistic in nature. There were women who lit up at such things, happy and willing to play mouse to the sky-pirate’s cat, and there were women who were truly surprised and oblivious that they were walking straight into the cat’s subtle paws, claws hidden but bared upon request, realizing only when they were caught just where they’d been lead and thinking only of how to undo it. Balthier was no tart—there were no scores of notches in his bed post, no tallies of faces and names that floated together and bled as one because it wasn’t their faces that were of particular interest, southern bits had that covered, and though he and Fran had surely attempted in the past it was a rather awkward memory the two of them let fall forgotten, he would not petition just about any woman to spend the night and make him breakfast the next morning no matter what his nature said in the contrary. He was happy to indulge in playful conversation and perhaps top it off with a good snog and underskirt grope if she felt comfortable enough. But there was no chance for such things on this journey and that set him on a very thin edge of patience. So he sought his kicks where he could in witty verbal intercourse, and the princess would just have to accept that he meant no harm by toying with her as he did, and that it was certainly a far better alternative than what a nasty little voice inside of him urged.

They reached the lip of the stream and Ashe seemed keen on diving in the moment they spotted it, clothes on and all, but she stopped herself and seemed content to have her feet graze the shore. She stooped to kneel in the soft earth and dipped her hands in the water, running one at a time up either arm and streaking her skin with a sheen that glowed in the moonlight. Ashe leaned forward, closer to the water, and dipped her hands as a makeshift bowl under its surface once more, bringing the cool liquid to her face and scrubbing hard with her fingers, scratching at her hairline and flaking off the dried crusts of blood she had not wiped clean from before. She shook her hands quickly, stray droplets flying off her fingers to scatter quick ripples in the water, and lifted her hands to fiddle with the clasp at the back of her collar, running her finger and thumb over the button which thatched it shut. Balthier saw her shoulders tense and she jumped as if only now remembering that she was not alone, and quickly did she turn to freeze him to the spot with a foreboding stare.

“There’s no need for an audience,” There were still traces of water on her face and her light hair was clumped together with moisture. The look she gave Balthier was chilling enough to make him shrink. “If you have need to bathe, do so where I can’t see you.”

“Keep on like that and I’ll start to think I’ve given you cause to hate me.” Balthier strolled downstream and reached behind him to catch the fastener on his tunic, tugging at it as he walked. Soon the zipper caught the clasp at the end and he cast off the finely detailed casing, placing it on a pile of man-sized rocks, their surfaces cooled from the chill of the night and slick with the moisture from the stream. He began to undo the buttons on his sleeve-cuffs as he looked back to Ashe, who had not moved from her genuflecting position and chose to watch him instead.

“Ah, what’s this? No peeking, princess.” She growled audibly and set about undoing her collar, waiting until Balthier was out of sight before she felt it was safe to begin removing the rest of her various articles.

“I would not dream of it, pirate,” Ashe called when he was out of sight. Balthier unlaced the back of his blouse, all the easier to remove it, and tugged it off over his head. He carefully set about undoing the creases and folding it into a neat pile ontop his tunic, moving his hands to undo the loops on his belt and trousers next.

“Now what have I ever done to you to make you this angry?” Balthier made sure to raise his voice so the question could be heard, posing it half to himself and half to Ashe. The wood seemed several degrees cooler now that he had shed a good amount of his clothing and cast it off on a rock, and his skin prickled with gooseflesh and a vague chill. He shuddered and fiddled with the straps on the backs of his shoes, slipping them off with ease. The stream was warmer than it looked, sliding over Balthier like a second skin, like lukewarm wax that would coat and seal entirely. He felt his tension ease as he waded deeper into the water, straying out as far as he dared without wandering into Ashe’s line of sight. The water came up to his mid-chest before he decided any further would not be worth the risk.

Ashe had seen the ripples and signs of his movement and called out, panicked. “I ordered you not to look!” She hissed.

Balthier laughed and waved his hand over his shoulder, his back turned to Ashe. He didn’t dare to glance at her this time, keeping his eyes fixed on the shadows of trees and the looping overhang of vines and moss that created an interesting blanket of sorts, insulating warmth and containing sound. “And yet you’re the one looking at me.”

She nearly screamed in frustration and from the sound of it had either jumped into the water or submerged herself inside it completely. Balthier pretended to still be eying the curious layout of the bathing-pool while he discreetly watched out of the corners of his gaze for Ashe to remerge. Moments later she resurfaced in a rush, her hair matted to the side of her head like a helmet, streams of water running down her face and throat, streaming over the bared flesh of her small breasts before trickling down her slender torso. He marveled at how slight she was, a tiny little thing, really: her waist could not have been wider than the span of his hand, and without the regal, though alluring, encasing of her attire—high and wide collar, the jewels and baubles in the centre of her breasts, the metal armbands and knee guards—Ashe seemed somehow diminished and no longer the haughty deposed-princess of Dalmasca. She looked utterly a young woman of nineteen, with a heavy mind and heavier heart, her tongue sharper to react than her courage.

Ashe parted her lips and let out a long sigh that erased all traces of her rigid temper, her hands lifting from the stream to smooth her hair off her face, slicking it down with water. Her breasts shifted from the movement and she seemed to be focusing hard on finding peace, on relaxing in the closest thing she would have to a proper bath until they reached Archades. Balthier was glad his back was to her, glad that her eyes were closed and that she did not know the way of his thoughts; that she was unaware of the path on which his gaze traveled from his position in the stream, and that she did not know of the parts they wished to travel next.

“You torture me,” she said at last, answering his questioning from several minutes prior. Balthier was unsure how much time had passed exactly, knowing only that it had trickled by in a haze. He waited to see if she would continue but she remained silent, her eyes closed in concentration, her body swaying as she breathed in deep, held it in her chest, and slowly let the air funnel out of her mouth.

“An exquisite torture, yes? I’d hate to think I’m the only one who enjoys these chats of ours, princess.”

Ashe sank lower into the water so that it covered her breasts, leaning backwards to dip her hair once more in the stream and let it fan out around her head as a halo. She didn’t answer Balthier, but simply let his question remain floating in the air between them.

“Why did you come with me?”

“To the water, you mean?” Balther cupped some of it in his hand and let it roll over his shoulders, slapping its traces on the back of his neck and streaking across his Adam’s apple. It soothed the growing agitation of tension that stirred inside him. “Fighting’s dirty work for a small gain. Not everyone has the luxury of dressing as you and Fran do.”

“And why did you touch me?”

“Would you rather I had not?” Balthier quickly glanced back to her. She had changed positions and was now wading slowly through the pool, her hands trailing out at her sides and making strange patterns in the water.

Ashe tilted her head and puzzled over the question. The change that had overcome her was remarkable: she seemed calmed somehow, lulled into a state of relaxation he had not seen on her since they spoke of Raithwall’s legacy at the stairs leading to his tomb. Balthier wondered if she were dwelling in the past again, scowling in disapproval at the habit of finding comfort in the long and gone. “I’m trying to understand,” she said at last, her mouth curling around each word as if she studied their various shapes and intentions, coming close to her answer but not close enough.

Balthier thought it safe to risk turning to her and he moved as quietly as he could. He was sure Ashe could see him and she was more than willing to speak up and urge him to remain about-faced if that was her desire, but she kept wading, kept walking in a pattern he could not identify, her hands streaming through the pool and passing like pale phantoms below its surface. “Understand what?”

“How after two years devoid of physical comfort, the Fates would deign to have me touched by a Lothario,” Ashe turned and stared at Balthier quite unlike she had any time previously. Her eyes were clouded and dreadfully sad, as if urging him to make sense of the tangled knots in her mind that disrupted her thoughts, but she seemed to be smiling at him, a smile lacking of pleasure but alight with rueful humour.

“I would hope you thought me a better man than that,” there was something about the way she looked in the light that bled from the crevices in the vines and trees, something about how it made her glow, near transcendent; there was something about the shift between them, the change from cat and mouse to two hearts and bodies bared, seeking to be cleansed and replenished, that eased the teasing stab from his voice, rounded his tongue to a less harsh and blunt force but to one of tender interest.

“‘You can never know another man. Not even your father,’” she echoed his words on Mt. Bur-Omisace back to him, her tone soft and indistinct.

Balthier’s lips twitched. He couldn’t help it if a joke or two slipped in along the way—‘twas his nature. “I’m hardly old enough to be your father, princess.”

Ashe tilted her head and regarded him carefully. “Yes, that’s true,” she concluded at last, but did not seem fully convinced of something. Her lips stayed sealed around her thoughts, and she continued to look at him, to look over his face and his throat, to sheepishly eye what she could see of his chest, and finally wound her way back up to his face.

He waded closer to her, keeping a respectful distance but allowing himself to get a more clear view of her face and the details of it. The blood had washed off neatly, and her hair was refreshed and enriched by the wood’s stream. There was a beauty to her, such a terribly sad and endearing loveliness that made his hands want to simultaneously lash out and crush whatever was the cause for such despair as well as tenderly stroke a pulse back into her clenched heart. He chose instead to extend his hand, confident she could reach it from where she stood without much of a stretch.

“I would have you forgo the past, if only for a night. And I would abet you in doing so,” Balthier’s words were extended as surely as his hand, dangling before Ashe in hopes she’d retrieve it.

Ashe eyed him for a long while before she said, quietly, as if unsure whether to voice such a wish, “You’re welcome to try.”

Balthier smiled and gestured for her to move closer with a slight curl of his fingers. Her tiny hand reached out for his own across the distance, slipping into his grip with an ease that seemed familiar, quite natural to them both. She felt even more delicate as he drew her closer, slinking an arm around her slender waist and warming his palm against the small of her back, pressing flat against the curves of her spine and effectively pushing her closer to him. Though her eyes were curious and somewhat unsteady, Ashe lifted her face to his and waited expectantly for his attempt. He sensed she had an idea of what he planned and was amazed—though highly pleased all the while—that she would allow such a thing, that she would want it just as much.

 Balthier lowered his head as Ashe raised her free hand and curled it ‘round the back of his neck, her fingertips stroking the surface of his skin and sending familiar prickles and flushes of warmth down his arms, down his legs. Those lips, now glowing silver in the light of the moon, those lips that were slightly parted, revealing traces of the mystery inside, those lips he had dared to touch he now dared to kiss. It was a kiss he would later find difficult to describe, not knowing how so simple a motion as lips moving over another, as tongues gently prodding and roaming the expanse of a foreign mouth, sliding through the heat with impassioned curiosity, could feel like a homecoming, could feel like an answered prayer, could feel like all the weight and worry lifted from his mind and heart, leaving both to revel in the release of history’s chains. It felt like the first time Balthier had ever thought to look at the sky and think freedom, felt like the first time he’d successfully plundered and held a rather expensive bauble in his fist, delighting in his success—no such bliss could compare to this.

They broke the kiss and sought their breath, gently moving through the waters back to shore, and to the outcropping of rocks that piled ‘round it, Balthier lead Ashe out first, sliding his arms about her waist and lifting her with ease onto the rock most likely to steady her weight. His lips brushed against the caps of her knees as his hands slid over the moist flesh underneath them, urging ever so slightly for her legs to heed him and part. Ashe hesitated at first and he noted her pursed lips and passing frightened expression, waiting until she decided for herself to open for him. She reclined ever so slightly and let out a low sigh of pleasure as he kissed the inside of either thigh, his lips moving further upward, meeting at last the prize they sought. With a touch as delicate as the air they breathed Balthier’s tongue moved to part the moist lips, lubricated thanks to the bathing-pool and, he noticed by the familiar taste on his tongue, her own pleasure. He slowly licked at the swollen pearl, delighting in how each stroke elicited a low mewl, quiet enough to be a whisper, but growing louder the swifter he moved. After some time Balthier felt the pressure of her hand as it lay on top of his head, her fingers looping tightly into what part of his hair she could grasp in a fist, her breath hitching as he continued tasting her, savoring her with his tongue. Ashe’s back arched and she moaned louder than before, Balthier could feel the tremor of pleasure as it passed through her, and it was after her body had eased out of her climax did he lift his head and catch her eyes, smiling at the exquisite pleasure etched into every line of her face.

Ashe let go of his hair and instead indicated for him to move closer, to join her. . . Balthier needed no further encouragement. He placed his hands flat on the rock above her shoulders and lifted himself from the water, his body straightening itself above Ashe’s lithe frame. Keeping his eyes locked onto hers, Balthier lowered his hand to his strained erection and fit the head of it inside her, sheathing himself slowly, near torturously slow, to the hilt, watching her face for an expression of discomfort. She merely breathed anew, deeper and giving voice to a flourish of praises for Balthier, some of her words unintelligible. Balthier rest his brow on hers and began his long, measured thrusts, nearly drawing himself out of her completely before moving inside again. She was almost unbearably hot and tight; he shuddered at the acute sensation it gave him, wrapped firmly around his pulsing phallus, enclosed in warmth and wetness, and his eyes closed while his pace quickened, his strides shortening and becoming harder, more determined. Ashe soon lifted her legs to wrap them ‘round his waist as she raised her hips to meet his every move, her arms splayed at either side of her head so close to Balthier’s own hands. He shifted his grip onto her wrists and squeezed them tightly, pleased to see the look of surprise and the joyful smile Ashe attempted after having him pin her down, holding her in place by his firm grip and having her sufficiently impaled upon him, down the entire length of him and back up again. The quicker he moved the more air he needed to breathe, but none of it, nothing could compare to the ecstasy of this, of this moment, of having her in his arms and having her beneath him, wrapped tightly around him and willing to accept every inch. It continued thus until his mind strayed, forgetting lapses of time or the sense of it, not even knowing where the two of them differed, feeling so at home within her it was a wonder to him he had not sought this refuge sooner.

It was not long until he could feel his own climax approaching, his thrusts harder than before, sure he was going to bruise her but she only moaned and pleaded with him to keep at it, to move harder, even, and Balthier made sure to stare at her as long as he was able, feeling his sight start to cloud and blur as his orgasm finally built up to its release. He breathed hard and looked almost pained, stricken, as he moaned loudly into the confines of the sheltered wood, spending himself fully inside her, his body growing rigid.

Balthier caught his breath and waited for his heart to cease its crazed rhythm, his eyes closed, his forehead slick with sweat and pressed against Ashe’s own. He could feel her breath splay over his face, the warmth of it comforting him, and he unwound his fingers from her wrists to allow her free reign to move. She left her arms where they were, her stormy-grey eyes seeking out his own interesting mixture—greens and browns mixed into an alluring hue that was highlighted by the ghostly sheen of the night. Ashe brought her hand to Balthier’s cheek and stroked it lovingly, tenderly.

“You are welcome to try tomorrow as well.”

Balthier chuckled and brushed his lips with hers, dragging his teeth lightly over her plump flesh. “With pleasure,” he crooned.

Whatever Ashelia B’Nargin wanted, Ashelia B’Nargin was sure to get.