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They made ready to leave for the long road to Archades, heavily stocking up on provisions and rations at the various shops still open in the camp. The merchants were understandably somber and withdrawn, one or two actually making hearty promises to leave the mountain when they had enough savings to afford the long journey to cities beyond the camp’s borders. Some sought Rabanastre; others had the hope of heading to the West under Rozarria’s shelter. Basch wished them all well with an honest face as he upgraded the party’s equipment to the best for which their gil could pay. Vaan tagged along after him, pointing at various armor and weapons with eager hands, admiring them as a child would pine for a pretty bauble or sweet. Basch spoke evenly to him and though it was not obvious to those who were unfamiliar with the man, there was the smallest trace of a smile on his lips as if he delighted in the chore of babysitting. Fran went to replenish their foodstuffs, followed closely by Penelo who, remarkably, had taken a shine to the Viera, an interest Fran tolerated without protest. Penelo helped find affordable victuals in hopes to avoid any more upset stomachs, still cringing over the wretched culinary mishap Vaan had concocted the night before. Ashe watched them all from her vantage point, perched on an outcropping of rocks near the sharp dip to the Paramina Rift.

The clouds above seemed fixed forever in the sky, adverse to sunlight but torn between choosing snow or rain. The gloom was e’er present, yet Ashe felt only a strange sense of calm in place of her previous day’s jagged fear and nerves. She found it odd, but welcomed it all the same. After the battle against Judge Bergan the party had spoken briefly with Al-Cid, who requested that Ashe abandon her quest and seek haven in his homeland. This was something she could not do and told him thus, instead making plans to head into the Empire’s heart and infiltrate their weapon’s resource, Draklor Laboratory. Balthier had looked disapprovingly upon her and the Margrace’s verbal exchange, and seemed quick to step up to the task of assigning their latest endeavor.

“I can take you there,” he said, addressing Ashe directly. She glanced over at him and nodded.

“Then I shall go.” It was as simple a matter as that.

She did not quite understand the look Balthier gave Al-Cid after that, but did not spend much time thinking on it. The previous events pressed down heavily on her mind and there was the heartbreaking sight of the Gran Kiltias laid out on the altar behind Balthier, a gruesome image she tried not to dwell on. The surviving Kiltias had tentatively entered the temple, summoned by Basch post-battle, and they knelt at their leader’s side, offering prayers and tears for the loss of so great a mind and heart. The party somberly retired from the temple and left them to their mourning.

Her sleep from that night was undisturbed for all that she knew, and she had the vaguest recollection of a dream whose plot eluded her comprehension. She probed her thoughts with a curious finger, coming up empty-handed and dimly aware of a fear of hills and Vayne Solidor, and a pang for her mother. Neither was entirely new—though she didn’t understand her fright of dunes.

She closed her eyes and breathed in deep, letting the cold air fill her lungs and stab at the drowsy remains of sleep and grief. Ashe would not think on such things now, they would only upset her more than she needed and could afford. If she was to be queen she had no place to let her emotions hold the reins of her actions. I will not let my heart be responsible for my misery, she vowed.

Ashe opened her eyes to see Balthier approaching with a nonchalant expression on his face, his step light and carrying him in the vague direction of the seated princess. He seemed unaware that he had drifted to her side yet stopped next to her regardless, his hands fidgeting at his sleeve-cuffs, adjusting his various rings. Ashe looked hard at the thick band on his left hand’s ring-finger, slowly lifting her gaze to his face after she had drunk her fill of the trinket.

“Did you rest well?”

“As well as one could after sleeping on hard rock and cold earth,” Balthier worked a kink from his neck and tensed his shoulders, rolling them as if to knead out his discomfort. He smiled thinly at Ashe and his eyes seemed to flit across her face, those curious mixture of hazel green spheres glazed with thoughts of which Ashe would gladly know the depths—if he would permit such a thing.

“This path on which we have set is not made for luxury,” Ashe chided him gently.

“Ah, yes. The Knight’s Road is ever a trial to hack away at a man’s strength, test his endurance, and embolden his heart.” He spoke airily and with that all-too familiar wit.

Ashe smiled slyly and was heartened to see it returned. “I did not peg you for a man of fealty, Balthier.” Her tone was warm. How she missed the opportunities for such jovial banter.

Balthier gave a loud hah! and shook his head, waving Ashe’s words aside with a pass of his hand. He turned to face her fully, shifting his weight onto his back foot as he kept up their repartee. “Please, princess, any man worth his salt would prefer the comforts of an inn to shambling about through the wilderness. I am, as ever, a man of luxury, spoiled by civilization.”

“Then tell me, why do you choose to accompany us?” She feared she would stray into unwanted territories with this question, and Ashe carefully watched his face, wishing for Fran’s shrewdness and extensive knowledge of Balthier to detect a trace of anything besides his charm. He barely bristled.

“I’ve come this far, haven’t I? What use is there turning back now? No self-respecting lead man would abandon a half-complete story.” His voice was, as ever, an alluring mixture of a purr and tease. Ashe found herself strangely hung up on his choice to use “man,” wondering how so simply a word, three letters of little impact from any other mouth, could make bits of her tremble and flush. His gaze grew uncommonly stern as he surveyed her, his eyes dancing again. “You needed me to take you to Raithwall's tomb, and I did. You insisted upon it, if I can recall. And again you needed me--well, Fran, really, but I'd like to see my company as an additional bonus of sorts--to meet with the Garif. Now you seek the road to Archadia, and to Draklor within her. No doubt you still have need of me, princess.”

“Indeed, I am in your debt.” His answer was so plain she wondered why she had not seen it before. It was staring her so clearly in the face, after all. Ashe supposed she was questioning his intentions, his reasons behind it all. Yes, she needed his ship to retrieve the Dawn Shard, but he could have easily said no, and would have had she not tempted him with the prospect of virgin treasure waiting to be plundered. A part of her felt sorry for tricking him thus, but instantly her defensive side reared its snarling head. But to see the Garif? He could have stayed out of it, he could have let Fran tell them the way and be done with the whole matter, but instead he chose to follow. . . He chose to take Rasler's ring, nearly prying it off her hand with his words. A nasty voice inside Ashe's mind told her Balthier was present only for the loot he might snatch along the way and she had to bite her tongue lest she fling these wretched thoughts in his face, spitting like an angry cat. Had she not told Vossler the very same?

"He thinks ever and always on his own profit. Assure him of it, and he shall remain true to our cause."

I am nothing without help, she thought despairingly. Especially the help of a sky-pirate.

Balthier glossed over her slight and her smoldering temper, and she was immensely grateful to him for it. “If it troubles you so much, pretend that I’ve ransomed you for a holiday.” His eyebrows arched higher on his forehead, his words practically oozing charisma. “Not befitting behaviour for a kidnapper, I’ll give you that, but it can be our little secret, princess.”

Ashe fumbled with her own thoughts and found herself straying blindly for something else to dwell on. The idea of having a secret with Balthier flustered her inexplicably. She puzzled over the notion of relaying her dream to him, thinking that if she released it then the burdensome presence would ease. She wove her fingers into a cradle, a nervous habit she developed from her mother, whose hands she so strongly remembered as supportive, firm and guiding instruments through her childhood and adolescence. Her attention drifted again to Rasler’s ring on Balthier’s hand, painfully aware of the cold presence of its twin on her finger. She opened her mouth and was surprised at the words that tumbled out, her tongue unfurling completely at the sight of the ring and Balthier’s presence. She felt that if she could entrust the ring to him, she could at least entrust her thoughts. “How well do you know the way to Archades?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Well enough to lead you there without a scratch,” he charmed, winking playfully at her. Ashe’s face eased as her mouth twitched in amusement. There was more to the question than a simple knowledge of geography, but she would not push him if he was intent on dancing merrily ‘round the query. She sensed he knew the undertone of what she asked but did not pursue the matter further.

Soon they were off. Ashe eyed her latest weapon as she tucked it into her side-scabbard, the blade light and keenly forged. Though the Sword of Kings was strapped to her back she wished no more to wet its blade with Hume blood. She would save it for the nethicite and no other—no matter what imperial foe came at her. To her surprise Balthier traded in his katana, a weapon with which he proved remarkably adept, almost graceful if Ashe’s knowledge of combat was correct, and opted instead for a remodeled version of his trusty gun. He tinkered with the various instruments and switches, a shrewd look in his eyes that Ashe rather liked: he seemed at his element with firearms and it was a secret quirk of hers to watch someone flourish in a style they knew best. She had felt the same towards the gardener at the palace, a portly and sweet old woman with much knowledge of herbal lore and various flora of lands far and near. Try as she might the young Ashe could not keep track of all the names and species of each plant and flower, delighting only in how pretty they looked and how delicious was their scent.

As if waiting for her mind to stray thus, a thought crept up and seized itself upon her so suddenly she nearly stopped in her tracks, kicking up a dust-full of snow with the toes of her boot. She wished to go home, to see Rabanastre before treading deep into the heart of an enemy land. If the journey should fail, if they should fall and their hopes with them, Ashe would have at least liked to breathe, see, and live within her city one last time. She filed this thought with great interest in her mind and continued walking with the others, waiting for the opportune moment to announce her wish, and she spent the time wondering to whom she could confide it.

The dank hot of Golmore Jungle was, though a nice reprieve from the Rift’s frost, was too drastic a transition for Ashe’s comfort. The others seemed to share her sentiments: she saw Basch wipe at a band of sweat on his forehead and Penelo fan herself absent-mindedly with her hand, enviously eyeing Vaan his open vest and light pants. Balthier was forever undisturbed and looked only mildly annoyed at the cloying heat, and Fran. . . well, her articles of clothing better suited this weather. When they set on the winding path that would lead them further into the jungle an odd tremor passed through the party, making them stand quite straight and their bits of conversation immediately silenced. Ashe looked ‘round to see why—and in the distance she saw a Viera, two to be precise, standing watch over a crumbled path in the jungle. The one closest to the party turned to glance over her shoulder as they walked by but said nothing, her face revealing no emotion or thought that she might have to their presence. Ashe’s curiosity inspired her to look back at Fran who had an equally blank slate face, though the princess thought she detected a firmer step in her stride and a determination to keep looking straight ahead. She wondered how it must feel to be so unwelcome among your own, and what Fran must have felt when she made the decision to lead the party into Eruyt Village. Ashe was grateful for the aid but at the price of Fran’s comfort. . .

Her mind seemed keen for surprises today and this time Ashe did stop in her steps, thinking back on the Viera village and the deep peace she had felt there. A rush of song came to her from the back of her mind, the melody sweet and mournful, a heartfelt ballad that even now soothed the traces of stress Ashe did not know she still firmly grasped. Seeing the Viera on the road had awoken the memory inside her and she turned to regard Fran, who had stopped a few feet behind her as if knowing the realm to which Ashe’s thoughts strayed. Her eyes warmed as she looked at Ashe, her head tilting several inches downward to compensate for their drastic height differences.

“That song. . .” Ashe began, wondering if Fran could hear it as she did. Fran bent her head to the side and she looked at Ashe curiously. Ashe took this as a sign to continue. She breathed deep and tried again. “Did you tend to me last night, Fran?”

“I did.” A positively neutral expression—Ashe otherwise would have been frustrated by it if she did not feel an overwhelming surge of gratitude towards the Viera. Her face lit up with appreciation as she narrowed the distance between them to grasp at Fran’s hands. Her slender fingers and long nails rested lightly in Ashe’s grip, and there was no mistaking the firm squeeze given in return.

“Tell me, what was it that you sang to me?”

Fran shifted her weight and frowned, puzzling over something Ashe could not place. Perhaps she did not wish to be questioned. . . “Ein Lied,” she answered after a beat, her accent flitting beautifully over the words unfamiliar to Ashe’s ear. She knew nothing of the many tongues Viera could speak. “It is a song of my people. . . used in troubled times, for our young. It eases the mind and cradles the heart. Did it work for you?”

“A little,” Ashe smiled kindly and thought back to the serenity she had felt upon awakening, immensely thankful that it was Fran’s doing, that the Viera had spared a thought to be so generous though they were barely close. “I cannot thank you enough.”

Fran bowed her head in response and made to walk ahead of Ashe, simultaneously revealing the only witness to their exchange standing somewhat behind her. Balthier made to stroll pleasantly to rejoin the rest of the group but Ashe was still standing in place, her left hand brought to her chest and rounded into a fist. She was murmuring to herself and her eyes were unfocused, lost on a thought.

Balthier frowned and puzzled at her. “Bee in your bonnet, princess?” He said, drawing her back from the tangled weave of her thoughts.

“Last night I dreamt of my mother.” Ashe’s voice shook with the force of the memory of the dead reawakened, manifested so frequently in her life these days, but she was smiling. Balthier said nothing, and Ashe was certain he was quite unsure what to say in such a situation. The only public knowledge of her family was of their untimely demise. Though it seemed odd to her, Ashe tried to imagine the situation in reverse: putting a face on what you’ve read in text, humanizing common knowledge and lore would certainly rob any person of their speech. He regarded her with a look she couldn’t quite place—she did not think it was pity, nor curiosity, but an expression she found hard to understand. It softened his face and made him look unbearably handsome, quite unlike the clever and devil-may-care sky-pirate she first met what felt like ages past. She pivoted and turned, joining Balthier as they caught up to the others, the two of them bringing up the rear of the party. They kept their eyes open for any creatures lurking about, hearing them moving in the distance and their cacophony of muted cries and cackles, but they were unable to detect any nearby trace of them. Still did they remain alert and attentive.

“The Viera song. . . Ein Lied,” Ashe spoke again after several beats of silence. Balthier turned his head a bit to show he was listening. “My mother would sing to me when I was a child. Fran’s kindness reminded me of it.”

A companionable silence passed between them and it comforted Ashe. Though he offered no tokens of advice for her to fawn over, Ashe was just as pleased to let him listen to her confessional deluge. Bitterly a part of her wondered why she would ever seek solace from the dead: though she loved her family and her late husband dearly, heartily, there was only so much comfort they could give her from their tombs. The thought galled her.

Ashe brought her hand to her forehead and pushed it firmly against the flesh there, her fingers clamping upon her temples. “Would that I could be rid of these thoughts. . .” she mumbled to herself.

“The mind can be a dreadful hall of unpleasantness, princess.” He snorted in mock scorn, following the others as their path twisted abruptly to the north. “And they say it’d be better not to waste it—the ubiquitous “they,” mind you. Strange that we should set our lives on faceless advice if you ask me.”

It appeared to Ashe that he was fumbling for time, or babbling for one reason or another that chipped at her temper that skimmed the surface of her thoughts, lurking just out of sight. Thinking his elusive conversation to be another attempt of his to dance wildly around a serious subject matter, Ashe let her heart speak freely.

“I want to go home.” She hoped he did not think her as petulant as she sounded to herself. For this reason did she elaborate, stressing the point further in hopes that he would understand. “We need not stay long; a day at most, perhaps the night depending on when we arrive. If we are to journey to Archadia I would like to see Rabanastre once more. It may be long ere I see it again should we. . .” Ashe could not bring herself to admit failure or her fear of it. “Should the Fates will otherwise.”

“Hmph. Fate. As ubiquitous as ‘they’ if you ask me.” Balthier seemed unable to resist injecting his humour into the discussion but quickly shifted gears. “You’d best tell the others, princess. A proper rest couldn’t hurt, and I think the children would be pleased.”

Puzzled, Ashe glanced at him in time to see him point discreetly at the backs of Penelo and Vaan, who seemed incapable of going more than a day without engaging in some verbal spat. Ashe did not know what they argued on now, but like the ones before she knew it was never serious. Lover’s quarrels, she thought, or the playful teasing of siblings. Balthier raised his voice so that it carried up to the front and the others turned round to regard him.

“Play nice, you two!” He warned in his best imitation of fatherly admonition. Ashe thought it sounded like all the other times he spoke but found herself smiling genuinely at his attempt. She marveled that he did not wag a finger at them, as her nannies and caretakers had done to her. “I’m not walking all the way to the Empire with you spitting venom at every chance as musical accompaniment.”

Humbled, Vaan muttered an apology and nervously scratched the back of his head. Penelo hung her hers and flushed a bright red. Ashe cleared her throat and walked towards the center of their lopsided circle, thinking it best to be in a position of easy sight when addressing them all.

“I petition we stop at Rabanastre on our way. Should any of you object, speak now.”

The change of mood was near miraculous. Penelo brightened and almost squealed with glee, bouncing on her toes and grinning happily at Ashe. Vaan looked pleased, too, while Basch only frowned and stared inquisitively at her.

“We get to see Migelo again, Vaan!” Penelo cried cheerfully, and Vaan could not help but be infected by her joy.

“And Kytes,” he added.

“The respite would afford us time to replenish our wares,” Fran said thoughtfully and Ashe noticed that she was looking straight at Balthier, her smile almost invisible. “And we could use a proper rest.”

Balthier grunted and shifted his weight, while Ashe silently awed over the finely honed sense of Viera hearing. She wondered what else Fran had heard of their exchange and how long she'd been listening.

Basch was the only one among them who had yet to speak, but by the look on his face he did not seem eager to do so any time soon. He bowed his head at Ashe in ascent, and she returned it in kind.

“Then the matter is settled. We make for Rabanstre. It need not be in haste,” Though she doubted, judging by some of their party members’ enthusiasm at the notion, that there would not be a significant increase in their gait now that she had spoken. Ashe concluded her haphazard conference and she stepped down from her imagined dais to fall back a few ranks to walk again with Balthier. There came a few instances during their walk that his arm would brush against hers, his finely woven shirt-sleeve trailing lightly over the bare flesh of her bicep. Even once or twice she could have sworn she felt his knuckles bump against hers, and she wondered if she had not gravitated towards him absentmindedly, drawn by some pull she could not understand. From up ahead Penelo could be heard chattering happily, quiet enough to not draw a creature’s attention, but loud enough for her voice to carry back through the thick trees and oppressing vines of Golmore.

“I can’t believe we’re going home!” She seemed truly delighted at the prospect.

Ashe could not resist a smile. Her heart seemed fit to burst with the influx of warmth and happiness the word stirred within her. Home, Ashe repeated the word to herself and felt a large and empowering force loom up within her. She thought of her beautiful city, splendid despite its occupation of oppressive forces; she thought of its people, the clusters of races and creeds united by the capital, by the glorious city they could call home; she thought of its wonders and sights, and her eyes moistened at the joy of it all. “Yes,” she quietly agreed with the chipper girl. “I’m coming home.”

The pull that had made them brush hands and shirt-sleeves now tempted Ashe’s eyes to stray upwards onto Balthier’s face. The expression he wore almost shook her happiness to its core, dissembling it as quickly at it had been built. She felt selfish and rude, ashamed at how openly she displayed her desire to be homeward bound, never stopping to think of what a sky-pirate might feel on the matter. Ashe puzzled humbly over what a sky-pirate had to call home. She prayed he found a fragment of it in this troupe, as she had done when she lived underground with the Resistance, as she was starting to feel towards her newfound companions.

As she was now learning to feel towards him.