It had been a long time since she had allowed herself to freely roam the streets of Rabanastre, disguised, of course, so as to keep all rumors about her death still in tact, but the city hadn’t changed much since the last time she’d been among its walls, and she liked the feeling it carried within it. No matter what denizen of the Empire that Archadia sent to rule, Rabanastre was still Dalmascan at heart, and it was visible from every corner of the spiraling, airy architecture, down to the spices served with the hot ale and bread.
She felt only slightly guilty at not telling the others where she was going, convincing herself that it was because they were all sleeping and not simply because she believed they would prevent her from leaving. She knew that the impending journey through the Giza and Ozmone Plains would be taxing, and she didn’t wish to disturb their rest.
The cloak hanging over her head and shoulders was soft and well-woven, and she had pulled her hair back in a cord at the nape of her neck, hoping that within the shadows, her face would be obscured enough that there would be no incident concerning her identity.
Ashe loved Rabanastre. She loved it more than anything else she knew, and she could feel it reverberating in her bones, like the fuel that propelled her forward, chasing the Nethicite until she could restore the city to its former glory. The Sandsea, which she knew would be busy despite the late hour, promised to be nearly always full of civic pride and loyalty, and just sitting among the residents, listening to their conversations as they joked and gossiped over warm drinks, was enough to lift her spirits out of the trenches they’d been trapped in.
The ale was balmy and welcome between her hands, and it tingled as it fell to her stomach. Rabanastre, which was currently seeing the beginning of an early autumn season, had cool, breezy nights, and when the sun went down, a warm cup of spirits appealed to nearly all of the residents as the comfort of choice.
Ashe had chosen a small table, placed inconspicuously in a corner, and she sat with her side to the rest of the establishment, flicking her eyes to the inn’s customers as they came and went from the bar with new rounds and plates full of steaming rice dishes, which the Sandsea was known for. Being without her traveling companions felt oddly freeing, even though she felt acutely lonely without the party to talk to.
When she glanced over the the bar again, she was more than a little surprised to see a familiar head of tousled blond hair, and groaned as she let her head fall down into her hands. Vaan had already seen her, and was making his way over to her table with his own plate and mug. He slid into the seat across from her, munching on the small crumbs of bread that had tumbled to one side and nearly fallen from the charger.
“I wondered where you went,” he said, keeping his eyes on his food.
“Were the others alerted as well?” she asked, unsure still if Vaan was trustworthy, at least with private matters, or if he would be unable to keep things to himself.
“No,” he replied with a wry grin, bits of rice sticking to the corners of his lips. “I was the only one who woke up when you left. Can’t fool a thief, you know.”
Ashe smiled a little then and relaxed, her shoulders falling forward slightly and her hands finding their place around her steaming cup once more. They sat in companionable silence for awhile, the din around them growing somewhat quieter as many customers left to return to their warm beds.
“What’s it like?” Vaan asked suddenly, looking up at her and catching her gaze. She was startled by the open intensity in his eyes.
“I don’t understand,” she shook her head. “What is what like?”
“Being here,” he responded with a wide sweep of his hand to one side, indicating the structure. “Being out among the people. They don’t know you are still alive. Isn’t it strange?”
“Yes,” Ashe admitted. “And no. It’s comforting to see the strength and pride they possess, even after they were told that their heritage and self-governance was dead.”
Vaan nodded slowly, taking another bite of his food.
“Most people here hate the Empire,” he said. “I don’t know of anyone who trusts them.”
“And rightly so,” Ashe sighed. “I worry about what will happen to the people here if Archadia continues on its path. Without any power, I am unable to protect them.”
“But you are protecting them,” Vaan said with more conviction than she’d heard from him in quite some time. “You are doing everything you can to make things better here.”
Touched, Ashe smiled at him, still disbelieving that what he stated was really true, and wishing, like she had for a long time, that there was something else that she could be doing. Her left hand prickled with an itch, and she looked down, feeling keenly naked suddenly without the ring she had worn on her finger for so long. Seeing its absence, no matter what the circumstances and despite the necessity of its surrender, triggered a slow ache in her chest.
“I wish I knew what Rasler would do in my position,” she said softly. “I miss his guidance.”
“He would do exactly what you are doing. Just like my brother, he’d be working to bring back Dalmasca’s glory any way he could.”
Hearing someone else say it helped, but it didn’t dislodge the nagging feeling she still harbored that she wasn’t doing enough and was moving far too slow to really bring Dalmasca any good.
The two sat in silence once more as Vaan finished his meal and emptied his mug, and when he rose, Ashe looked up, expecting him to ask her to follow him back to the building the others were sleeping in and to rejoin the group. He didn’t say anything at all, but quirked one corner of his mouth up at her, and then walked out through the doors to the streets, leaving her by herself at the table again.
She felt humbled by the younger boy then, because if a child who grew up penniless and with only his brother to care for him, who lost his only family to the Empire’s assault, could continually set his sights on the future and see the positive in the situation, then she must be able to herself. Dwelling in the past was merely holding her from her true destiny, no matter how much she longed for the days gone by.
There was a commotion by the door, and she looked up. Two Archadian soldiers had walked in, sporting full combat attire, no less, as if they expected the armor to gain them respect and perhaps some discounts, and the room had gone deathly still. The duo walked up to the bar and demanded to be fed, and when asked if they would pay, became violent and angry.
“We don’t pay in Rabanastre,” the soldier on the left snapped, pulling out a small dagger from his sheath. “You know the rules.”
Ashe, furious at the display, fought desperately to keep her emotions in check, for she knew that no matter how agitated she became, it would only hurt her country to reveal her true identity now. She watched, hands balled so tightly into fists that her knuckles paled into whiteness, as the soldier slashed at the bar several times with the dagger.
She assumed that they had pulled the weapon out merely to bully and threat, but in the process of swiping gashes into the countertop, the soldier had miscalculated his aim and had drawn the blade squarely across the unfortunate bartender’s fingers. The man cried out in pain and grabbed his hand, and even from her vantage point in the corner Ashe could see the blood pooling on the bar. The soldiers appeared confused for a moment, sharing a glance, and then bolted from the Sandsea faster than Ashe would have thought possible.
Without really knowing it, she was out of her seat and in the streets of Rabanastre, hell-bent on following them. She didn’t know what she could do, but the pride and loyalty she felt for her country was overwhelming, and the rage building inside demanded a release. The soldiers were halfway down the street by the time Ashe located them in the darkness, and as she ran after them, she quickly lost them amidst the shadows.
She reached for her sword, hoping to catch them off guard with it, but mistook a large crate for a cast shadow from the nearest building, and when she stepped on it her ankle rolled with a sickening crunch, and she collapsed on the ground, her sword falling several yards away with a metallic ping.
Ashe immediately looked up, but she had long since lost sight of the offending soldiers. Her ankle was throbbing with a pain that was quickly spreading up her calf, and in the light of the incident in the inn, and her failure to do anything about it, she was unable to stop the tears that welled up in her eyes and spilled over the corners.
It had been a long time since she had cried; too long, but the last time she could remember weeping was directly following the declaration of her father’s murder, when she was safe in the confines of her room. Now, being out on the streets, her sword lying just out of reach, and knowing that no matter what she did, she could not make up for the pain Archadia had caused on her people, was simply too much, and she beat the streets with her fists as a scream caught in her throat.
There were footsteps behind her, and she struggled to gain control over her emotions, despite the rivulets of salty liquid still running down her cheeks.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” came Balthier’s smooth voice, and Ashe cursed every god in existence for letting him see her in such a state. She kept her face to the ground, swallowing hard. “When Vaan came back without you I wondered what you had managed to get yourself in. The streets are a dangerous place at night.”
“My business is my own,” Ashe snapped, though the anger in her voice was lost some in the pain.
“I never said it wasn’t,” Balthier responded, and from the tone of his voice, he sounded somewhat amused. Ashe could see little to find amusement in, given the situation, and she struggled to push herself upright, loose pebbles in the streets embedding themselves in her palms.
She managed to get shakily to her feet, losing her shroud in the process, but when she put weight on her ankle the pain was too intense, and she gave a little cry and nearly fell. Balthier’s hand went to her elbow, holding her upright, and Ashe whipped her head around only to find that he wasn’t facing her at all, and was instead staring down the empty street in the other direction.
It took her a moment to realize what he was doing for her. She wiped furiously at her cheeks, clearing the remnants of her tears, and let herself breathe deeply for several moments before she decided that she was presentable enough.
“It’s getting rather late,” Balthier said, and the fingers on her arm shifted and loosened so she could turn around. When she did, he let go, but she reached out to grab a hold of his forearm in order to support herself. Her ankle was throbbing, but it didn’t appear broken, and she suspected that a pack of ice and a roll of linen wrapped around it would ease most of the pain by the next morning. He handed her her missing sword, which she hadn’t even realized that he had picked up from the ground.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, looking anywhere but him. He didn’t respond, and she couldn’t see what his expression looked like, but he started walking slowly, giving her time to hobble with each step. He was patient, and when she needed a rest he obliged, and while it took them quite a while to reach the abandoned building they had adopted as their sleeping quarters, she realized she hadn’t really minded the length of the journey.
“Do you need to wrap that ankle?” he asked, pausing outside the door and keeping his voice low.
“Yes, I’ll be fine,” Ashe answered, wincing slightly. “I have cloth for it.”
With a nod, Balthier pushed open the door to the building and led her inside, carefully steering her around the other sleeping bodies until they reached one of the open mats. She tried her best to sit gracefully, but she ended up falling more than she had meant to, and he grabbed her hand as she descended, slowing her.
“Thank you,” she whispered, glad that he couldn’t see her cheeks flush in the darkness. A gentle squeeze to her fingers was the only response, and then the warmth of his hand was gone, and she could no longer gauge where he was. She assumed he had gone over to his sleeping mat, so she set about to wrapping her ankle, and once the task was done, she fell back and pulled her blanket up to her chin.
When she squeezed her eyes shut, she struggled to block out the memories of the soldiers at the Sandsea, and fought to find something else to think about instead. It took her awhile to finally fall asleep, but just before she drifted off she realized that she was remembering the feel of his hand in hers, and though she slipped into unconsciousness before she had a chance to really think about it, it was pleasant enough to put a small smile on her face, and she slept well that night. |
