A/N: This is not in the Steal Me arc that is currently in progress over on livejournal username argle_fraster, but is a stand-alone one-shot that will perhaps be in another arc later on. (I love my arc series) It’s in-game but a bit AU, if only because I take liberties with time and I make assumptions about Balthier’s mother. Hopefully this doesn’t take away anything from the story.
o.0.o.0.o.
The Sochen palace was indeed beautiful, a sprawling architectural monument that still bore many resemblances to what it must have been like before it was lost underground. The walls, though thick with moss and slime, still shimmered when the torch light hit them, bouncing the flickering illumination to the tiles that comprise the floor. All of the pillars were smooth and worn, lovingly crafted and century-worn, and even when the man-made floors gave way to the slick cave tunnels, it still retained a majestic aura of mystique and prestige.
It wasn’t the Sochen palace that bothered Balthier as the group made their way through it, nor was it the stalactites that threatened their heads as they walked among the twisting corridors. No, the palace itself was just another one of Ivalice’s long-lost structures, buried beneath history, and it was the stench of mold and disuse which attacked his nostrils that he bore a hatred against. The party was disrupting years worth of growth and fermentation, and it was obvious by the stale, mildew-infused air.
He held the torch high, hoping to reveal any traps or holes in the cave floors, and the comrades walked through the hallways slowly. Penelo in particular had a hard time with the slick, dewey rocks beneath her feet, and Basch had taken to staying close to her side in case she slipped again. A party member with a split skull would be little help against the fiends within the confines of the cave.
Balthier originally dismissed his discomfort with the paths as a nervous reaction at the thought of returning to Archades, which was full of banished memories that were resurfacing. The city itself was ripe with greed and misfortune, and while he knew the trip was undoubtedly necessary in the scheme of things, that didn’t mean that he was particularly looking forward to the return.
After several hours of walking through the maze-like cave corridors, Balthier stopped, hearing the footsteps of his comrades growing heavy and sluggish behind him.
“It’s been a long time since we rested,” Basch suggested, his voice echoing against the walls. “Perhaps we take a small time to regain our strength.”
“Yes,” Penelo agreed, sounding weary. “My head hurts.”
“Alright,” Balthier said, wedging the torch in-between two large rocks. “We should probably eat something. How are the rations doing?”
“We still have half a bag of bread and salted meat,” Fran told him, pulling out the bag she carried, tied to her utility belt. When he nodded, she began passing around the food to the others, who had already taken up seats on the cave floor. Vaan seemed irritated by the moisture, and swatted at the rock he was near before sitting down on it.
There was a prolonged period of silence as the comrades ate, bits of bread falling onto the rocks beneath them. Balthier could feel the exhaustion in his legs, but there was a strange atomsphere surrounding the structure, and it was uncomfortable enough that he wished to be out of the caves as soon as possible.
They encountered little on the rest of the passage. Balthier, who was using a sword despite his usual preference for guns, found the weapon in his hands awkward and heavy, but it did its job well, and Balthier wished to be to Archades as quickly as possible, and cared little for finesse. There were no witnesses within the caves who would damage his carefully culinated reputation for grace, and to be honest, he didn’t much like being underground. Probably something to do with the reason he had long since taken to the skies in order to be free.
He sent a sidelong look at Ashe, whose gaze was focused downward as she walked, and wondered if he hadn’t done the right thing in telling her of his rather humiliating history. He longed to be rid of the Bunanza name, if only to distance himself from the intimidating and psychotic association his father had created, but the princess hadn’t said much after his confession, and perhaps she had taken it the wrong way.
He wished that they could stop so he could confer with Fran, whose judgment nearly always ended up being sage. It was times like these when he needed the input of another to clear the muddled thoughts within his head.
He led the group through a large set of double doors and they quickly disposed of the Strikers lying in wait on the other side. The air was becoming slightly clearer, and Balthier assumed only he could notice the subtle difference, but it was enough to confirm that they were indeed headed in the right direction. There was little airflow, but even the slightest breeze indicated an opening in the cavern.
The following passageway was rocky and slick, and about halfway up Ashe slipped, her sword clattering to the ground as she fell forward and caught herself with her hands. Basch was at her side instantly, helping her back up, and Vaan grabbed her weapon from the ground.
“Highness,” Basch murmured, his voice low. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” Ashe said, her voice wavering, and she shook her head as if something were bothering her. “I simply fell, thank you. I’ll be fine.”
Balthier frowned and stepped a bit closer, raising the torch so he could see her face clearly in the flickering yellow light. There was a flush to her cheeks, but he couldn’t be sure if it was from embarassment from the fall, or something else entirely.
“Are you sure?” he asked, and he could tell she grew angry. There was a way she pursed her lips when she was upset, when she got crinkles around the edges, and she nodded once quickly. He decided to let it drop and continued up the spiralling, twisting pathway, hoping that no one else slipped on the path. A party member with a cracked skull would be little use on the rest of the journey.
He was glad, then, to find that the subsequent chamber held a motion activated lift, and the air was keenly fresher. The group made their way up on the hovering craft until they reached a large portal which opened out into a sprawling decay of city, full of crumbling buildings, destroyed streets, and the unmistakable odor of too many bodies and accumulated human filth. Balthier cared little for Old Archades, as did most of the denizens who lived within its bounds, and he wished to be through it as quickly as possible.
“Can we rest here?” Basch asked suddenly from behind, and Balthier turned, confused, to see Ashe sitting on a crumbling piece of a nearby building, which had long since fallen and embedded itself in the ground.
“We should get through this part of the city as quickly as possible,” Balthier told him. “It’s in our best interest to keep moving.”
It was obvious that his frankness and apparent lack of concern angered the loyal Knight, and the other man puffed his chest out and appeared about to speak, when Ashe raised a hand to silence both of them. She seemed to be having trouble catching her breath.
“Just a moment, please,” she pleaded, though her voice sounded thin and oddly strained. “I simply need a minute.”
“You should not strain yourself,” Basch said to her.
“I know,” Ashe answered, smiling weakly. “It’s nothing, really. I’m just feeling light-headed all of a sudden.”
The words caught Balthier’s attention, like a twinge in the back of his mind reminding him of something he had long since forgotten, something important and possibly crucial. He furrowed his brow for a moment and then strode back towards the group, putting his hand to Ashe’s forehead, which was hot to the touch.
“You’re burning up,” he said, keeping his voice low. Vaan and Penelo were sitting a few yards away, talking animatedly while walking across several fallen construction beams, and he didn’t wish to involve them. If the situation was as he thought it was, it would be best to keep them as far away as possible.
He let his hand fall to the side of her head and twisted her neck a bit, just to look at the skin of her throat. There was a rash there, a section of small, red bumps just below her jawline, under her ear. Balthier swore violently and dropped his hand, searching around the area for a native Archadian, hoping that someone would be of service, even if they had to be paid in order to help.
“What is it?” Basch asked, stepping forward, clearly alarmed.
“Sochen fever,” Balthier answered, though his attention was focused elsewhere. His gaze fell upon a man standing just a few yards away, his clothes ratty and tattered.
“I don’t understand,” Basch said. “What is Sochen fever?”
“A cave blight caused by mutated spores in the underground palace,” Fran answered for him, and Balthier was glad for her intervention. He stepped away from his party and approached the Archadian man, who seemed only vaguely surprised by Balthier’s presence.
“Came from the cave, eh?” the man asked, amused. “Don’t get much other than worms from down there.”
“Is there a doctor here?” Balthier inquired, hoping that he sounded firm without arising suspicion. The last thing he needed was to cause a stir, especially since the person in question was actually of royal bloodline. He doubted anyone would recognize her, nor would they even think of her at all, given that she was presumed dead, but he couldn’t chance it, not after they’d gotten this far.
The Archadian man studied him shrewdly.
“A doctor?” he asked, rubbing his chin in a thoughtful manner, an action which Balthier assumed was highly played up in hopes of securing a manner of coin for the trouble. “I think I might know of one.”
“Find them,” Balthier told him, harsher than he’d meant to. “I will pay you.”
The words worked like a charm, and the Archadian scuttled off quickly towards one of the crumbling buildings, leaving Balthier free to return to the others. Basch was moving towards Ashe, who seemed to be having trouble keeping her eyes open and was tumbling to one side, but Balthier pushed his arm away and shoved him backwards, harder than he’d planned. Basch sprang up immediately, enraged.
“What are you playing at?” the Knight hissed, his voice dangerously low.
“Sochen fever is highly contagious,” Balthier snapped. “We don’t need anyone else coming down with it. The antidote will be hard enough to come by as it is.”
The other man seemed placated for the time being, but his eyes were fixated on the ailing princess. Basch seemed about to say something else when the Archadian man Balthier had talked to came back, a woman following closely in tow.
“This is Meg,” the man said, gesturing to the figure behind him. “She’s a doctor.”
Checking to one side to keep an eye on Vaan and Penelo, who were still chattering on near the beams, Balthier pulled the woman called Meg to one side and motioned with his head to Ashe, who was now leaning over with her head in her hands.
“I believe she has Sochen fever,” he told the doctor, and he didn’t particularly like the way the woman’s eyes widened in fright. “We need an antidote.”
“Not many of those around here,” Meg stammered out. “But I can take you to an abandoned building where you can keep her.”
She did so nearly immediately, with Fran supporting a faltering Ashe, and the building was perhaps worse off than the surrounding city was, full of rodent droppings and a persistent stink. The walls within it were nearly nonexistent, save for the small room the woman led them to, which held only a bed covered in thin, coarse blankets.
“I’ll see if I can get an antidote,” Meg murmured as Fran led Ashe into the room and helped her onto the bed. “We can’t risk having an outbreak here, you’ll need to keep her inside until it passes or…”
Her voice trailed off, but Balthier knew where she was going.
“Aren’t the Archadians vaccinated against it?” he asked, suddenly suspicious. “Why should here be any different?”
“We can’t afford the immunizations in Old Archades,” she said without a trace of embarassment, and he felt guilty then for asking about it. “I’ll find you the medicine, but someone else will have to administer it once an hour. We have no on here who is immune to it.”
Balthier watched her retreating form, feeling little more than helpless. Basch approached him, looking into the room where the princess lay on the filthy bed, and Balthier knew the other man was worried about his charge, and the state of the situation should the only royalty left for Dalmasca should perish. Balthier didn’t think the Knight knew anything about the rather startling death rates associated with the fever, and he wasn’t about to tell him anything that might rile him up.
“Is she fetching the antidote?” the Knight asked, and Balthier nodded.
“You’ll have to keep the rest of the party away,” the sky pirate answered with a nod towards the following companions. “We can’t risk them being here.”
“What about you, then?” Basch inquired, his eyebrows narrowing once more.
“My father was a doctor before a scientist,” Balthier shrugged, hoping that he appeared far less worried than he actually was. “I was vaccinated a long time ago for Archadian diseases.”
The Knight seemed to accept this answer, and fell back, ushering Vaan and Penelo out of the building and back into the streets. The children seemed confused, and Balthier hoped that the other man wouldn’t tell them enough to make them worry, but he knew they would be safe enough if they laid low and kept themselves out of trouble.
There were footsteps behind him, and he immediately identified them as Fran.
“Will you stay with her then?” the Viera asked.
“Someone has to administer the antidote,” Balthier answered without turning around. She didn’t answer, but he knew she was nodding, and he heard her turn and head out the door after the others. She would keep them under the radar of the Archadian guard and out of trouble well enough, and he hoped that in the mean time the others would gather enough information to bargain passage into the rest of the city. Knowledge was the only real bartering tool within the Empire’s bounds, and he was afraid that they wouldn’t have enough to continue on the journey.
Of course, the entire passage was pointless should Ashe succumb to the fever, and it was that thought that kept Balthier restlessly worried until the doctor returned a few minutes later carrying a vial of putrid looking liquid, which was rolling over on itself and carried with it a strong, stagnant odor.
“Every hour,” Meg said, handing him the antidote. “It wasn’t easy to find.”
Balthier wordlessly handed her a sack of coin, knowing full well there wasn’t much more where it came from and that the transaction couldn’t be avoided. The pirate in him was weeping at the loss of nearly half their accumulated wealth for a small glass of medicine, no matter how necessary it truly was.
Meg left then, scurrying off like a child who had just seen a ghost, and Balthier couldn’t blame her. She was right about the risk of outbreak; with the way the citizens lived in Old Archades, it would easily decimate a good portion of the population in only a few days time. He knew of the history of disease in Archadia, and even the illness that had ravaged Rabanastre so many years ago, and it wasn’t worth risking the city over one person.
He entered the small, dirty room and closed the door behind him, pleased to see that there was a window no matter how small and filthy the glass was. Through the grime he could see the mottled reds of the setting sun streaking across the sky, signalling the coming of nightfall, and he pulled out a pocketwatch to make note of the time.
Ashe was curled up into a tight fetal position on the bed, her arms wrapped around her form, and she was trembling so badly that the supports on the bed itself were shaking against the ground. Balthier reached over to move her head, and opened her mouth enough to get the lip of the vial in the opening. He knew the liquid was potent and bitter, and she choked slightly as it went down, but it was her only hope of making it until morning.
She gave out a feeble little cry and upon closer examination, Balthier could tell that she was crying, silent tears falling down her cheeks and soaking into the linen pillowcase below her head. She raised her head slightly and stared up at the ceiling, and her eyes glassy and glazed, uncomprehending.
“Rasler?” she asked, her voice choked with tears. When she received no answer she whimpered and tried again. “Rasler?”
“Shh,” Balthier said, reaching over to brush stray hair off of her burning forehead, unsure of exactly what comfort she was in need of and how to give it. His father was the doctor, not him, and his life had been full of travel and adaptation, not coddling or sympathy. He was ill-equipped to deal with anyone in need of anything above a mildly friendly sentiment.
Her cheek fell against his hand as he brought it down from her forehead and she kept her head there, eyes blank and unseeing. He could feel her shaking as her jaw trembled against his palm, and he was suddenly overcome with pity for her, an emotion he felt so rarely that he almost didn’t know how to categorize it when it came upon him.
He pulled his hand away and she gave a little half-moan, and he tried to wrap her up in the coarse sheets as best he could. They provided little warmth he knew, but they were better than nothing and were all he had. He could still feel her shaking through the linens, and without another thought he climbed up onto the bed, sitting with his legs across it so he could lean back against the wall behind him.
He pulled the pillow, and with it, her head, up onto his lap, giving her comfort in the only way he knew how. He had limited memories of his mother, and most of the times he could recall were centered on interactions with his father, but there was one moment when he had been very small that he could conjur up within his mind, when he had been sick with a childhood disease and she had stayed by his bedside, running her hands through his hair as he struggled to fall asleep.
“I suppose I should be glad that no one else is here to see this,” he mused out loud, speaking to the princess although he knew she didn’t understand him. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but the tears were still flowing from the corners, and he put a hand to her forehead. The skin there was hot and clammy, and he wondered how long it would take for the antidote to kick in.
He had perhaps never felt as foolish as he did there on that bed, holding Ashe’s head in his hands, hoping feverently that she fought against the fever and made it through the ailment, but he pushed the thoughts aside as he ran his hands through her hair, which was damp with sweat.
“Don’t leave me,” Ashe whispered, startling him. “Please, don’t leave me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said with a wry grin, weaving his hands into the strands of her hair and pulling the tangles away from her face.
“Everyone left me,” she continued incoherently, shaking her head slowly from side to side. “Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t leave,” he told her, more serious this time, and she seemed to respond, because she stopped babbling and closed her eyes. She was still trembling, so much in fact, that he could feel her shoulders shaking against his legs even through the pillow, and so he waited with her, his hands in her hair, praying to every deity he could think of that the royal princess of Dalmasca wouldn’t perish because of an Archadian disease.
After an hour, he gave her another dose of the vile antidote, and she choked when the liquid spilled down her throat. It seemed to revive her, for she looked up at him, a film still covering her eyes, and raised one shaking hand as best she could.
“Will you take care of me?” she asked, and her voice sounded much like a child’s.
“Yes,” he told her, feeling perhaps more empathetic towards her than he ever had for another human being. He remembered what it felt like to lie in bed for days upon days, burning with a horrible fever, while his mother sat by his bedside singing him lullabies. Balthier knew no childish songs now, and even if he did, he would never sing them in a situation like he was in, but it was comforting to know that it had soothed him then, and was most likely soothing Ashe now.
“Why?” Ashe asked then, her eyelids fluttering closed. “You stay with me, when everyone else leaves. Why?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer, so he sat in silence for a few moments, running his hands through her sweat-damp hair.
“Because you need me,” he answered honestly, surprised at how good the statement made him feel. It had been a long time since anyone had truly needed him, and the emotions it brought on were somewhat welcome.
“I need you,” Ashe repeated, whimpering slightly. She was shaking more, perhaps even violently. “It hurts.”
Again, he didn’t know how to respond, so he said nothing, and she trembled for several minutes before her dark eyes opened again, pupils dialated so much that he could barely make out her smoky irises.
“Tell me a story,” she whispered, and Balthier chuckled slightly.
“Alright,” he obliged. “There once was a handsome Sky Pirate looking for adventure, and he ventured into the Royal Palace at Rabanastre hoping to secure some loot that he could sell to make repairs for his airship.”
Ashe was silent, and her eyes were closed, but he assumed that she was still listening, for her shaking had subsided somewhat, and it seemed to be affected by his voice.
“This Pirate didn’t really know what he was getting himself into, and making his way through the Palace was harder than expected, but he and his partner got into the royal treasury and found a wonderful glowing shard in the hands of a young boy.”
She was smiling softly, and Balthier wove his hands into her hair again, hoping that the action was somewhat comforting against the fever’s thralls.
“Anyway, the Archadian Armada showed up and blasted the whole joint, and then the Pirate, his partner, and the boy ended up in the sewers beneath the city, where they met up with an unusual woman who was quite good with a sword and went by the name of Amalia.”
Ashe opened her eyes suddenly and looked up, and her eyes were as clear as day.
“Balthier,” she said softly, and the use of his name caught him off guard. He’d rather suspected that the entire time she’d been under the impression that he was Rasler in her fever-induced state, and the knowledge that she knew who he was ended up being mildly off-putting. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” he grinned, hoping to appear calm. “You are good with a sword, after all.”
“No,” she shook her head. “Thank you for staying with me.”
She laid her head back down on the pillow and sighed softly, trembling only a little, and after a few minutes her breathing was heavy and regular. Balthier watched her, feeling both confused and somewhat touched. When he put a hand to her forehead, it was only warm, and no longer seemed hot against his palm, and he let out a sigh of relief that the antidote appeared to be working well.
He dozed in-between doses, getting very little sleep overall, and by the time the sun rose, shining light into the room through the grime covering the glass window, Ashe was no longer warm at all, and her shaking had long since subsided. Balthier felt comfortable enough to allow himself to fall asleep again, and he was awoken a time later by movement on the bed, which ended up being Ashe rolling off and standing upright.
“How are you feeling?” he asked from beneath heavily drooping eyelids. The question seemed to startle her, and she whirled around, blushing.
“Fine, thanks to you,” she said, her gaze fixated on the floorboards. “Where are the others?”
“Sleeping in a hovel, to the best of my knowledge,” Balthier shrugged, stretching his arms up and rising from the bed as well. The floor creaked horribly under his weight, and not for the first time he questioned the safety of the building they were in. Ashe refused to meet his gaze, so he began moving towards the door, and stopped only when she finally spoke.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice low.
“You said that already,” he told her, glancing over his shoulder. “And there is no need to thank me.”
“Balthier,” she said, her voice trailing off, and her features contorted into a brief expression of anguish. Then she strode forward and threw her arms around him before he knew what was happening, and he could do nothing other than embrace her back, her warm form pressed up against his in a decidedly enjoyable fashion.
It lasted for only a moment, and then she stepped back, and she was princess of Dalmasca once more. She nodded once to him and moved to exit through the door, and he followed her outside to meet up with the others, who were happy to see that she had fully recovered from the fever.
Penelo gave her a tight hug, and Basch set a hand upon her arm, and she smiled at all of them warmly.
“Are you feeling better?” Penelo asked.
“Much better,” Ashe responded with a quirk of her mouth. “Now that we’re ready, shall we be off towards the city?”
“I think we have enough information to get through the guards,” Vaan explained to her as the party began moving towards the stone stairwell at the end of the long, winding street. The others fell into step behind her, and Balthier let himself hang back just a little, Fran taking up pace next to him.
“She recovered nicely,” the Viera said, her voice neutral.
“Yes,” Balthier replied. “That she did.”
The pair lapsed into companionable silence as the group made their way towards the steps, to the stairwell that marked their entrance in the Empire’s capital city. |
