Another day went by and the coward still hadn't shown his face. Ashe had never known vindictiveness of this sort before, but somehow, receiving a one line note from the man she'd loved – yes, loved! Past tense, she told herself – after thinking he was dead had been enough to drive her a bit nutty. There she was, still awake at midnight in her bedchamber thinking about him after three weeks. And not just awake, but on her feet pacing the floor. Her chamber maids would be replacing the carpet soon at the way she was going.
She knew he was around. She knew! Penelo and Vaan had scampered off to Bervenia, answering the call to piracy from a man who by all accounts had been long dead. And she couldn't go. She had duties! She had responsibilities! But Vaan and Penelo had been back in Rabanastre a full week. Her spies had reported back from the aerodrome when they arrived, and the Strahl had also been docked. And it sat in the hangar even now, she thought angrily. The almost Queen of Dalmasca picked up a pillow from the bed and shoved her face into it, screaming her frustrations until her throat was hoarse. Where was he? He was in town, but he'd not even tried to see her? She continued her fuming until there was a noisy thud on her balcony.
Racing over to the glass door, she hid behind the curtains and peeped around. A shadowy figure was laying face down on the stone balcony, and it appeared that he was the reason for the thud. The person was grumbling under his breath, and Ashe guessed that he had just fallen from the roof and landed a bit harder than intended. Squinting into the darkness, she was at once overjoyed and furious.
She pulled the door open angrily. "What the hell are you doing falling from my roof?"
The person stood up slowly, taking time to rub his sore behind as he rose from the stone balcony floor. "Trying to…trying to impress…" he wheezed.
The man met her eyes then, and she scowled. "So…did you miss me?"
"Are you hurt?" she asked instead, chosing to ignore his question entirely due to fears that her answer would either be truthful, and therefore something she did not wish to admit yet, or a lie, and he would leave. He seemed puzzled by her abrupt change in direction, eyebrows furrowing.
"No," he said, and then flashed her a grin.
"Good," she replied, before crossing the distance between them and bringing her palm down hard across his cheek. The sound of her palm hitting shrilly against is face resounded against the stone walls, and then there was a very tense moment in which she was sure that he was both furious and guilty at the same time. She had not, however, expected him to raise a hand to touch his cheek gingerly and then begin to laugh.
When he caught sight of her shocked expression, for she knew her mouth must have been hanging open much like a gasping fish on the beach, he shrugged slightly, still chuckling.
"I think I deserved that," he supplied, when her silence continued.
"You did," she countered, finally finding her voice again. "And now you will tell me why you have waited so long to come and see me again."
Balthier grinned and took his leave to walk past her and into her chamber. "I thought I explained it very well. I was a cad for not giving it to you in person, and I'll have you know that Fran nearly beat me senseless for the way I went about it, but honestly, it was all there in the letter. I thought you would have written back by now, hence my decision to come in person."
She scowled, and Balthier appeared confused. He stammered a bit. "You did get the letter I sent you? With the ring?"
Stomping off to her bedside table, she opened the drawer and took out the one-line scribble he deemed a proper "letter" and shoved it into his hand. "This? Oh yes, I got this letter, Balthier. 'Give this to our Queen,' huh? 'I await in Bervenia,' right? Well thanks for your thoughtful and utterly detailed letter!" She waited for him to say something, but his brow furrowed and he turned pale. "Well, say something, pirate! Or was I just another conquest for you?"
"Ashe, I…" he murmured. His confusion was beginning to really unnerve her now. He looked at the note once more and then met her frown. "I sent you another letter…"
"Wait, you what?"
He sat on the bed in a huff and held his head in his hands. Was Balthier actually showing some level of remorse?
"Gods," he mumbled, half-muted by his fingers splayed across his face. "I should have known something like this would happen."
"Something like what?" she asked, rage dampening. His slumped form before her was more than enough to cool her temper, and she felt, quite suddenly, almost bad for accusing him in such a manner. He seemed despondant and lost in his own thoughts, and she wondered why it had never occured to her before that perhaps she just hadn't gotten the entire message. Surely Vaan and Penelo would not do something as horrid as failing to deliver the extra letter... would they? She sat down in the chair across from the bed, feeling uneasy. When he did not answer her, and did not even seem to move, she leaned forward a bit to get closer. "What– what did the letter say?"
"That I'm sorry," he said, moving his hands to look across the gap at her.
"That's it?" she asked, blinking in surprise. He shrugged slightly, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards again.
"In a great deal more words, as I recall." He rose from his seat on the edge of the bed. She stood as well, unsure what he was going to do next, and when he did not continue, cocked her head to one side while she studied him.
"And that was all that was in this 'letter'?" she urged, hesitant now. He was acting odd– nervous, almost, as if anxiety had robbed him of his usual demeanor. He took another step towards her, and she wished that she could move backwards without running into the chair. His proximity was making it difficult for her to think properly, and now, more than ever, she wished her thoughts to be clear.
"There was a little more," he murmured, one hand moving up to cup her cheek.
She bit her lip as he caressed her skin. It had been over a year since he'd so much as touched her, and it felt almost as if some current was racing through her. Ashe did her best to stay outwardly calm. "Why don't you try and remember what you wrote then."
"Dear Ashe," he started, his voice suddenly proud and impertinent as ever. He took his hand away from her face and began to pace the floor. "Let me first apologize for the manner of our parting. I was so preoccupied with the damned glossair rings that I went into mechanic mode, and because of that, I did not properly wish you goodbye…"
She remembered the way he'd started throwing orders around without even a glance in her direction, and the memory stung a bit too harshly. "Perhaps you could skip ahead to a different part?"
He must have noticed the upset look on her face, and he was quiet. She could see his mind working to remember. "Ah, right. Sorry. And so, I profoundly apologize for the hurt my absence may have caused you. It was not my intention to go so long without telling you I was alive, but I got caught up in my adventuring. It is a poor excuse, I know, but don't think I haven't asked after you. You may have spies at the aerodrome, but I have my own. I am glad to hear of how Dalmasca prospers. Anyhow, long story short, I know you've no right to forgive me, but I ask you to do so anyway. You can send me post at the address I've listed at the top…well, Ashe, if you'd seen the original…"
She'd let him go on and on, but something felt off. "That's…that's all?"
He stopped his pacing. "Er…yes, I think that's all I can recall at the…"
"You're lying," she declared, placing herself directly in front of him. "What did it really say?" He looked to his feet and mumbled something. "Surely there was more if you've come all this way to check up on me for not writing back to you?"
"I may have written something about…"
"About?" she prodded, taking a step closer to him. Her anger was cooling very quickly, and her memories of their journey together were beginning to overload her senses. The light cologne he wore was the same, the way he shaved his sideburns, the finely pressed shirt. "What did you write, Balthier?"
He leaned down and grasped her face between his hands and kissed her firmly. She was momentarily stunned, but it didn't take long for her to respond. Her knees felt weak, and the logical part of her mind that was still hanging on for dear life told her it was probably because she was tired. She was still supposed to hate him, wasn't she? He broke apart first, pressing his forehead against hers. His breath came in large gulps. "I…I guess you could say I wrote the verbal equivalent of that."
"How articulate of you," she whispered, hoping that her tone came out stronger than she felt.
"Always," he replied, lips brushing against her cheek. There was a long pause between them– though if the moment lasted for an eternity or merely the fraction of a second, she could not tell. She knew nothing beyond the confines of her chambers, nothing beyond the feel of his skin against hers, and she swallowed hard, dislodging the lump that had formed there. When it appeared that he was not going to say anything else, she lifted her hands to his forearms, pushing him backwards slightly.
"If you are so eloquent with words," she started, kissing his cheek gently, a spray of feather-light kisses over the curve of his face, "then perhaps you could tell me what this would mean on paper?"
"What is this?" he asked, though his voice sounded as if something had caught in his throat. She pushed him backwards again, until the back of his legs hit against the edge of the bed. He sat down promptly, almost comically, and she pushed him back further to allow room for her knees to straddle him. His expression seemed to falter somewhere between surprise and pleasure. "This is hardly appropriate to express with a pen."
"Is that right," she mused against his neck. "You're a pirate, though, aren't you? You should be well-versed with inappropriate sentiments."
At some point he had leaned back onto the bedspread, and she moved with him. She couldn't remember her comforter being so smooth, nor so inviting. There were warning bells in the back of her head– bells warning of her heart, of her mind, and of the servants she hoped would not knock on her chamber doors . They seemed distant, far-away, and easily ignorable, and his hands on her shoulders were warm through the coverlet she wore.
"My inappropriate sentiments are best expressed face-to-face," he said, and she couldn't help but smile.
"Then perhaps you should show me," she whispered, and it seemed to be all the invitation he needed.
-------
The minister droned on and on, and Ashe listened patiently. "At the current rate of production, we can get…" She nodded and smiled, clutching the blankets around herself. Would the man ever leave? Did she really need to know the grain yields for the first half of the year? She didn't need a novel, she needed snippets. Right now she needed good news or bad news, not this drawn out exposition.
She coughed suddenly, covering her mouth and waving the man back. "I'm so sorry, Minister Laykin. I'm sorry…"
The man stopped rambling through price indexes and farming reports and gave her a sympathetic look. "Your Highness has given me a generous amount of time despite your current situation. I do apologize for keeping you awake. I will leave you to rest."
She coughed a few more times and nodded. "Yes, Minister. I am sorry that I could not be at court today. I will be refreshed and ready to continue this tomorrow. You are dismissed."
"Please feel better, Your Majesty." The man bowed humbly and departed her bedchamber. Ashe sighed. This was the last day she could get away with this nonsense.
"All clear," she announced. There was a rumbling from underneath the four-poster bed, and the smirking pirate hopped up onto the mattress. He gave her a quick kiss and pulled her into his arms.
"You need to have sick days more often, Ashe."
--------
When the rains moved in from Giza, the air in Rabanastre turned cooler, and it was a welcome relief from the hot, long days of summer. Her meetings grew longer and more serious, for the trade sanctions on Rozarria were pressing down on the export commodities, and the aerodrome could barely handle the increased airship capacity from the additional ports opening. She fell into an easy pattern– wash upon rising, delegate meetings all day, and then collapse onto her bed at night, when the sun finally fell below the mountain-tipped horizon, and all she could think of was her own exhaustion.
She sat at her desk, looking over more additions to the new trade bill, marking passages with her feather-tipped quill, when there was a knock at her door.
"Come in," she called, and her hand maiden stepped inside with a low, wordless bow.
"There is a messenger from Rozzaria here," the girl said. "He has the new proposals from the Margrace."
"It is so late," Ashe frowned, setting her pen down. When the maid merely shrugged, her frown deepened and she waved at the doorway. "Send him in, then. They have no concept of time."
The maid left, and there were footsteps in the hall, and she had turned back to her sanctions by the time the messenger arrived. The door closed, and she could hear the thud resonate through the walls, and she sighed deeply, scratching out notes on her parchment.
"You can tell the Margrace that his inopportune timing is drawing on my patience," Ashe began, without looking up towards the new arrival to her chamber, and she was shocked when, after a moment, she felt two strong arms go around her shoulders. For a moment she could think only that the Margrace had thoroughly crossed the line this time, until she felt a familiar mouth run against the side of her neck.
"You really ought to be more careful with who you let in your chambers at this time of night," Balthier breathed, and she dropped the pen onto the paper without a second thought.
"I had no idea you were working for the Margrace now," she sighed, letting his hands roam across her shoulders.
"Neither does he," the pirate laughed.
-------
The sounds of metal being welded and ships' engines whirring drowned out her scream as she clung to him. He let his head rest in the crook of her neck as he finally relaxed against her. "Thank the Gods for the soundproofing qualities of a busy aerodrome," he murmured against her skin, and she chuckled.
She moved her legs from around him, and he set her back down on the metal grated floor. Her back hurt a bit from the unforgiving wall she'd been pressed against for the last several minutes, but life went on. Balthier buckled his trousers and wiped a bit of sweat from his forehead. Ashe sighed and rearranged her gown. "Gods, it's hot in here."
The sky pirate raised an eyebrow. "Think they'll buy the old hot engine room excuse?"
She smiled and readjusted the tiara on her head. "They better!" He took out a handkerchief and wiped her nose. "Engine grease?"
"Engine grease," he replied with a grin. He moved over to the tool box on the floor and picked up the clipboard. "Your Majesty?"
She took the clipboard and began scratching with the quill. "Well, the engine room is adequate enough, I suppose." Ashe turned around and moved to the stairs.
"Adequate?!" she heard from behind her, and she could not wipe the smile from her face. The Queen moved back up to the cockpit and looked out the front glass. Her entourage waited there patiently, and she gave them a quick wave.
Balthier sat down in the pilot's chair and shook his head. She wrote a bit more on the clipboard. "I can't give you full marks. That's cheating."
"But the ship is perfect. You're very intimately acquainted with her! Surely you know what she's capable of," he argued.
Ashe put the finishing touches on a sentence and moved to the Strahl's exit. "I want to give every pilot a fair shot. It's a very important responsibility to serve as the Queen's official transport."
He pressed the button to open up the hatch. "Well, I guarantee that nobody will give you as thorough an engine room tour as this pilot." The hatch was down, and she smirked. She began scratching some more on the evaluation sheet, and Balthier cried out. "Hey! I was kidding!"
Ashe smiled sweetly as her council of transportation approached her. "My lady, everything checks out on the outside. Ship's in top shape," her minister announced proudly.
The Queen turned back to catch Balthier's eye. She could barely contain her laughter as Balthier pouted at the top of the stairs. "Mr. Bunansa. We'll let you know. Thank you for the tour."
------
She was over halfway through her favorite passage in her book when she heard the knocking on the outside of her balcony door. She frowned slightly, slipping the bookmark in-between the musty, worn pages, and kept the book lying open on her comforter. It was later than usual, but she knew he had been forced to work through the official channels in the aerodrome more, and with the new sanctions, the wait could often be horrendous. She moved silently across the floor until she reached the doubled doors, and then pulled the right one open softly.
"I am not a fan of your new transport sanctions," he said, his voice low as he swept passed her carrying a wave of spices and engine grease. She shut the door after he was inside, drawing the curtains closed. The moon shone only slightly through the translucent silk, and the only light in the room was the flickering of the candle.
"I am sorry," she told him, though she thought he was taking it a bit harder than he ought to. By the time she had gotten back to the bed, he had already collapsed upon it, his face nuzzled deep into one of the down pillows. "It was not ever directed at you personally."
"Everything is directed at me personally," he said, though he grinned to show he was only kidding. She slipped back under the covers and grabbed her book again, moving the candle closer so the dancing glow spread over more of the page. He removed his vest and shoes and then curled up next to her, sighing into the linens.
"Didn't your mother ever tell you that reading in poor light will damage your eyes?" he asked, snaking one arm around her midsection.
"She might have also said something about pirates shortening one's lifespan," she quipped, never taking her eyes from the book, "but I've never given much thought to wives' tales such as those."
"You must have had a particularly long council meeting today," Balthier mumbled into her shoulder. "You're particularly glib tonight."
She laughed, leaning into his embrace further.
"You think you have me all figured out," she said with a smile.
"Oh, I do," he replied, and she didn't need to see his face to know that he was smirking. "Now, put that book down and get some sleep, I'm exhausted."
"Feeling like royalty?" she asked, setting her bookmark in her pages again and closing the book with a resounding thud. She rolled her eyes as she set it back in its customary place on her bedside table.
"When I'm with you?" he said, raising one eyebrow. "Always."
She shook her head and blew out the candle.
------
She stirred from sleep, the gentle hum of the airship easing her back in the land of the living. Her neck ached. The Strahl had cabins…why did she think to sleep in the cockpit seats? Stretching her arms over her head, she was startled to see Fran sitting in the pilot's chair.
"Fran? Where is…"
"In his cabin."
The Viera had a very uncanny way of finishing people's sentences. And when Balthier was the topic of discussion, Fran rarely allowed her to even start a sentence – she seemed to just know what Ashe was thinking. The Queen would find that unsettling if she didn't appreciate Fran's ability to get straight to the point.
She stood up and looked over to the chair beside her and that was when she panicked. "Fran?"
"He took it with him, I believe." The Viera had not even inclined her head, instead continuing to pilot the Strahl north for her meeting with Larsa. Ashe frowned. Why had he taken it? She sighed and departed the cockpit, moving to the back of the ship where the cabins were.
Although she was the Queen of Dalmasca and the Strahl was now her official transport vessel, it was always going to be Balthier's ship. And so she knocked on the door.
"Come in."
She opened the wooden door and closed it behind her. The sky pirate was lying in his bunk, his shoes and vest on the floor beside it. He'd rolled up his sleeves and had one arm behind his head against the headboard. His other hand held an Archadian stylus, and even from her side of the cabin she could see the fresh ink on the tip of it. And that was when she noticed what he was holding the stylus over.
"My book!" she screamed.
She lunged forward, acting more out of instinct than anything planned, and as such ended up nearly tripping over his boots lying near the base of the bed. He didn't seem particularly pleased to see her there, and while she did enjoy the startled look that crossed his face, it was not worth the ink she could see on the pages of her book.
"What are you doing?!" she exclaimed, horrified that her voice had risen to an alarmingly high pitch. "What are you doing to it?"
"Hold on, Ashe," he said, seeming to be far more composed than he should be in such a situation. He moved to a sitting position, sending a jolt through the bed he was seated on. "Calm down for a-"
"I will not calm down!" she screeched, reaching for the book again. This time her hands clasped down around the pages and she managed to yank it back towards her. The force of the action combined with his hold still on the bottom sent her reeling backwards, and she nearly tripped over his boots again, but she had the possession in her hands again. "You think that just because I have allowed you a certain number of allowances that you have free reign, but I will not stand for you to abuse your privileges towards me!"
"Ashe, now listen-" he started, and when he moved towards her, she backed up immediately, clutching the book to her chest again. It still held the smell of leather and pipe smoke, the smell of her father and his library and the memories she had there, and she was incredibly glad that the ink had not robbed it of its scent.
"No!" she commanded, pointing at him. The action stopped him dead in his tracks, and she could not discern the expression flitting over his features. "I am allowed certain things, and I am allowed to be angry, and you shall not take that from me, either!"
She turned from the room and ran, ran towards the cockpit, to the safety of the windshields and controls and the Viera she knew to be piloting, all with her book clutched to her chest. She knew they were near Rabanastre, for she could tell from the muted beige colors of the Westerstand they were flying over, and it would not take long before they were back in the aerodrome and she could retreat to her palace with her book safely in her arms.
It was not until later, when she was in her bedchamber, still raging from the incident aboard the Strahl, that she thought to even check what the pirate had defaced within the books' pages at all.
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