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Visions	By : anyasy Category: Final Fantasy Games > Final Fantasy XII Views: 967 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy XII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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November 10
Who rode in defense of your queendom

[A/N: a prompt like this is obviously FFXII for me. :3
Spoilers until first visit to Balfonheim]

The eve of our Crusade

�� Basch notes,
with a little wry humor, over his half-empty tankard of ale, that his life
could really be measured in terms of his companions� ages.� Save for the Viera, of course, but he had no
idea how old she was, in terms of her race, and rather suspected that it would
amount to less than his age, after all, seeing how things were progressing.� The few human crusaders that the Princess
Dalmasca had rallied were a strange and too-young lot (young enough to be
idealistic, young enough to have time enough not to worry about the rest of
their lives; he seems doomed to follow those who are too-young, to watch them
die).�

�� Balthier
Bunansa, wherever he was right now (business, about town, typically vague) � a
sky pirate whose purpose for following them about was rather suspiciously
nebulous (though Basch suspected that it was mere curiosity, perhaps even
boredom, rather than any real desire to seek out the truth behind the sins of
his father).� When that exasperating man
first saw the light of day, Basch had already taken up a sword, in honor of the
Order (rows of initiates, and he at the top of his class, Vossler beside him,
proud, so proud, for he was not noble-born, yet he stood as equal before the
blade).

�� Princess
Ashelia B�nargan Dalmasca herself, rightful ruler of Dalmasca, silent opposite
him, her lips pursed as she studies an ancient map of Feywood, her lunch
untouched beside her hand (sword-roughened already, whatever would Rasler
say).� When she was born, he had already
kissed his first lass (and such a pretty lass she had been, with green eyes
that sparkled like emeralds and silky hair black as ink; the sky had been like
to rain, and he had blushed and stammered so).

�� Vaan and
Penelo � Vaan laughing, as he tries to persuade the tavernkeeper to let him try
some ale (just a little, a little won�t hurt, would it?) and Penelo, grinning
at him as the tavernkeeper (rightfully) ignores them.� Hah, when they were in the cradle, he had already killed his
first man (bandits marauding at the border; the man had aimed a dagger at
Vossler�s back; he had called out, stabbed without thinking, and stood,
uncomprehending, as blood splashed his face and neck, so much red.� Later, it got easier, and easier, and now he
thinks not of it at all, to end another�s life).�

�� And he �
ex-Knight, ex-Captain, ex-General, too many what-had-been�s rather than what-could-be�s,
and in the midst of he, moving slowly and inexorably through the prime of his
life, now caught in the middle of a could-be war that threatened to consume his
adopted country and those few left that he still held dear.� A dark thought to mull over, with mellow
alcohol in the middle of the day in the middle of a pirate town on the very
edges of the Empire, far away from home (and he was seen as a traitor still, at
home).�

�� He looks up
when Fran enters the tavern � the Viera glances at their table, then is drawn
into the tavernkeeper-Vaan argument � Penelo�s wail of But Fran� as the
Viera seems to see no trouble in letting Vaan have some liquor audible even
from behind three tables (one of which populated by burping Seeq).� And Balthier, sauntering into the tavern
behind her (his heart quickens, just a little) trailing a bevy of giggling
women (female pirates?) behind him, charming them with a lazy smile and quips
that Basch couldn�t quite make out.� Ringed,
dusky fingers on his elbow, feminine laughter and cherry lips too close to a
discoloring cravat.�

�� Basch is
certain that his darkening expression is obvious for all to see (thankfully Her
Majesty is oblivious, absorbed in her contemplation of their next route, the
next step in the restoration of her throne, or the averting of war � whatever
her purpose may be, Basch has vowed to see it through).� Balthier glances over once � and smirks
faintly � then pointedly looks away, saying something that makes the women
laugh uproariously and flutter their eyelashes at him.� Why, that�

�� Logically he
knows that it�s possible Balthier isn�t doing this out of any sort of spite or
wicked whim whatsoever � visiting Archades had been hard, for the sky pirate;
going to Draklor, battling his father � worse so.� Strung up so tight over the last few days, it would be small
wonder that he needed some sort of respite, however sordid a form it may
take.� His heart, however, told him that
Balthier had agreed, in Rabanastre� and this was not part of the
bargain (to be something more, between them).�

�� A philanderer�

�� With a soft
growl, Basch forces his gaze out over the harbor, taking a gulp of his ale
(that was too much at once, choked him, and made him cough).� He was six and thirty years of age, and
still a Knight of the Order.� He would not
lose his temper in public, not like this, not because of this.� He may have given his heart away to someone
still too young to appreciate or value it so; too young to understand the
entirety of such a gift; but the person in question, in any case, had never
actually reciprocated with a like present in return.�

�� Noise and
footsteps informs him that Balthier and his entourage had seen fit to approach
their table � he ignores them, or tries to � it�s a little difficult to ignore
hands slipping around your neck and a chin against your skull.� �This one,� Balthier is saying, and he
blinks, when the women laugh and look him over (such frankness that he would
never have seen amongst the respectable womenfolk of Rabanastre).�

�� Oh, an�
roight �andsome, �e is,� one says, her burr so thick that it takes Basch,
frowning, a moment to decipher it.� A
pretty girl, if one ignored the ugly slash from her right ear to neck, so
heavily adorned with beads and silver bangles and necklaces that her blue dress
was nearly invisible, barefoot on the tiled ground of the Whitecap tavern.� �T�aint right, Bunansa, fer such as ye t�be
catchin� fish like this.�

�� And why so,
Saldie, pray tell?� Balthier asks, dryly, amused.�

�� You know
what she means, Balthier,� this one from a weather-beaten lady of indeterminate
age, crows feet crinkling at the edges of glass-gray eyes, her hair caught in a
green turban atop her head, wearing a torn leather skirt and a very minimal
blouse, a wicked, jeweled dagger at her hip.�
�Pretty boys should save themselves for us women, not go about chasing
each other.� If you were going to start
batting permanently for the other team, you should have at least had the
decency to choose someone ugly.� Permanently?

�� Basch realizes
a little belatedly that he�s blushing (despite having fourteen years on
Balthier�s age, seventeen years on Ashe�s and nineteen years on Vaan�s and
Penelo�s), and feels oddly pleased, when Balthier nuzzles his hair and drawls
at the women.� �Psh.� Find your own.�

�� S�pose ye
don�t top, fer this �un,� Saldie said pointedly, and he feels the puffs of
breath from Balthier�s exhalation of mock indignation against his hair.� The scraping of a chair informs him that
Ashe has wisely decided to quit the area of lewd piratical conversation before
she heard anything too undignified � the princess retreats hastily to
Fran.� The women take her place without
comment, sitting in varying degrees of scandalous languor on the chairs.�

�� Oh? What
makes you think so?� Balthier�s fingers run over his lower lip, then tickle
through the dusting of hair over his jaw.�
�Would Balthier Bunansa submit to anyone?�

�� The women
look at each other, then chuckle.� The
one with a silver ring through her nose and sun-baked reddish skin laughs with
bellowing, mannish laughter, slapping the table.� �Hah.� T�be sure, t�will
be lots o� men an� women �bout these parts wot�ll be more than willin� t�open
their thighs t�this �un, let alone ye.�

�� And what�s
that supposed to mean?� Fingers run distractingly over his neck and chest.� His cheeks feel hot, and not only from the
(filthy) candid conversation; he�s glad that the table hides him from the waist
down, but he shifts a little, just in case.�

�� Cut him
loose an� ye�ll find out soon enough,� the silver-ring-woman arches an eyebrow
in challenge.� �Aye?� Balthier snorts.

�� Quiet sort,
innit?� Sadie peers at him.� �Does �e
speak?�

�� An
introduction would be polite, Balthier,� he says, mildly, glad that he sounded
calm, and arms tighten briefly around his neck.�

�� Hah.� Ladies, this is Basch.� Basch, that�s� Saldie, Kerry� Essa, Zerst
and Jayse.� Each lady indicated in turn with a little wave of his fingers.� �A shopkeeper, a lady of negotiable virtue,
and pirates.� Old friends of mine.�

�� Negotiable
virtue, indeed,� Kerry (the well-spoken one, Balthier blinks) smirks.� �Never heard it called that, before.�

�� Ye make
shopkeeper sound borin�,� Saldie complains.�

�� Tis an
honor to make your acquaintance,� Basch says, nonplussed, but in the measured
cadence he remembers from the Order.�

�� Oi, a toff?�
Jayse, a petite woman with gold fillings in her teeth and a shark�s tooth
necklace demands, squinting at Balthier.�

�� A Knight,
actually,� Balthier corrects, and Basch realizes, belatedly, that he�s being�
shown off, and with apparent pride, at that � and instead of feeling further
embarrassed by the (somewhat juvenile) publicity of it all, he�s feeling rather
flattered (and he with fourteen years on the other man�s age).�

�� A knight!�
Kerry sighs, dramatically.� �Bunansa,
you should be shot! Handsome and mysterious.� I do not suppose he is wealthy, as well?�

�� Can�t have
everything, I�m afraid,� the sky pirate says, playfully, and Basch tires of
tickling fingers � he turns his head, reaching up, and pulls a startled
Balthier down into a possessive, mouth-to-mouth kiss with a fairly decent
amount of tongue, considering the awkward angle, deciding that Balthier�s
certainly earned as much in the name of an apology, for undeserved assumptions.
�The women whistle, and laugh, as the
sky pirate purrs.

-fin-
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