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fandomweekly2016-05-21 10:29 am
ser_pounce_alot) wrote in fandomweekly2016-05-21 10:29 am
Entry tags:
[#014] Pragmatism/Affection (Final Fantasy XII)
Theme Prompt: #014 - Secondhand
Title: Pragmatism/Affection
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII
Rating/Warnings: PG
Bonus: No
Word Count: 994 words
Summary: A fete to celebrate the Dalmascan-Rozarrian heir provides a reason for Basch to return to Rabanastre.
“Your highness,” Basch bows low, breastplate clinking against his gauntlets.
She looks good – the pregnancy has given her a healthy glow, cheeks pinked and dewy, and when she catches sight of him at the end of the train of delegates from Archades, a smile splits her face.
“Judge Gabranth,” she responds, with a knowing lilt lifting the end of the name (and oh how he sometimes still hates to hear it, his brother's name instead of his own from the mouth of a friend). “I am pleased to see you again. It has been too long.”
“Indeed it has,” he agrees.
Behind her, the dignitaries and ambassadors are milling around the tables set with food – dishes the likes of which Basch has not seen in quite some time, and when he looks, Basch sees the back of Al-Cid, Prince consort of Dalmasca, who seems his usual lively self.
“How is Larsa?” Ashe asks.
“He is well, my queen,” Basch replies. “He sends his regrets for being unable to attend himself, but he is overjoyed at the news of the Dalmascan-Rozarrian heir.”
Ashe's mouth quirks upward a bit, but she does not respond until one of her aides appears at her side, drawing her away to the cluster of people awaiting her on the other side of the room.
“Please give Larsa my best,” Ashe tells him. “And please, find me before you depart.”
“I will,” Basch promises, and watches her aide lead the queen to the representatives from Mt. Bur-Omisace.
The fete is grand and filled with cheer; music from the corner, a band of moogles, and staffed by Rabanastrians wearing fine linens and silk gloves. Basch has kept an eye on Dalmasca's revival, and it warms his heart to see the country recovering as quickly as it is. Ashe's return and the alliance with Rozarria has fueled a sharp increase in trade and travel, and Rabanastre has blossomed in its returned independence.
He wanders the hall and makes the duty round – Larsa gave him messages for several ambassadors, and Basch knows he is the face of Archades. He does not mind pretending to be someone else when he can see the fruits of what they have built in the happy faces of the Dalmascan people around him – a well-deserved and too-long denied peace solid and firm beneath their boots.
It is after the main course, when most of the guests have moved on to the dessert tray, armed with glasses of celebratory spirits, that he sees a familiar face slip between bodies.
He expects the man to be running, planning on cornering him, and instead finds him filling a plate with slices of honeyed fruit.
“Balthier,” Basch greets, surprised despite himself (has he not seen everything now?).
“Ffamran,” the man corrects, and grins around his fork, “at least in the official capacity.”
“Of course,” Basch says. “Sky pirates must make a strange invitation to the Royal Palace.”
The other man smiles again. “They'd certainly never know where to send it, would they?”
He wants to ask about that, for someone within Dalmasca's borders certainly does know how to call upon the flighty man at will, and such information would be well-appreciated by Larsa in the future, but one of the palace officials has begun the proclamation and toast, and the chance is lost. As the crowd moves to listen, Ashe and Al-Cid standing together at the front of the hall, Balthier disappears into the throng of people.
They make a fine pair, the Dalmascan-Rozarrian couple, though Basch wonders, briefly, how Ashe feels about her second marriage of alliance.
The fete lasts late, but Ashe excuses herself early, and out of a strange sense of nostalgic duty, Basch volunteers to escort her back to her chambers.
“Your father would be proud,” he says, quietly, as they walk through halls echoing with remembrance.
“I hope I do his legacy justice,” Ashe replies; the joy is gone from her face, and seems replaced with worry. It lines her face in ways Basch remembers well from Raithwall's Tomb and Giruvegan, a life long behind both of them.
“Majesty,” Basch starts, touching her elbow gently. “He was proud from the very beginning.”
She stops and grimaces, eyes glittering with something that looks very much like tears.
“I must admit that I miss having you here. I sometimes envy Larsa – an advisor and friend who is so loyal is a greater treasure than anything in the royal vault,” she says.
Basch reaches out to touch her arm again. “You must be weary. Please get some rest, it has been a long day.”
“Thank you, Basch,” Ashe says, and when she smiles at him, his stomach unclenches.
He waits until her door is completely shut before turning and retracing his steps back towards the grand hall. He doesn't get very far before he runs into Balthier once again.
“A little lost?” Basch asks. “Or have you an eye for another palace heist?”
He means it as a jest, but Balthier's expression falters.
“I – no, I was just – saying goodbye.”
The hall they are walking leads only to the queen's rooms. “You came alone?” Basch asks.
“So it would seem,” is the enigmatic answer. Balthier gives Basch a half-hearted salute, and turns, but not before Basch sees the gleam of metal between the bright colors on his fingers, a secondhand memory held hostage not long ago.
“That ring,” Basch says, slowly, “I thought you returned it.”
“She gave it back,” Balthier replies, holding Basch's gaze.
A minute passes, and Basch nods his head in understanding.
“Her majesty is feeling unwell,” he says. “I think I will wait here to be sure that no one disturbs her tonight.”
Balthier's face opens up into a wide, grateful grin, almost boyish in its excitement. “Thank you.”
He starts down the hall until Basch calls: “Balthier!”
The man pauses and turns back, a question hanging on the air.
“Congratulations,” Basch says. “Teach him to fly.”
Title: Pragmatism/Affection
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII
Rating/Warnings: PG
Bonus: No
Word Count: 994 words
Summary: A fete to celebrate the Dalmascan-Rozarrian heir provides a reason for Basch to return to Rabanastre.
“Your highness,” Basch bows low, breastplate clinking against his gauntlets.
She looks good – the pregnancy has given her a healthy glow, cheeks pinked and dewy, and when she catches sight of him at the end of the train of delegates from Archades, a smile splits her face.
“Judge Gabranth,” she responds, with a knowing lilt lifting the end of the name (and oh how he sometimes still hates to hear it, his brother's name instead of his own from the mouth of a friend). “I am pleased to see you again. It has been too long.”
“Indeed it has,” he agrees.
Behind her, the dignitaries and ambassadors are milling around the tables set with food – dishes the likes of which Basch has not seen in quite some time, and when he looks, Basch sees the back of Al-Cid, Prince consort of Dalmasca, who seems his usual lively self.
“How is Larsa?” Ashe asks.
“He is well, my queen,” Basch replies. “He sends his regrets for being unable to attend himself, but he is overjoyed at the news of the Dalmascan-Rozarrian heir.”
Ashe's mouth quirks upward a bit, but she does not respond until one of her aides appears at her side, drawing her away to the cluster of people awaiting her on the other side of the room.
“Please give Larsa my best,” Ashe tells him. “And please, find me before you depart.”
“I will,” Basch promises, and watches her aide lead the queen to the representatives from Mt. Bur-Omisace.
The fete is grand and filled with cheer; music from the corner, a band of moogles, and staffed by Rabanastrians wearing fine linens and silk gloves. Basch has kept an eye on Dalmasca's revival, and it warms his heart to see the country recovering as quickly as it is. Ashe's return and the alliance with Rozarria has fueled a sharp increase in trade and travel, and Rabanastre has blossomed in its returned independence.
He wanders the hall and makes the duty round – Larsa gave him messages for several ambassadors, and Basch knows he is the face of Archades. He does not mind pretending to be someone else when he can see the fruits of what they have built in the happy faces of the Dalmascan people around him – a well-deserved and too-long denied peace solid and firm beneath their boots.
It is after the main course, when most of the guests have moved on to the dessert tray, armed with glasses of celebratory spirits, that he sees a familiar face slip between bodies.
He expects the man to be running, planning on cornering him, and instead finds him filling a plate with slices of honeyed fruit.
“Balthier,” Basch greets, surprised despite himself (has he not seen everything now?).
“Ffamran,” the man corrects, and grins around his fork, “at least in the official capacity.”
“Of course,” Basch says. “Sky pirates must make a strange invitation to the Royal Palace.”
The other man smiles again. “They'd certainly never know where to send it, would they?”
He wants to ask about that, for someone within Dalmasca's borders certainly does know how to call upon the flighty man at will, and such information would be well-appreciated by Larsa in the future, but one of the palace officials has begun the proclamation and toast, and the chance is lost. As the crowd moves to listen, Ashe and Al-Cid standing together at the front of the hall, Balthier disappears into the throng of people.
They make a fine pair, the Dalmascan-Rozarrian couple, though Basch wonders, briefly, how Ashe feels about her second marriage of alliance.
The fete lasts late, but Ashe excuses herself early, and out of a strange sense of nostalgic duty, Basch volunteers to escort her back to her chambers.
“Your father would be proud,” he says, quietly, as they walk through halls echoing with remembrance.
“I hope I do his legacy justice,” Ashe replies; the joy is gone from her face, and seems replaced with worry. It lines her face in ways Basch remembers well from Raithwall's Tomb and Giruvegan, a life long behind both of them.
“Majesty,” Basch starts, touching her elbow gently. “He was proud from the very beginning.”
She stops and grimaces, eyes glittering with something that looks very much like tears.
“I must admit that I miss having you here. I sometimes envy Larsa – an advisor and friend who is so loyal is a greater treasure than anything in the royal vault,” she says.
Basch reaches out to touch her arm again. “You must be weary. Please get some rest, it has been a long day.”
“Thank you, Basch,” Ashe says, and when she smiles at him, his stomach unclenches.
He waits until her door is completely shut before turning and retracing his steps back towards the grand hall. He doesn't get very far before he runs into Balthier once again.
“A little lost?” Basch asks. “Or have you an eye for another palace heist?”
He means it as a jest, but Balthier's expression falters.
“I – no, I was just – saying goodbye.”
The hall they are walking leads only to the queen's rooms. “You came alone?” Basch asks.
“So it would seem,” is the enigmatic answer. Balthier gives Basch a half-hearted salute, and turns, but not before Basch sees the gleam of metal between the bright colors on his fingers, a secondhand memory held hostage not long ago.
“That ring,” Basch says, slowly, “I thought you returned it.”
“She gave it back,” Balthier replies, holding Basch's gaze.
A minute passes, and Basch nods his head in understanding.
“Her majesty is feeling unwell,” he says. “I think I will wait here to be sure that no one disturbs her tonight.”
Balthier's face opens up into a wide, grateful grin, almost boyish in its excitement. “Thank you.”
He starts down the hall until Basch calls: “Balthier!”
The man pauses and turns back, a question hanging on the air.
“Congratulations,” Basch says. “Teach him to fly.”
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Thank you for this. <3
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Although I haven't played FFXII, yet, I have a huge soft spot for Rasler/Ashe. I don't know why. Baralai/Yuna expy? XD
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