Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Thank you all for coming." Ashe stood, hands at her sides, and considered over the personages assembled in her audience chamber. First Larsa seated on the high-backed chair, Basch standing behind him, back to the wall. Next to them, the Lords Margrace: Roderigio crushing into the sofa, a glass of wine in his hand, Azlan seated on his right, Tiesto's meaty fingers resting on the sofa's upholstered back. Lastly, Ondore stood by the door, also holding a glass, his expression warm and supportive. The most powerful men in Ivalice, all dressed in their finery for her coronation dinner; tomorrow, she would officially become one of their number. "I would speak on a delicate matter, in private, before tonight's festivities and tomorrow's ceremony."

Larsa leaned forward in his seat, hands resting on his thighs. "Would this be in regards to Nabradia, Your Majesty?"

She responded with a swift look in his direction. "One and the same."

"Ah." Larsa tipped his head to the side. "I confess, I am eager to hear your decision. When last we spoke, you were still weighing your options."

Ashe laughed, softly, without mirth. "Was I? Or was I merely stalling before I bowed to the inevitable?" She shook her head. "I have already notified the Council. I will claim the thrones of Dalmasca and Nabradia both at the ceremony."

Larsa's answering nod was solemn. "I think that is likely for the best. Do you concur, Lord Margrace?"

"I do." After a quick glance at Azlan, who shrugged, Roderigio looked up and over his shoulder. "You will agree as well, I hope."

Behind him, Tiesto tensed, then nodded. "If you recognize Her Majesty Queen Ashelia's claim, how can I do otherwise?" He stepped out from behind the couch and reached across the desk to take her hand in his massive one, and bowed over it. "Congratulations, my lady."

Ashe stood and inclined her head at him in return. "I thank you." She released his hand and stepped back to look around the room. "To dinner, my lords?" She tipped her eyes toward Ondore, who rose from his chair in a smooth motion. He extended his arm, and Ashe took it. Without a word, the two of them walked through the door together, leaving the leaders of the empires to follow.

The walk to the grand hall was short. Ashe could hear the chattering, the crowding, the clinking of glasses. This was the social event of the year, she knew, and the throng would be crowding the entrance, vying to be the first to see her, to speak with her. As she entered the room, a hush fell; as had happened so many times before, every eye turned toward her, every head bowed, every conversation stalled to see whom the queen would grace with her presence.

Ashe did not hesitate; head high, smiling, she approached Vaan and Penelo. They stood at the outskirts of the throng, Penelo smiling in her dancer's garb, Vaan looking awkward but dashing in a white silk shirt, a brocade vest, and loose black pants. She held out her hands to them, first Vaan, whom she kissed on the cheek, and then Penelo grabbed her into a hug. "You look beautiful!"

"I was about to say the same." Ashe stepped back to look at her former comrades, the two she could only think of as children despite their closeness in age. "Thank you for coming, both of you. This night would not have been complete otherwise."

Vaan scratched the back of his neck. "Thanks. Hope you don't mind if I keep it simpler tomorrow. This thing is hot!"

Penelo elbowed him in the ribs. "You said you wouldn't complain!" She tossed Ashe an apologetic look. "Boys," she sighed with a shake of her head. "Can't take them anywhere."

"It's all right." Ashe smiled at her yet again. "Did you play a role in this transformation?"

"Uh huh!" Penelo brightened. "I made him come with me to Bhujerba for some shopping. Bhujerban fashion is all the rage right now, you know." She turned to Ondore and curtsied prettily to him. "I appreciated spending some leisure time in your city, Marquis. It's a beautiful place."

Ondore inclined his head. "Thank you, Lady Penelo. It is good to hear so, especially from one who might be less inclined to think well of it."

She waved a hand in the air. "Oh, that was hardly the city's fault. And your palace is really nice too."

This time, Ashe saw a touch of amusement behind Ondore's bow. "I appreciate the compliment." He looked down at Ashe with a slight tug to her arm, and she responded with a tiny nod before turning back to Penelo and Vaan.

"Please, come find me again before you leave. Thank you again for coming." And she moved on, to the next knot of people, and the next: local nobles, foreign dignitaries, Ondore's people and representatives of every Nabradian faction. They had all begun to blur together before she reached her table at the center of the room; then, only steps away, she spied a welcome and familiar face, which she looked up into with a relieved smile. "Al-Cid."

"Your Majesty." Al-Cid swept into a deep bow. He was, as always, richly appointed, this time in a forest green shirt, open nearly to the waist, with billowing sleeves and ruffled cuffs. The choker around his neck was wrought silver, set with fine emeralds. "I hope this evening finds you well."

"It does." She took his hand, and he kissed it, lingering as long as appearances would allow. It was the first time she had touched him since leaving Ambervale, and she found herself clinging to the contact. He was so solid. Warm. Safe.

Tightening her fingers around his polite grip, she stepped a hair closer to him. "May I request your presence at the Queen's table?"

His brow, which had been slightly furrowed with some worry, smoothed in surprise. "I would be honored."

"Good." Ashe let her other hand slip free of Ondore's arm. "Uncle, will you see that another place is set at my table?"

"Whatever you require, Your Majesty." Ondore's expression betrayed nothing as he bowed to her, then to Al-Cid. "Margrace." He turned on his heel, hand in the air to summon a servant, and Ashe transferred her hand to Al-Cid's elbow. He covered her fingers with his own and led her the last few steps to the table at the center of the room before pulling out her chair.

Ashe sat, then indicated the chair on her right. "That seat was assigned to the Marquis, but I'm sure he won't mind moving down one." Al-Cid took the suggestion and the chair, and then Ashe nodded around the table. "Ladies and gentleman, I'm sure you all know Prince Al-Cid Margrace, younger son of Emperor Roderigio?"

She sat back in her seat as introductions were made and pleasantries exchanged: Azelas had met him previously at the negotiations at the close of the war, and he knew some of the other councilors from those same treaty meetings. The Nabradians, he seemed not to know, although she detected an odd reaction from two of them -- a stiffness in Lord Refa, contrasting with an eager, almost conspiratorial expression in Victor Andros's eyes as he gave Al-Cid a hearty handshake.

"So, you know Her Majesty, eh?" Andros asked as he retook his seat. He was a wealthy merchant, a member of the Rozarrian-supporting faction, and acquainted with Thierry, who sat on his left, but otherwise Ashe did not know much about him. She wondered how he had garnered a seat at her table. "How did you come by such an august acquaintance?"

"We were introduced by Lord Larsa, if you can believe it." Al-Cid favored Ashe with a brilliant smile. "During the war. We all discovered our common interest in peace, and the three of us worked together to realize that goal. A goal we can all be in accord with, yes?" He lifted his wine glass and glanced first at Andros, then Azelas. "To Her Majesty, and to peace!"

"Hear hear!" Azelas raised his own glass and reached across the table to clink it against Al-Cid's; the other men and women at the table followed his lead. "It is, indeed, our common cause, and one I hope to take into the years ahead." He lifted the wine to his lips and drank. "Thank you, my lord, for your continuing commitment to Ivalice."

Al-Cid tipped his chin. "It is both an honor and a pleasure to serve," he replied. He turned his smile on Lady Azelas, who was seated between him and her husband. "Have you been to Rozarria, my lady?"

"Alas not," she replied. "It is a long flight, as you well know, and of course tensions between the Empires kept many of us from traveling. But I do hope that improved relations in Ivalice will allow leisure travel to resume."

"As do I." Al-Cid took another drink. "It would be a great pleasure of mine to see more Dalmascan and Archadian citizens on our streets, and for my people to freely travel the world as well. Such exchanges would only promote understanding and peace between our nations."

Out of the corner of her eye, Ashe thought she saw Refa's mouth twist, and she turned to him. "Do you disagree, Lord Refa?"

Refa sat back in his seat, brow furrowed. "Not as such, Your Majesty. But I do wonder if it would not be a misplace of our focus, when there are such urgent problems still about in our world. Cities unbuilt, orphans unhoused, children unfed. Would we travel to Old Archades, or Dalmasca's Lowtown, or the ruins of Nabudis? Those are as much the reality of Ivalice as grand palaces and pretty scenery."

"There is truth in your words." Ashe frowned. "Aid to the poor and the struggling must remain foremost in our minds, even as we celebrate our good fortune. But I believe that the opening of Ivalice could serve an even greater purpose, by keeping war off our doorstep, allowing us to concentrate our resources on serving the less fortunate."

Al-Cid tapped his fork against his glass. "Yes. Perfectly said, Your Majesty." He bestowed yet another smile on her, and she warmed, enough that she did not mind the scowl that remained on Refa's face.

The conversation moved to more neutral topics as dinner arrived and segued into dessert. Soon, the music was starting, and couples were moving onto the floor to dance. Ashe flicked her eyes to Ondore, who caught her expression, first raising his eyebrows, then responding with a small shake of his head. No, he seemed to say, he would not be claiming the first dance; so instead she turned to Al-Cid and held out her hand to him. "Would you do me the honor of escorting me to the dance floor?" she asked.

He took her hand and stood, raising her out of her seat. "Your Majesty, the honor is surely mine." She stepped off the platform and he followed, slipping an arm around her to whirling her into the waltz as they hit the floor.

"I have wanted to thank you for the gift," she said with a smile. "The crystal rose. It was a thoughtful gesture."

He dipped his head. "Ah, good. I had hoped it was not too presumptuous of me to send it."

"Not at all. I appreciate the tangible reminder of such a pleasant time." Ashe leaned in closer. "My thanks for tonight as well. You have made this the most bearable state dinner in many a moon."

"It was my pleasure, of course." Then he paused, as if to say more; he did not, but the thought came clear in Ashe's mind: she had only to say the word, and he would be at her side for the next affair of state, and all the others after that. The temptation was there, hanging in front of her, and as she looked up into his handsome face, felt his warm hand tightening on the small of her back, she wondered what was stopping her.

The thought stayed on her mind as they danced together, through the first song and the second; as the third begun, she found herself facing Ondore, who tapped Al-Cid on the shoulder. Al-Cid glanced behind him, then stepped aside with a bow. He leaned in close to Ashe's ear. "Thank you, my lady; if I could claim the honor of the last dance?"

"You may," she replied, and then she and Ondore were off, dancing more sedately, more formally, but still she found she was enjoying herself. Ondore was followed by Azelas, then Larsa, then, to her surprise, Tiesto, who was quite light on his feet for such a large man. She rushed to keep up with him until the dance ended with a break in the music.

"Thank you, Majesty." Tiesto bowed to her. "You are a most excellent hostess, and I look forward to getting to know you and your lovely country better."

Ashe curtsied to him in return, and then made her way back to the table. It was empty but for Refa and his wife, and Thierry, who had left an empty chair between himself and his countryman. Refa's face seemed painted into a permanent scowl; Lady Refa stared politely into space; and so Ashe turned to Thierry.

"A most excellent dinner, Your Majesty. And you seem to be enjoying the dancing." Thierry lifted an eyebrow with a half smile.

"It is good to celebrate again," Ashe said. "I'm sure you can agree, Lord Refa?"

"Hmph!" Refa stood, and his wife with him. "We shall see, on the morrow."

He left, shoulders hunched, and Ashe watched him go. Thierry did as well, and then he looked at Ashe, shaking his head. "Pay him no mind. He is only annoyed that his faction did not gain the throne for themselves, and that you seem to be developing a friendship with the Rozarrians."

"Not that you have an opinion on that score," Ashe retorted, and Thierry chuckled.

"I do not deny it," he said. "The more protection Nabradia can muster from the Archadians, the better. On the other hand, I know how independent-minded you are. Both from experience, and from speaking to Rasler. It was one of the things he most admired about you."

Ashe turned to look at Thierry, saw a tinge of sadness in his eyes, and she reached over the table to cover his hand. "Thank you."

His answering smile was wistful. "The music is starting again; do you care to dance?"

"I'd be delighted." She stood up, and he escorted her back to the floor.

The music was over, the remains of the feast cleared, and Al-Cid walked down the hall with Ashe, alone together at last. Truly alone, not a guard or a courtier or a maid in sight -- not even Martina was with them, for Al-Cid had sent her back to the wing reserved for the Rozarrians. Ashe's hand curled around his elbow, warm and smooth and so right in its place. In front of the door to her apartments, she stopped, and turned to face him.

He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. She had saved not only the last dance for him, but the last three, and her face was still flushed, a wash of pink across her cheeks and her nose contrasting with her white dress, a sparkle in her eyes. "My lady," he breathed. "If I might be so bold..."

She chuckled and brought her arms around his waist. "You may," she answered, and he came down for a kiss, slow and sweeping across her mouth.

Then she broke away. "Thank you for escorting me tonight," she said. "I look forward to seeing you on the morrow. You will sit in honor with your father, I hope?"

He bowed to her, kissed her hand, hid his disappointment at not being asked into her chambers with pleasure at her request for his honored presence tomorrow. Perhaps tomorrow night, matters would be different. "If he does not give me a place in his row, I will be but a seat behind."

"I am pleased to hear it." She smiled at him. "Good night."

"Good night." He turned smartly on his heel and walked away.

Ashe watched him go, a light smile playing over her lips; then, a few steps from her door, a soft noise from behind the curtains to her right made her pause. She considered them for a moment -- was that motion the wind, or-- no. Of course not. With a heavy sigh, she shook her head. "Show yourself."

Silence, and then Balthier stepped out, pushing the heavy cloth aside. "So, the rumors are true after all. Confirmed with my own eyes, on the dance floor and again outside my lady's chamber. Perhaps 'twas a mistake to stay here and see it for myself, but--"

She stopped his words with her mouth, pushing him back into the curtains and against the wall. She let herself feel it all, even more than the night before: the year of loneliness, of fear, of need. His hands were in her hair, his tongue in her mouth, stroking and plundering. She freed him from the wall and walked them backwards, blindly groping for the doorknob, pushing it inward, leading him into her suite without letting go, without coming up for air.

Together they crashed through the sitting room and into her bedchamber. Ashe kicked off her shoes, pulled off his vest and shirt, stepped out of her dress, let him pull her hairpins free. She sucked on his lips, on his tongue, wanting to taste every inch of him as she became naked in his arms. Together they fell to the bed, together they came, joining their bodies into one, frenzied with shared need as he rolled atop her, entered her, stroked her until she dissolved, and followed her into the abyss with a shout.

Her body still wracked with tremors, Ashe clung to him, her mouth against his neck, breathing hard. He held her in place until the shaking passed; finally spent, she collapsed against him once again and fell almost immediately into a deep, soothing sleep.

Slowly, Ashe pulled herself out of the fog of warmth and contentment. Her skin was tender, sensitive -- she could feel the smoothness of the sheets, the warmth of Balthier against her. She rolled over, tighter into him, and allowed herself a soft moan of pleasure.

"You're awake." She heard the rumble of the words through his chest, and she pushed through the final gauze of sleep and back into the conscious world. Opening her eyes, she saw him, and gave him a light kiss. For a few moments they just lay there together, breathing, luxuriating.

Then it passed, and the realities of the future came back. "How much do you know?"

"Enough." He propped himself up on one elbow and brushed the hair back out of her face. "So. Are you going to marry him?"

Ashe shook her head. "I would fain not marry anyone."

"I have no doubt of that." Balthier brought his hand around to frame her cheek. "But you have not answered my question."

With a sigh, Ashe pulled free of his touch and sat up, pulling the coverlet around her shoulders. "It is, as these things go, a most compelling offer. An alliance with Al-Cid would be unlikely to alienate Larsa while gaining us the true friendship of Rozarria at last. Elements of Nabradia remain at issue, but I suspect I could manage them." She looked sharply at Balthier. "And most importantly, he would be content to leave rule to me. He has no desire to hold a throne."

"But he would wield influence over one." Balthier sat up as well. "His personal power advances, as does his cause."

Ashe shook her head. "Al-Cid does not seek greater power for Rozarria. He wishes for peace and balance in the region, above all else."

"And balance is truly what you wish for?" Balthier countered. "What if you see an opportune moment for Dalmasca's position to advance? Would he counsel you against such a move, in the name of balance? Balance may not always be in your best interest. Not even peace will always be in your best interest."

"Now that's a cynical thought." Ashe crossed her arms.

Balthier shrugged. "After seventeen years in Archades, cynical thoughts come more naturally than breathing. How could I do otherwise?"

Ashe did not respond to this question, which was clearly rhetorical; instead, she looked at him, studying his face, the lines of his brow and his jaw, so like and yet unlike his father, his elder brother. It was a shame that a man both born and bred to the political game, and evidencing such skill at it, should have so little interest in playing. Finally, she spoke, voicing a question of her own.

"Why did you wait so long to return the ring?"

For a time he was silent, his hands idly stroking the coverlet. When he finally did speak, it was with a calm tone, but he did not meet her eyes. "Because you could not leave, any more than I could stay."

Ashe's answering words were quiet, and he leaned in to hear. "You could at the least have provided some surety that you lived. You and Fran both."

He looked at her then, something very much like surprise in his eyes. "You had any doubt? I was the leading man, after all."

A hard lump rose in Ashe's throat; either a laugh or a sob, she could not tell which. "That depends on whether the play is a romance or a tragedy, and I knew not which sort was being written."

"Ah." He pulled her hand into his, lacing their fingers together. "And has the Celestial Poet yet made a decision?"

"If so, he has not enlightened me." Ashe restated her question. "Why did you return the ring?"

"It was the terms of our agreement." His voice was low, and she had to strain to hear him. "I held it until I found something more valuable."

Ashe swallowed, but did not pull free. "May I ask what?"

He looked away, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the back of her index finger. "The respect I knew I would earn from you by giving it back."

Her response was soft, when it finally came. "Do you know what was more valuable to me than the ring? The note that came with it, written in your hand. The incontrovertible proof that you survived the wreck of the Bahamut. The ability to breathe again after a year of waiting. Knowing that you were alive, somewhere in the world, that you--"

Before the last word was out of her mouth, Balthier had turned, cupping his face in her hand, and was kissing her again, pushing her back into the pillows that lined the headboard. She clung to him, pulling him in, devouring him, closing every gap of space between them, closing her mind to the world, the past, the future, anything that was not Balthier in her arms, in her bed, here and now.

The moment lasted forever, until Balthier spoke. "Princess," he murmured, and the title jarred her back to the present. She pulled away, putting a hand over his mouth, and his eyes lowered. "Queen," he corrected himself softly.

"Queen." She repeated the word, and nodded. "It... changes things. In ways I wish it might not."

Balthier looked straight at her, unflinching. "Do you wish me to depart?"

Ashe found his hands, winding her fingers through his, and squeezed. "If you are not to stay for the crowning, best for you to be gone by dawn. But until then..."

Without another word, he kissed her again, and she let herself go, her mouth hard against his, and she let herself taste one last night of freedom on his lips.

Ashe began her procession at the city gates.

It seemed odd, waiting here to make her way through the city as she had once before, nearly three years ago. The world had been so different then. She looked back on that day and barely recognized herself -- hiding behind her veil, on a parade float for fear of mussing her dress, a city eager to celebrate in the shadow of war. Now she rode alone, perched on chocobo-back, the ceremony at the end of the procession not much more than a formality. For the first time in what felt like an age, she reached for Rasler's ring on her finger and twisted it in a circle. "If you were here," she murmured. "What would you think of me?"

"He would be proud of you, Your Majesty." Ondore's words echoed in the archway as rode his own beast past the soldiers. "Raminas knew you would make a fine Queen someday, even if these were not the circumstances he envisioned."

Ashe decided not to correct him, instead leaning out to give him a peck on the cheek. "Thank you for riding with me, Uncle."

Ondore dipped his head. "I could find no better way to show my support for you."

As he spoke, the gears began to turn; with a great clanking noise, the chains pulled open the doors of Southgate and the light poured in. Ashe had opted for a small retinue of soldiers, rather than the musicians that had led her wedding procession, and she wore the dress uniform that she had commissioned -- plate armor of darkened silver and burnished brass, the Treaty Blade strapped to her hip, a dark blue cloak emblazoned with the golden seal of Dalmasca billowing from her shoulders. Ashe prayed that she would never be called to lead her people into battle, but she wanted them to know her capable of doing so. Lucie waited for her at the entrance to the palace, gown at the ready; she would change into more traditional finery after the parade was done.

With a click of her tongue and a flick of the reins, Ashe's chocobo surged forward, and together they rode out into the city. Two soldiers in front, five more plus Ondore behind, she found herself surrounded by a cheering throng, waving at them as she went, a smile on her face. She drank it all in: the applause of her people, their smiles in her eyes, their well-wishes in her ears, a sea of Humes and Bangaa, Moogles and Seeq, even a handful of Viera. Through the Southern Plaza, over the new skyway, to the palace gates she rode; as she passed through, she drew the sword and brandished it over her head, the blade flashing in the sunlight.

"To a free Dalmasca!" she cried, and the crowd roared with her, the sound of it washing over her in waves. They were calling her name, she realized, and it chilled her, the shivers down her back part thrill and part fear. She sheathed the weapon and dismounted from her bird, leaving it in the hands of one of the soldiers, and she walked up to the palace steps, the solid presence of Ondore a comfort at her back.

Her people waited for her there: Vaan and Penelo, Randal Azelas and his father, the other ranking nobles of her court. The honored guests of other nations awaited her in the throne room, but this moment was not about them -- it was for her loyal subjects, the people of Dalmasca. She met the excited smiles of Vaan and Penelo with a warm nod; if only Basch could stand there with them. Instead, she turned to the aged Duke, Shison Azelas, who held the honored place at the center, acting as Master of Ceremony, a role that the Gran Kilitas had filled for her father, and all the kings before him. A quick pang, at that; then she bowed her head and crossed her arms across her chest.

"Your Majesty." The duke dipped his chin in return, and then to Ashe's surprise, he struggled down to one knee, and every other person in the plaza followed suit. Ashe swallowed at the sight of a thousand heads, bowed in fealty to her, and felt the responsibility of rule weigh down on her as never before. Tenderly, she rested her gloved hand on the back of the duke's head.

"Rise, faithful servant," she said, then looked around and projected her voice. "All of you," she added. "Please, rise, and join with me. Together, we will make Dalmasca even greater than it was!"

The cheering swelled again, and Ashe strode into the palace, her people at her back, and made for the antechamber where she would swap this suit of armor for a costume no less imposing.

She emerged half an hour later, transformed from a soldier into a queen. Lucie had designed the gown herself, a fine garment of ivory and gold trimmed in navy, and a necklace studded with sapphires. Trumpets blared, and she entered from the back of the room, walking alone down the aisle, not daring to look to the right or the left. Ashe would be with the crowd later, sharing in their celebration; this moment was for her, and her memories. Memories of being in this room, her father sitting on his throne, wearing the crown that had now been altered to fit on her head. Raminas had been crowned long before Ashe's birth, but she could still picture him, walking the same steps she had walked, his head high and proud as he accepted the responsibilities of rule.

Ashe had not been born to rule, but standing here, the horns ringing through the stone hall, the eyes of a nation upon her, she could not imagine being anywhere else.

It was with that thought that she finished the long, long walk to the dais and Duke Azelas, who stood in front of the throne, the silver and gold crown of Dalmasca resting on a royal blue pillow in his hands. The trumpeters blew their last triumphant note, and Ashe knelt before the Duke, bowed her head, and waited for the weight of the crown to land on her brow.

"Hoy!" The shout shattered the solemn air of the hall, and Ashe looked up, mouth gaping wide. She knew that voice, and the face that belonged with it was swinging out of the loft, rappelling down a hastily-thrown cable with his partner alongside. He held the cable with one hand and a gun in the other, aimed at the balcony behind her. "Assassins!" Before Balthier hit the ground, he fired, and with a scream, a man tumbled over the low balcony wall, bow and arrow falling out of his hands.

Screams broke out, and more bows appeared, in the hands of a knot of men and women wrapped in the silver and gold of Nabradia, pointing at Ashe, who scrambled back, behind Balthier and Fran, who had drawn her own bow.

"Protect the Queen!" Basch cried; the men of Dalmasca rallied to the sound of his voice, subconsciously reacting to the call of their former leader, and he led them all as they charged the stairs and swarmed the balcony, swords drawn and shouting. Vaan was among them, and Penelo, too, whirling a staff over her head as she chanted a spell of destruction. The other Judges paused only for a moment, bewildered by their leader's actions; then half of them joined in while the others former ranks around Larsa. The Rozarrians were quick to follow, Al-Cid at the vanguard, pistol drawn, his face painted with rage. Ashe's hands twitched, and she dearly wished for the sword and armor she had left behind. Why had she not come armed?

"My lady, to safety!" Ashe turned, and saw Lord Refa, who had fought himself free of the throng; she went to him, and then stopped dead when she saw the sword in his hand.

"Safety, or my execution?" She took a step back, and his friendly mask dropped, his mouth twisting into a snarl as he rushed her, leaping forward, bringing the sword down on her head. Making a desperate grab for his hands, she caught them only an inch from her face; she pushed back in a bid to knock him off balance, but she only succeeded in deflecting the blow. The blade crashed to the floor, clanging against the stone, and Refa glaring up at her as he pulled back for another attack.

"Balthier!" She cried out his name without thought; out the corner of her eye, she thought she saw him turn away from the man he grappled, but then the sword was bearing down on her again, and she had no more opportunity to consider rescue. This time she dodged, forced him to swing around to make another pass.

"Traitor!" Refa shouted. "Traitor, to tie yourself to a man of Rozarria! No Rozarrian will ever be heir to Nabradia's throne!" He turned his sword on edge, making ready to try and ram her through. Ashe rummaged through her brain, trying to call the right spell to mind -- to slow him, to stop him, to protect herself from harm? It had been too long; a palliative that would once have lived on the tip of her tongue now took too many precious seconds to prepare and cast. She took a deep breath and prepared to grab the sword by its tip, hoping that it would not cut her fingers too deeply--

And then a bullet took Refa in the shoulder. It was his left shoulder, and so he did not drop the sword, only flinched, but it was enough. Ashe stepped sideways and in, grasping his hands yet again and twisting his fingers until the sword fell free. She snatched the weapon up from the floor and swung it at him; though she did not make contact, it was enough to knock him over and onto his back. Swift as the wind, Ashe had the blade's edge at his throat, and then Balthier was there, gun trained on his face.

"You have attacked your queen, and your life is forfeit!" she shouted, her voice carrying over the sounds of battle. "Will it be surrender or the sword?"

Refa grabbed at his wounded shoulder, looked up at Ashe, then Balthier, and back at Ashe. The commotion in the room died down as all eyes turned to the threesome that remained on the dais. Ashe flicked her eyes to the side and saw them all: Basch, his helm gone, men of two nations looking sideways at him and beginning to wonder; Vaan and Penelo panting together in a corner; Randal Azelas's brow drawn in worry; and above them all, standing in the balcony, holding a traitor by the collar and at gunpoint, Al-Cid, relief and concern mingling on his face. In the briefest glance, she took all this in, and then she looked back at Refa, her gaze hardening. "Which do you choose?"

With a sigh, Refa let his head fall back against the floor, and he raised his right hand. "I surrender."

Ashe gestured with the sword toward the guards. "Take him away," she said, weary. Then she spotted Victor Andros, inching toward a side exit, and pointed toward him with a toss of her head. "That man as well."

Andros froze first, his eyes wide, and then he bolted -- straight into the arms of Fran, who caught his hands behind his back. Ashe caught Fran's eyes, then nodded.

"Hold them in my office, for questioning. Take the rest to the gaol, for now." As the assassins were rounded up and carted away, Ashe looked first at Balthier, then Basch, then Randal Azelas. A queer tension filled the room as everyone wondered what on earth to do next.

Lord Azelas moved first, striding to the dais, taking his father by the arm and gently pulling him into a chair. "Please, everyone, return to your quarters. We will reconvene for the crowning tomorrow morning." He then walked to Ashe's side, and lightly touched her arm. "My lady, with me?"

Too tired and confused to object, Ashe took his elbow and let him lead her out of the spotlight and into safety, aware only of his solid arm and the comforting presence of Balthier but a few steps behind.

The nobles, soldiers, and visiting dignitaries filed into the courtyard, where stunned silence was the order of the day, with an undercurrent of shocked whispers. Speculation regarding the assassins, of course: who had planned the attack and why, what factions might exist in Nabradia, and what, if anything, Rozarria might have to do with it. Another murmur common among the throng was the appearance of Captain Basch in a Judges' uniform, if that was indeed Basch and not Gabranth, hazed in a cloak of memory.

Al-Cid thought he likely knew the truth of both situations; his knowledge of Tiesto's machinations in the region sat heavy on his mind, the fear that his dalliance with Ashe had brought her into danger even more so. If any harm were to come to her because of him... The thought was so unsettling that he pushed it out of his mind, only to be replaced by the image of Balthier swinging down onto the stage, guns blazing. He could only admire such audacity, such evidence of loyalty, but something about the way the pirate had stayed on the dais with his princess, the way they had fought together, looked at each other, struck a chord with Al-Cid.

Had they been lovers? Were they still?

It was with these thoughts in mind that Al-Cid approached the Rozarrians, gathered together by a fountain. Tiesto barked orders at his men, Ana and Roderigio spoke quietly, Azlan stood off to the side. Al-Cid considered for moment, then went to Azlan. He feared he might call Tiesto out if they spoke, and he was loathe to be caught in a battle of words with his father right now. The thought that Azlan might be the only one he could trust stuck in his craw, but it was an unavoidable truth.

Azlan looked up at Al-Cid. "So. It appears matters are about to come to a head, with no representative of the Rozarrian Empire present." He tilted his head, raised an eyebrow.

Al-Cid took his meaning. "I will discover what I can." With a light bow to his elder brother, he slipped away, through the crowds, keeping invisible with Martina as his shadow, back into the now-empty throne room, and to the doorway he had seen Ashe use at the end of the commotion. The Viera was there, Balthier's partner Fran, guarding the door with her arms crossed.

"Her Majesty is in private conference," she said.

"And you are the arbiter of who may enter?" Al-Cid shook his head with a weary sigh. "If the Judge Magister is inside, then House Margrace has a right to join the audience."

Fran considered him for a moment, then stepped aside. "On the strength of your honor, I allow you to pass."

Al-Cid bowed to her. "I thank you." He took the last steps to the closed door, then paused with his hand on the handle to look back at Martina.

"Good luck," she murmured, in Rozarrian. He responded with a swift, silent nod, then opened the door.

He found himself inside a small office, crammed full of people. Ashe stood behind the desk, flanked by Ondore and the younger Lord Azelas. Larsa had taken a place by the window, Basch attentive at his side. Refa was tied to a straight-backed wooden chair, Dalmascan soldiers gathered 'round him, and Basch appeared to be keeping a careful eye out as well; Andros sat in a wing-tip chair, unrestrained but for the gun that Balthier kept casually trained on his forehead. The pirate caught Al-Cid's eye, then nodded, gesturing toward the opposite corner, indicating a place to stand.

As he passed, Refa twitched hard in his chair. "What is he doing here?" he snarled. "You should have nothing to do with these Rozarrian scum!"

Ashe did not look away from Refa; her eyes were hard, but her voice was calm. "The Rozarrians have the right to hear the charges you would lay at their feet. Consider Al-Cid their ambassador."

"Hmph!" Refa shook with rage, straining at his bonds. "Your master, more like. I saw you, at the dinner last night. And will you deny that he has sought your hand in marriage?"

A soft muttering rippled through the soldiers; Larsa came half out of his seat; even Basch turned to Ashe in surprise. But it was Ondore who spoke, once he had recovered from a dropped jaw.

"Your Majesty. Is this true?"

Ashe remained calm, though she now lifted her gaze to meet Al-Cid's. He looked back, gave her the tiniest of nods, and she responded in kind. Then she looked at Ondore, then Azelas, and finally at Basch. "As you know, I have received several such offers, and hints at very many more. Yes, Prince Al-Cid did offer for my hand. And I will not deny that I am taking his suit under serious consideration."

Al-Cid's breath caught in his chest for the merest second. Then he let it go, slowly. So a chance for him remained...

She was still speaking, and Al-Cid wrenched his attention back to the moment. "But you cannot believe that I would ever accept any offer, no matter how tempting, without first discussing it with my advisors, my constituents, my neighbors. Certainly you, Uncle, and the representatives of Nabradia. And especially you, Randal. I could never chose a husband, nor even a consort, on my whim alone. Too much rests on the decision. I ask you to trust me in this, as you do in all things."

Her face was on Azelas, but her gaze moved past him, across the room; Al-Cid followed the look, and found that she was looking at Balthier, their eyes locked together, and his heart sank again. Then he chided himself. What was this turmoil? He was behaving like a child.

Ondore bowed his head, and Azelas did as well. She wrenched her eyes away from Balthier and turned them back to her subject. "My Queen. Of course I trust your judgment. I swear to this, and my loyalty to you, now and forevermore." He went down on bended knee, hands clasped to his chest.

Ashe laid a hand on the back of his neck. "Rise, Lord Azelas," she said quietly. "You have proven yourself many times over; I will not ask it of you again." Azelas stood, and Ashe looked around the room, at the soldiers, at Andros, at Refa, and lastly at Al-Cid, her face softening, though not quite into a smile. "Leave me. All of you. We will convene again tomorrow, in the throne room, and learn the truth of this together. Al-Cid, you will see that your father and brothers attend?"

"Of course, Your Majesty." Al-Cid bowed deeply.

"My thanks." She indicated the prisoners with a twist of her head. "Take them to holding cells and ready them for trial. And Roland?" The captain looked up from the knots he was tying around Andros's wrists. "Search the armory for a light rapier or short sword, an appropriate weapon for me to wear at future affairs of state, starting tomorrow. I will not be caught unarmed again."

Al-Cid muffled a smile as Captain Roland stood and made a quick salute. "As you wish, my Queen. I will deliver a suitable weapon to your quarters by morning."

"Very good. Now get these traitors out of my sight!"

Roland nodded sharply, then grasped Andros by the arm and hauled him out of the chair. "Come on, you lot. To the dungeon with you." With a clanking of armor and only a few mutters, the soldiers ushered Refa and Andros out of the room, Refa's face cast downward, Andros sparing only a quick angry glance over his shoulder for Al-Cid, who spread his hands. He had not shared Andros's secrets with anyone in this room; what happened next was not his concern.

Larsa shared a look with Basch, then left as well, hands behind his back. Ondore followed him, then -- with some reluctance -- Azelas, leaving Al-Cid alone in the room with a trio of war heroes. He wended his way through the small forest of furniture, knowing that he, too, must take his leave, but reluctant to do so.

He paused first by Balthier, tipping into a bow. "Thanks to you and your partner for such a fortuitous entrance."

Balthier quirked an eyebrow in response as he holstered his gun. "Never let it be said that I let an opportunity for some drama pass me by."

"Hah! Indeed." Al-Cid turned past Basch with a nod, then advanced to Ashe. She bowed her head to him, and he took her hands over the desk, kissing first one, then the other. "Mere words cannot describe my relief at seeing you safe and well. Perhaps we will speak again on the morrow?"

"Of course." Ashe tightened her fingers against his. "It did not escape notice that you were among the first to leap into the fray at my defense. Thank you."

Al-Cid brushed his lips over her knuckles again. "As I said atop of Bur-Omisace, I would lay down my life to protect yours, were it required of me. True as it was then, it is doubly so now." Releasing her hands, he bowed to her, deeply. "On the morrow, Your Majesty." Without waiting for a response, he left to carry her message to the representatives of House Margrace.

Ashe stared at the door as it closed behind him, her hands still lightly curled into fists. Al-Cid had made quite a picture, she thought, leaping gracefully over the seats and into the melee while drawing his pistol, all in one smooth motion. She smiled at the memory, then let it go with a sigh. "I should also thank you," she said without moving to look at Balthier, afraid to give him the moment. She kept saying goodbye to him; why would he not stay gone?

"Your continued life is thanks enough," Balthier replied, and with that she did look at him, brows raised.

"That doesn't sound like the pirate I know." A soft snort came from Basch's direction. She lifted her chin. "Any reward you ask for your service, you know I will grant it."

He stood, still, in thought, and then he strode across the room and around the desk. He took her hands in his, much as Al-Cid had, but with a much tighter grip, as though he needed to draw strength from her. "Come with me."

Ashe blinked at him. "What?"

"Come with me." His fingers turned, lacing through hers, and she responded, flexing back without thought. "Let yourself be kidnapped, as you asked of me once before. Feel the freedom you are missing. Worry not about assassins, or the weight of history or of kingdoms. Come with me."

Her head swam. She heard the words, but could make no sense of them. Was Balthier asking her to give up everything she had worked for, had fought for, had killed for? With all her will, she pulled her hands free of his, then looked away. "If you thought I might accept those terms, then you know me not at all."

"No," Balthier agreed. His tone was so calm, so accepting, that Ashe was able to turn back and look at him. "I don't suppose you could. But if circumstances change, if being here ever becomes too much of a burden, the Strahl is at your disposal. Call me, and I will come."

He turned to go, and only Basch's solid presence in the corner kept her from going to him, taking him in her arms, pleading with him not to leave her. Instead, she only raised her voice. "You will stay for tomorrow's trial, and the coronation?"

Looking back, he gave her a sardonic smile. "Miss the ending to this tale? Not likely, Your Majesty. Fran and I will attend."

With that, he was gone, and Ashe was finally able to relax, slumping down into the desk chair, head in her hands. For a long moment she sat there, just breathing. When she was ready, she looked up at Basch, who gazed down at her with concern. "You are in for some trouble, I fear."

Basch spread his hands. "It was bound to happen, someday. If my unmasking was to be in the cause of saving your life, I will accept the price as more than fair."

Ashe let out a shaky laugh. "Still. And now you see the drama my life has become: a parody of a bad romance. Pulled between two men, not to mention all the others that my council and the powers of the world would foist upon me. I would choose none if I could, but I fear that path will close to me sooner rather than later, and I prefer to pick a direction on my own, before that day comes. You know the options laid before me; what would you counsel?"

"It is a difficult decision, to be sure, and as you say, not one to be made lightly, or alone." Basch pulled his hands behind his back and started to pace; Ashe recognized the gesture from many hours spent in council with Larsa, and stifled a laugh. "And perhaps my next words will only complicate your situation, but I feel right in saying them." He turned to face her. "My circumstances will change now. I fear there is no way around it. The only question is as to how. If it could be arranged without bringing too much shame to Larsa, we could make an announcement, clearing my name and putting about the truth regarding the actions of Gabranth." His face twisted slightly, and Ashe's heart turned in return. "Once that is accomplished, I offer you myself, as your consort and general. As a commoner born of a vanished land, I pose no threat to your rule. But once matters are resolved, my standing in Dalmascan society may be well enough repaired to sit at your back, if not by your side. Would this alternative be pleasing to you?"

In a rush of surprise and anger, Ashe was on her feet, and she felt the color rise to her cheeks. "Why is it that every man I know thinks of me as a problem to be solved or a prize to be won?"

Basch shook his head. "Not every man, Your Majesty. Your ruling council, yes, 'tis true. I will make no arguments there. And Ondore, and the Senate, and to a certain extent also Larsa. Al-Cid may feel the same; I know him not well enough to say. As for myself, I do confess that I weigh the greater interests of Dalmasca in all my calculations, even when my apparent concern must be for the Empire. And yet your own happiness and well-being are bound into the equation. I would not see you used ill, or discontent with your lot. We have too much history for it to be otherwise." He bowed his head. "You are my queen, but if I may be so bold as to say it, you are my friend as well. I do not offer out of ruthless political calculation alone. Consider only this: if you come to a point where you must marry, perhaps a partnership with a friend would be preferable to a union with a stranger."

Ashe sat down and reached out her hand, and Basch sat on the desk, taking it. His hand was strong and warm. "Your kindness is well taken, and deeply appreciated. But you are more than a friend to me, Basch. You are my family. My ninth brother, the one who did not die, the one who is still by my side. I would greet your return to Dalmasca with unmixed joy, but as my husband? I... I do not know. It feels wrong to my mind. But I will think on your words."

"That is all I ask." Basch lowered his eyes for a moment; Ashe saw a quick flash of disappointment, and she wondered if she had misjudged his feelings for her. That hurt, but better for him to know the truth of her heart.

Then the moment passed, and Basch looked back up, his gaze calm and clear. "Now, Balthier. In his case, I suggest that you are wrong. I have known him, and known him well, and I saw his heart today. When he looks at you, he is not looking at the queen, or a throne, or a means to an end. He sees you, my lady. And perhaps he is the only person who does."

Ashe looked away. "And if I see his heart, and know it true, what then? What does that gain me, besides too many nights alone?"

Basch shook his head. "Only you can answer that question. But do think carefully on the answer, before you send him away forever."

"I shall." Ashe stood, rested her hands on the desk. "For now, please leave me. I have much to consider, and a long day before me."

"Of course, my Queen." Basch bowed to her, and then he, too, was gone, leaving Ashe alone in the darkening room, seated at the desk, her thoughts and emotions in turmoil.

The next day dawned clear and bright, the bells ringing in the morning. The assembly in the throne room looked much as it had yesterday afternoon in terms of the personages gathered there, but the mood was markedly different. Ashe stood in the doorway to her study and examined the crowd and their grim, confused faces. Most were in the same seats they had occupied yesterday: Archadians on the left, Rozarrians on the right, a sea of Dalmascan observers behind. A few Nabradians, as well: Ashe noted Lord Thierry in the row behind Larsa, looking solemn, and a small knot of loyalists behind him.

One more time, she scanned the crowd, looking for the faces that would give her strength. Penelo and Vaan sitting together in the front row of the balcony, anxious, Vaan with his sword at the ready. Basch, below them, standing against the wall by Larsa's row, helm off -- simply because the room was warm, or had he chosen to put an end to the disguise? Al-Cid, seated with his own delegation, facing forward, eyes hidden by his dark glasses. And... but where were they? Ashe frowned; had Balthier broken his-- no, there they were, he and Fran both, striding into the back of the balcony. He looked straight at the stage and their eyes locked together for an instant; then he nodded, and Ashe lifted her chin with a deep breath. She was ready.

Ashe stepped onto the dais and looked out over the crowd. The room had already been quiet, but now the silence was near-total. "Captain Roland!" she called out, letting her voice ring to the corners of the chamber. "Bring out the prisoners."

The heavy door at the back of the room creaked open, and Captain Roland entered behind Rastafan Refa, hands bound behind his back. Roland prodded Refa forward, and he walked down the aisle, head high, staring straight at Ashe with blazing anger in his eyes. Victor Andros stood behind, his stance rather less defiant; his shoulders were slumped, and he kept glancing to his left, as though to catch someone else's eye. Another Dalmascan guard brought up the end of the grim procession, which Ashe could not help but compare to her own proud march up that same strip of floor, not twenty-four hours past. Her hand fell on the hilt of the sword that Roland had found her: a katana, keenly honed, hanging from a belt that Lucie had altered to swing around her shoulder. She would have to find a better long-term solution, but it would do for now.

The prisoners were brought to two large wooden chairs at the foot of the dais. Andros sat without prodding; Refa had to be pushed into his seat, Roland's hand firmly on his shoulder. Ashe settled into her throne, and the men and their jailers looked up at her. "Gentlemen of Nabradia. Rastafan Mallabus Refa. Victor Andros. You stand charged of conspiring to assassinate your sovereign. What say you, Lord Refa?

Refa tossed his head. "How do I plead anything but guilty? When most of the people in this room witnessed the events in question. My only defense is to claim that I had reason, that I believe Nabradia would be best left to its own devices than be corrupted by Rozarrian influences, ever again. And I believe that cause is worth killing for. How many of you in this room have not killed to protect their homeland?" He looked to Andros, not bothering to hide his scorn. "My only denial is that I would ever have conspired with this Rozarrian-loving scum."

Andros's head finally whipped up. "Pardon me for only wanting to ensure our nation's survival! Perhaps a few idealists believe we could stand on our own, trapped between two empires, but some of us are more practical."

"Practical? Starting wars is practical?" Refa's eyes narrowed. "If Nabradia had stayed neutral, we might still be at peace today."

"You blame Rozarria? And not Archades, the nation that attacked us?" Andros gestured out into the room.

The men stared each other down, tension between them rising to fill the room, when it was broken by a rustling in the crowd; every eye moved, and Ashe looked up to see the startling sight of Azlan Margrace, coming to his feet.

"Your Majesty." He bowed. "August personages. I have some information that may help shed some light on this matter."

"I have some information that may help shed some light on this matter."

Al-Cid did not shrink down in his seat, or recoil in horror, but it was a near thing. Was Azlan really going to reveal this truth, here and now? How would Roderigio react? Never mind the Nabradians in the room -- how might they be provoked by knowing the truth of Rozarria's role in the war that destroyed their homeland?

"Long have we believed that Archadia's attack on Nabudis was provoked, in part, by a desire to root out Rozarrian sympathizers. This was our reasoning for coming into the war: our allies had come under unwarranted fire, and we were bound to protect them." Azlan dropped his eyes and shook his head; outsiders would think his expression rueful, but Al-Cid saw the calculation, the theatricality of it, and the cold fingers around his heart squeezed. "But I have, to my regret, recently learned of a more insidious influence on the part of both the Rozarrian sympathizers and their backers." He lifted a finger to Andros. "That man, Victor Andros, planted the intelligence about Rozarrian supporters in Nabradia in order to goad Archadia into attacking his nation. And he performed this perfidious action on the orders of my brother, Tiesto Margrace!"

The collective gasp from the audience almost drowned out the sound of Tiesto leaping up from his seat, knocking the chair over in his haste, hands balled into fists. He towered over Azlan, leaning down to look at him, face already red with rage. "You accuse me? How dare you accuse me? On what basis?"

Azlan looked back up him, the lines of his face smooth -- most men would show fear at being thus confronted by Tiesto, but Azlan had not so much as broken a sweat. "Confirmed by none other than Victor Andros himself."

Tiesto swung about to look at Andros, whose mouth had fixed open into a gaping position. Then he returned his attention to Azlan; his fingers twitched, and Al-Cid suspected that he was working very hard not to strike his brother. "It is his word against mine. You have no proof."

"No proof?" Roderigio, who had frozen in place, his cheeks gone pale, rose from his seat in slow motion. Tiesto turned around to face him. "This is your response?" He shook his head, ponderously, like a stunned bull on its way to the slaughter. "Tell me now, if you value your life: does Azlan speak the truth?"

"I-- he--" Tiesto snapped his mouth shut, pushing his lips together. "Of course not!"

"And whom am I to believe?" Roderigio looked around Tiesto's shoulder to Azlan. "So, is there proof?"

Azlan looked at Al-Cid; his mouth was instantly dry, but he knew he had to serve as witness, if Tiesto was to pay for his crimes. And yet he was loath to do it. No man would ever trust him with confidential information again.

But then why had he woven himself into the center of every web in Ivalice, if not to bring truth to light in just this kind of situation? Tiesto had overreached, and the balance had to be corrected. Cutting off the internal debate, he came to his feet.

"Andros told me the same, when he thought me to be Tiesto's confederate. He would have had no reason to lie, or inflate the truth. I swear on my life and honor that it is as Azlan has told you." He bowed his head. "I would that it were not."

The murmurings that had faded into shocked silence rose again, but Al-Cid had eyes only for his father. All the blood leached from his face, leaving only wrinkled skin the color of old parchment, and he closed his eyes, weary unto death. When he opened them, it was to look straight at Tiesto, who had not moved. Roderigio let out a baleful sigh, and then stepped away.

"Leave," he said, his voice low and rumbling. "Leave, and never come back. If I see you in Rozarria again, your life is forfeit. Go, and take your confederate with you." With that, he turned his back on Tiesto. Azlan immediately did the same, chin held high.

Tiesto whipped his head down to Al-Cid, murder in his eyes. "I hope you're pleased," he hissed. Al-Cid, alone among the Rozarrian delegation, did not look away from his eldest brother; instead he looked back, as placid as he could manage, and said nothing.

Finally Tiesto turned away, and then he walked away, pushing past Azlan to the aisle. Once he reached it, he stopped, and looked at the Queen.

Ashe still sat in her throne, nearly as pale as Roderigio. Then she nodded. "I concur with the Emperor," she said, her words strong and clear. "Exile for the conspirators. Andros, you may go, but you may not return."

Andros stood, visibly shaken, and walked over to Tiesto. "My lord--"

"Get away from me!" Tiesto shouted the words, stepped back from Andros with a shake of his head. "I want nothing to do with you, or your nation, ever again." With that, he stalked out, Andros a few hesitant steps behind. When they were gone, the muttering began again; Al-Cid let it wash over him as he collapsed back into his seat.

"Silence!" Ashe held up her arms and looked out over the crowd once again. She spared only a brief glance for Refa, whose expression was insufferably smug; instead, she turned her focus to Thierry, the closest thing to a leader that remained to Nabradia's Rozarrian faction. In contrast to Refa, he looked stunned, nearly as shocked as Roderigio, who looked to be only barely able to remain standing. Thierry was still seated, his palms pressed against his thighs. Ashe caught his eye and bade him to stand with a lift of her chin.

"Your Majesty." Thierry rose, then bowed at the waist, deep enough that his forehead nearly brushed the chair in front of her. "You must believe-- I would never-- I did not know."

Her face and her voice softened. "I do believe you, Lord Thierry. On the strength of your friendship with Lord Rasler, and the trust I know his father laid in yours. But you will understand why I had to ask."

"Of course. Of course!" Thierry turned toward the Rozarrians, shaking his head. "I met with Tiesto, was a party to the treaty of friendship we signed with him, but war? No, I would never have countenanced war."

Refa shook hard enough to rattle his chair against the stone floor. "Phaw! Rozarria-loving filth! How can we trust you?"

"I trust you." The low, mellow voice came from the knot of Nabradian loyalists; yet again every eye turned in an unexpected direction to see Lady Serre Refa step forward, her hands clasped in front of her.

"What?" The whisper came from Refa, almost too soft to hear over the shuffling and muttering that followed her words.

His wife walked not toward him, but to Thierry. "I trust you," she repeated. "Your father the general was a good man, and honorable, and I remember you by his side. You admired him, and loved him; you would never, by knowing action, have risked his life in a needless war." She unclasped her hand and held it out, and Thierry took it; she avoided Refa's eyes. "Enough lives have been lost and destroyed in this conflict. Henceforth, we will work together."

"I heartily agree, my lady." Thierry bowed his head over her hand.

Watching them together, seeing Refa deflate, Ashe was struck by a vision: a path that led to a free Nabradia. Did she dare declare such a thing without the agreement of her council, the Nabradian nobility, Roderigio or Larsa? But then, all of those men had agreed that Nabradia would be hers to rule as she saw fit. If she saw fit not to rule at all, who were they, now, to say yea or nay? With an air of decision, she placed her hands on the arms of the chair and pushed herself into a standing position.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Nabradia," she said, drawing the crowd's attention to her. She stepped forward, walked across the dais and down the three steps to bring herself level with Lady Refa and Lord Thierry. "I have changed my mind regarding my decision to claim the throne of Nabradia. Not because I do not believe I have a right to it; on the contrary, I doubt that any hereditary claim has even a shred of merit to rival mine. But Nabradia has been pulled and tugged at the whims of its neighbors for too long, a position with which Dalmasca is all too familiar. The people of Nabradia should be allowed to chart their own destiny." She raised her shoulders back and stood as tall as she could. "Let a newly-formed Republic of Nabradia be forged, creating a nation to rise anew from the ashes of a conquered monarchy. Lady Refa, Lord Thierry, what say you?"

They exchanged a look, and then Lady Refa nodded. "Nothing would please me more than for it to be as you say."

Ashe let out her breath. "Then let the knowledge go forth, and let me offer my council chambers as a meeting place for the leaders of the new Nabradia to gather and decide how elections will proceed." She inclined her head toward Rastafan Refa, who had collapsed in his seat. "The first charge I lay you is the disposition of this prisoner. Lord Thierry, I deliver him into your hands. Guards!"

Roland stepped forward and untied Refa, then him in hand, hauling the disgraced lord roughly to his feet. It did not take much effort: Refa was a man defeated, the defiance leeched from him, as he shuffled his feet over the stone floor in the direction of the council chambers. Serre Refa and Thierry followed, speaking in low tones, and the rest of the Nabradians made their way in the same direction, some drifting, others striding with newfound purpose. Ashe watched them go, and knew in her heart that she had made the right decision.

Then, before she could question the impulse too closely, she turned to the soldier stationed closest to her on the dais. "I require a brief meeting in my office with two men: Prince Al-Cid Margrace, and the sky pirate Balthier. See that they are brought to the sitting room as soon as possible."

If the guard was startled by this request, he did not show it. "It will be done, my queen," he said bowing with a flourish before he stepped off the dais and into the crowd, walking toward Al-Cid. Then she dismounted the stage herself and went to the front row to lean over Randal Azelas's shoulder.

"I would speak with you now," she said, "regarding an offer for my hand in marriage."

The last few moments had been some of the most emotionally taxing Al-Cid could remember, nearly on par with the death of his mother. Immediately after Tiesto's departure, Roderigio had visibly deflated, sunk down into his char. It was frightening, to see the Emperor of Rozarria brought so low, and Al-Cid quivered to think of his part in it.

Azlan, meanwhile, looked like a cat enjoying his dinner of canary, practically leaning back in his chair. Al-Cid wanted to slap the smugness off his face, but on the other hand, Azlan had almost certainly assured himself the throne, and Al-Cid had to admit that Azlan would make a better emperor than Tiesto. But he could wish that Tiesto's unmasking had been less public, and for less vile an offense. He looked at Azlan, and wondered how much of this sequence of events his brother had foreseen. And yet, why should it require such devious machinations to take down an unfit ruler? The new Nabradia would never face such a situation -- if they found a ruler corrupt or too power-hungry, they could simply vote him out. "Her Majesty has opened a rather dangerous door," he muttered.

"Indeed," said Ana, and Al-Cid nearly jumped; he had not meant anyone to hear. "We may see other populaces clamoring to elect their leaders, if this experiment goes well."

"It did not save Landis." Azlan turned around to look over his shoulder at them. "But it was a noble impulse, and intelligent as well. Ashe may not rule Nabradia, but she has sealed their alliance with Dalmasca for generations to come, whether the democracy ultimately succeeds or no."

Al-Cid nodded, then started again as a hand fell on his shoulder. He turned around and looked up into the face of a Dalmascan solider. The young man stepped back and bowed politely. "My lord, the queen has requested your presence in her study at your earliest convenience."

"And I suppose my earliest convenience would be now?" Al-Cid stood. "I must first speak with my father."

"Of course." The soldier bowed again. "I will wait to escort you."

Squeezing between the seats, Al-Cid walked to his father's side, then knelt on the floor before him, bowing his head. "My lord."

"My son." Roderigio's hand fell on his shoulder. "I thank you for exposing the truth, difficult as it was for me to hear. It was... necessary."

"Still, I regret the necessity, and my role in causing you pain." Al-Cid looked up; Roderigio looked back, his eyes dark and distant. "I would not desert you at this difficult time, but Her Majesty Queen Ashelia has bid me attend to her. May I take my leave?"

Roderigio's eyes narrowed, a spark of surprise animating his face. "So, you did it. You did not merely seduce her. You offered for her." Al-Cid started backwards in surprise, provoking a faint smile. "I know this because it is what I would have done myself, in your place. You may not be a leader, Cid, but you know how to plan. If she accepts your suit, I will make no objection."

"I thank you." Al-Cid bowed his head yet again, then stood. "Regardless of where I go, you will always have my loyalty."

Roderigio dismissed him with a nod and a wave of his hand, and Al-Cid walked down the row of seats to the center aisle, passing Azlan without looking at him. By the last chair, the soldier stood at attention, and Al-Cid stopped at his side. "I am ready," Al-Cid said.

"Good. If you will both come with me."

"Both?" Al-Cid noticed him then, the man who had been seated at the end of the row, now standing: Balthier.

"Both," Balthier said, with a nod. "It seems Her Majesty wants to speak to us in tandem."

"Ah." Al-Cid looked the pirate over; he was dressed in his usual costume of vest and ruffled blouse, not in the finery one would expect for a coronation, or a trial. What business could Ashe have with the two of them at once? Then, with a shrug, he looked back to the guard. "Lead on, sir."

The guard took them both through the back of the throne room, through a side door and down a hallway until they reached a small parlor, with three large chairs, a sofa, a bowl of fruit on the table. "Please, sirs, make yourselves comfortable. The queen will be with you shortly."

To his surprise, Al-Cid found he was hungry. He hovered over the fruit bowl and selected a peach before taking a seat on the chair nearest to the door that he assumed led to Ashe's study. The view out the window looked over the city: he could see the markets, and the fountain in the central square leading toward Southgate, and the Giza Plains beyond, stretching into the distance. The rains had recently ended, so the grasses of the plains were still green, the waters still receding, the Sunstones starting to pulse with their unusual warm light. A fine view, Al-Cid reflected; with luck, perhaps he would have the opportunity to better learn the land and its moods.

"So." Balthier leaned against the windowsill, tossing an apple in the air, then catching it. "You wish to marry the queen."

"If she will have me." Al-Cid buffed the peach against his shirt, then took a bite. The fruit was fresh, though not as sweet as the varieties grown in Rozarria. "And you?"

Balthier let out a soft snort. "Tell me, from what you know of me -- which I suspect is precious little -- would you call me the marrying kind?"

Al-Cid shrugged. "The prodigal son of House Bunansa, who bolted the responsibility of a Judgeship? Not likely, no. But I did see how you looked at her on the dais, yesterday." Balthier raised an eyebrow, and Al-Cid shook his head. "An eye for details, pirate. Without that, I would be out of a job. Or dead."

"Hmph!" Balthier looked out of the window, setting the apple down on the sill to cross his arms, and said no more. Al-Cid watched Balthier for a moment, then settled back into the chair to finish his fruit.

Just as he reached for a napkin off the table to deposit the pit, the door to the study opened, and Randal Azelas appeared. He stood in the doorway for a moment, filling it, looking at Al-Cid, then Balthier, with a forbidding expression. Whatever compromise Ashe had forced him to accept, he was clearly not happy with it. The loss of Nabradia, the choice of a husband? Al-Cid did not know Azelas well enough to be certain.

Then Azelas stepped out of the way. "She will see you now," was all he said, as he held the door open. Al-Cid went first, walking past Azelas with a nod. Once Balthier was behind, Azelas took his place in the doorway again, looking at Ashe, who was seated behind a heavy oaken desk. She met Azelas's stare with a nod.

"Thank you, Lord Azelas. That will be all."

Azelas bowed. "Your Majesty." Then he closed the door, and the three of them were alone.

"Please, have a seat." Ashe gestured toward the sofa; Balthier immediately took the seat closest to the door, forcing Al-Cid to walk around the table to sit on the other side. Once they had settled in and were looking back at her, she stood up and walked around the desk to face them. "You are here because you have both made me offers." Al-Cid's head whipped sideways to look at Balthier; Balthier looked back at him with a shrug.

"I implied that I did not offer to marry her." Balthier raised an eyebrow. "'Twas you who then assumed I had made no offer at all."

Al-Cid pursed his lips and said nothing; Ashe looked at him with a small nod. "Both offers were compelling in their own way, but both were equally impossible to accept, as presented. But a few things have come quite clear to me now. First, that I am in need of wise council from a close source." She looked at Al-Cid, then back to Balthier. "Second, despite my efforts otherwise, I am still capable of forming emotional attachments, and when one presents itself, I should not let it go too easily. Love is inconvenient; it is also precious, and must be accepted where it is found." Balthier's eyes widened; she saw him swallow, and nod. She leaned back against her desk, resting on her hands, and lifted her eyes to a spot on the wall above and between the two men's heads. A portrait hung there: the image of her grandfather, the symbol of hundreds of years of tradition. Traditions she had already broken in so many ways, simply by existing -- what was but one more?

Thus fortified, she began to speak again. "Lastly, I remembered a lesson I should never have forgotten: life is fragile." She lowered her eyes. "I have seen every member of my family die -- mother, brothers, father, husband -- and too many friends and enemies. I have run for my life and fought for my life and been on the precipice of death more times than I care to count. But it took being nearly executed in my own throne room, whilst surrounded by guards and guardians, to drive the point home. I am a queen, and as such I have a responsibility to produce at least one heir." She cast her gaze straight on Al-Cid. "Were I to die without issue, Dalmasca would be thrown into the same chaos that has plagued Nabradia. I would not wish that fate on my people." Shaking her head, she stepped forward. "I had preferred to put off this decision, but to do so would be unconscionably irresponsible. Fortunately, with Nabradia's rule settled elsewhere, my circumstances become far less complicated."

Now it was Al-Cid's turn to swallow. "My lady--"

She slid past Al-Cid's legs to stand between and before them. "No one in Nabradia has grounds to make any objection. You assured me that Rozarria is in hand. Is this still true?"

"Yes, my lady." Al-Cid nodded briskly. "I have spoken to my Lord Father, and his blessing is secured."

"Good." Ashe reached forward and took Al-Cid's glasses from his nose, then tucked them in his vest pocket. "I have similarly spoken to Lord Azelas and guaranteed myself his support and that of the council. That leaves only Archadia; though some in the Senate might object to closer ties to Rozarria, I suspect that your friendship with Lord Larsa will grease those particular wheels. Given these truths, I conditionally accept your offer."

Al-Cid's eyes were wide. "What conditions?"

"As we discussed once before, I must secure my status as the leader of this nation before marrying. Not only by the crown on my head, but by the understanding in my people's hearts. Having a husband would make this difficult. A consort, however, is far less of a threat to my authority. No," she added, before he could protest, "I do not fear that you would attempt to exert undue influence over me. But if you have the reduced rank of Prince Consort, the council is less likely to attempt to elevate you."

"You speak a likely truth." Al-Cid looked thoughtful. "For how long?"

"A year, perhaps? Two? No longer. And I would write an assurance of such into any contract."

His expression melted into a smooth smile, and he took her hand in both of his. "It is acceptable."

"I'm not finished." Ashe squeezed his fingers, then pulled away. "My other condition hinges on another offer you made me, on the day I left Ambervale."

"Another offer?" Al-Cid's brow furrowed, then cleared, replaced with understanding as he glanced at Balthier. "Ah."

Only now did Ashe dare to look at Balthier, to see the disappointment on his face washed away with a wave of confusion. "Care to enlighten me?" he drawled, hiding behind nonchalance. "Since I was not a party to your prior conversation."

"Al-Cid informed me that if other attachments were keeping me from accepting his offer, arrangements could be made." Ashe look Balthier's hands now, stroking the backs of his long fingers. "You offered to take me away from this place. You know that I cannot leave, any more than you could stay. But perhaps, from time to time, you could stay. Just as, from time to time, I might go."

Balthier's eyes softened. "To watch the occasional sunset from the deck of the Strahl?"

Ashe nodded. "Just so." Keeping Balthier's fingers enclosed in her right hand, she reached out to Al-Cid with her left. He took it; his smile had twisted in a smirk of amusement. "These are my conditions. Do you accept them?"

"Yes." Balthier stood, and kissed her temple. "I am willing to share, if he is."

Al-Cid's half-smile spread to cover his face. "It is... unconventional, my lady. But fortunately, so am I."

"Good." Ashe drew Al-Cid to a standing position. "I will speak to the council and have the contracts drawn up, for presentation to your father." She kissed him lightly on the lips, then did the same for Balthier. Then she dropped their hands and stepped back. "Come. I have a coronation ceremony to finish. They will be waiting for us."