FFXII Fic: Courtly Love, Chapter 1
As of yet, I still haven't been able to make much progress for Chapter 4, I have two weeks left before the self-imposed deadline, and I'm trying to meet it. What am I ever going to do? ::sighs:: It doesn't help when I spend my time creating AMV after AMV (Vayne-centric, imagine the sheer horror) and attempting to write shorter drabbles (which I would probably NEVER post up and let it clog my PC storage) :3
... And I still want to post up the final chapter during next year's April Fool XD
::starts humming mantra:: Shall update, shall make progress, shall not create another AMV until I've completed another chapter :: continues chanting::
Title: Invitation
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII
Series: Courtly Love
Characters: Basch, Ashe, Ondore
Rating: PG
Summary: What if the person you love is presumely dead? Would you continue to wait for him or would you settle on the arranged marriage forced unto you?
Courtly Love
Invitation
From her earliest memories, Basch Fon Ronsenberg had always been a shadowy presence; it seemed to her that he was constantly there. From what she understood, he had been serving the knights’ order ever since she was born. But if there was one aspect that Ashe remembered distinctively about him; it would be that whenever he sighted her, he would never fail to acknowledge her with a tender smile and an affirmative nod. And in return, she’d stick her tongue out at him.
Now, Ashe had been extremely jealous of the attention her brothers and the immense community lavish upon the dashing young knight. Like bees drawn to honey, most people tended to swarm around him willingly; the extensive list included the royal princes of Dalmasca, lady attendants - even the proud Vieras - who eyed him in the shadows, and moogles circled around him. Even her father, King Raminas was particularly fond of this fair-headed Landisern. Maybe it was his kind demeanor and endless patience which had attracted the people around him - garnering both wanted and unwanted attention. As a knight, he was firm with his subordinates but compassionate as well, seeking to bond with them unlike most high-ranking officials. Though the young knight basked in the glory of attention, he did not become vain, far from it, he was truly a humble soul. True, his combat skills and victorious battles won him endless fame but it was his kind nature and righteous deeds which drew people to him.
Being the youngest and only princess of Dalmasca - a rosebud princess amongst the protective thorns of brothers - she strictly believed that the attention should be directed to her and not some young newly promoted knight captain. Not that Ashe received harsh treatment from her family, but they tend to shift their attention to the young knight whenever he showed up.
And such was a situation which befell her now.
“Ashari… Can we go to Nabradia for Rasler’s birthday?” Young Ashe, Dalmasca’s fair and petite princess, enquired hopefully. “He sent me an invitation to his ninth birthday.”
On the round table adjoining the airship’s porthole, two fine-looking gentlemen were currently engaged in a battle of wits, strategy and tactics over a black and white game board. One had ashy blonde hair which framed his alabaster cheeks; lean-built and dressed adequately in royal robes, he was commanding an army of white chess pieces. While his opponent had a slightly darker shade of skin, his head was crowned with a mass of golden streaks which are messily slicked back from his tanned face; garbed in Dalmascan captain uniform, he led a combatant of black chess pieces.
Presently, the white forces were being mercilessly bulldozed by the black cavalcades.
Noticing her presence, the captain shifted his gaze away from the board to present Ashe a slight nod of greeting and a warm smile while the crown prince continued scrutinizing the chessboard and inadvertently emitted a low grunt. Ashe inclined her head with polite affirmation, but otherwise ignored the knight captain. She kept focused on her intent, her utmost priority was to cajole her brother into accompanying her to Nabradia - whether he liked it or not.
“Father told me to ask you. He said that if you didn’t mind, we could proceed to Nabradia after our visit to Uncle Halim,” persuaded Ashe meticulously.
“Nay,” answered the crown prince of Dalmasca tersely, sounding more of a grunt, without lifting his eyes from the black and white board. He moved his white knight forward only for it to be captured subsequently by his opponent’s black pawn; his face darkened substantially.
Her hopes deflated at the response but she was not discouraged, convening a sweet smile, she prodded her brother with a saccharine voice. “Ashari, please. I really want to attend Rasler’s birthday. I’ve even brought along his birthday gift.”
“Pleading won’t lead you anywhere,” stated Ashari apathetically. “The answer is no. Besides, I have already declined the invitation. As for your present, we’ll just have to send a messenger to deliver it.”
“Why can’t we go?” demanded the willful princess.
He finally lifted his head to look at his sister, and regarded her grimly, “Because I detest royal festivities where we have to puff our chest, smile genially, act all pompous and don on a fake façade. Tis vexing.” The statement signified the end of the discussion or as his opponent described it, a one-sided decision.
“I want to go,” Ashe hissed stubbornly, curling her lip in anger. Her demeanor showed that she was not backing out of the argument without a fight.
“We are not going,” replied Ashari, with an equally adamant tone. “Now run along and play with your dolls, and do not interrupt me. I am in a winning streak at the moment so don’t bother me with trifles.”
His opponent raised a skeptical eyebrow at his declaration, from his side of table; he can assure anyone that was willing to lend an ear that the crown prince, Ashari B’nargin Dalmasca was most definitely losing, and rather pathetically. Setting his elbow on the table, he watched the exchange between the two identical siblings with interest.
“But…,” she started.
“Ashe, do not make me repeat myself again. We are not going to Nabradia and that is final. Now, leave us,” he cut her off curtly, and turned back to the chessboard.
“I hate you!” She turned to see Basch staring at her, languidly, with an amused expression on his face which was unfortunately the wrong thing to do as it fueled her anger even further. “And you too!” Ashe shouted even louder, with a hint of accusation as if blaming him for her misfortune, while sticking her tongue at the guiltless bystander.
With fierce determination, she marched up to the table and knocked the despicable chess board askew, scattering the chess pieces over the two players and the floor. Huffing a satisfactory grunt, she spun around quickly and raced out of the room. She forcefully pried the door open which hurtled right into the innocent moogle squire who was sent flying away along with the tray of beverages.
“Ashelia B’nargin Dalmasca, you come back here this instance,” Ashari erupted, his chair thrown back as he leapt to his feet. But instead of giving chase, he stood rooted to the ground as he stared back and forth between the door that Ashe had vanished through and the fallen chess pieces. After a while, he slumped back into his chair dejectedly and buried his face into his hands.
“Good heavens. I was going to win.” Ashari mumbled through his hands, whining like an irate puppy whose bone has been snatched away. Basch arched an eyebrow in wonder; it never ceased to amaze him on how Ashari could still proclaim himself a chess master after suffering countless - he lost count after he used up all his fingers and toes - defeat in his hands.
“Lord Ashari…” drawled Basch tiredly, he stooped down to collect the scattered chess pieces on the floor.
Moments ago, he had wanted to question Ashari about his resolute reluctance to visit Nabradia but then thought better of it. Firstly, it was not within Basch’s nature to challenge the decision of his lord friend especially when the crown prince seemed so rapt with his decision that he would rather suffer the fury of his beloved sister. Secondly, Basch had known the prince long enough to be able to read between the lines, and he clearly understood the reason why Ashari avoided the trip to their neighboring country at all costs. Of course, his reluctance stemmed chiefly from laziness to deal with his royal duties, but it was also because he knew that the King of Nabradia was seriously considering betrothing the two young patricians. And this notion was what Ashari found most disagreeable.
“Address me as Ash when we are in private,” corrected the prince petulantly. “Lord Ashari makes me feel like I have aged tenfold.” Then again, maybe the crown prince was a childish slouch.
Princess Ashe on the other hand was another matter. A precocious young maiden of the Dalmascan royal courts; young, high-spirited and quick-tempered; who had an obsession with duties and protocols. Not exactly the ideal princess; however Basch couldn’t help but find the young princess to be endearing, though the young regnant didn’t seem to share his sentiments. In fact, she viewed him as despicable as a speck of dust in her eyes. He tried to recall an instance where he offended the Lady Ashe in some way but nothing came to mind.
“Lord Ash. I reckon you should thank Lady Ashe. She had just saved you from further embarrassment,” remarked Basch, scarcely able to hide a grin, as he separated the chess pieces and swept them into their respective pouches.
“Do not mock me, Basch,” Ashari reproached with a jesting tone, he picked up his sword and brandished it dangerously at the captain. “If it were someone else, I would have flogged him with my blade for that insolent remark. Speaking of blades, I need you to frequent the blacksmith to whet my blade for the hunt tomorrow with the Marquis.”
He threw the blade - a Lohengrin - at the captain who caught it dexterously. Basch unsheathed the sword and examined it closely; it did seem rather battle-worn to his trained eyes but nothing a proper honing for a night wouldn’t fix.
“I will see to it immediately,” Basch answered, sheathing the sword back into the ornamented scabbard. “And if there is nothing else, I shall return to my post.”
The crown prince flicked his wrist absently and Basch took it as his cue to depart. He withdrew swiftly in hopes that the prince would not force him into another mindless and facile round of chess.
“Djojo, are you alright?” asked Basch when he found his moogle squire sitting behind the door, lamenting over the loss of the cups. The poor moogle was silently rubbing his aching nose as he stared forlornly at the broken pieces of tableware and at the puddle of wet substance strewn over the floor.
“I think so but I wouldn’t say the same for the cups, kupo,” replied Djojo miserably, pointing at the mess.
“You will soon learn to understand the difficulties of serving royalties,” he said emphatically as he patted the tiny squire on the head. “Tidy up the mess, we’ll be arriving in Bhujerba soon.”
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“Svagatam, Lord Ashari and Lady Ashelia,” greeted Marquis Ondore upon the arrival of the royal cortege. His voice was a deep unique diction, sustained only by Bhujerbans. “Welcome to Bhujerba”
“Thank you and Svagatam to you too, Marquis Ondore,” returned the crown prince sententiously, as he performed a solemn bow while his sister descended to a light curtsey beside him. He then disposed of his ceremonious pretense and grinned at the marquis, “Now that we are done with the formalities, and my father would have nothing to complain about. Let us dispense with ceremony and try to act normal, Uncle Halim.”
“You are right. But your father won’t be pleased,” replied the marquis blithely as he moved forward to clasp the shoulder of his guest and steered him towards the manor.
“Alas, my father is not here,” answered Ashari with a pretentious sigh.
The marquis and the crown prince then chatted away, exchanging news about the current happenings in Dalmasca and Bhujerba
Climbing the slopes to the marquis manor was tricky business; the distance between the front gates to the manor wasn’t far but proves to be tedious especially when one was gowned in a heavy formal dress and before long, Ashe was dragging her feet and her breathing grew laborious. Stuck in a cold war with her brother, she couldn’t possibly ask for his help and she would rather have her precious chocobo doll sold before she would even consider asking the captain behind her for assistance, her pride wouldn’t allow it. She could hear his steady footsteps behind her, she stole a furtive glimpse to find him staring at her, with a hint of concern in his eyes, and she quickened her pace. Therefore, she had only one option left and at the first possible moment presented; she went to her uncle and tugged at the hem of his overcoat to gain his attention.
“Uncle Halim, carry me,” implored the little princess, her arms outstretched.
“Why not ask Ashari to carry you?” teased the marquis but elated at her request, he picked her up easily and set her on the crook of his arm.
“Because I don’t like him,” stated Ashe, displaying her obvious displeasure to her uncle. The marquis raised a cynical eyebrow at her complaint, she continued, “He didn’t allow me to attend Rasler’s birthday.”
“Who?”
“Prince Rasler, the second prince of Nabradia.” Ashe proceeded to tattle on her brother to her favorite uncle.
Listening patiently to Ashe’s elaborate rant, the Marquis of Bhujerba kept silent until she finally finished her tirade, he then put her down gently and sighed, “Ashelia, you should listen to your brother, I am sure he knows best.”
“He’s just lazy,” declared Ashe mulishly. “Uncle Halim, would you help me convince my brother to let me go to Nabradia?”
A grimace slowly formed on the marquis’s face, it wasn’t severe but sufficient to illustrate his distress at the demand. After a moment of silent contemplation, he answered firmly, “I would not interfere with Ashari’s decision.”
The marquis had been in acquaintance with a number of B’nargin pedigrees to be familiar with the stubborn trait which they possessed. It was only advisable to avoid being caught up between the sibling squabble, therefore he tried to maneuver away from the disengaging topic by pacifying her with the colourful events of tomorrow’s hunt, hoping to cheer up the willful princess.
However, his attempt at peace-making proved to be futile, as Ashe remained aloof.
So, even the marquis wouldn’t assist her. Thus, Ashe has resorted to sulking the entire length during dinner and hardly touched her food. Her taciturn behaviour gained her no further credit, as her brother blatantly ignored her throughout dinner, while enjoying himself with the company of his captain and the marquis. To her dismay, her brother sent her off to retire early for the night as he claimed that wayward little girls should not stay up late. Though, it was more likely that he intended to start a madhu-driven merrymaking revelry which probably included drinking himself into oblivion.
Within the constraints of her room, Ashe silently brooded over the events of the day. There was no way she was going to let her brother ruin her fun. I’ll go alone if I must. Even when night finally cast over Bhujerba, Ashe was still awake trying to figure out a way to attend her friend’s birthday and before the moon reached the pinnacle of its night journey, Ashe stumbled upon a solution to her problems. Surreptitiously, she crept out of her room to gather the ingredients for her plan and spent the remaining night revising her plan again.
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On the morning of the hunt, the Marquis palatial manor was bustling with effereevence activities. Stable bangaas were saddling chocobos, Rebe falconers tending their prey birds, Seeq chefs racing back and forth from the kitchens, armored Sainikah making their daily rounds, and other staffs tending to their specific duties. Needless to say, the entire household was swept up in a whirlwind of noisy activities, but despite the potpourri of hurly-burly; everyone was in high-spirits.
With an exception of one princess. Few floors above the vivacious activities, within the guest chambers; Ashe laid uncomfortably in bed, her brother nursing - more like fussing - all over her. That morning, when the chamberlain went to arouse Ashe from her sleep, she had complained of having upset stomach. Her lack of sleep last night lent her a fatigue appearance which fortified her claim of being ill but truthfully she was perfectly fine, and all the cooing and cuddling her brother was bestowing was starting to grate on her nerves. Her uncle had dropped by to check on her condition, but left to oversee the preparation for the hunt.
“Are you feeling any better?” Ashari stroked her hair gently; his grey orbs shone with concern over the state of his little sister.
“A little. My tummy still hurts,” Ashe lied unhesitatingly; she had been rehearsing for this moment.
“Hmm… you do seem better,” He placed his palm over her forehead to check her body temperature, and Ashe briefly wondered if her brother was experiencing early senility. She claimed to have a stomachache, not a fever. “Tis were wise decision where I forbid you to visit Nabradia. You won’t be able to attend Rasler’s birthday in this state. Neither would you be able to join us with the hunt. I will have Djojo remain here to keep you company.”
“Nay, tis won’t be necessary. I have the nurse to tend to me, I will be fine,” she frowned. The inclusion of the squire was not part of her agenda, it was troublesome to deal with her nurse, and the squire would only prove to be an additional hindrance to her scheme.
“Nonsense. You will be bored to tears with the old nurse,” earning an affronted grunt from the ancient nurse. “Do not question my decision, Ashe. It’s settled then, Djojo, you will remain here and keep her company until we return, I trust you will guard her well.”
“Aye, my lord,” Djojo conceded with reluctance, appearing as though he had just swallowed rotten flan.
“Rest well and await our glorious triumphant return,” he planted a kiss on her temple and tucked her back into bed. Satisfied with her condition, he then exited the room, leaving Ashe at the mercy of the old nurse and Djojo.
Ashe waited for the manor to quiet down before enacting her plan. She did not have to wait long, by noon; the manor had been reduced to an eerie silence. Glancing at her two companions, she pondered on various ways to remove the barriers to her freedom. Her opportunity arrived when the young moogle decided to pay the little moogle room a visit, taking the cue, she proceeded with her escapade. Furtively, she took out a sleep mote from under her pillow and flung it to the nurse’s feet, and instantly the nurse fell into deep slumber on her chair.
One down and another to go. Ashe hopped off the bed and cast off her nightdress; she quickly dressed herself in a plain pink summer dress, and tied her hair with a pink ribbon. With that done, she then bent down to pull out a bag from under her bed which contained her provisions for the journey. She took out a letter from it and was about to place it on the night stand when she heard Djojo - her temporary guardian entering the room. Ashe twirled around to face the squire, noting that he was already staring at the cataleptic nurse in mortification.
“Your highness. What have you done to your nurse, kupo?” exclaimed the moogle when words returned to him.
“I’ve put her under a sleeping spell. She won’t be awake until the sun touches the ground,” explained the delinquent guiltlessly, sounding as though she was commenting on the condition of the weather. Extracting another sleep mote stealthily from her pocket but shielding it from view, she was prepared to throw it at the gullible moogle and send him straight to dreamland when she paused and thought better of it, “Djojo, you will escort me to Nabradia.”
It was an order, not a request.
Djojo whirled his furry head around so quickly that his black pompom smacked his head hard; he didn’t seem to notice as he was staring disbelievingly at the princess. Scratching his long ears, he ventured carefully, “Pardon me, your highness, kupo. But I do not think I’ve heard you correctly, kupo.”
“I said, you will escort me on my excursion to Nabradia,” repeated Ashe. “You have two choices; either you come along to Nabradia with me. Or I will knock you unconscious and you will have to answer to my brother later without me,” said Ashe, mustering a threatening tone and eyeing him warily, preparing to hurl the sleep mote at him if he dared to decline her request.
Djojo felt as though he had been asked to kiss a Wild Saurian or jump into the Yensa Sandsea, one choice was as distasteful as the other. He fidgeted uneasily, juggling the possibilities of both options; if he were to leave her to venture on this journey alone, the defenseless princess might come to harm. On the other hand, if he followed her on this quest, his master would be severely displeased once he found them both gone. Aghast, he realized that the princess had offered him no form of retreat. Between the two options, the latter seemed more pleasing to him. He did not like the thought of letting the princess go to a foreign country all by herself. The task of protecting the princess was entrusted to him, and he intended to carry out his mission as best as he could, his moogle honour at stake. He had learnt that much about personal responsibilities, after numerous observations of his master’s ways.
“And I’ll offer you a bag of kupo nuts.” Ashe added as an afterthought.
And that sealed Djojo’s fate. Like all moogles in Ivalice, Djojo had a strange affinity for kupo nuts which couldn’t be curtailed. A little harmless foible that all minuscule creatures with white fur, bat wings and porcupine-nish pom-pom shared universally. Simply put, any normal moogle would be utterly vulnerable to the magnetism which kupo nuts emanated and would fall under its deadly temptation.
“My lady, allow me to escort you to Nabradia, kupo,” Djojo agreed lamely, a decision he knew he would regret. “Lady Ashe, even if most of the staff has left for the hunt. The estate is filled with Sainikah, how on Ivalice are we suppose to escape without being notice, kupo.”
“They will notice us, but they won’t be able to stop us,” answered Ashe confidently. Djojo jaw mouthed into a ‘how’ and she responded by proudly revealing the sleep mote that she was formerly hiding.
“Where did you obtain it, kupo?” exclaimed Djojo. Sleep motes are rare to come by and even if someone was lucky enough to find one, it was extremely costly.
“From my brother’s personal stash, he has lots of treasures in his loot,” admitted Ashe, feeling no remorse for raiding her brother’s possessions the night before.
“He’s not going to be pleased when he finds out, kupo,” said Djojo worriedly, he believed that the prince would not only be furious about the loss of the sleep motes but also the absence of his sister upon his return.
“I couldn’t care less. Besides, I won’t be there to suffer his wrath when he finds out. I’ll be in Nabradia celebrating Rasler’s birthday,” she chirruped excitingly.
“What about our journey home, kupo?” asked the confused moogle with a befuddled expression.
“I’ve left a letter informing him that we left for Nabradia,” she answered, pointing at the letter that rested peacefully on the night stand. “He’ll come and fetch us there.”
“Will Lord Ashari come for us, kupo?” inquired Djojo doubtfully.
“Certainly, my brother can’t return to Dalmasca without me,” confirmed Ashe assertively. She yanked the cords of her crocheted satchel, securing the contents safely - Rasler’s present, a banquet dress, a coin pouch and three sleep motes.
“Your highness. Can I leave a letter too, kupo?”
“What for?” Ashe asked curiously as she swung the bag over her shoulder and shrouded herself with a cloak.
“My Will, kupo.”
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Sneaking out of the estate was proven easier than she had thought; the normally crowded estate was emptied - most of the staff have left for the hunt with the marquis’s private airship and wouldn’t be back until late evening - save but a few random Sainikah patrolling the gardens which they effortlessly evaded. Fortunately for them, the aerodrome wasn’t located too far from the marquis’s estate, and they managed to cover the distance shortly without any obstruction - much to Ashe’s delight and Djojo’s disappointment.
All went according to plan until they arrived at the ticket counter in the aerodrome.
“How may I be of assistance, little baalaa (girl)?” asked the young ticket lady with a distinctive Bhujerban accent kindly.
“I would to like to purchase two tickets to Nabradia,” said Ashe, trying to meet the face of the lady. Both the princess and squire were dangling precariously on the edge of the counter.
“I am sorry, little baalaa but I can’t sell you the yaatraapatra (tickets),” said the ticket lady, sounding apologetic. “Where is your raksaka (guardian)?”
Ashe wavered for brief moment, but quickly turned the tables by explaining, “He’s in the latrine so he asked us to buy the tickets first.” Donning an innocent and troubled expression, she continued, “He says that I am a big girl now and I can buy tickets on my own.”
Torn between observing the company’s protocols and succumbing to the little girl’s adorable charms, the ticket lady answered hesitatingly, “Well, I suppose I could. Alright, how many tickets would you need?”
“Two... I mean three. One for me, one for him and one for my guardian,” Ashe smiled winsomely at the lady, praying that she had not heard her mistake.
“Here you go, enjoy your flight,” she passed the tickets to Ashe, who gladly took it.
“Erm… which is the way to board the skyferry?”
“Oh, just turn daksina (right) at the next corner and turn vaama (left) after that,” explained the ticket lady. “You better hurry; the skyferry will be leaving in daza (ten) minutes.”
Ashe gave her thanks to ticket lady politely and bounced off happily from the counter. Dragging the reluctant moogle, she skipped away from the counter and camouflaged with the bustling crowd.
“See what I tell you,” gloated Ashe, a victorious smile spreading over her face.
“It’s not good to lie, kupo” muttered Djojo jadedly, referring to both tricking the crown prince and the naive ticket lady.
“She said daksina then vaama, so that would be?” Ashe mused out aloud; her grey-eyes scanning the vicinity of aerodrome, seeking for directions.
“Kupo. She meant for us to turn left and then right, my lady,” informed her companion confidently.
“I knew that. I know how to speak Bhujerbish,” snapped Ashe, sounding offended at the correction.
She stomped off hastily towards the aforementioned directions with Djojo trailing after her. Locating the skyferry was fairly easy with proper directions but they were once again halted at the entrance of the airship by the doorman whom demanded for their tickets and questioned about their lack of guardian. Opting the same lie; they were permitted to enter without any further obstruction, and soon discovered their private cabin.
“We’ve made it; no one can stop us now,” cheered Ashe optimistically, claiming the left bunk which is nearer to the aperture.
“I still do not think it is such a good idea, kupo,” mumbled the unhappy moogle, while dumping their bags on the other available neatly made bed.
“Stop grumbling, Djojo, everything will be fine,” said Ashe, self-assured of their successful escapade. “I’m going outside to the air deck. “
She stretched her limbs and hopped off the bed to celebrate her victory and embrace the wonders of freedom. Trotting to the door, she gleefully opened it to find herself enshrouded by a dark shadow and staring at a pair of black boots. Puzzled, she slowly gazed upwards from the feet to the meet the face of the intruder. Her eyes widen and her jaw dropped to an extent where it would put all Pumpkin Star to shame as her lips slowly mouthed.
“Sir Basch.”
To be continued…
... And I still want to post up the final chapter during next year's April Fool XD
::starts humming mantra:: Shall update, shall make progress, shall not create another AMV until I've completed another chapter :: continues chanting::
Title: Invitation
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII
Series: Courtly Love
Characters: Basch, Ashe, Ondore
Rating: PG
Summary: What if the person you love is presumely dead? Would you continue to wait for him or would you settle on the arranged marriage forced unto you?
Courtly Love
Invitation
From her earliest memories, Basch Fon Ronsenberg had always been a shadowy presence; it seemed to her that he was constantly there. From what she understood, he had been serving the knights’ order ever since she was born. But if there was one aspect that Ashe remembered distinctively about him; it would be that whenever he sighted her, he would never fail to acknowledge her with a tender smile and an affirmative nod. And in return, she’d stick her tongue out at him.
Now, Ashe had been extremely jealous of the attention her brothers and the immense community lavish upon the dashing young knight. Like bees drawn to honey, most people tended to swarm around him willingly; the extensive list included the royal princes of Dalmasca, lady attendants - even the proud Vieras - who eyed him in the shadows, and moogles circled around him. Even her father, King Raminas was particularly fond of this fair-headed Landisern. Maybe it was his kind demeanor and endless patience which had attracted the people around him - garnering both wanted and unwanted attention. As a knight, he was firm with his subordinates but compassionate as well, seeking to bond with them unlike most high-ranking officials. Though the young knight basked in the glory of attention, he did not become vain, far from it, he was truly a humble soul. True, his combat skills and victorious battles won him endless fame but it was his kind nature and righteous deeds which drew people to him.
Being the youngest and only princess of Dalmasca - a rosebud princess amongst the protective thorns of brothers - she strictly believed that the attention should be directed to her and not some young newly promoted knight captain. Not that Ashe received harsh treatment from her family, but they tend to shift their attention to the young knight whenever he showed up.
And such was a situation which befell her now.
“Ashari… Can we go to Nabradia for Rasler’s birthday?” Young Ashe, Dalmasca’s fair and petite princess, enquired hopefully. “He sent me an invitation to his ninth birthday.”
On the round table adjoining the airship’s porthole, two fine-looking gentlemen were currently engaged in a battle of wits, strategy and tactics over a black and white game board. One had ashy blonde hair which framed his alabaster cheeks; lean-built and dressed adequately in royal robes, he was commanding an army of white chess pieces. While his opponent had a slightly darker shade of skin, his head was crowned with a mass of golden streaks which are messily slicked back from his tanned face; garbed in Dalmascan captain uniform, he led a combatant of black chess pieces.
Presently, the white forces were being mercilessly bulldozed by the black cavalcades.
Noticing her presence, the captain shifted his gaze away from the board to present Ashe a slight nod of greeting and a warm smile while the crown prince continued scrutinizing the chessboard and inadvertently emitted a low grunt. Ashe inclined her head with polite affirmation, but otherwise ignored the knight captain. She kept focused on her intent, her utmost priority was to cajole her brother into accompanying her to Nabradia - whether he liked it or not.
“Father told me to ask you. He said that if you didn’t mind, we could proceed to Nabradia after our visit to Uncle Halim,” persuaded Ashe meticulously.
“Nay,” answered the crown prince of Dalmasca tersely, sounding more of a grunt, without lifting his eyes from the black and white board. He moved his white knight forward only for it to be captured subsequently by his opponent’s black pawn; his face darkened substantially.
Her hopes deflated at the response but she was not discouraged, convening a sweet smile, she prodded her brother with a saccharine voice. “Ashari, please. I really want to attend Rasler’s birthday. I’ve even brought along his birthday gift.”
“Pleading won’t lead you anywhere,” stated Ashari apathetically. “The answer is no. Besides, I have already declined the invitation. As for your present, we’ll just have to send a messenger to deliver it.”
“Why can’t we go?” demanded the willful princess.
He finally lifted his head to look at his sister, and regarded her grimly, “Because I detest royal festivities where we have to puff our chest, smile genially, act all pompous and don on a fake façade. Tis vexing.” The statement signified the end of the discussion or as his opponent described it, a one-sided decision.
“I want to go,” Ashe hissed stubbornly, curling her lip in anger. Her demeanor showed that she was not backing out of the argument without a fight.
“We are not going,” replied Ashari, with an equally adamant tone. “Now run along and play with your dolls, and do not interrupt me. I am in a winning streak at the moment so don’t bother me with trifles.”
His opponent raised a skeptical eyebrow at his declaration, from his side of table; he can assure anyone that was willing to lend an ear that the crown prince, Ashari B’nargin Dalmasca was most definitely losing, and rather pathetically. Setting his elbow on the table, he watched the exchange between the two identical siblings with interest.
“But…,” she started.
“Ashe, do not make me repeat myself again. We are not going to Nabradia and that is final. Now, leave us,” he cut her off curtly, and turned back to the chessboard.
“I hate you!” She turned to see Basch staring at her, languidly, with an amused expression on his face which was unfortunately the wrong thing to do as it fueled her anger even further. “And you too!” Ashe shouted even louder, with a hint of accusation as if blaming him for her misfortune, while sticking her tongue at the guiltless bystander.
With fierce determination, she marched up to the table and knocked the despicable chess board askew, scattering the chess pieces over the two players and the floor. Huffing a satisfactory grunt, she spun around quickly and raced out of the room. She forcefully pried the door open which hurtled right into the innocent moogle squire who was sent flying away along with the tray of beverages.
“Ashelia B’nargin Dalmasca, you come back here this instance,” Ashari erupted, his chair thrown back as he leapt to his feet. But instead of giving chase, he stood rooted to the ground as he stared back and forth between the door that Ashe had vanished through and the fallen chess pieces. After a while, he slumped back into his chair dejectedly and buried his face into his hands.
“Good heavens. I was going to win.” Ashari mumbled through his hands, whining like an irate puppy whose bone has been snatched away. Basch arched an eyebrow in wonder; it never ceased to amaze him on how Ashari could still proclaim himself a chess master after suffering countless - he lost count after he used up all his fingers and toes - defeat in his hands.
“Lord Ashari…” drawled Basch tiredly, he stooped down to collect the scattered chess pieces on the floor.
Moments ago, he had wanted to question Ashari about his resolute reluctance to visit Nabradia but then thought better of it. Firstly, it was not within Basch’s nature to challenge the decision of his lord friend especially when the crown prince seemed so rapt with his decision that he would rather suffer the fury of his beloved sister. Secondly, Basch had known the prince long enough to be able to read between the lines, and he clearly understood the reason why Ashari avoided the trip to their neighboring country at all costs. Of course, his reluctance stemmed chiefly from laziness to deal with his royal duties, but it was also because he knew that the King of Nabradia was seriously considering betrothing the two young patricians. And this notion was what Ashari found most disagreeable.
“Address me as Ash when we are in private,” corrected the prince petulantly. “Lord Ashari makes me feel like I have aged tenfold.” Then again, maybe the crown prince was a childish slouch.
Princess Ashe on the other hand was another matter. A precocious young maiden of the Dalmascan royal courts; young, high-spirited and quick-tempered; who had an obsession with duties and protocols. Not exactly the ideal princess; however Basch couldn’t help but find the young princess to be endearing, though the young regnant didn’t seem to share his sentiments. In fact, she viewed him as despicable as a speck of dust in her eyes. He tried to recall an instance where he offended the Lady Ashe in some way but nothing came to mind.
“Lord Ash. I reckon you should thank Lady Ashe. She had just saved you from further embarrassment,” remarked Basch, scarcely able to hide a grin, as he separated the chess pieces and swept them into their respective pouches.
“Do not mock me, Basch,” Ashari reproached with a jesting tone, he picked up his sword and brandished it dangerously at the captain. “If it were someone else, I would have flogged him with my blade for that insolent remark. Speaking of blades, I need you to frequent the blacksmith to whet my blade for the hunt tomorrow with the Marquis.”
He threw the blade - a Lohengrin - at the captain who caught it dexterously. Basch unsheathed the sword and examined it closely; it did seem rather battle-worn to his trained eyes but nothing a proper honing for a night wouldn’t fix.
“I will see to it immediately,” Basch answered, sheathing the sword back into the ornamented scabbard. “And if there is nothing else, I shall return to my post.”
The crown prince flicked his wrist absently and Basch took it as his cue to depart. He withdrew swiftly in hopes that the prince would not force him into another mindless and facile round of chess.
“Djojo, are you alright?” asked Basch when he found his moogle squire sitting behind the door, lamenting over the loss of the cups. The poor moogle was silently rubbing his aching nose as he stared forlornly at the broken pieces of tableware and at the puddle of wet substance strewn over the floor.
“I think so but I wouldn’t say the same for the cups, kupo,” replied Djojo miserably, pointing at the mess.
“You will soon learn to understand the difficulties of serving royalties,” he said emphatically as he patted the tiny squire on the head. “Tidy up the mess, we’ll be arriving in Bhujerba soon.”
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“Svagatam, Lord Ashari and Lady Ashelia,” greeted Marquis Ondore upon the arrival of the royal cortege. His voice was a deep unique diction, sustained only by Bhujerbans. “Welcome to Bhujerba”
“Thank you and Svagatam to you too, Marquis Ondore,” returned the crown prince sententiously, as he performed a solemn bow while his sister descended to a light curtsey beside him. He then disposed of his ceremonious pretense and grinned at the marquis, “Now that we are done with the formalities, and my father would have nothing to complain about. Let us dispense with ceremony and try to act normal, Uncle Halim.”
“You are right. But your father won’t be pleased,” replied the marquis blithely as he moved forward to clasp the shoulder of his guest and steered him towards the manor.
“Alas, my father is not here,” answered Ashari with a pretentious sigh.
The marquis and the crown prince then chatted away, exchanging news about the current happenings in Dalmasca and Bhujerba
Climbing the slopes to the marquis manor was tricky business; the distance between the front gates to the manor wasn’t far but proves to be tedious especially when one was gowned in a heavy formal dress and before long, Ashe was dragging her feet and her breathing grew laborious. Stuck in a cold war with her brother, she couldn’t possibly ask for his help and she would rather have her precious chocobo doll sold before she would even consider asking the captain behind her for assistance, her pride wouldn’t allow it. She could hear his steady footsteps behind her, she stole a furtive glimpse to find him staring at her, with a hint of concern in his eyes, and she quickened her pace. Therefore, she had only one option left and at the first possible moment presented; she went to her uncle and tugged at the hem of his overcoat to gain his attention.
“Uncle Halim, carry me,” implored the little princess, her arms outstretched.
“Why not ask Ashari to carry you?” teased the marquis but elated at her request, he picked her up easily and set her on the crook of his arm.
“Because I don’t like him,” stated Ashe, displaying her obvious displeasure to her uncle. The marquis raised a cynical eyebrow at her complaint, she continued, “He didn’t allow me to attend Rasler’s birthday.”
“Who?”
“Prince Rasler, the second prince of Nabradia.” Ashe proceeded to tattle on her brother to her favorite uncle.
Listening patiently to Ashe’s elaborate rant, the Marquis of Bhujerba kept silent until she finally finished her tirade, he then put her down gently and sighed, “Ashelia, you should listen to your brother, I am sure he knows best.”
“He’s just lazy,” declared Ashe mulishly. “Uncle Halim, would you help me convince my brother to let me go to Nabradia?”
A grimace slowly formed on the marquis’s face, it wasn’t severe but sufficient to illustrate his distress at the demand. After a moment of silent contemplation, he answered firmly, “I would not interfere with Ashari’s decision.”
The marquis had been in acquaintance with a number of B’nargin pedigrees to be familiar with the stubborn trait which they possessed. It was only advisable to avoid being caught up between the sibling squabble, therefore he tried to maneuver away from the disengaging topic by pacifying her with the colourful events of tomorrow’s hunt, hoping to cheer up the willful princess.
However, his attempt at peace-making proved to be futile, as Ashe remained aloof.
So, even the marquis wouldn’t assist her. Thus, Ashe has resorted to sulking the entire length during dinner and hardly touched her food. Her taciturn behaviour gained her no further credit, as her brother blatantly ignored her throughout dinner, while enjoying himself with the company of his captain and the marquis. To her dismay, her brother sent her off to retire early for the night as he claimed that wayward little girls should not stay up late. Though, it was more likely that he intended to start a madhu-driven merrymaking revelry which probably included drinking himself into oblivion.
Within the constraints of her room, Ashe silently brooded over the events of the day. There was no way she was going to let her brother ruin her fun. I’ll go alone if I must. Even when night finally cast over Bhujerba, Ashe was still awake trying to figure out a way to attend her friend’s birthday and before the moon reached the pinnacle of its night journey, Ashe stumbled upon a solution to her problems. Surreptitiously, she crept out of her room to gather the ingredients for her plan and spent the remaining night revising her plan again.
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On the morning of the hunt, the Marquis palatial manor was bustling with effereevence activities. Stable bangaas were saddling chocobos, Rebe falconers tending their prey birds, Seeq chefs racing back and forth from the kitchens, armored Sainikah making their daily rounds, and other staffs tending to their specific duties. Needless to say, the entire household was swept up in a whirlwind of noisy activities, but despite the potpourri of hurly-burly; everyone was in high-spirits.
With an exception of one princess. Few floors above the vivacious activities, within the guest chambers; Ashe laid uncomfortably in bed, her brother nursing - more like fussing - all over her. That morning, when the chamberlain went to arouse Ashe from her sleep, she had complained of having upset stomach. Her lack of sleep last night lent her a fatigue appearance which fortified her claim of being ill but truthfully she was perfectly fine, and all the cooing and cuddling her brother was bestowing was starting to grate on her nerves. Her uncle had dropped by to check on her condition, but left to oversee the preparation for the hunt.
“Are you feeling any better?” Ashari stroked her hair gently; his grey orbs shone with concern over the state of his little sister.
“A little. My tummy still hurts,” Ashe lied unhesitatingly; she had been rehearsing for this moment.
“Hmm… you do seem better,” He placed his palm over her forehead to check her body temperature, and Ashe briefly wondered if her brother was experiencing early senility. She claimed to have a stomachache, not a fever. “Tis were wise decision where I forbid you to visit Nabradia. You won’t be able to attend Rasler’s birthday in this state. Neither would you be able to join us with the hunt. I will have Djojo remain here to keep you company.”
“Nay, tis won’t be necessary. I have the nurse to tend to me, I will be fine,” she frowned. The inclusion of the squire was not part of her agenda, it was troublesome to deal with her nurse, and the squire would only prove to be an additional hindrance to her scheme.
“Nonsense. You will be bored to tears with the old nurse,” earning an affronted grunt from the ancient nurse. “Do not question my decision, Ashe. It’s settled then, Djojo, you will remain here and keep her company until we return, I trust you will guard her well.”
“Aye, my lord,” Djojo conceded with reluctance, appearing as though he had just swallowed rotten flan.
“Rest well and await our glorious triumphant return,” he planted a kiss on her temple and tucked her back into bed. Satisfied with her condition, he then exited the room, leaving Ashe at the mercy of the old nurse and Djojo.
Ashe waited for the manor to quiet down before enacting her plan. She did not have to wait long, by noon; the manor had been reduced to an eerie silence. Glancing at her two companions, she pondered on various ways to remove the barriers to her freedom. Her opportunity arrived when the young moogle decided to pay the little moogle room a visit, taking the cue, she proceeded with her escapade. Furtively, she took out a sleep mote from under her pillow and flung it to the nurse’s feet, and instantly the nurse fell into deep slumber on her chair.
One down and another to go. Ashe hopped off the bed and cast off her nightdress; she quickly dressed herself in a plain pink summer dress, and tied her hair with a pink ribbon. With that done, she then bent down to pull out a bag from under her bed which contained her provisions for the journey. She took out a letter from it and was about to place it on the night stand when she heard Djojo - her temporary guardian entering the room. Ashe twirled around to face the squire, noting that he was already staring at the cataleptic nurse in mortification.
“Your highness. What have you done to your nurse, kupo?” exclaimed the moogle when words returned to him.
“I’ve put her under a sleeping spell. She won’t be awake until the sun touches the ground,” explained the delinquent guiltlessly, sounding as though she was commenting on the condition of the weather. Extracting another sleep mote stealthily from her pocket but shielding it from view, she was prepared to throw it at the gullible moogle and send him straight to dreamland when she paused and thought better of it, “Djojo, you will escort me to Nabradia.”
It was an order, not a request.
Djojo whirled his furry head around so quickly that his black pompom smacked his head hard; he didn’t seem to notice as he was staring disbelievingly at the princess. Scratching his long ears, he ventured carefully, “Pardon me, your highness, kupo. But I do not think I’ve heard you correctly, kupo.”
“I said, you will escort me on my excursion to Nabradia,” repeated Ashe. “You have two choices; either you come along to Nabradia with me. Or I will knock you unconscious and you will have to answer to my brother later without me,” said Ashe, mustering a threatening tone and eyeing him warily, preparing to hurl the sleep mote at him if he dared to decline her request.
Djojo felt as though he had been asked to kiss a Wild Saurian or jump into the Yensa Sandsea, one choice was as distasteful as the other. He fidgeted uneasily, juggling the possibilities of both options; if he were to leave her to venture on this journey alone, the defenseless princess might come to harm. On the other hand, if he followed her on this quest, his master would be severely displeased once he found them both gone. Aghast, he realized that the princess had offered him no form of retreat. Between the two options, the latter seemed more pleasing to him. He did not like the thought of letting the princess go to a foreign country all by herself. The task of protecting the princess was entrusted to him, and he intended to carry out his mission as best as he could, his moogle honour at stake. He had learnt that much about personal responsibilities, after numerous observations of his master’s ways.
“And I’ll offer you a bag of kupo nuts.” Ashe added as an afterthought.
And that sealed Djojo’s fate. Like all moogles in Ivalice, Djojo had a strange affinity for kupo nuts which couldn’t be curtailed. A little harmless foible that all minuscule creatures with white fur, bat wings and porcupine-nish pom-pom shared universally. Simply put, any normal moogle would be utterly vulnerable to the magnetism which kupo nuts emanated and would fall under its deadly temptation.
“My lady, allow me to escort you to Nabradia, kupo,” Djojo agreed lamely, a decision he knew he would regret. “Lady Ashe, even if most of the staff has left for the hunt. The estate is filled with Sainikah, how on Ivalice are we suppose to escape without being notice, kupo.”
“They will notice us, but they won’t be able to stop us,” answered Ashe confidently. Djojo jaw mouthed into a ‘how’ and she responded by proudly revealing the sleep mote that she was formerly hiding.
“Where did you obtain it, kupo?” exclaimed Djojo. Sleep motes are rare to come by and even if someone was lucky enough to find one, it was extremely costly.
“From my brother’s personal stash, he has lots of treasures in his loot,” admitted Ashe, feeling no remorse for raiding her brother’s possessions the night before.
“He’s not going to be pleased when he finds out, kupo,” said Djojo worriedly, he believed that the prince would not only be furious about the loss of the sleep motes but also the absence of his sister upon his return.
“I couldn’t care less. Besides, I won’t be there to suffer his wrath when he finds out. I’ll be in Nabradia celebrating Rasler’s birthday,” she chirruped excitingly.
“What about our journey home, kupo?” asked the confused moogle with a befuddled expression.
“I’ve left a letter informing him that we left for Nabradia,” she answered, pointing at the letter that rested peacefully on the night stand. “He’ll come and fetch us there.”
“Will Lord Ashari come for us, kupo?” inquired Djojo doubtfully.
“Certainly, my brother can’t return to Dalmasca without me,” confirmed Ashe assertively. She yanked the cords of her crocheted satchel, securing the contents safely - Rasler’s present, a banquet dress, a coin pouch and three sleep motes.
“Your highness. Can I leave a letter too, kupo?”
“What for?” Ashe asked curiously as she swung the bag over her shoulder and shrouded herself with a cloak.
“My Will, kupo.”
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Sneaking out of the estate was proven easier than she had thought; the normally crowded estate was emptied - most of the staff have left for the hunt with the marquis’s private airship and wouldn’t be back until late evening - save but a few random Sainikah patrolling the gardens which they effortlessly evaded. Fortunately for them, the aerodrome wasn’t located too far from the marquis’s estate, and they managed to cover the distance shortly without any obstruction - much to Ashe’s delight and Djojo’s disappointment.
All went according to plan until they arrived at the ticket counter in the aerodrome.
“How may I be of assistance, little baalaa (girl)?” asked the young ticket lady with a distinctive Bhujerban accent kindly.
“I would to like to purchase two tickets to Nabradia,” said Ashe, trying to meet the face of the lady. Both the princess and squire were dangling precariously on the edge of the counter.
“I am sorry, little baalaa but I can’t sell you the yaatraapatra (tickets),” said the ticket lady, sounding apologetic. “Where is your raksaka (guardian)?”
Ashe wavered for brief moment, but quickly turned the tables by explaining, “He’s in the latrine so he asked us to buy the tickets first.” Donning an innocent and troubled expression, she continued, “He says that I am a big girl now and I can buy tickets on my own.”
Torn between observing the company’s protocols and succumbing to the little girl’s adorable charms, the ticket lady answered hesitatingly, “Well, I suppose I could. Alright, how many tickets would you need?”
“Two... I mean three. One for me, one for him and one for my guardian,” Ashe smiled winsomely at the lady, praying that she had not heard her mistake.
“Here you go, enjoy your flight,” she passed the tickets to Ashe, who gladly took it.
“Erm… which is the way to board the skyferry?”
“Oh, just turn daksina (right) at the next corner and turn vaama (left) after that,” explained the ticket lady. “You better hurry; the skyferry will be leaving in daza (ten) minutes.”
Ashe gave her thanks to ticket lady politely and bounced off happily from the counter. Dragging the reluctant moogle, she skipped away from the counter and camouflaged with the bustling crowd.
“See what I tell you,” gloated Ashe, a victorious smile spreading over her face.
“It’s not good to lie, kupo” muttered Djojo jadedly, referring to both tricking the crown prince and the naive ticket lady.
“She said daksina then vaama, so that would be?” Ashe mused out aloud; her grey-eyes scanning the vicinity of aerodrome, seeking for directions.
“Kupo. She meant for us to turn left and then right, my lady,” informed her companion confidently.
“I knew that. I know how to speak Bhujerbish,” snapped Ashe, sounding offended at the correction.
She stomped off hastily towards the aforementioned directions with Djojo trailing after her. Locating the skyferry was fairly easy with proper directions but they were once again halted at the entrance of the airship by the doorman whom demanded for their tickets and questioned about their lack of guardian. Opting the same lie; they were permitted to enter without any further obstruction, and soon discovered their private cabin.
“We’ve made it; no one can stop us now,” cheered Ashe optimistically, claiming the left bunk which is nearer to the aperture.
“I still do not think it is such a good idea, kupo,” mumbled the unhappy moogle, while dumping their bags on the other available neatly made bed.
“Stop grumbling, Djojo, everything will be fine,” said Ashe, self-assured of their successful escapade. “I’m going outside to the air deck. “
She stretched her limbs and hopped off the bed to celebrate her victory and embrace the wonders of freedom. Trotting to the door, she gleefully opened it to find herself enshrouded by a dark shadow and staring at a pair of black boots. Puzzled, she slowly gazed upwards from the feet to the meet the face of the intruder. Her eyes widen and her jaw dropped to an extent where it would put all Pumpkin Star to shame as her lips slowly mouthed.
“Sir Basch.”
To be continued…