[Final Fantasy XII] Too Soon the Sun Rises
Pairing: Balthier/Ashe
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Spoilers, sex
Notes: Written for the_sandsea, themes #15 Dawn, #16 Sacrifice, #20 Crossroads, #30 Duty, #36 Don't Look Back
Summary: Regardless of aught else that befalls, they still have this.
Wordcount: 2150
Beta: celeloriel
The last of the day's meetings had finally ended. Ashe pulled off the thin beaten-gold circlet and set it on her desk. There was a great deal to do in repairing the damage Archadia had caused to her lands, even six months since she had resumed her throne.
She stretched her arms high over her head, arching her back to relieve the tension of sitting in a formal chair for eight hours, and gathered the papers on her desk. She would take these back to her real office, where she did actual work, and finish reviewing the reports on agriculture in Giza. This opulently decorated room was for show.
The guards outside her door saluted when she exited the room. Two of them moved forward to escort her back to her own chambers. The third would remain on guard here. After so long on their journey with no guards, and even longer before that in the Resistance, having this many people present felt confining.
She made her way back to her chambers and had the maid help her out of her formal court gown. Clad more comfortably in shortened breeches and a light shirt, she walked barefoot from her bedroom into her adjacent study, touching the magicite panel on the wall to bring up the lamps.
Where her formal office was burdened with ornate furniture and thickly embroidered tapestries, a room designed to impress and display the wealth of her lands, this room was intended for work. She had a large, simple desk and bookshelves stacked with volumes of Dalmascan law, and more importantly, she had a comfortable chair and a cushioned settee. She chose the latter and curled up in the corner of it, the heavy ledger across her lap. The minister of agriculture had indicated that he felt taxes on this portion of her lands be raised, based on their apparent productivity this year.
Three hours and two forays into her bookshelves later, Ashe was puzzled. Production in Giza had increased this year compared to the two years under Archadian supervision, but a review of the records from her father's time indicated that Giza was producing less compared to years prior. The reports from her minister of agriculture, however, indicated that the growing season in Giza had been the best in a decade, and therefore the crop yield should have been far higher.
She bent over the volumes again, trying to find the pattern. She had spent much of the last several months unraveling the heinously complicated mess that was Archadian bureaucracy, and had grown adept at ferreting out the layers of corruption and appropriation of government funds for personal use that the Archadians seemed to excel at. This matter yet evaded her efforts. She studied the lists of reported foodstuffs again. The answer lay within these documents; she had only to locate it.
The pages ruffled in a sudden draft. Ashe sprang off the settee and spun to her left, reaching automatically for a sword she was not wearing.
Balthier bestowed that insufferable smirk upon her, and lounged casually against the bookshelf that normally concealed the secret passage from which he'd just emerged.
For a long moment they simply stared at one another, she struggling to contain her rage and he appearing amused at the entire affair.
"I do not suppose," she said, taking care to enunciate each word distinctly, "that you might have considered arriving through the front door?"
"You wound me, Ashe." He laid one hand over his heart and the other across his eyes in a display of melodrama surpassing even the showiest Archadian theatre. "Here I've come all this way to see you again, risking life and limb to enter your palace, and you scold me for my choice of route?"
Ashe thought the ledgers would make quite a satisfactory dent in his head, but she doubted she had the strength to hurl them effectively. "I take issue with your behaviour in general," she snapped. "You send notes with rings instead of coming yourself; you do not bother to tell any of us that you survived the fall of Bahamut but instead go flying off in search of some treasure." She took two steps forward, noting with satisfaction that his smirk was fading into a cautious expression as he shifted slightly back. "In short, you declare your demise to the entire world, care not to correct the declaration but prefer treasures to your comrades. Then you return with the assumption that all will be well and we shall welcome you back, the prodigal son-a role you seem to enjoy, might I add." She saw the flicker of his eyelids, the way he flinched, and part of her crowed in triumph at piercing his shield. Another part quailed at inflicting more hurt on a friend; she quashed it mercilessly. "Tell me, Balthier, why should I welcome you back? Why should I not shout for my guards and have you thrown in prison?"
At that, she glimpsed the flash of anger in his eyes. He straightened up and shoved the bookcase so that it slid smoothly back into place, then stepped toward her. Ashe brought her chin up and glared at him.
"For someone who professes not to care," he said, "you seem very passionate about your disregard."
She ignored the implications of his statement. "So, you are miraculously returned to us from the lands of the dead and satisfied with your current helping of thievery and theatrics. What do you think to gain from this misadventure within the palace? As you see, I have nothing of value here." When she swept her hand in a wide gesture to indicate the bookshelves, the crystal-light flashed off the rings she yet wore, Rasler's rings binding her hand.
He noticed the flash of metal, as well, and followed it with his eyes. "I don't know about that, Princess. I am sure I could find much of value in your chambers."
His sheer insolence had her clenching her fists against the urge to strike him. "Be serious for once," she snarled.
He looked at the floor for a moment, gave a nearly inaudible sigh, and squared his shoulders. "Very well then. I missed you, though gods know why that should be. I thought to come and apologize for my behaviour, but it seems it will fall on deaf ears, as you are stubborn as a pig and twice as-"
He got no farther than that, for she lunged toward him and shoved him back against the bookshelf, her mouth pressing hard against his. His arms closed tight around her, pressing her against him till she could scarce draw breath. She slid her fingers into his hair, pulling his head back so that she could kiss and lick along his jaw to his earlobe. He hissed her name when she caught his earlobe between her teeth, his hands seeking the hem of her shirt and sliding up beneath it.
"Might I suggest that we find a more comfortable, and preferably horizontal, place to continue this?" he asked idly, fingertips tracing the curve of her breast.
For answer, she pulled at the lacings of his vest, sending the cord flying away somewhere while the brocade tumbled to the floor. The vest was a new pattern, and the shirt beneath it was of thin white lawn. A button popped off when she yanked the edges apart.
"Ashe, I just had that shirt laundered-" She quickly silenced him with a kiss and her hand sliding under the laces of his absurd leather pants. She savoured the way his head tilted back, his hands slipping down to rest loosely on her waist. She could feel the heat rising from his skin, and it made the office feel too close, too small.
When she withdrew her hand to unfasten his pants, he quickly divested her of her shirt. She slapped his hand away when he reached for the drawstring of her pants, choosing to unfasten them herself instead while he dealt with the slightly complicated matter of his boots.
That did, however, have the advantage of putting him much closer to the floor, and it took only a small shove to have him tumbling onto his back on the thick rugs. She all but pounced on him, sitting astride his hips and gripping his wrists to pin them above his head. Of a sudden she could not meet his eyes, afraid of what her own might reveal.
"Why, Ashe," he said, "did you miss me?"
She leaned forward to kiss him and savoured the feel of her breasts brushing against his chest, and his hips lifting beneath hers, their bodies already damp with sweat. She held herself thus, poised above him without moving, until he made a sound of frustration and twisted his head away from hers. Only then did she sink down onto him, which wrenched a faint, guttural sound from his throat. It sent a thrill rippling down her spine, to realize that that had changed not at all.
He pulled his wrists free of her grip and slid his hands up her sides, brushing his thumbs over her nipples. Ashe scraped her nails across his chest just to make him arch up. He looked at her, all the wry mockery gone from his expression. "Ashe," he murmured, and her heart ached.
She began to move over him. When his hands flexed against her skin, she caught his wrists and pinned them to the floor by his sides. She wanted-nay, needed-to hold him thus, to watch him, as before he had watched her. He kept his eyes locked on her face, his fingers flexing against the carpet and against her leg while she moved. She could feel the tension building, coiling, and she dug her nails into his wrists, faster and harder, her breath catching in her throat and just that bit harder-
There.
The silence in her office was punctuated by her ragged breaths, and she could feel him still within her. She barely shifted, felt him arch up beneath her and then felt the long shudder that took his body. Her eyes closed slowly, the hard knots of tension and resentment that she had carried with her since Bahamut slowly uncoiling.
When she released his hands, he ran them gently up her arms, his fingertips tracing slow circles on her shoulders. "This was not precisely what I intended when I suggested a horizontal location," he said.
"You failed to be sufficiently specific." Nonetheless, she permitted herself to curl her fingers around his arms more gently this time. "Do you feel you were ill-treated, pirate?"
"Nothing of the sort." He grinned at her, and a moment later, the grin faded. "Come away with me, Ashe. Let me steal you once more."
There was only one answer to his invitation, and well they both knew it. "Ask me in the morning," she said instead, and he nodded.
She rose and offered him a hand to help him to his feet. She could see the marks of her nails on his arms, and other, older marks that had not so lined his body when they lay together after Pharos. He reached out, his fingertips barely brushing her shoulder, and she shivered despite the warm air.
When they came together in her bed, he drove her half-mad with his hands, with his too-clever tongue, and she felt as though she could not have enough of him. Almost it seemed that they fought, more than loved, and she kept her eyes wide open, kept them fixed on him, to memorize every aspect of his countenance.
All too soon, the first rays of sun crept in her balcony window and advanced inexorably toward them as they lay tangled in her bed. Beside her, Balthier stirred and ran his fingers through her hair. "Come away with me," he said softly.
For one gorgeous moment, she considered it. To fly free once more, to live as she chose without the constraint of court or law-
But she had chosen.
"I cannot."
"You will not," he said, but there was more of weariness than anger in his tone.
"Cannot and will not."
He nodded, and kissed her once more. She watched with an aching heart as he rose from her bed and went to her office to retrieve his garments.
Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them spill over.
She rose from her bed and called her maids to help her dress, and returned to her study. It was empty of all save her books and desk.
Ashe took up the ledgers once more, and set herself once more to the task of finding the discrepancy. She did not look at the secret passage concealed behind the bookshelf, but the thought brought a faint smile to her face all the same.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Spoilers, sex
Notes: Written for the_sandsea, themes #15 Dawn, #16 Sacrifice, #20 Crossroads, #30 Duty, #36 Don't Look Back
Summary: Regardless of aught else that befalls, they still have this.
Wordcount: 2150
Beta: celeloriel
The last of the day's meetings had finally ended. Ashe pulled off the thin beaten-gold circlet and set it on her desk. There was a great deal to do in repairing the damage Archadia had caused to her lands, even six months since she had resumed her throne.
She stretched her arms high over her head, arching her back to relieve the tension of sitting in a formal chair for eight hours, and gathered the papers on her desk. She would take these back to her real office, where she did actual work, and finish reviewing the reports on agriculture in Giza. This opulently decorated room was for show.
The guards outside her door saluted when she exited the room. Two of them moved forward to escort her back to her own chambers. The third would remain on guard here. After so long on their journey with no guards, and even longer before that in the Resistance, having this many people present felt confining.
She made her way back to her chambers and had the maid help her out of her formal court gown. Clad more comfortably in shortened breeches and a light shirt, she walked barefoot from her bedroom into her adjacent study, touching the magicite panel on the wall to bring up the lamps.
Where her formal office was burdened with ornate furniture and thickly embroidered tapestries, a room designed to impress and display the wealth of her lands, this room was intended for work. She had a large, simple desk and bookshelves stacked with volumes of Dalmascan law, and more importantly, she had a comfortable chair and a cushioned settee. She chose the latter and curled up in the corner of it, the heavy ledger across her lap. The minister of agriculture had indicated that he felt taxes on this portion of her lands be raised, based on their apparent productivity this year.
Three hours and two forays into her bookshelves later, Ashe was puzzled. Production in Giza had increased this year compared to the two years under Archadian supervision, but a review of the records from her father's time indicated that Giza was producing less compared to years prior. The reports from her minister of agriculture, however, indicated that the growing season in Giza had been the best in a decade, and therefore the crop yield should have been far higher.
She bent over the volumes again, trying to find the pattern. She had spent much of the last several months unraveling the heinously complicated mess that was Archadian bureaucracy, and had grown adept at ferreting out the layers of corruption and appropriation of government funds for personal use that the Archadians seemed to excel at. This matter yet evaded her efforts. She studied the lists of reported foodstuffs again. The answer lay within these documents; she had only to locate it.
The pages ruffled in a sudden draft. Ashe sprang off the settee and spun to her left, reaching automatically for a sword she was not wearing.
Balthier bestowed that insufferable smirk upon her, and lounged casually against the bookshelf that normally concealed the secret passage from which he'd just emerged.
For a long moment they simply stared at one another, she struggling to contain her rage and he appearing amused at the entire affair.
"I do not suppose," she said, taking care to enunciate each word distinctly, "that you might have considered arriving through the front door?"
"You wound me, Ashe." He laid one hand over his heart and the other across his eyes in a display of melodrama surpassing even the showiest Archadian theatre. "Here I've come all this way to see you again, risking life and limb to enter your palace, and you scold me for my choice of route?"
Ashe thought the ledgers would make quite a satisfactory dent in his head, but she doubted she had the strength to hurl them effectively. "I take issue with your behaviour in general," she snapped. "You send notes with rings instead of coming yourself; you do not bother to tell any of us that you survived the fall of Bahamut but instead go flying off in search of some treasure." She took two steps forward, noting with satisfaction that his smirk was fading into a cautious expression as he shifted slightly back. "In short, you declare your demise to the entire world, care not to correct the declaration but prefer treasures to your comrades. Then you return with the assumption that all will be well and we shall welcome you back, the prodigal son-a role you seem to enjoy, might I add." She saw the flicker of his eyelids, the way he flinched, and part of her crowed in triumph at piercing his shield. Another part quailed at inflicting more hurt on a friend; she quashed it mercilessly. "Tell me, Balthier, why should I welcome you back? Why should I not shout for my guards and have you thrown in prison?"
At that, she glimpsed the flash of anger in his eyes. He straightened up and shoved the bookcase so that it slid smoothly back into place, then stepped toward her. Ashe brought her chin up and glared at him.
"For someone who professes not to care," he said, "you seem very passionate about your disregard."
She ignored the implications of his statement. "So, you are miraculously returned to us from the lands of the dead and satisfied with your current helping of thievery and theatrics. What do you think to gain from this misadventure within the palace? As you see, I have nothing of value here." When she swept her hand in a wide gesture to indicate the bookshelves, the crystal-light flashed off the rings she yet wore, Rasler's rings binding her hand.
He noticed the flash of metal, as well, and followed it with his eyes. "I don't know about that, Princess. I am sure I could find much of value in your chambers."
His sheer insolence had her clenching her fists against the urge to strike him. "Be serious for once," she snarled.
He looked at the floor for a moment, gave a nearly inaudible sigh, and squared his shoulders. "Very well then. I missed you, though gods know why that should be. I thought to come and apologize for my behaviour, but it seems it will fall on deaf ears, as you are stubborn as a pig and twice as-"
He got no farther than that, for she lunged toward him and shoved him back against the bookshelf, her mouth pressing hard against his. His arms closed tight around her, pressing her against him till she could scarce draw breath. She slid her fingers into his hair, pulling his head back so that she could kiss and lick along his jaw to his earlobe. He hissed her name when she caught his earlobe between her teeth, his hands seeking the hem of her shirt and sliding up beneath it.
"Might I suggest that we find a more comfortable, and preferably horizontal, place to continue this?" he asked idly, fingertips tracing the curve of her breast.
For answer, she pulled at the lacings of his vest, sending the cord flying away somewhere while the brocade tumbled to the floor. The vest was a new pattern, and the shirt beneath it was of thin white lawn. A button popped off when she yanked the edges apart.
"Ashe, I just had that shirt laundered-" She quickly silenced him with a kiss and her hand sliding under the laces of his absurd leather pants. She savoured the way his head tilted back, his hands slipping down to rest loosely on her waist. She could feel the heat rising from his skin, and it made the office feel too close, too small.
When she withdrew her hand to unfasten his pants, he quickly divested her of her shirt. She slapped his hand away when he reached for the drawstring of her pants, choosing to unfasten them herself instead while he dealt with the slightly complicated matter of his boots.
That did, however, have the advantage of putting him much closer to the floor, and it took only a small shove to have him tumbling onto his back on the thick rugs. She all but pounced on him, sitting astride his hips and gripping his wrists to pin them above his head. Of a sudden she could not meet his eyes, afraid of what her own might reveal.
"Why, Ashe," he said, "did you miss me?"
She leaned forward to kiss him and savoured the feel of her breasts brushing against his chest, and his hips lifting beneath hers, their bodies already damp with sweat. She held herself thus, poised above him without moving, until he made a sound of frustration and twisted his head away from hers. Only then did she sink down onto him, which wrenched a faint, guttural sound from his throat. It sent a thrill rippling down her spine, to realize that that had changed not at all.
He pulled his wrists free of her grip and slid his hands up her sides, brushing his thumbs over her nipples. Ashe scraped her nails across his chest just to make him arch up. He looked at her, all the wry mockery gone from his expression. "Ashe," he murmured, and her heart ached.
She began to move over him. When his hands flexed against her skin, she caught his wrists and pinned them to the floor by his sides. She wanted-nay, needed-to hold him thus, to watch him, as before he had watched her. He kept his eyes locked on her face, his fingers flexing against the carpet and against her leg while she moved. She could feel the tension building, coiling, and she dug her nails into his wrists, faster and harder, her breath catching in her throat and just that bit harder-
There.
The silence in her office was punctuated by her ragged breaths, and she could feel him still within her. She barely shifted, felt him arch up beneath her and then felt the long shudder that took his body. Her eyes closed slowly, the hard knots of tension and resentment that she had carried with her since Bahamut slowly uncoiling.
When she released his hands, he ran them gently up her arms, his fingertips tracing slow circles on her shoulders. "This was not precisely what I intended when I suggested a horizontal location," he said.
"You failed to be sufficiently specific." Nonetheless, she permitted herself to curl her fingers around his arms more gently this time. "Do you feel you were ill-treated, pirate?"
"Nothing of the sort." He grinned at her, and a moment later, the grin faded. "Come away with me, Ashe. Let me steal you once more."
There was only one answer to his invitation, and well they both knew it. "Ask me in the morning," she said instead, and he nodded.
She rose and offered him a hand to help him to his feet. She could see the marks of her nails on his arms, and other, older marks that had not so lined his body when they lay together after Pharos. He reached out, his fingertips barely brushing her shoulder, and she shivered despite the warm air.
When they came together in her bed, he drove her half-mad with his hands, with his too-clever tongue, and she felt as though she could not have enough of him. Almost it seemed that they fought, more than loved, and she kept her eyes wide open, kept them fixed on him, to memorize every aspect of his countenance.
All too soon, the first rays of sun crept in her balcony window and advanced inexorably toward them as they lay tangled in her bed. Beside her, Balthier stirred and ran his fingers through her hair. "Come away with me," he said softly.
For one gorgeous moment, she considered it. To fly free once more, to live as she chose without the constraint of court or law-
But she had chosen.
"I cannot."
"You will not," he said, but there was more of weariness than anger in his tone.
"Cannot and will not."
He nodded, and kissed her once more. She watched with an aching heart as he rose from her bed and went to her office to retrieve his garments.
Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them spill over.
She rose from her bed and called her maids to help her dress, and returned to her study. It was empty of all save her books and desk.
Ashe took up the ledgers once more, and set herself once more to the task of finding the discrepancy. She did not look at the secret passage concealed behind the bookshelf, but the thought brought a faint smile to her face all the same.