Vaster Than Empires (FFXII, Rasler/Ashe)
Title: Vaster Than Empires
For: findingfaramir
Medium: Fiction
Request(s): FF XII: Rasler/Ashe, the streets of Rabanastre
Fandom(s): Final Fantasy XII
Characters/Pairings: Rasler/Ashe
Rating/Warnings: PG
Word Count: 1900
Summary: They grew to know each other slowly.
They were first betrothed when she was eleven and he thirteen, though they had not met. It was a political union; they had been raised to expect nothing else. Nonetheless Ashe studied the miniature brought by the envoy, looking in the lines of the Prince's face for some sign of his character.
When the betrothal was finalized, with papers and seals and many signatures in heavy ink (including her own, writ with a steady hand: Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca, of the line of Raithwall), they sent each other gifts in commemoration of the union. Or rather, their countries did. Ashe did not choose the fine wines from the south, the resins and scented woods, silks and jacquards, spices brought by caravan. It was part a gesture of goodwill, part a sealing of the betrothal, and part a kind of extravagant boasting of the wealth and plenty of her country. She knew that all.
She also knew full well that, just as the gifts did not come from her, so too would they not go to Prince Rasler himself but to the coffers of Nabradia. Standing on the ramparts of the palace, watching as men-at-arms loaded amber and sandalwood onto ships, she suddenly wanted to send him something from herself to him, not from Dalmasca to Nabradia. There was not much time. After a moment's thought, she loosed the chain around her neck and slipped from it a stone pendant; a charm for steadfastness and greatness of heart, given to her by her Uncle Onodore on the occasion of her ninth birthday. She turned it over in her hand, and then, before she lost her courage, wrapped it in a silk handkerchief and fled down the stairs to the courtyard, her hair streaming and her handmaidens making sounds of dismay.
She stopped short at the edge of the courtyard, suddenly unsure; but Captain Azelas, overseeing the loading of the cargo, had always been kind to her, and so she drew herself up and squared her shoulders, and said, "Captain?"
He turned a little, and said, "My lady Ashe."
"You are accompanying the cargo to Nabradia?"
"I am," he said.
She held out the bit of silk, feeling suddenly foolish, but not foolish enough to stop now. "Would you do me the favor of giving this to Prince Rasler on my behalf?"
She thought his eyes softened briefly, and then he bowed gravely at the waist, and took the parcel from her, and said, "It would be my honor, my lady."
Two weeks later, on the occasion of the return of the retinue -- who brought with them a wealth of gifts from Nabradia, as was fitting, including four purebred chocobos of inestimable value and a jade relic of an ancient age -- Captain Azelas gave her without comment a small carved box. Within was a charm of simple design, with a powerful enchantment for safety and good fortune.
She wore it beneath her bodice until the day she first met him face-to-face, when she was nearly thirteen.
It was far from the first time there had been a great event in her honor; as the princess, each of her namingdays was celebrated with great fanfare and with a grand ball in her honor. It was the first, however, at which she was expected to act as an adult. Prior to her menarche and her betrothal, she had attended every ball as a child, aided in her royal duties by her parents and by her handmaidens. She had danced with her father, and her uncle (when she was quite small, her long skirts hid the fact that she stood on the tops of his feet), and, when they were feeling obliging, Captains Azelas and fon Ronsenberg, but none of them would think the less of her for treading on their feet, or falling out of step with the music.
She did not know that Prince Rasler would think less of her, either; but she did not especially care to find out by experiment.
She recognized him immediately, when the delegation arrived: he looked much like his miniature, and if perhaps the painter had rendered him more perfect than he actually was, she knew that her portrait-maker had smoothed the awkward coltishness of her features and failed to render even a single blemish (of which her skin had plenty, of late), so she was not surprised. He stopped at the foot of the short stair, and bowed to her, and she inclined her head to him as she had been taught and then they went in to dinner.
They made stilted conversation for perhaps a quarter of an hour -- she asked whether he was enjoying his stay, he complimented her country, she expressed interest in seeing his, and then their font of conversation dried up until Uncle Halim saved her by asking after her favorite chocobo. She latched onto that topic of conversation with perhaps too much enthusiasm to be wholly seemly, but Prince Rasler seemed pleased enough to discuss the specifics of training a mount, the relative merits of Veloun- versus Myanar-style bridles, and the best way to select for temperament in chocobo bloodlines.
She was very nearly relaxed when the musicians played the fanfare that abruptly reminded her that this was a ball, and she would be required to dance.
(Her dancing masters always expressed great dismay. She could be a good dancer, they insisted; she had grace enough, for a girl of her age, and a tolerably good sense of rhythm. But she was growing too fast into her legs; she was ill-suited to follow rather than lead; she had little patience with memorizing complicated dances; and when she moved, she tended to take too-large steps and tread either on the hem of her gown or on her partner's feet.)
She was so nervous, in fact, that it took her several minutes of dancing before she realized that he was looking at his feet as often as he was at her, as well. The swell of relief made her laugh aloud, and the look he gave her then was faintly wounded; so she explained. "I have been afraid I would step on your toes."
His eyebrows lifted. "You have been afraid?" he said. "If I step on your toes, I daresay I will break them."
She pulled her skirt a little to one side, and saw indeed that he wore glossy ceremonial boots, heavy with polished leather and braid, and while her slippers were sturdily well-made, they were nonetheless slippers.
"And how would that look?" Prince Rasler continued. "The Prince of Nabradia breaking the Princess of Dalmasca's toes." He gave her a sideways look, and then said slyly, as though gauging her for a reaction, "It could create an international incident."
"I give you my word," Ashe said, "that I will not declare war over this, even if you were to break my toes."
He smiled, and inclined his head, and said, "You put my heart at ease."
She couldn't resist adding, "But if you tread on my hem, honor may require me to duel you at dawn," and was relieved to see him smile again, fleeting but bright.
When she was fourteen, she traveled to Nabradia with her handmaidens, a retinue of diplomats and courtiers, and Captain Azelas, entrusted with her safety. The centerpiece of that trip was a hunt in the north forest, which was named for an ancient tribal queen of that country. She wondered whether someone had passed the word that Lady Ashe would be more pleased with an excuse to ride than with a banquet-and-dancing, or whether it was lucky happenstance.
She rode just hard enough to approach the boundaries of propriety, without quite crossing it -- although Captain Azelas gave her a solemn look and said, "It would not go well for me if you broke your neck, my lady." She could see the amusement deep in his eyes, so she smiled at him, exhilarated. She could feel the blood in her cheeks from the wind. "Or for your young man, either," he continued.
That made something tighten in her stomach, and she said, "He is not precisely 'my young man.'"
"You will be wed," Captain Azelas said, mildly, and yet she wondered if he had been planning this all along -- to remind her, as would her father the King were he here, that this was not wholly a pleasure-trip. She could think of nothing to say, so she spurred her mount forward to continue the hunt.
When she was fifteen, nearly sixteen, Prince Rasler came again to Dalmasca. This time he professed a desire to see the city itself, and so -- with her handmaidens and his courtiers, and a small army of bodyguards, but nonetheless -- they set out onto the streets of Rabanastre.
She was shy, and angry with herself for it; it was no shame for a girl of twelve to be nervous, but she was nearly a woman grown, she knew three languages and could ride and negotiate and defend herself with a dagger, and yet her stomach turned a little as she met him on the stair to the palace. But when the sole of her shoe first touched the cobbled street, she felt herself unclench, something loosen in her chest. This was her city. She would show it to him.
She turned and must have been smiling, because he looked startled and then smiled himself, and said, "Where you will, my lady."
She looked at him, and he gave her a little half-bow, and indicated that he would follow her lead.
So she led him to the market and bade him try urasal-fruit, which he cut from its thick rind with his belt-knife and tasted with trepidation that turned to surprised delight. They traveled from there to the stabler's quarters, and discussed the breeds of chocobo popular in Dalmasca as compared with those popular in Nabradia. She brought him to the Silent Temple, which had been built many times always upon the ruin of its predecessor, so that it was said that it dated to well before the founding of Rabanastre. She breathed it in, took it in: saw it new through his eyes, and showed it to him again, as she knew it.
When they returned to the palace, her feet were sure on the stairs, leading them both up to the balcony where they could have, for a few moments, some semblance of privacy.
"Your city is indeed a wonder," he said.
"The country is a wonder," she said staunchly, gazing out over the buildings, toward the desert. "If a bit wild."
"It does me honor," Rasler said, looking at her. "My lady Ashelia..."
"Ashe," she said.
"My lady Ashe. Neither of us chose this, and yet I am not displeased of it," he said. She looked up suddenly, and though his face was a mask of serenity, a diplomatic stance, she thought she could see some flicker.
"Nor am I," she said, and put her gloved hand in his, and turned her face toward the city again, where fireworks exploded over the towers and turned the streets colors with their lights.
For: findingfaramir
Medium: Fiction
Request(s): FF XII: Rasler/Ashe, the streets of Rabanastre
Fandom(s): Final Fantasy XII
Characters/Pairings: Rasler/Ashe
Rating/Warnings: PG
Word Count: 1900
Summary: They grew to know each other slowly.
They were first betrothed when she was eleven and he thirteen, though they had not met. It was a political union; they had been raised to expect nothing else. Nonetheless Ashe studied the miniature brought by the envoy, looking in the lines of the Prince's face for some sign of his character.
When the betrothal was finalized, with papers and seals and many signatures in heavy ink (including her own, writ with a steady hand: Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca, of the line of Raithwall), they sent each other gifts in commemoration of the union. Or rather, their countries did. Ashe did not choose the fine wines from the south, the resins and scented woods, silks and jacquards, spices brought by caravan. It was part a gesture of goodwill, part a sealing of the betrothal, and part a kind of extravagant boasting of the wealth and plenty of her country. She knew that all.
She also knew full well that, just as the gifts did not come from her, so too would they not go to Prince Rasler himself but to the coffers of Nabradia. Standing on the ramparts of the palace, watching as men-at-arms loaded amber and sandalwood onto ships, she suddenly wanted to send him something from herself to him, not from Dalmasca to Nabradia. There was not much time. After a moment's thought, she loosed the chain around her neck and slipped from it a stone pendant; a charm for steadfastness and greatness of heart, given to her by her Uncle Onodore on the occasion of her ninth birthday. She turned it over in her hand, and then, before she lost her courage, wrapped it in a silk handkerchief and fled down the stairs to the courtyard, her hair streaming and her handmaidens making sounds of dismay.
She stopped short at the edge of the courtyard, suddenly unsure; but Captain Azelas, overseeing the loading of the cargo, had always been kind to her, and so she drew herself up and squared her shoulders, and said, "Captain?"
He turned a little, and said, "My lady Ashe."
"You are accompanying the cargo to Nabradia?"
"I am," he said.
She held out the bit of silk, feeling suddenly foolish, but not foolish enough to stop now. "Would you do me the favor of giving this to Prince Rasler on my behalf?"
She thought his eyes softened briefly, and then he bowed gravely at the waist, and took the parcel from her, and said, "It would be my honor, my lady."
Two weeks later, on the occasion of the return of the retinue -- who brought with them a wealth of gifts from Nabradia, as was fitting, including four purebred chocobos of inestimable value and a jade relic of an ancient age -- Captain Azelas gave her without comment a small carved box. Within was a charm of simple design, with a powerful enchantment for safety and good fortune.
She wore it beneath her bodice until the day she first met him face-to-face, when she was nearly thirteen.
It was far from the first time there had been a great event in her honor; as the princess, each of her namingdays was celebrated with great fanfare and with a grand ball in her honor. It was the first, however, at which she was expected to act as an adult. Prior to her menarche and her betrothal, she had attended every ball as a child, aided in her royal duties by her parents and by her handmaidens. She had danced with her father, and her uncle (when she was quite small, her long skirts hid the fact that she stood on the tops of his feet), and, when they were feeling obliging, Captains Azelas and fon Ronsenberg, but none of them would think the less of her for treading on their feet, or falling out of step with the music.
She did not know that Prince Rasler would think less of her, either; but she did not especially care to find out by experiment.
She recognized him immediately, when the delegation arrived: he looked much like his miniature, and if perhaps the painter had rendered him more perfect than he actually was, she knew that her portrait-maker had smoothed the awkward coltishness of her features and failed to render even a single blemish (of which her skin had plenty, of late), so she was not surprised. He stopped at the foot of the short stair, and bowed to her, and she inclined her head to him as she had been taught and then they went in to dinner.
They made stilted conversation for perhaps a quarter of an hour -- she asked whether he was enjoying his stay, he complimented her country, she expressed interest in seeing his, and then their font of conversation dried up until Uncle Halim saved her by asking after her favorite chocobo. She latched onto that topic of conversation with perhaps too much enthusiasm to be wholly seemly, but Prince Rasler seemed pleased enough to discuss the specifics of training a mount, the relative merits of Veloun- versus Myanar-style bridles, and the best way to select for temperament in chocobo bloodlines.
She was very nearly relaxed when the musicians played the fanfare that abruptly reminded her that this was a ball, and she would be required to dance.
(Her dancing masters always expressed great dismay. She could be a good dancer, they insisted; she had grace enough, for a girl of her age, and a tolerably good sense of rhythm. But she was growing too fast into her legs; she was ill-suited to follow rather than lead; she had little patience with memorizing complicated dances; and when she moved, she tended to take too-large steps and tread either on the hem of her gown or on her partner's feet.)
She was so nervous, in fact, that it took her several minutes of dancing before she realized that he was looking at his feet as often as he was at her, as well. The swell of relief made her laugh aloud, and the look he gave her then was faintly wounded; so she explained. "I have been afraid I would step on your toes."
His eyebrows lifted. "You have been afraid?" he said. "If I step on your toes, I daresay I will break them."
She pulled her skirt a little to one side, and saw indeed that he wore glossy ceremonial boots, heavy with polished leather and braid, and while her slippers were sturdily well-made, they were nonetheless slippers.
"And how would that look?" Prince Rasler continued. "The Prince of Nabradia breaking the Princess of Dalmasca's toes." He gave her a sideways look, and then said slyly, as though gauging her for a reaction, "It could create an international incident."
"I give you my word," Ashe said, "that I will not declare war over this, even if you were to break my toes."
He smiled, and inclined his head, and said, "You put my heart at ease."
She couldn't resist adding, "But if you tread on my hem, honor may require me to duel you at dawn," and was relieved to see him smile again, fleeting but bright.
When she was fourteen, she traveled to Nabradia with her handmaidens, a retinue of diplomats and courtiers, and Captain Azelas, entrusted with her safety. The centerpiece of that trip was a hunt in the north forest, which was named for an ancient tribal queen of that country. She wondered whether someone had passed the word that Lady Ashe would be more pleased with an excuse to ride than with a banquet-and-dancing, or whether it was lucky happenstance.
She rode just hard enough to approach the boundaries of propriety, without quite crossing it -- although Captain Azelas gave her a solemn look and said, "It would not go well for me if you broke your neck, my lady." She could see the amusement deep in his eyes, so she smiled at him, exhilarated. She could feel the blood in her cheeks from the wind. "Or for your young man, either," he continued.
That made something tighten in her stomach, and she said, "He is not precisely 'my young man.'"
"You will be wed," Captain Azelas said, mildly, and yet she wondered if he had been planning this all along -- to remind her, as would her father the King were he here, that this was not wholly a pleasure-trip. She could think of nothing to say, so she spurred her mount forward to continue the hunt.
When she was fifteen, nearly sixteen, Prince Rasler came again to Dalmasca. This time he professed a desire to see the city itself, and so -- with her handmaidens and his courtiers, and a small army of bodyguards, but nonetheless -- they set out onto the streets of Rabanastre.
She was shy, and angry with herself for it; it was no shame for a girl of twelve to be nervous, but she was nearly a woman grown, she knew three languages and could ride and negotiate and defend herself with a dagger, and yet her stomach turned a little as she met him on the stair to the palace. But when the sole of her shoe first touched the cobbled street, she felt herself unclench, something loosen in her chest. This was her city. She would show it to him.
She turned and must have been smiling, because he looked startled and then smiled himself, and said, "Where you will, my lady."
She looked at him, and he gave her a little half-bow, and indicated that he would follow her lead.
So she led him to the market and bade him try urasal-fruit, which he cut from its thick rind with his belt-knife and tasted with trepidation that turned to surprised delight. They traveled from there to the stabler's quarters, and discussed the breeds of chocobo popular in Dalmasca as compared with those popular in Nabradia. She brought him to the Silent Temple, which had been built many times always upon the ruin of its predecessor, so that it was said that it dated to well before the founding of Rabanastre. She breathed it in, took it in: saw it new through his eyes, and showed it to him again, as she knew it.
When they returned to the palace, her feet were sure on the stairs, leading them both up to the balcony where they could have, for a few moments, some semblance of privacy.
"Your city is indeed a wonder," he said.
"The country is a wonder," she said staunchly, gazing out over the buildings, toward the desert. "If a bit wild."
"It does me honor," Rasler said, looking at her. "My lady Ashelia..."
"Ashe," she said.
"My lady Ashe. Neither of us chose this, and yet I am not displeased of it," he said. She looked up suddenly, and though his face was a mask of serenity, a diplomatic stance, she thought she could see some flicker.
"Nor am I," she said, and put her gloved hand in his, and turned her face toward the city again, where fireworks exploded over the towers and turned the streets colors with their lights.