To Safety - Chapter 3
Title: To Safety - Chapter 3
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII
Characters: Basch/Ashe
Rating: T
Summary: Ashe and Basch flee Rabanastre and find a place to settle - she intent on biding her time, he intent on helping her heal.
The second night will be better, she hopes.
Basch, in his desperation to ensure her safety and comfort, has found them a cave tonight, rather than the open forest floor and a shifty tent as they’d endured the eve before.
Two days on the move - two days in hiding away from her warm bed and she is already prepared to scream.
She watches from the wall, perched atop one blanket and wrapped in another, as he tries and fails to start a fire. Everything here is damp from the rains and the world is green and smells of earth and mold.
Ashe is, quite frankly, over it.
“How long will it be until we reach Mt. Bur Omisace?”
“A week, at least,” he tells her for the third time. He is patient - she is mourning not only for a father and a husband, but for a nation and a way of life.
She says nothing in response - makes no move when Basch gives a small cry of triumph when the timber and dry forest debris ignite and spread to fill the cave with a warm glow. He turns and looks at her with a grin, letting their momentary stroke of luck warm him. He tries to let himself enjoy it until he sees her face - her blank stare at some point over his shoulder and the way she toys with the two rings settled on her left hand.
“I never asked you why you moved the ring I gave you,” he says. It has been their secret for a year - the ring she once wore on her right hand. It was from him, a parting gift given on her sixteenth birthday when he was separated from her, no longer her guard. It is settled now beside her wedding ring and the sight brings him back to reality.
She is seventeen and a widow and orphan.
“The last time I saw Rasler was on the palace steps,” she says. Her voice seems to reach him from some far off place. “He did not say goodbye to me, but you did. That was when I realized I needed you to come back more than I needed him.”
Basch cringes, opening his mouth to speak until she continues. “He was a good man, wasn’t he?”
“I believe he was,” Basch says, though he struggles with his jealousy even after Rasler’s demise. “He was a fair royal, and he loved you and Dalmasca.”
Though he separated the two, Basch thinks bitterly. He did not understand as I do that to love her is to love Dalmasca. They are one and the same.
“Did I have unrealistic expectations for our marriage? For the way he would treat me?”
Basch sighs and moves over to her, sitting on the stone floor beside her rather than take her space on the blanket. Already he can feel the warmth from the fire, and soon it will be hot enough to cook the rabbit he caught for dinner.
“Rasler, like you, was brought up given all he ever wanted.”
She cannot argue with the man who so often gave her everything she ever wanted. She looks up to him, feeling guilty that she was given so much in her life - so much that she was not grateful for and so much that she did not deserve - when others, like Basch, had purer, more selfless hearts and were given so little.
He should be resting comfortably somewhere, not huddled with her in a cave, charged with her safety.
He had no reason to be there, but she was so grateful he was.
“He was simply spoiled?”
“And accustomed to indulging his every whim in every sphere outside of politics. I could be wrong, but that is how I imagine it.”
Ashe looks out into the forest, trying to blink back her tears. She knows she will cry again, and that Basch will do as he always does - he will hold her tight, rock her as if she were a child, and console her in ways only he knows - but she does not wish to go there yet, for his sake. She wants to give him more time.
“That is how I would imagine it too. I would not remember him as anything else.”
“You needn’t dwell on it, princess.”
The gentle tickling of Basch’s hand moving down her arm makes her jump. As the shock of all that has happened settles in, she has become more sensitive - more timid. She looks at him apologetically. It seems as though she can do nothing to spare him the fallout of her grief.
Basch retracts his hand. He’d hoped after they’d kissed that things would remain the same at the very least - that he would still be able to hold her and keep her warm as he always has, but it is clear that she is dwelling on everything, and it is killing her tenacity and boldness.
He only hopes that this despair is temporary, and that he can somehow be of some assistance to her.
“Shall I make you a meal?” He offers, knowing she will decline - knowing her appetite has died with her fire.
“No,” she whispers, leaning back into the cave wall and struggling to find comfort, her back nearly turned to him. “I am not hungry. You should eat, though.”
The color is gone from her cheeks, and he wonders how long she will maintain her strength if she does not eat. The tactic is underhanded, but he uses it anyway. “I will not eat unless you do.”
“But I am not hungry.”
“Then I will not eat.”
She looks over her shoulder at him, her eyes narrowed. “I order you to eat.”
Basch smirks at her. He was prepared for this, though perhaps not in this context. “I respectfully decline, your majesty.”
“You cannot decline. I have ordered you.”
“Yes, but I can refuse if it is to your benefit, and if I were to cook the meat now, it would be dry by the time you decided to eat. Thefore I -“
“Oh, cook the damn rabbit, Basch.”
Ashe looks up at Mt. Bur Omisace with tired eyes as they ride away. Basch had hoped to find safety there, but there was only despair and unhappiness for those around them.
“We could stay,” she’d told him, “find a place to live and try to get by until we have a plan. Until the sand has settled.”
“Nay.” Basch shook his head. “I realize now the state of this place. This is a place for those who have lost hope, and we’ve still some left. We will go north. There is a small village there. It is close enough that we could get news from the mountain, but far enough that there would be some peace for you.”
There will be no peace for her while she wonders whether or not her father rests in the cathedral - no peace for her while she wonders why this happened, and whether or not her people were okay.
She can imagine them, forced under Archadian rule, living under Imperial swords. The mere thought, vague as it may be, is enough to bring her to tears.
“They are suffering,” she says as Basch falls back to ride beside her. The chocobos are weary, and though they have just set out, their heads are hung and their small black eyes are weary.
“It is a home for refugees.”
“I mean in Dalmasca,” she tells him. She draws his coat tighter around her shoulders - it is the one garment type she forgot - and breathes in his scent from the collar. It is dusted with the cologne he wears, and from somewhere underneath all her fears, desperation and exhaustion emerges a question: will he still smell so good if he does not have access to the same after shave?
“I doubt the Archadians would hurt them.”
“They suffer because their homeland has been taken.”
“It is a feeling I know. They will survive until the hour of your return.”
“The hour of my return is already far too late.”
They find the village - a place called Barius - with ease. Ashe is nearly asleep when they reach it, and Basch helps her down from her chocobo, whispering that she will be in bed soon, and guides her up the stairs, all but carrying her. He lays her in the bed and tucks her in - knowing the sheets are not to her standards, but it is the best he can do - and takes his place in a poorly stuffed armchair at her side.
He dozes a bit through the night, and while his eyes are closed and deep sleep tries to take him, Ashe wakes for a moment. She stares at him through the darkness - sees the way his eyes move beneath their lids and watches how his hands twitch as he tries to stay closer to the surface - and smiles in sadness.
He should not be here, not in this place where they are unsafe and unstable, where he will be charged not only with her safety but with her care, as she cannot care for herself.
She never learned - never fathomed she would have to.
She takes his hand from the arm of the chair and holds it tight and watches as he calms, his face fading into contentment. It gives her a bit of peace, that she can give the man who would give her everything just a bit of comfort, even if he will not remember it.
Author’s Note: This chapter is super choppy (and unfocused), but I think this whole fanfic might be, since it’s just bits and pieces of conjecture. At least I’m enjoying writing it, right? I hope someone is enjoying reading it, because that just makes it better.
I wish I could write more. I was really enjoying doing it all the time but then BAM! - classes again, and with classes come running into people I would much rather never see again - it’s been one of those days already.
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII
Characters: Basch/Ashe
Rating: T
Summary: Ashe and Basch flee Rabanastre and find a place to settle - she intent on biding her time, he intent on helping her heal.
The second night will be better, she hopes.
Basch, in his desperation to ensure her safety and comfort, has found them a cave tonight, rather than the open forest floor and a shifty tent as they’d endured the eve before.
Two days on the move - two days in hiding away from her warm bed and she is already prepared to scream.
She watches from the wall, perched atop one blanket and wrapped in another, as he tries and fails to start a fire. Everything here is damp from the rains and the world is green and smells of earth and mold.
Ashe is, quite frankly, over it.
“How long will it be until we reach Mt. Bur Omisace?”
“A week, at least,” he tells her for the third time. He is patient - she is mourning not only for a father and a husband, but for a nation and a way of life.
She says nothing in response - makes no move when Basch gives a small cry of triumph when the timber and dry forest debris ignite and spread to fill the cave with a warm glow. He turns and looks at her with a grin, letting their momentary stroke of luck warm him. He tries to let himself enjoy it until he sees her face - her blank stare at some point over his shoulder and the way she toys with the two rings settled on her left hand.
“I never asked you why you moved the ring I gave you,” he says. It has been their secret for a year - the ring she once wore on her right hand. It was from him, a parting gift given on her sixteenth birthday when he was separated from her, no longer her guard. It is settled now beside her wedding ring and the sight brings him back to reality.
She is seventeen and a widow and orphan.
“The last time I saw Rasler was on the palace steps,” she says. Her voice seems to reach him from some far off place. “He did not say goodbye to me, but you did. That was when I realized I needed you to come back more than I needed him.”
Basch cringes, opening his mouth to speak until she continues. “He was a good man, wasn’t he?”
“I believe he was,” Basch says, though he struggles with his jealousy even after Rasler’s demise. “He was a fair royal, and he loved you and Dalmasca.”
Though he separated the two, Basch thinks bitterly. He did not understand as I do that to love her is to love Dalmasca. They are one and the same.
“Did I have unrealistic expectations for our marriage? For the way he would treat me?”
Basch sighs and moves over to her, sitting on the stone floor beside her rather than take her space on the blanket. Already he can feel the warmth from the fire, and soon it will be hot enough to cook the rabbit he caught for dinner.
“Rasler, like you, was brought up given all he ever wanted.”
She cannot argue with the man who so often gave her everything she ever wanted. She looks up to him, feeling guilty that she was given so much in her life - so much that she was not grateful for and so much that she did not deserve - when others, like Basch, had purer, more selfless hearts and were given so little.
He should be resting comfortably somewhere, not huddled with her in a cave, charged with her safety.
He had no reason to be there, but she was so grateful he was.
“He was simply spoiled?”
“And accustomed to indulging his every whim in every sphere outside of politics. I could be wrong, but that is how I imagine it.”
Ashe looks out into the forest, trying to blink back her tears. She knows she will cry again, and that Basch will do as he always does - he will hold her tight, rock her as if she were a child, and console her in ways only he knows - but she does not wish to go there yet, for his sake. She wants to give him more time.
“That is how I would imagine it too. I would not remember him as anything else.”
“You needn’t dwell on it, princess.”
The gentle tickling of Basch’s hand moving down her arm makes her jump. As the shock of all that has happened settles in, she has become more sensitive - more timid. She looks at him apologetically. It seems as though she can do nothing to spare him the fallout of her grief.
Basch retracts his hand. He’d hoped after they’d kissed that things would remain the same at the very least - that he would still be able to hold her and keep her warm as he always has, but it is clear that she is dwelling on everything, and it is killing her tenacity and boldness.
He only hopes that this despair is temporary, and that he can somehow be of some assistance to her.
“Shall I make you a meal?” He offers, knowing she will decline - knowing her appetite has died with her fire.
“No,” she whispers, leaning back into the cave wall and struggling to find comfort, her back nearly turned to him. “I am not hungry. You should eat, though.”
The color is gone from her cheeks, and he wonders how long she will maintain her strength if she does not eat. The tactic is underhanded, but he uses it anyway. “I will not eat unless you do.”
“But I am not hungry.”
“Then I will not eat.”
She looks over her shoulder at him, her eyes narrowed. “I order you to eat.”
Basch smirks at her. He was prepared for this, though perhaps not in this context. “I respectfully decline, your majesty.”
“You cannot decline. I have ordered you.”
“Yes, but I can refuse if it is to your benefit, and if I were to cook the meat now, it would be dry by the time you decided to eat. Thefore I -“
“Oh, cook the damn rabbit, Basch.”
Ashe looks up at Mt. Bur Omisace with tired eyes as they ride away. Basch had hoped to find safety there, but there was only despair and unhappiness for those around them.
“We could stay,” she’d told him, “find a place to live and try to get by until we have a plan. Until the sand has settled.”
“Nay.” Basch shook his head. “I realize now the state of this place. This is a place for those who have lost hope, and we’ve still some left. We will go north. There is a small village there. It is close enough that we could get news from the mountain, but far enough that there would be some peace for you.”
There will be no peace for her while she wonders whether or not her father rests in the cathedral - no peace for her while she wonders why this happened, and whether or not her people were okay.
She can imagine them, forced under Archadian rule, living under Imperial swords. The mere thought, vague as it may be, is enough to bring her to tears.
“They are suffering,” she says as Basch falls back to ride beside her. The chocobos are weary, and though they have just set out, their heads are hung and their small black eyes are weary.
“It is a home for refugees.”
“I mean in Dalmasca,” she tells him. She draws his coat tighter around her shoulders - it is the one garment type she forgot - and breathes in his scent from the collar. It is dusted with the cologne he wears, and from somewhere underneath all her fears, desperation and exhaustion emerges a question: will he still smell so good if he does not have access to the same after shave?
“I doubt the Archadians would hurt them.”
“They suffer because their homeland has been taken.”
“It is a feeling I know. They will survive until the hour of your return.”
“The hour of my return is already far too late.”
They find the village - a place called Barius - with ease. Ashe is nearly asleep when they reach it, and Basch helps her down from her chocobo, whispering that she will be in bed soon, and guides her up the stairs, all but carrying her. He lays her in the bed and tucks her in - knowing the sheets are not to her standards, but it is the best he can do - and takes his place in a poorly stuffed armchair at her side.
He dozes a bit through the night, and while his eyes are closed and deep sleep tries to take him, Ashe wakes for a moment. She stares at him through the darkness - sees the way his eyes move beneath their lids and watches how his hands twitch as he tries to stay closer to the surface - and smiles in sadness.
He should not be here, not in this place where they are unsafe and unstable, where he will be charged not only with her safety but with her care, as she cannot care for herself.
She never learned - never fathomed she would have to.
She takes his hand from the arm of the chair and holds it tight and watches as he calms, his face fading into contentment. It gives her a bit of peace, that she can give the man who would give her everything just a bit of comfort, even if he will not remember it.
Author’s Note: This chapter is super choppy (and unfocused), but I think this whole fanfic might be, since it’s just bits and pieces of conjecture. At least I’m enjoying writing it, right? I hope someone is enjoying reading it, because that just makes it better.
I wish I could write more. I was really enjoying doing it all the time but then BAM! - classes again, and with classes come running into people I would much rather never see again - it’s been one of those days already.