Categories > Games > Final Fantasy XII > Claret Sky
6. That which regrets
Balthier/Vaan – post-canon
Disclaimer still applies.
Backstory. Plot progression. What have you.
--
The sun stone's glow casts Dalan's features into sharp relief when he smiles. He cups it in his weathered hands, and Balthier can see his skin shade red as light filters through his thin fingers.
There is a soft smile on Vaan's lips, and Balthier cannot help but watch.
"Vaan..." Dalan says. "I hoped that I would see you again."
"I'm sorry I haven't visited in so long."
"But where have you vanished to these several long years, m'boy?"
Vaan's smile freezes and cracks. His eyes flick over, and Balthier's throat clenches at what he sees. It is gone just as suddenly, shuttered behind a blank wall, and Vaan raises a hand to rub at his nape. His back is stiff as a Shield Wyrm's scale.
Balthier watches Vaan's mouth open and shut soundlessly for a moment, and he speaks quickly.
"My utmost apologies, Dalan," he says, and he fights back the grimace at the sound of his voice. "It seems I and my illustrious partner have corrupted poor Vaan to the life of the sky pirate. The vagabond who knows no home, if you will."
Fran's ear twitches, and Balthier meets her eye. Ah, it is a hint of amusement that he sees there. Better that than disapproval.
"Forgot the landbound, have you?" Dalan says to Vaan, but there is something quiet under the jovial tones.
Vaan stares.
"And the children? Kytes and Filo? They too left to seek their fortune in the skies, I remember."
Balthier prepares another lie, wrapping his fingers tight, but Vaan shakes his head sharply.
"It's alright," Vaan says. His voice is hoarse and forced. "I wanted to tell Dalan, anyway."
Balthier pauses, and he closes his eyes and nods before leading the others away. He feels the stare boring between his shoulder blades as he leaves.
--
There is a festival in the streets of Lowtown that night, as Dalmascans celebrate the coming of the harvest as only the desert people can.
Balthier sits, the grit of sand sharp under his fingers, and he tilts his head back, breathing in the heady, sweet scent of smoke. The Dalmascans have tossed dried herbs into the blazing fire lit in the centre of Lowtown's congregation square, and he wonders what manner of leaves burn with crimson sparks and heavy scent. He thinks it may be a drug. His limbs feel weighted, but his core light, and Balthier sighs and savours the sensation.
There are dancers around the flames that leap as high as a man is tall. Balthier recalls the movements; he has never seen dancers graceful as the desert children, and he watches the swirl of air-light scarves and bare, sun-darkened feet.
Bright eyes, bright hair, and dusky skin whirl and pause in front of Balthier, and there are two children, a boy and a girl barely as tall as his hip, peering at him. They smile brightly, and they turn their eyes to Vaan, who sits several paces away. They must recognize his colouring as one of their own because they reach out and snatch his hands, tugging toward the fire.
Vaan shakes his head, pale hair flicking into his eyes, and Balthier watches the lingering trail of light imprinted in his eyes.
The boy pouts, and he turns his attention to Penelo, who smiles shyly and takes his hand.
The girl smiles even wider, and as Penelo passes by, being tugged by the small boy, she pulls at Vaan again.
Vaan turns pained eyes to Balthier for a moment, and he hides a smirk at the resignation he sees. Vaan stands and follows the girl.
The low thud of drums, the flickering of the fire, and the spins and leaps of the dancers mesmerize, and Balthier starts when a high voice sounds next to his ear.
"He looks better without the armour, kupo."
Montblanc stands next to Balthier, his arms crossed over his small chest, and he is nodding his head so that his pom-pom narrowly misses hitting Balthier's temple.
"Yes," Balthier says. "Lighter, I should think."
He watches the dancers for a moment longer. Vaan is taller than most of the others, yet he moves fluid as the flames, all languid twists and outflung hands. Balthier frowns, and he looks back at Montblanc. "You knew?"
"Do not underestimate the information network of Clan Centurio, kupo!"
"And yet you never told me when I agreed to seek hunts for you?"
"You didn't ask."
Balthier rolls his eyes.
Vaan glances toward him, skin flushed from the heat of the fire and the exertion.
--
Balthier can see the twisted hull of the fallen Bahamut, Sky Fortress, from where he stands.
The metal glitters under the sun, red with rust over most the panelling. It shines like dried blood.
"What of the nethicite?" Ashe asks, an impatient tinge to her voice.
"What of it?" Balthier turns and leans against the window sill. He examines his hands idly, and he notes a chip in a nail.
"If we are to war with Archades, perhaps it will provide the firepower that we need. You were arrested for its theft, were you not?"
Balthier looks long and hard at Ashe, and she flushes.
"Do you never learn, my Queen?" he says dryly. "In this struggle between men, we cannot rely on the whimsy of self-styled gods."
"What will we do, then?" Penelo asks. She grimaces, glancing at Vaan, who stands silent, eyes trained upon the cracks between the tiles of the floor. The perfect soldier, awaiting its turnkey. "The direct approach? Storm the palace, kill the Council?"
Balthier wrinkles his nose. "I should hope we possess somewhat more subtlety than that, but that would be the general idea. Have you not heard that the simplest plan is often the most effective as well?"
"So we fly for Archades, then," Larsa says quietly.
"Yes, let's."
Ashe scowls. "I remain curious as to what happened to the stolen nethicite," she says archly. "Do you keep it for yourself?"
"And style myself a hypocrite?"
"So you have sold it?"
Balthier sighs, brushing the wrinkles loose from his sleeves, suddenly undesirous of meeting Ashe's eye. "No," he says shortly. "I returned it to its rightful owner. She is the daughter of a researcher whom I met when he worked with Cid at Draklor, as he was part of the original team responsible for the development of manufacted nethicite. The nethicite in question was made for the woman as a gift, but it was seized by the Archadian Empire when war first threatened. Upon his death, he informed his daughter that he wished her to destroy the stone." Balthier flexes his hands. "His greatest mistake, he supposedly called it. The woman then posted a bill on the hunts' board asking for its retrieval, and I recognized the name."
He looks up now, and he sees Fran's narrowed eyes, but he affects nonchalance, and she holds her tongue. The mix of amusement and surprise in Ashe's gaze makes his skin itch. "Balthier the Just," she says, pressing her lips together as if battling a smile.
"Your comments lack an appreciative audience, Lady Ashe," Balthier retorts, and he ignores Penelo's chuckle. "In any case, the nethicite is likely long-gone." He pauses, tapping a be-ringed finger over his arm. "A most peculiar woman," he muses. "She collects Mandragora stalks, and insisted on showing me the curative properties of her prized set."
There is a thud, and Balthier looks up. Vaan has slipped from where he leans against the wall, and his elbow has slammed into the stone behind him. His eyes are flitting restlessly as he rights himself, bracing a hand against the wall.
"This woman," Vaan says, his voice a strangled reed, "does she live in the small red house next to the armour shop in Bhujerba?"
"Yes," Balthier says quietly, after a while. He stares at Vaan, at the shakes in his shoulders and the clench of his hands. "What did you do?"
Vaan's jaw ripples until it is white under the strain.
"Vaan, what did you do?"
"They found out about her. I don't know how. I brought her to Archades. She stood trial the day before your escape, and after that..." Vaan looks up, eyes hard and black. "She was executed."
--
TBC
Balthier/Vaan – post-canon
Disclaimer still applies.
Backstory. Plot progression. What have you.
--
The sun stone's glow casts Dalan's features into sharp relief when he smiles. He cups it in his weathered hands, and Balthier can see his skin shade red as light filters through his thin fingers.
There is a soft smile on Vaan's lips, and Balthier cannot help but watch.
"Vaan..." Dalan says. "I hoped that I would see you again."
"I'm sorry I haven't visited in so long."
"But where have you vanished to these several long years, m'boy?"
Vaan's smile freezes and cracks. His eyes flick over, and Balthier's throat clenches at what he sees. It is gone just as suddenly, shuttered behind a blank wall, and Vaan raises a hand to rub at his nape. His back is stiff as a Shield Wyrm's scale.
Balthier watches Vaan's mouth open and shut soundlessly for a moment, and he speaks quickly.
"My utmost apologies, Dalan," he says, and he fights back the grimace at the sound of his voice. "It seems I and my illustrious partner have corrupted poor Vaan to the life of the sky pirate. The vagabond who knows no home, if you will."
Fran's ear twitches, and Balthier meets her eye. Ah, it is a hint of amusement that he sees there. Better that than disapproval.
"Forgot the landbound, have you?" Dalan says to Vaan, but there is something quiet under the jovial tones.
Vaan stares.
"And the children? Kytes and Filo? They too left to seek their fortune in the skies, I remember."
Balthier prepares another lie, wrapping his fingers tight, but Vaan shakes his head sharply.
"It's alright," Vaan says. His voice is hoarse and forced. "I wanted to tell Dalan, anyway."
Balthier pauses, and he closes his eyes and nods before leading the others away. He feels the stare boring between his shoulder blades as he leaves.
--
There is a festival in the streets of Lowtown that night, as Dalmascans celebrate the coming of the harvest as only the desert people can.
Balthier sits, the grit of sand sharp under his fingers, and he tilts his head back, breathing in the heady, sweet scent of smoke. The Dalmascans have tossed dried herbs into the blazing fire lit in the centre of Lowtown's congregation square, and he wonders what manner of leaves burn with crimson sparks and heavy scent. He thinks it may be a drug. His limbs feel weighted, but his core light, and Balthier sighs and savours the sensation.
There are dancers around the flames that leap as high as a man is tall. Balthier recalls the movements; he has never seen dancers graceful as the desert children, and he watches the swirl of air-light scarves and bare, sun-darkened feet.
Bright eyes, bright hair, and dusky skin whirl and pause in front of Balthier, and there are two children, a boy and a girl barely as tall as his hip, peering at him. They smile brightly, and they turn their eyes to Vaan, who sits several paces away. They must recognize his colouring as one of their own because they reach out and snatch his hands, tugging toward the fire.
Vaan shakes his head, pale hair flicking into his eyes, and Balthier watches the lingering trail of light imprinted in his eyes.
The boy pouts, and he turns his attention to Penelo, who smiles shyly and takes his hand.
The girl smiles even wider, and as Penelo passes by, being tugged by the small boy, she pulls at Vaan again.
Vaan turns pained eyes to Balthier for a moment, and he hides a smirk at the resignation he sees. Vaan stands and follows the girl.
The low thud of drums, the flickering of the fire, and the spins and leaps of the dancers mesmerize, and Balthier starts when a high voice sounds next to his ear.
"He looks better without the armour, kupo."
Montblanc stands next to Balthier, his arms crossed over his small chest, and he is nodding his head so that his pom-pom narrowly misses hitting Balthier's temple.
"Yes," Balthier says. "Lighter, I should think."
He watches the dancers for a moment longer. Vaan is taller than most of the others, yet he moves fluid as the flames, all languid twists and outflung hands. Balthier frowns, and he looks back at Montblanc. "You knew?"
"Do not underestimate the information network of Clan Centurio, kupo!"
"And yet you never told me when I agreed to seek hunts for you?"
"You didn't ask."
Balthier rolls his eyes.
Vaan glances toward him, skin flushed from the heat of the fire and the exertion.
--
Balthier can see the twisted hull of the fallen Bahamut, Sky Fortress, from where he stands.
The metal glitters under the sun, red with rust over most the panelling. It shines like dried blood.
"What of the nethicite?" Ashe asks, an impatient tinge to her voice.
"What of it?" Balthier turns and leans against the window sill. He examines his hands idly, and he notes a chip in a nail.
"If we are to war with Archades, perhaps it will provide the firepower that we need. You were arrested for its theft, were you not?"
Balthier looks long and hard at Ashe, and she flushes.
"Do you never learn, my Queen?" he says dryly. "In this struggle between men, we cannot rely on the whimsy of self-styled gods."
"What will we do, then?" Penelo asks. She grimaces, glancing at Vaan, who stands silent, eyes trained upon the cracks between the tiles of the floor. The perfect soldier, awaiting its turnkey. "The direct approach? Storm the palace, kill the Council?"
Balthier wrinkles his nose. "I should hope we possess somewhat more subtlety than that, but that would be the general idea. Have you not heard that the simplest plan is often the most effective as well?"
"So we fly for Archades, then," Larsa says quietly.
"Yes, let's."
Ashe scowls. "I remain curious as to what happened to the stolen nethicite," she says archly. "Do you keep it for yourself?"
"And style myself a hypocrite?"
"So you have sold it?"
Balthier sighs, brushing the wrinkles loose from his sleeves, suddenly undesirous of meeting Ashe's eye. "No," he says shortly. "I returned it to its rightful owner. She is the daughter of a researcher whom I met when he worked with Cid at Draklor, as he was part of the original team responsible for the development of manufacted nethicite. The nethicite in question was made for the woman as a gift, but it was seized by the Archadian Empire when war first threatened. Upon his death, he informed his daughter that he wished her to destroy the stone." Balthier flexes his hands. "His greatest mistake, he supposedly called it. The woman then posted a bill on the hunts' board asking for its retrieval, and I recognized the name."
He looks up now, and he sees Fran's narrowed eyes, but he affects nonchalance, and she holds her tongue. The mix of amusement and surprise in Ashe's gaze makes his skin itch. "Balthier the Just," she says, pressing her lips together as if battling a smile.
"Your comments lack an appreciative audience, Lady Ashe," Balthier retorts, and he ignores Penelo's chuckle. "In any case, the nethicite is likely long-gone." He pauses, tapping a be-ringed finger over his arm. "A most peculiar woman," he muses. "She collects Mandragora stalks, and insisted on showing me the curative properties of her prized set."
There is a thud, and Balthier looks up. Vaan has slipped from where he leans against the wall, and his elbow has slammed into the stone behind him. His eyes are flitting restlessly as he rights himself, bracing a hand against the wall.
"This woman," Vaan says, his voice a strangled reed, "does she live in the small red house next to the armour shop in Bhujerba?"
"Yes," Balthier says quietly, after a while. He stares at Vaan, at the shakes in his shoulders and the clench of his hands. "What did you do?"
Vaan's jaw ripples until it is white under the strain.
"Vaan, what did you do?"
"They found out about her. I don't know how. I brought her to Archades. She stood trial the day before your escape, and after that..." Vaan looks up, eyes hard and black. "She was executed."
--
TBC
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