aorin | FFXII Fic: Courtly Love (Prologue) (Reply)

And so, with some kind encouragement from both

diorelli, I decided to post this fic on my LJ for record purpose. Also, to pressurize myself to continue this fic and stop myself from dragging my feet any further than I already have. Let's see if I can finish this fic by April Fool next year. ~~Cause I certainly have a surprise for those who bear with me to the end.~~

Or maybe I'm just fooling myself... XP

Title: Prologue
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII
Series: Courtly Love
Characters/Pairings: Ashe, Basch
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

Prologue

Never in her mind would she have thought the discussion that day would lead to the series of event which followed; as some would say fate works in mysterious ways.

Promenading down the queen’s path for five years, the continuous routine of morning audience with her ministers had become almost like a second nature to her. Therefore, customarily - and out of respect - Ashe delivered her usual ending speech of the daily morning council with firm voice of authority, “And thus I would like to adjourn our audience. I bid you all good day.” She made a motion to stand up but stopped short when she heard someone cleared their throat loudly on her right.

“Your majesty, before we conclude this assembly, I would like to present you with an important proposal before the council,” said the elderly minister on her right, halting her actions. “This matter is need of dire attention,” he added gravely, stroking his long white beard as if to emphasize his point.

Against her better judgment and ignoring the dangerous sirens blaring through her head, she nodded.

“You may proceed,” said Ashe - wondering if the matter is in such a state of urgency. If so, then why didn’t he address it earlier - sinking back into her chair and noting the relieved expression which flood through the minister’s face.

Was that an enthusiastic twinkle in his eyes?

The minister heaved out a suppressed sigh and took out a bounded leather satchel from under the table. Slowly, he unbinds it and drew out a stack of papers which he distributed among the other ministers. Picking up the stray document before her, Ashe proceeded to browse through the contents of the document when the elderly minister announced his purpose.

“This matter concerns the lack of an heir to the Dalmasca throne,” said the elderly minister.

Ashe hands fell back unceremoniously to the table, her bracelets made contact with the table and it created a thud louder than she expected. She was certain her ministers heard it, but if they did, they chose to deliberately ignore it. Yes, trust her advisors to work behind her back regarding this matter. No wonder he delayed the proposal until the end of the conference, probably to catch her unguarded and unprepared.

“I understand my obligation to produce an heir but I do not see the urgency of it. There are much more pressing matters which requires my immediate attention,” she answered steadfastly, hoping to end the discussion of marriage.

“On the contrary, this matter should not be treated lightly,” the elderly minister pressed on solemnly. “Your majesty is the only surviving member of the Dalmasca royal family. Lord forbids if anything terrible were to befall you, Dalmasca would lose its only monarch and she would fall to disarray. In my opinion, we have delayed this matter too long.”

Although the comment wasn’t supposed to sting, Ashe couldn’t help but feel a little hurt about it. She lost her beloved father to the war, and her eight brothers even before that which leaves her to be the only surviving member of the B’nargin family. Ashe couldn’t deny that the minister’s words did ring true. Sighing inwardly, she let the old minister resume his speech.

“As I was saying, monarchs can’t rule their country without a proper consort by their side. It has been five years since Dalmasca regained its independence from the hands of Archadia, and the kingdom has been restored to its former glory. I find this hour to be the most appropriate time for us to address this subject. Of course, before we even conceive to breach the subject of producing an heir, we should first conjure up a proper husband for our queen. Mind you all, the king-consort that we chose requires certain qualities. The possible candidates should have some form of political standing in his country and would be willing to aid our queen without vying for the Dalmasca throne,” he paused, his old eyes scanning around the table for response from other ministers.

“Who are our possible prospects?” enquired browned-haired minister, a little too eager in Ashe’s opinion.

“Well, currently, we have various members of the Margrace family of Rozarria but namely Lord Al-Cid Margrace who have been a supportive hand and helpful aid these years. If our queen were to marry a member of the ruling family of Rozarria, it will cement the friendship between Dalmasca and Rozarria. No doubt, Dalmasca would ultimately benefit from this union,” said the elderly minister.

“A proper candidate, I must say. He has the charisma and wits to be king-consort and if his enthusiasm to aid our queen these past few years is any indication, I’d say he’s quite smitten with our queen,” said a bald minister teasingly. Ashe felt heat rise to her alabaster cheek, staining it pink.

“But he is renowned for his reputation of being a philanderer,” countered a blue Bangaa minister. “Would a man with such reputation be willing to forfeit his… habits?”

“I am sure he will change after he marries our queen,” replied the bald minister, as he grinned suggestively.

“What about Emperor Larsa of Archadia?” another minister suggested. What?

“Nay, he is the emperor of the Archadia Empire. Personally, I do not think that the people will respond well to having an Archadian as our king-consort,” protested a dark-haired female minister.

“Aye, but we must also remember about their retribution. Thanks to their help, Dalmasca has been able to prosper tremendously the past few years. Archadia has been graciously imparting us with their technological expertise as a sign of goodwill and we can’t deny that it has been most cordial of them to do so. People would be glad to put the past behind us and no doubt having an Archadian emperor at our queen side would further deepen the rapport between our two countries,” explained the elderly minister patiently.

“But he is much too young,” said the Viera minister beside him, counting her long fingers. “If I am not mistaken, he’s seven years junior to our queen.”

“The current Head of Draklor Laboratory?” Ashe shuddered involuntarily. Even if the head of Draklor Laboratory has been long replaced, she couldn’t help conjuring up the image of Dr. Cid, a man whose crazy obsession with nethicite has caused her much grief during her attempt to restore Dalmasca.

“I’ve heard that he’s a benevolent man who has turned the research of Draklor Laboratory from weapons and now focuses on the cultivating the manufactured nethicite into possible power source for other purposes,” answered a fair-headed minister.

“Such a person would definitely benefit Dalmasca,” said the brown Bangaa minister, nodding in agreement.

“What about the Consul of Landis?” a young minister enquired suddenly. The elderly minister face darkens instantaneously at the mention of the name.

“Nay, I know that man. Damon Schlangekopf,” the elderly minister disagreed, as he pronounces each syllable of the name spitefully. “He sold his own country to Archadia twenty-years ago, in exchange for the position to rule the lands,” he added with venomous contempt. “I would not have such a man ruling Dalmasca beside our queen. If you haven’t noticed, he’s not in our list.”

The bickering between the ministers drone on with the pendulum of questions and answers traveling back and forth across the table, accompanied by names of familiar and not-so-familiar names. If Ashe didn’t know better, she would have believed that she had just invited a host of matchmakers to join her in this merry – on the minister’s part – morning audience. Ashe was contemplating on how to break up the debate when a younger minister beat her to it by proposing a weird notion. Well, weird within the context of understanding of her most trusted ministers.

“How about the Judge Magisters of Archadia?” Ashe felt a hitch in her breath but brushed it off as the balmy Dalmascan heat affecting her. Her minister’s features were far more interesting as they vary from pure horrification to muted shock.

“Of course not! Are you out of your mind?” exclaimed the brown-haired minister sharply. “Do you recall how much grief they have caused us during their invasion?”

“But, back then they were only working under the orders of the emperor. Besides, we should put the past behind our back,” he defended swiftly.

“Once a murderer, always a murderer. They are unfeeling loyal hounds of the empire,” snapped the brown-haired minister. Flinching at the remark, Ashe felt an irrational surge of anger flowing through her veins.

“They are cold-blooded murderers who almost destroyed Dalmasca!” the bald minister virtually roared.

“Enough!” Ashe commanded with a tone of finality which indicates the end of the discussion. Her sudden outburst silenced her ministers instantly; none dared to say a word, or even attempted to breathe.

Aware of the shocked faces of the ministers, she quickly composed herself and reasoned further. “Might I remind you all once again that no matter which country we chose to ally ourselves with, it might spark resentment from other countries. We may currently be on pleasant terms with Archadia and Rozarria but we are treading dangerously on a thin line which may sever at the slightest touch. And until we can find a remedy for this, I suggest we put this whole matter on hold.”

The situation was not as severe as it sounded; it was just terrible because Ashe made it sounded worse than it actually was. In the past few years, she has done every thing possible to decline, avoid, and evade all forms of marriage proposals contrived by her faithful ministers. She would personally curb every possibility and kill the subject before it even has the opportunity to rise.

“Your majesty,” one of the ministers enquired carefully, drawing her out of her reverie.

“Maybe we could continue our discussion another day,” she continued as she wearily massaged her temples, her long slender fingers came in contact with the cold steel of the Dalmascan circlet on her forehead, instantly reminding her of her duty as a queen. She understood very well that she would have to acknowledge this issue eventually, but for now, she would prefer delay it for as long as possible.

She looked up to meet the face of the concerned ministers. As if sensing her distress, the ministers nodded to themselves and one by one, the ministers stood up, offered their respects to the distress queen and left the council hall quietly.

“As you wish, your majesty,” answered the elderly minister as he retrieved the proposal papers and proceeded to stack it up neatly. “Till then, I’ll keep these proposals safe from harm.” Ashe exhaled a sigh which she has been unwittingly holding.

“Or would your majesty like to review them in private?” he urged hopefully, edging the stack of papers to Ashe.

Ashe’s eyes twitched in response. You just don’t give up. Do you? Biting back the tart retort, Ashe settled with eyeing him sternly as she grabbed the confounding papers from his grasp. “Very well.”

The elderly minister gratefully presented her with low bow and left the hall as well.

Standing alone in the silent hall, Ashe stared resignedly at the cumbersome stack of papers in her hand which will determine her future. It felt heavy in her hand but whether it was due to weight of her paper or weight of her heart, she had no idea. Sighing to herself, she left the hall.

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Has it been that long since the war, time sure passes quickly when you are busy?

The mention of marriage proposals had accidentally prompted unbidden memories to reemerge into surface of her mind. Ashe longed to throw her hands up exasperatedly but that would be very un-queenly and her behaviour might scare her vassals senseless. Ashe believed that she could have handled hundred of Archadian soldiers, a feast of vicious fiends, a heretic Occuria, a war-crazy tyrant but she was frustrated that she could be perturbed by the mere idea of a marriage proposal.

Mirroring her marriage to Rasler years ago - a wise decision orchestrated by her father and his council to bridge both countries relationship through the marriage of their successors - her second marriage would be cultivated on the same basis which is to strengthen the country.

As a Dalmascan princess then, she had willingly given her consent and adhered to her father’s wishes, denying her own heart and placing duty above all. As a queen, she was burdened with even more obligations and responsibilities. She had realized years ago, as a Dalmascan princess, now queen, she would not have the privilege of marrying the one she loved; and that hurt very much.

Her dallying to disregard this subject is not without merit. During her first few years of reign, the well-being of Dalmasca has dominated all her time. Her country was like an ailing child when she came into power and it demanded her complete attention. Now, it had grown to be robust and sturdy once again. But some things can never return to the way it was, the empty hallways devoid of the laughter of her brothers and a certain knight.

Unaware of where she was heading, she found herself once again at the high terrace facing the northern hemisphere of Dalmasca, and the fallen Bahamut. Outside the palace constraints, she felt the cool Dalmascan summer wind graze her form and she shivered faintly.

If anyone had been there to see her, the view she presented from the high terrace is of legendary beauty. The five years has been kind to her; she has outgrown the childish features and it has been replaced by a regal presence and womanly demeanor. Ashe has always been beautiful – a stunning desert bloom as Al-Cid Margrace had graciously put it. Her ashy blonde streaks framed her delicate heart-shaped face which was adorned by her soft luminous crystal gray eyes. Her tall, graceful frame gowned with a white dress – made for comfort and convenience - which accentuate her slender and willowy figure. There is one error etched across her feature though, there seemed to be an ever-present loneliness and world-weary cloud hovering over her eyes, but instead of diminishing her beauty it only served to accentuate her loveliness. Even when she was forced to live in the most abject conditions during her hiding in the Rabanstre downtown, the harsh-lived two years have not managed to snatch away her beauty.

Ashe has grown accustomed to the habit of revisiting the terrace which gave the full view of the collapsed air fortress. Some had recognized the artifact as a symbol of Dalmasca’s freedom, while others viewed it the tyranny of the Archadia reign. To Ashe, it was something much more personal.

Steering her eyes away from the dark relic, she lowered her head and gazed down from the terrace, incidentally she moved forward to get a better view of the soldier’s barracks and its tiltyard, her eyes came into contact with a peculiar scene, and she couldn’t resist a smile.

Directly below the terrace lay the tiltyard where the Dalmascan soldiers practiced their skills diligently. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, apart from the fact that Captain Djojo, a lone moogle was barking orders loudly to the large amount of soldiers who are easily triple his height and width.

Captain Djojo marched between rows of soldiers while surveying their practice, his black pom-pom bobbing up and down behind him with every step taken. Clad in simple but custom-designed worn armour – with holes to his fit coal black bat wings - he marched steadily across the tiltyard with his arms crossed in front of him, resembling his former master.

Many have judged Captain Djojo harshly by his miniature appearance and belittle his warring skills but they were all sorely mistaken after the captain had put them in their place – often at the tip of a pointed sword. The moogle captain had been able to ascend to his current position not only because of his exceptional combat skills, but also due to his quick mind and even quicker feet which has gained him the reputation of ‘winged-feet’ among his fellow captains. Of course, Captain Djojo’s sincere and genial manners have earned him respect from both subordinates and comrades.

Unbeknownst to the younger soldiers, Captain Djojo has been personally tutored and trained by one of the most powerful and loyal Dalmasca knight that have ever graced the palace walls.

Born from a family of moogle minstrels with four other siblings, Djojo has been destined to journey down the path of a minstrel as well. But the young, and rather eccentric moogle had never favoured the idea of becoming a royal minstrel, instead he aspired to join the knight ranks and serve his country – a crazy notion, for there has never been a single moogle in the Dalmasca long history of knights. Back then, that did not deter the young ambitious moogle from fulfilling his dream. Struck by some quirky stroke of irony fate, Djojo has been hand-picked by the knight he idolizes who generously offered him a chance to serve as his squire.

Lifting her hand to her chin and leaning forward to the uneven parapets, she found the tiny captain demonstrating his skills to a juvenile Seeq soldier. He wielded his blade deftly, convoyed with agility and balance while explaining the proper manner of handling a sword. The young Seeq beside him nodded ardently, absorbing the instruction with undivided attention. Next, Djojo thrust his sword forward and flicked his wrist before planting another slice into the thin air, a stance which Ashe was only too familiar. Turning towards the Seeq, he gestured for the Seeq to mimic his steps as he flapped his bat wings to float upwards and patted the Seeq’s back warmly as if to encourage him.

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“Your majesty,” Ashe heard a voice call from behind her. Instantly, she twirled around to find a Viera attendant standing at the entrance of the terrace, Ashe felt slightly unnerved that she did not manage to sense the presence of her lady-in-waiting. Then again, Viera have always been associated with grace and stealth, it is no shame that she didn’t notice her approach, but Ashe still felt uncomfortable. I must be losing my touch to the blissful years of peace. She noticed the Viera was holding out a piece of rolled parchment, tied with a ribbon.

“A letter from Bhujerba,” said the Viera, her attendant must have noticed her puzzled expression.

Uncle Halim? The seal stamped on the parchment confirmed her thoughts. Ashe reached out to retrieve the letter from the Viera’s long hands and then subsequently dismissed her attendant. Without another word, the Viera bowed and left the queen alone, exiting the terrace as silently as she appeared.

Ashe moved away from the parapet, and on to the nearest chair under the shade of the palm trees. A gust of light wind breeze through, as though urging her to unravel the contents of the letter. She loosens the ribbon and unrolls the scroll of yellowish parchment, and slowly read through the contents of the letter.

A letter of goodwill from her uncle – enquiring about her health, current state of affairs and a subtle suggestion of her forthcoming visit to Bhujerba.

Ashe leaned back into her chair as she felt a light breeze caressing her cheek; she tilted her head to the side to find Djojo had resumed patrolling the vast tiltyard. Bhujerba, Ashe, Djojo and…. Ashe features rearranged to a woeful smile as she pieced the names together and it formed into a fond memory which she has kept safely locked up in her heart.

To be continued…