Final Fantasy XII 1. Ghost

**Author's Note: Okay, so this is silly. I'm writing this with the intention that it fit into **_**Ever At Your Service**_**, but not really. It's like a side piece… so if you're reading this it goes along with **_**Ever**_**, but it's not technically a part of it.**

**To ****Safety**

Ashe has always appreciated how Rabanastrans all seem to be in bed before midnight – or they all at least retreat to places off the main street – the street which carries her straight to Basch's loft on the outer edge of town. She walks there with purpose, sticking to the shadows and moving amongst them. She has done this before – tried to remain unseen – but she has enjoyed it before.

This time she finds no pleasure in shifting through Rabanastre like a ghost, because for once she feels like one.

She finds his building and carefully steps into the stairwell – there is no atrium, as Basch cannot afford such luxuries – and beings to climb and climb until her legs ache and she reaches the top, where his door sits, its hinges rusted and its locks unreliable.

Basch seems to care less and less for his safety and for himself as the weeks go on – it has been this way since her sixteenth birthday and has escalated since her wedding. There are times when her imagination gets away from her – most often when she is forced into her husband's arms – when she fears for him, and fears that she will lose the man she most loves to despair and unhappiness.

He did not say that he loves her – he never has, but she knows he cannot, and hopes that if he could, he would.

It is a thought that often comforts her, and as she knocks on the door, she hopes he still loves her enough to let her stay with him tonight, at least for a little while.

The door opens with a squeak, and she is gifted with the sigh of a shirtless, sleepy and disheveled looking Basch who wears only the long, loose shorts he often runs in.

"Ashe?" He is instantly awake, looking at her with concern as he comes to his senses. "What is wrong?"

"I…" She'd told herself she would be fine, that she could tell him because she can tell him anything, but as she looks at him there the words will not come. "Nothing is wrong. I am sorry to have woken you."

She turns to leave, but Basch grabs her wrist more firmly than he'd intended. She looks down at his large hand wrapped around her joint – sees the ring he'd given her on her finger – and chokes back her tears.

"You would not have come here if nothing was wrong," he says.

"Of course I wouldn't have," she whispers. "I know seeing me is not easy for you."

Was it only a month ago that she'd been married – a month ago that she'd told him she loved him, wishing he would give her at least the satisfaction of a similar declaration before she married another? Had it been so short a time?

It had certainly felt longer, at least to her.

"Ashe…" He releases her and steps back gesturing her inside. "Please, come in."

Ashe has come to his door before, but never has she gone inside the place he calls home. She is glad it is night and there is no light, for what she can see depresses her all the more.

He has one room, save for the door at the side that she knows must lead to a bathroom. There is no clutter, no mess – she would expect nothing else of a knight with such order and pride – but the furniture has seen better days – better centuries, possibly. It disheartens her and makes her tears come faster as she wraps her arms around her waist and bows her head.

Did they pay their men so poorly? Was her father so unfair?

Why had she never asked of his life – insisted she see his home when he'd spent so many hours standing idly in hers simply for her comfort?

_I am not only a terrible wife_, she thinks, digging her nails into the flesh of her sides to feel something more than the crushing weight of her circumstances, _I am a terrible friend. _

_ What have I done? What have I done to him? Disappointed him and broken his heart and offered not even financial compensation to give him a good home to come back to at the end of the day… a safe, warm place to be alone, if he must be alone._

_I do not deserve any good that comes to me… do not deserve to be happy. I deserve this pain, this discomfort._

Basch does not speak when she begins to cry. He cannot. He has seen her cry many times – far too many for his liking, but the sight of her standing in his home, disguised as she always is when she wishes to wander undetected, is heartbreaking. What has hurt her so, that she would come to him like this in such distress?

Is it not her husband who should comfort her – not her husband who should hold her?

It falls to him, and he does not mind. She is no burden. He steps toward her slowly, coming up behind her, and raises his hands to her arms, gently running his palms over her biceps to let her know he is there. He expects her to turn, to face him and let her troubles spill forth for him to catch and correct, but they do not, and it is then that he knows these are not simple issues she has come to him with, but problems she is not prepared to face herself.

She needs him, and though he wishes she did not, for it means she is in pain, it comforts him to know that he is still of some use to her.

He wraps his arms around her, crossing his arms about her shoulders and chest and holds her tight. When she presses her back into his chest he closes his eyes and rests his chin atop her head.

"Tell me what troubles you, princess," he says quietly, not wanting to break what little peace they may have created, "and I will do what I can to fix it."

"That's just it," she whispers, "just the problem. This is the first time I've had something you cannot fix – not that you should have had to fix my each and every problem before…"

"Nonsense," he whispers. "You are never a burden. What has troubled you, or is it the pressure?"

"It is… marriage. The coming war – and do not pretend it is not coming. I know that it is."

"I would not lie to you," he says, though he knows he would if it would keep her content for even a moment more. "Is Rasler not good to you? You seemed quite happy with him a few days ago."

"Seemed happy, yes," she whispers, giving him even more of her weight only to feel him wrap his arms around her tighter. "But…"

"What is it? You can tell me anything."

She remains silent, and it dawns on him that perhaps she cannot. Perhaps it is the things that happen behind closed doors that plague her, and then anger and fear rise in him – he is too ashamed to admit his jealousy, for he knows he should not covet her so even if she were not another man's wife. He does not deserve her in any way, but he cherishes these moments, even knowing that they will haunt him for weeks to come.

When he bows his head and turns his face into her shoulder, she whimpers – a sound of weakness he has not heard from her in a while – then whispers his name.

"Basch." She rests her hands on his arms, and when she runs her hands over them she marvels at the feeling of the fine hairs there tickling her palms.

"I do not wish to pry…"

She smiles despite herself. He has always said that when he has a question he feels he needs permission to ask.

"But you may, as always."

"Has he made you do anything you do not wish to do? Has he…"

"Hurt me?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

Basch lets one arm fall around her and holds her to him around her waist. "Will he not notice you are gone at this hour?"

"We do not share quarters. He takes what he wants and then leaves me to the quiet."

A month. She has been enduring this for a month. How could he not have known? How could he have not seen any unhappiness in her? Not been told?

Did she not trust him?

"I told the guard I would be meeting you early in the morning to go running. They will simply assume I have come to meet you before any of my family has seen. We needn't worry."

"You are good at hiding things."

"I have become that way, yes."

"What can I do?"

"There is nothing to be done," she tells him, turning to face him. Basch releases her, not wishing to make her uncomfortable and wondering how she can stand to be so near him after being treated in such a manner.

But he supposes that through the years, he must have earned some unbreakable trust – the gods must have granted him at least that from her.

"I should not have sought you out tonight. I should not have bothered you."

"You are no bother. I have been telling you for years."

"You did not want to know. You cannot tell me that the thought will not bother you."

He remains silent. Already it is, and he imagines her crying as Rasler leaves her bedroom – a room he knows so well – he sated and her unhappy.

"There is nothing you can do. Nothing to be done."

She rests her head against his chest, and he takes the opportunity to breathe deep and try to center himself – to try to internalize that she is there for the moment, in front of him and within reach, and therefore safe.

He weighs his words – weighs what he wants to say, and choses carefully. "Say but the words and I can remove you from the situation… one way or another."

"I would not have you do so." Her voice is so quiet – weary to his ears. "Perhaps I expect too much. Perhaps my ideas of marriage were unrealistic."

"If you are uncomfortable then it is he who is wrong. Does he know?"

"I do not see how he cannot."

Basch cannot ask. He cannot bear to know what he has done to her or made her do to satisfy his needs. Royals are so often selfish, and though Rasler cares for her – though he is proper, polite and kind – he is nothing more than a spoiled prince at heart.

He cannot ask, for he fears what she will say.

"I should leave."

"Stay," he says. "I can see that you have not slept well in many nights."

She hesitates and looks up at him apprehensively, so he adds: "I will sleep on the floor if you wish. I only know that you feel safe in my presence. Perhaps you could sleep. Dream of better days."

"Dream of a prince from Landis, perhaps?"

He closes his eyes. He cannot think of it – that conversation, her words.

_I love you, Basch. I do_.

"Or dream not at all."

"Are you sure you do not mind?"

"Of course not," he says. He brushes her hair back from her shoulder. "Anything for you, my princess."

_His princess_. She closes her eyes at the words and nods in agreement, unable to say anything more. She lets him guide her to his bed, lets him seat her there and lets him help her remove her shoes. She lets him take her hat – one she stole from Vossler long ago – and lets him take her jacket away, and when he draws back the covers and lets her crawl beneath them, she grasps his hand before he can walk away.

"You needn't sleep elsewhere."

"You would have me stay?"

She says nothing and only pulls at him a bit. He does not argue, but he does not trust himself to lay at her side and not imagine…

He shakes off the thought. She needs him as her friend, not as a knight who would look at her with less than honorable thoughts. He slides under the blankets slowly and draws them up around her, making sure she is covered and warm before seeing to himself.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Yes." Though her face is in shadow, he can see that her eyes are closed and she is not far from sleep – not far from comfort.

Ashe slides close to him and wraps her arms around his waist as she turns her face into his shoulder. She regrets burdening him with what she's told him – regrets bringing him any sort of discomfort, when it is so clear he finds so much in daily life without her help, but she could not lie to him, and not telling him is as good as lying between them.

But she does not regret this – does not regret this feeling of contentment as she begins to slip away from this place, because in his arms she is closer to every fantasy she's ever held dear than she could be anywhere else in Ivalice.

He watches her, listens to her deep, slow breaths as she drifts away, and he wishes he could drift with her – dream of Landis and a reality that could never exist, but he cannot.

He cannot force the images she has unknowingly given him from his mind.

**Author's Note: I have to stop here… I have to, I have to, because I am so tempted to deviate from the game and have them run off and have some adventure and live completely different lives. I want to. I want to. I want to.**

**I can't.**

**Can I?**


	2. He does not know how

**Author's Note: **Following up 'To Safety,' which has now become 'To Safety, chapter 1.' Same idea that Ashe and Basch have the same relationship and experiences prior to the events of FFXII, and in this chapter we pick up in the same scene as before when Basch returns to Rabanastre after the fall of Nabudis. This is right at the game's start, and this is where I'm deviating from the plot… because I have this little problem with stopping. I find something I love, latch onto it, and beat it to death before latching onto something else and starting the process over… so yes. That's what I'm caught in at this moment. I'll get back to _Without A Sky_… soon… eventually… I hope.

* * *

Chapter 2 – He does not know how.

Ashe stares at the messenger with wide, fearful eyes. She is telling Basch to leave – to go with Vossler to follow her father to the treaty signing where there may or may not be an assassin.

"Vossler can handle it," she says through gritted teeth. She glances to the girl and nods, dismissing her. She shuffles from the room, and Ashe wonders why she came at all. She is not a princess any longer and has no right to give orders.

"Vossler is one man. I said I would protect you –"

"You cannot protect me from Nalbina!" she yells. "If there are assassins they will be ready for you and you will die along with my father."

"If that is my charge –"

"I am your charge!" She screams wildly now, tears streaming down her face so fast that she cannot feel where one ends and another begins. "Me! If I am fated to lose both my husband and my father then fate will take them, but I would fight the gods themselves to keep you."

"Your father –"

"My father surrendered me to a man I did not love."

"He loves you."

"If it is a trap then he will die regardless. You must stay."

"Ashe, I must go."

"I order you to stay."

Ashe has never ordered Basch – at least not that she can remember, and it staggers him. He stares at her in shock and disturbance. Is he appalled at her behavior? Her disheveled appearance? Her lack of candor in mourning, or just her lack of regard for her father? She does not care. She knows Basch, and she knows he is duty bound all the way to his soul.

He cannot disobey her. He does not know how.

"Ashe…" He looks hurt, and it makes her cry harder. She feels her chest tighten, and it pains her even more that she has wounded him. She has given him a direct order, and it has violated some trust between them. "Why?"

"Because I would keep you safe,"

"At your father's expense?"

"I have already lost the man I was supposed to love," she says through gritted teeth. "I will not lose the man I do love."

"We have spoken of his." He steps forward cautiously, intent on keeping himself together and not falling into the desperation he feels – the desperation he sees in her eyes. "We cannot be."

"I am no princess and you are no knight."

"You are yet royal," he says. "Dalmasca will be restored to her former glory."

"By whose hand?" She hisses. "By mine? By yours, perhaps?"

"We will find a way."

"The dust must settle and we cannot be here."

"I must go to with Vossler."

"You must go with me."

"You will stay here."

"Basch…" She stares up at him. "I cannot lose you. If they kill my father…" she cringes at the thought, "then it will fall to me to some way to restore Dalmasca. I would not be able to do it without you."

"Of course you would."

"No. I would not. You are the only person I can trust."

Basch stares at her, remembering how she'd whimpered in his arms weeks before, weakened by her nightmares. He remembers how she'd woken that morning, barely rested but so grateful that he'd given her sanctuary that she'd insisted on making him breakfast.

How could he desert her when she stood to lose even more?

He steps towards her slowly, keeping his eyes on her as he moves, and gently raises his hands to her upper arms as he did before. He runs his palms over her skin in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. "I will stay if it is your wish."

She breaks – crumbles into his arms – and he catches her, holding her tight, feeling the dampness from her under his arms. He holds her tight, unsure of whom he was comforting – her or himself.

"I am frightened, Basch."

"Shhh," he whispers, swaying with her on the spot to rock and console her. "I've got you. I won't leave you – you're right. I need to stay with you."

"What if it is a trap?"

He rests his chin atop her head – a gesture he's become familiar with, but always finds so comfortable, so natural. "If it is a trap then we shall flee together and let things stabilize."

"If it is not?"

"Then I will tell Vossler and your father that I feared for your safety as well. Either way, I will not leave you."

She pulls away from him just enough to look up into his eyes. He feels her slide her arm between their bodies as he holds her – watches as she raises her hand to his face and closes his eyes at her touch.

She is no longer another man's wife, and he can permit himself to enjoy the feeling of her hand on his cheek – her fingers against his temple.

"I love you."

_I love you, Basch. I do._

He opens his eyes and looks down at her – watches as her eyes search his. Can he tell her now? She is not married, and he supposes that, for a moment, she has little stature, and even if she did, the events would have stripped away his hesitation. She needs to hear the words as much as he needs to say them.

"I love you too, my princess."

_These are dangerous things to feel, _he thinks, _a dangerous place to be. _

He sees a small, broken smile stretch across her pale lips, and he brushes her hair back, returning it as best he can. It fades quickly, though, as hers does – as he feels her lean into him – as he looks down into her eyes and forgets all the reasons why he cannot love her, because they do not matter anymore.

Life is too short.

Basch keeps her tight against him as he leans down, meeting her expectant lips with his, hesitating only for a second until he feels her press against him, and then he is lost to her – lost to the feeling of her kiss, her hand in his hair and to the way she leans back in his arms and lets him support her.

When he pulls away, Ashe keeps her eyes closed for a moment, trying to memorize the feeling – the taste of him. She listens to him breathe slow but heavy against her, and when she finally looks up at him, she sees him staring down at her.

"I am sorry."

"Don't be."

She draws him down to her again and kisses him more surely this time – more passionately, all thoughts of her husband and father set aside for now.

She has loved Basch all her life, and now he can finally say that he loves her too.

She knows she should not be happy – that the only life she's ever known is hanging by a breaking thread, but as Basch slips his arms back around her waist, she is pulled away from it all.

It is only when he tightens his arms around her and holds her closer that something is triggered – some memory of Rasler doing the same thing, but more rough – with determination and misplaced anger – and it shoots through her, paralyzing her as she remembers his coarse hands holding down her wrists and the sound of his laughter as he left the room after.

"Ashe?"

She looks up and sees that it is not Rasler who touches her, but Basch, who raises his hand to cup her face and nods in understanding.

She needs him, but there are wounds that have yet to heal.

"You should rest," she whispers to break the silence. "You must be exhausted. You should rest until we know more."

He watches as her hands fall to his armor – watches as her small hands find all the buckles and braces and undo them – undo him. He lets her remove the plates that burden him and cooperates when she needs him to. It isn't until she guides him to her bed and kneels before him to remove his shin guards that he speaks.

"Shall I sleep on your sofa?" He notices how her hair curls when it dries when she has not brushed it – notices how pretty it is. "Or would you have me go to my home?"

"What are you talking about? You will stay here."

"You froze in my arms only moments ago. How could you possibly want me to?"

She sighs and sets aside the gear, looking up at him. The princess should not be kneeling before him or caring for him. It is against all the rules he knows, but the rules, he supposes, matter less between them when there are stronger forces at work.

"I do not know why. I cannot explain it."

"You do not feel safe with me."

"I do!" Tears glisten in her eyes. "I feel safer nowhere else."

"We should not consider such matters today," he says, bending over and removing his sabatons and what covers him still before taking her hand and drawing her up to stand before him.

"I am sorry I am not stronger for you right now."

"You've fought a major battle, then carried my husband back to Rabanastre. You deserve to rest."

"But I have not ensured your safety… the safety of Dalmasca. The job is not done."

"It never is." She sniffs back her tears, wondering if her body can handle more crying – if she could even produce more tears. "You must sleep. If we must flee it will have to be quick."

He nods, and she can see the exhaustion taking him. She guides him back to lay against her pillows and finds a place there herself, taking him into her arms. She has never seen him this weak – this vulnerable, and as he settles his head against her shoulder and lets her hold him in comfort, Ashe twists his ring around her finger and reminds herself that all is not lost if she still has her knight.

* * *

The king is dead.

The Archadian plot did not go as planned, no, but they were able to create enough confusion to pass the king's death off as treachery, though no one on the streets has any clue what happened, nor does Basch. He only knows that Rabanastre is not safe, and that he must protect what is left of Dalmasca.

Ashe.

He has readied the chocobos – he dare not take her by air toward the south toward Mt. Bur-Omisace. He knows not where else to go, unless they journey south through the Paramina Rift, past the Stilshrine of Miriam and into the lower continent, to places he has never been.

He waits for her at the most secure exit – waits for her to appear, laden with what clothing and valuables she can carry, and expects to see her appear still in her clothes of mourning. He is surprised when she comes dressed to ride wearing light leather protective over her clothing.

For a moment he is proud of himself. He has taught her well and she would be safe if he were not here.

But thank the gods he is.

She gives a hearty sniff as she wordlessly hands two of the bags to him, and he is not shocked to hear them clatter and clang. She has looted her own home for things they could sell discreetly, and Basch knows what she carries is worth more than he has earned in his entire life.

It is hard to remember in all the confusion and turmoil that it is her father – her last surviving parent who has died. After securing their belongings to his saddle – she needn't be burdened with them, and he carries very little – he turns to her.

Ashe leans into her chocobo – the one he'd taught her to ride years ago. He'd objected to letting her have multiple steeds, preferring to the comfort of one, familiar animal, and so Eros had been her only bird.

"What do you think happened?"

Basch shakes his head, checking the straps of her chocobo's saddle and armor. "I do not know. There are whispers that one of our men killed him, but I doubt anyone believes them. It sounds like a plan gone awry."

Basch can see what happened – it was his absence that collapsed the Archadian plot, and the very thought makes him ill. He dare not tell Ashe – not yet, but he knows he will have to – that his brother, the twin he has never spoken of, lives as a Judge.

Noah, a dog of the empire.

Will she trust him, knowing?

He will tell her, yes, but first he must get her to safety.

She strokes Eros' feathers gently, sadly, brokenly, and Basch knows he can do nothing to console her. There is no time to invite those emotions or the tears, no time to dwell on the demise of their beloved Dalmasca or how unfair it is that she should lose everything so young. All he can do is count his blessings – her kiss chief among them – and help her into the saddle.

"You will be safe, princess," he says, sacrificing a moment once she is settled to kiss her hand and offer her a forced smile of encouragement.

"I know," she assures him. "I am with you.

**Author's Note: This feels terrible, but I'm giving it to you anyway because I don't know what else to do with it. Tell me, please, what should happen next?**


	3. Survival

**Survival**

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.


	4. A Safe Place

**A Safe Place**

Ashe cannot accompany him to sell her belongings to the pawn shops in Barius and the surrounding areas. Since they are so close to Mt. Bur Omisace, people from all walks of life and history have come here to hide, so the shop owners do not ask many questions. Still, she cannot bear to go with him – to see the artifacts of her life sold for what they will start on – so she stays in the inn that day, left to cry and sleep in solitude.

When Basch returns that night, they are wealthy. It will not last long, she knows, since they must find a permanent place to live and all the things they will need to settle, as their exile will be long.

Ashe feels guilty for the gratitude she feels – she is happy, in part, that she will have this time with Basch and this time alone to heal. She feels as if she should be doing something – beating against the Archadian cage made for Dalmasca – but after Rasler destroyed her self-worth, after her father would not listen, and after they both died and left her with no resolution… she looks forward to the quiet.

"I may have found us a place to stay," Basch says quietly after greeting her. He sits down on the edge of the bed, knowing she has barely moved all day, and brushes her hair back from her face. It is limp now, and she is in need of a bath. He doubts, however, that he could ever convince her to go down to the town's bathhouse. She is not accustomed to such things.

"Where?"

"There is a farm on the edge of town. The woman's husband died last week and she wishes to sell it – all of it, the animals included. We have enough. The jewels brought us enough to have plenty left over."

"I don't want to hear of it." She turns over beneath the blankets, leaving him her back. "Do what you think is best."

Basch sighs. He knows she is hurt and angry with the world, but he selfishly wants his princess back – the girl he'd hoped would somehow embrace this adventure – that would embrace him. He wanted the girl who'd kissed him in the wake of a disaster.

But that, he expects, would be too much to ask of life.

In the morning, Ashe wakes and cringes at her state. She sits up, runs her fingers through her hair and feels the oil, touches her skin and feels it flake beneath her fingers. A day of sloth and grief, it seems, was more than her body could take.

She sighs and looks to Basch, sleeping in the armchair. She cannot see how he could be comfortable contorted at such odd angles, and she mentally kicks herself for letting him sleep there and for not insisting he lay beside her. It likely would have comforted him as much as it did her.

But she was frightened last night. The invitation would be easier to make in the daylight.

"Basch?"

She says his name quietly as she crawls to his side of the bed – massive, albeit uncomfortable – and tugs at his hand. He jerks awake, his eyes wide and searching as he focuses and realizes where he is. She sees him cringe as he looks around, no doubt from a stiff neck and back, and she feels even worse.

"Come here. Get in the bed."

"I am fine. You said –"

"And now I'm saying –"

He doesn't need to be told twice. Basch slides easily from his chair into the mattress, and Ashe holds the covers up for him, letting him slip beneath. She feels him sidle toward her, feels his arms close around her waist and watches as he rests his head down on the pillow, almost instantly asleep.

Ashe sighs. She is awake now, with him beside her and she cannot move without waking him. She looks down at him – at the peace on his face, and she knows she cannot wake him. She does not have the heart. Instead of trying to maneuver herself free, she just turns to face him and slides down, resting her head beside his and watches him sleep, as he has watched her so many times before.

"I'll keep you safe too."

* * *

When Basch wakes a few hours later, he decides they should go visit the widow. Ashe protests – tells him that she wants to say at the inn again, and that he'd be more effective alone, being a handsome and convincing young man, but he only laughs and tells her he is not young enough to be so effective on his own. He hands her clean clothes, draws a towel from a bag, and takes her hand.

"Where are we going?" She follows him through the town towards the forest, her hand holding his tight. "Is this the way?"

"No. You need to wash up and I won't take you to the town bathhouse. You would not like it. There is a river down here. I will guard the area."

"And you?"

"I can brave the bathhouse, princess. I've been doing it for years."

"There's one in Rabanastre?"

He laughs at her ignorance – at her innocence. If only she knew the things that happened there at night…

He wonders if she was even aware of the rampant prostitution in her city, or that the sale of sexual favors had been made legal by her grandfather so he could tax it.

"Yes, princess. Not all of us could afford running water."

She furrows her brow a bit as they walk, holding Basch's hand tighter as they enter the forest. Panic starts to settle into her body. They are alone, far from people, and no one would hear her scream if he were to…

_This is Basch,_ she tells herself. _You needn't worry. He would never harm you._

Though her mind is calm, her body is not, and there is little she can do about it.

The river is deep in the forest, running slow and steady through the earth. Basch promises that it is not deep – tells her that it is this same river that runs through the property he wishes them to live on, and he tries to put her at ease as when he turns his back to her to let her undress and wash by telling her how the animals graze in the fields, and how they walk down to that river to drink.

"It is a beautiful place," he tells her. "I walked down to it yesterday to see. The grass is green and healthy, and there is a tall tree in the field that you could read under."

As Ashe steps into the cool water, she is taken aback by how Basch tries to set her at ease. It is now how he tries, but how he succeeds – he knows what she will care about and how she will feel, and it is then that she begins to wonder how he is truly taking all of this.

"Do you miss it?"

"Miss what?"

"Landis? I understand now how you must have felt… fleeing your homeland after it was conquered… after it was beyond your power to save it."

She had not considered this newfound similarity until she'd spoken, but as she the water laps at her waist and she begins to wash, she realizes she has more in common with Basch now than she ever has.

Such a pity this common ground cost the kingdom.

"I do miss my home," he admits. He listens to her move in the water and grimaces against his want to turn and look at her. "But Dalmasca is all I care for now. I know Landis can never be recovered to the state it once was."

"If somehow we regain an army and restore Dalmasca with more strength, we will take Landis back."

Basch chuckles. She is so young – so willing to do anything to make someone happy that she does not weigh the cost of what she speaks. "I would not have you start a war for me. The Archadians treat Landis well. The people thrive."

"You sound like a prince speaking of his kingdom." Ashe leans back into the water and allows it to soak through her hair, washing away all that does not belong to her.

"It was my forefathers who established Landis." Have they not spoken of this before? He knows they have never spoken of Noah – but she needn't know his brother stands as a Judge.

Not yet.

"Why have you never told me?"

"I suppose it has never come up, princess," he says, folding his hands behind his back. "My grandfather established a democracy and left rule to the people. Have you never wondered why I bear the capitol city's name as my surname?"

Ashe pauses. She had never put the two together. "I never really…"

He laughs a bit, and she watches as he shifts from side to side, clearly uncomfortable. As they have spoken she has calmed, and as she watches the sunlight dance over his hair – she has always loved his hair – she feels nearly comfortable.

"Noticed. It is okay, princess."

They fall into silence, and she takes a few moments to just enjoy the water – to duck down beneath the surface and feel it all around her – to imagine it washing away Rasler's fingerprints and the tears she'd shed for her father and kingdom. When she emerges and takes a breath, she feels more clean than she ever has in her life.

She dries off, ruffling her hair and dressing as quickly as possible. When she begins to gather things up, she tells Basch he can turn around.

"Feel better?"

"I do."

"I've always found there was something special about bathing outdoors. It's liberating."

He looks at her – sees how her damp hair curls around her face without a brush or styling products to deter it – notes how fresh her face looks, and he is stunned by how beautiful she is. As he looks at her, he tries to memorize her – each line of her face and each freckle, and he tries to force back his feelings for her, knowing he cannot be more than a friend now – nothing more than a faithful knight.

But even now, her kiss lingers on his lips and in his memory, and he wants her so.

It isn't until she looks away from him that he realizes he has been staring at her, and he clears his throat to break the silence.

"Should we go to the farm?"

"Yes… the farm."

* * *

Basch feels a sense of pride when he sees Ashe's awe at the beautiful land that surrounds the farm. He watches as her gaze wanders across the hills – sees her smile as she watches the cockatrices, chocobos and sheep graze the fields.

"This is where you would have us stay?"

"For the time being. As soon as a resistance gathers, this will be an excellent place to operate from. It is far enough from the city to remain unnoticed, but close enough to gather news and supplies. We have time before that, though. Plenty of time to try and gather our thoughts."

_Gather yourself,_ he thinks. He knows how she thrashes at night – how poorly she sleeps and how she whimpers for comfort. He knows his own exhaustion, as he has stayed awake these nights to hold her hand and whisper to her in the vain hope that she would hear him on some level and know he was near – that he would let no one touch her now.

He doubts his sentiments would reassure her. It was, in part, his fault that this had all happened. He had not saved her from Rasler. He had not saved her nation. He had not even gone to save her father – not even tried at her request.

_Vossler would have me killed for this_, he thinks. _But I hope he would be taking the same steps I take now._

_He always was the better knight. He did not let himself fall in love with her as I did._

_But I was never given a choice._

"It is beautiful enough that I can scarcely imagine Rabanastre and the desert," she whispers, her voice guilt ridden. "This region… it reminds me of Landis."

"It reminds me of my homeland as well," Basch agrees. He wraps a comforting arm around her shoulder as they begin to walk down to the cottage.

"You do know how to farm?"

Basch chuckles, and Ashe smiles feebly at the sound. He does not laugh enough – his mouth bears no signs of age yet, and she would rather see laugh lines than smooth skin.

"My family owned the largest farm in Landis. It was the only remnant of the Ronsenberg clan's former power and affluence."

"When did you become a soldier?"

"I was sixteen. I was very eager."

"I cannot imagine you at sixteen," she says. "But then again, I cannot reconcile that you are as old as you say you are. It is as if you have always been the same to me – mature and sturdy. A safe place."

Basch holds her a bit tighter as they cross the field, closing his eyes for a second to enjoy the breeze as it dances across his skin. "I would be nothing else for you, my princess."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Okay, so it took me forever to write this. I'm stealing just bits of time here and there to write and it's just about killing my creativity drive. I'm usually halfway through the next chapter by the time I post one, but I've got _nothing_ of chapter five written. I only know what happens in it, and it likely involves sex. Oh, good. I have your attention.


End file.

Final Fantasy XII, Romance