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winterverses · 7 years

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Witchfire

Chapter One

I wasn’t really sure why my brother had so long ago directed me to the airship port. I had no need of transport, exactly, and I was feeling out of place the moment I stepped inside the large double doors. Scented smoke hung heavy in the air, the red wall hangings stained with many years of tobacco and other less appetizing effusions. Worn red carpet was ground into the rotting sandstone walkways, the sandy crumbles spilling over into patterns that were barely discernible amidst all the dirt of passage. Once, this place would have been a bastion of new technology and bright hopes for the future. Now, it was just another gambling den, although one with more of a pretext than the usual. Balthier, he’d said. A fancy man, with a long eared friend, he’d said. I peered carefully into the red-shaded alcoves as I passed, ready to leap back to the entrance at the first sign of hostility. No one took notice of me. I should have been glad for that. A young woman alone merits comment anywhere in Ivalice; a young woman alone here, in the midst of all these gamblers and smugglers should have garnered at least a second look. But my brother had known this place better than I had, due to his somewhat unsavory business ventures. Not a single person looked up at me as I passed. At least until I saw something that made me linger. Something that seemed like my goal. There amid the threadbare red cushions sat a man with sharply styled sideburns and an ornate waistcoat, his arm around a female viera with a mane of long white hair and a rather skimpy black outfit. She leaned against him as if she hadn’t a care in the world when she was with him, her long rabbit ears easy and relaxed, one laying against his short hair. I can’t deny the brief stab of envy I felt seeing that. I’d no one to protect me, not since my brother had died. The man’s hand briefly stroked the exposed skin of the viera’s tan stomach as he studied his cards, familiarity evident in both of their movements, and he laughed, a special corner of his smirk for her as he played the winning hand in his game. The man across from him growled and threw down his cards, leaping to his feet as if he’d been cheated.

Balthier’s hand on the butt of his gun convinced the man otherwise. Grumbling, the man stalked away, so quickly that I had to duck away from him as he pushed through the hangings to leave the alcove. Before I could think the better of it, I pushed inside, throwing myself into their scrutiny. “You are Balthier?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. “I was told to seek you out.” His eyes widened fractionally, and he looked to his companion. “I don’t recall doing anything that would bring me to the attention of the Kiltian Sisters,” he answered, inclining his head toward me. Strangely, that made me feel more comfortable, though it shouldn’t have. I’d dressed as any other woman to avoid notice, but something he’d seen had tipped him off. “Pray tell, my lady, what brings you from the abbey to visit us here in the slums?” The question had no malice, and no intent. It was driven by mere curiosity. I took a deep breath, settling myself, and cared nothing for whether he saw it. “I was told you were trustworthy,” I said, looking him over. Sandy hair and bright hazel-green eyes, a lazy arrogance in his disposition. “I am in need of an escort.” He relaxed further into the cushions, his companion watching me closely, her face impassive. “An escort? That’s a little far from my business at present,” he said regarding me carefully. “But you’re a clever girl, I can see. You wouldn’t have come here without a recommendation.” His eyes took me in, all the sober dark blue length of the gown I’d bought second-hand, and the grey shawl I kept over my hair, though leaving it uncovered would have been slightly less notable for most. He’d named me true when he’d spoken of the abbey, though technically I wasn’t a nun. “My brother was once one of your comrades, to hear him tell it,” I said lightly, sitting down across from him, cards still scattered across the deep brown grain of the gouged wooden table between us. It had seen better days. “He said to speak to you. Or rather, the fancy man called Balthier, with the long-eared friend,” I said, nodding toward the viera. She cracked a smile at that, the expression looking unaccustomed but not unwelcome. “He did know you, whoever he was,” the viera said to Balthier in her husky, high voice, an ear flicking back in amusement. Her glance at him was warm, familiar, and it did much to set me at ease. “He did indeed,” Balthier said, regarding me thoughtfully. “I don’t have what I’d call companions, but you’ve got my attention. What is your brother’s name?” This was the hard part. I steeled myself for whatever answer he’d give. “Keresch mied Farrha,” I replied. “Dead these last two years.” And a former companion of Balthier’s who’d turned against him. There was a brief silence. I could feel the tiny breeze from outside, blocked as it was by the many hangings, trying to stir the air in this stuffy place. Balthier’s face gave nothing away, his classically handsome features as still as any of the statues that graced the courts of Rabanastre. His laugh came as a surprise. “And he commends his sister to my good graces,” he answered, his amusement plain, though the viera seemed unimpressed. “For all the good he did me, I should be happy to throw you to the wolves, so to speak.” Still, there was no malice in his voice. I chose then to plead my case. “Whatever your troubles, my brother always respected you. He died in the plague, two years ago, and only as he neared his deathbed did he mention anything of you.” I couldn’t help the bitter smirk from curving my own lips. “It would have been a great surprise to our parents to find out how he’d been supporting me in the abbey all those years, had they lived. But still, if you have a grievance, I’ll do my best to satisfy it. In the meantime, yours was the only name he gave me when I told him of my… needs. No matter your feelings for each other, he respected you, and believed you would listen to me.” “I could hardly ignore the request of a lady, even if her brother almost had me jailed for a few decades,” Balthier said airily, glancing toward his viera companion. “Without Fran, I might still have been there. But,” he said, his eyes suddenly serious as he leaned forward, his hand warmly catching mine, ”I do owe him some respect at the least. And I’m not a man for grudges. Tell me, lady, what you need. Out of respect for your brother, I’ll at least listen.” “Though it’s more for her that you’ll comply,” Fran said, her amusement laced well with tolerance. She stood, shaking off his arm as easily as if it had been a gust of wind. “Food would be welcome, I think.” Balthier watched her go with equanimity. Once she had left, he turned back to me, his expression open, his lips barely smiling. “I-- well, I--” I said, and then shook my head, pulling my hand back. I could feel my cheeks warming. “I don’t know what exactly passed between you and my brother, but he said you were trustworthy, although you’d ended up at odds. I am directed by the order to cross the Giza plains, now, in the rainy season. Not only that, I need to obtain a Serpent Rod as I do. It is a part of my studies.” The task was hard, and would be harder for me than for most simply because of what I was. Once I had accomplished it, however, the Serpent Rod’s icy magic would be of great use to me. “Some abbey this is,” Balthier laughed, leaning back. “You’re clearly not fit for such a journey.” “More fit than you might think,” I said ruefully. Somewhere along the way, he’d managed to turn my caution to trust. I could only hope he was worth it. “Although this particular instance is troublesome. I’m… well. There’s a reason I’m in the abbey. A rather imperative reason.” Before I could elaborate, Balthier was leaning forward again, his hand touching mine. “Why, do show me,” he said, his voice a low, mocking purr amidst the muffled noise from outside. “What, exactly, makes you so special?” I can only blame my own nature. I can only stand being nervous and careful for so long. I scowled at him, my fingers tightening on his, and immediately the hot swell inside me responded, blooming to life in a circle around us. At first it was only the waver of heat, as above the desert sands on a hot day, but then little blue and orange petals of flame leaped to life, flickering in the air, weaving in and out of each other as if in a dance. I felt the surge of joy as the fire began to breathe, to reach for the air and the fabric around us and grow, and immediately I squelched it down as hard as I could. The flames died, leaving only his almost-hidden shock in their wake, and his hand on mine. “That,” I murmured. “I know that whatever wrong my brother did you, it was so that he could make me safe, for myself and for the sake of others I might harm. I’m prepared to pay whatever price you should ask, so long as you give me the time to do it.” I tugged gently at my hand, but his fingers were still on mine, holding me there. His recovery was immediate. “Impressive. Many would envy you the gift it takes for such control. Even the best mages can do very little with fire besides destroy.” He lifted my hand, bringing it to his lips, and my heart thumped hard when he pressed them against my fingers. “I find myself intrigued, lady.” He paused for a moment, but I had the sense it was a considered consideration. “But I can’t go on calling you my lady. Someone might get the wrong idea about us.” I felt my cheeks heat again, and I tugged at my hand again, though weakly. “Lyseia,” I said, trying to remain cold. It was no use; my voice was warm, as was my face and my hand where it touched his. “Lysa, if you like,” I added, quite against my own wishes. “He will,” Fran said as she pushed past the curtains. She brushed his arm aside, breaking his grasp on my hand, and set a tray laden with food down between us. “But now is the time for talk of necessities.” Her gaze softened as it flicked over me, her mouth curving slightly as she took in the color on my cheeks. I hurriedly tucked a lock of my hair back beneath my shawl; its oddly red coloring would have been too identifiable to any of the other passers-by that cared enough to notice it. Nodding to her, I sat back, my gaze darting from Balthier to Fran and then back again as if pulled. As familiar as they were with each other, it didn’t seem like a relationship, or at least like none I’d ever seen. “I’d be happy to negotiate terms,” I said, reaching for a roll and smearing it with peppery cress jam. “Good,” Fran said, settling herself back in the curve of Balthier’s arm. Once again, I envied her, though this time it was for a very different reason. “We’re not to do this for free,” she said, impassive, her eyes fixed on me. Balthier’s smile widened as he glanced at her, but he said nothing.

#final fantasy xii #FFXII #fanfic #ffxii fanfic #Balthier #balthier bunansa #Fran #Balthier/OC #witchfire

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