Basch doesn't respond because Balthier has taken his phone, which Basch quite thinks he should have done before this endeavor started. He resents being convinced to carry one at all, and is replaying tonight's terrible slew of choices for the umpteenth time when he spots Fran, and a moment later, Lady Ashe.
He sucks in a breath, which means he snorts in the pint of water he's been nursing. Rather than sneak out diplomatically, he's now pounding his chest and hacking away at the counter, Balthier grinning like a fox and patting his back as he waves the ladies over.
"One knight, relaxed and loosened, as promised," Balthier says cheerily.
"There is nothing -- relaxing about any of this -- " he wheezes, carefully making eye contact with only the counter.
Were it not for the iron-clad sense of decorum Ashe keeps pulled tight around her like a suit of armor, conducting herself like a queen even while in the most dire of straights and rubbing elbows with pirates - she might have let her surprise show, spotting Basch talking to the top of the bar and avoiding eye contact.
She doesn't have to look at Fran and Balthier to know they're enviably more relaxed about meeting up than she is. Unwilling to be thrown by something as silly as a foolish exchange with a man who is fathoms away from sober Ashe strides toward Basch, her shoulders squared, lips set in a thin line while she focuses on sizing the situation up.
"You must not lose consciousness before we arrive." There's a strange note to her voice, as though she were trying to sound comforting even while laying out a very firm provision. With a resigned sigh Ashe lingers beside Basch, her hand touching his side quickly before withdrawing, wordlessly signaling that she's ready to help him stand if it comes to that.
Curse those god-forsaken sky pirates. He ought to have known better than the trust they would not pull some childish trick on him. He sees them conferring quietly, Balthier's eyes flashing, and if he weren't already feeling like a dog with his tail between his legs, he very well might snarl at them.
"I assure you I have not drunk myself that far under the table--" he protests, but his words dry up when he feels her glancing touch at his side, and he has to close his eyes and clench his fist because, for a fleeting moment, the conversation that led to that ill-guided message is back in his mind and his body is threatening to take this gesture as meaning something.
"I can go back with these two, milady," he tries to continue, but he's cut off by Balthier's cheery, "Well, since the two of you have this handled, we'll see you tomorrow, hmm?"
"Balthier--" Basch protests but the other two have done what they do best and already slipped away, no doubt more of Balthier's meddling. He's fortunate that he's already flushed from the drinks, because some choice comments are coming back unbidden. She needs someone she can trust to help her loosen up and I've seen the way she looks at you when she doesn't think anyone is watching.
Determined to prove all of them wrong, he slides his stool back and stands, bracing against the counter. Only a little dizzy, though gods above he's going to be hung over tomorrow.
"I can see myself home," he insists, still keeping his eyes carefully averted. He can't right fathom why she's here after that message.
Forgetting herself, she shoots one genuinely panicked look in Fran's direction after hearing Balthier bid them farewell before taking a step backward, working to get control of her expression and grateful Basch isn't looking at her when he gets back to his feet.
"Don't be foolish," she sputters, squaring her shoulders.
"Do you expect me to walk home behind you and pretend we aren't acquainted?" It would be no more ridiculous than those messages that brought her here in the first place - out of concern for his well-being rather than the blindsided curiosity still coursing through her, of course. Shaking her head, Ashe returns to Basch's side and looks up at him resting the urge to lean in and duck her head in an effort to catch his eye and make him look at her.
She tells herself it doesn't matter if he looks at her right now, and thus refrains.
"Shall we?" Ashe inclines her head toward the door while trying to figure out how fit he is to navigate on his own.
"I have utterly failed that directive for today and I do not see it improving," he grimaces, and then his shoulders sink lower. He's being too loose with his words and much too familiar with her.
But he grunts at her criticism of his plan, leaning back from the bar and finding he can stand alright. With a deep breath, he meets her eyes briefly before inclining his head. "I meant no disrespect. I simply thought you would wish to go on without me." Away from him. Not -- closer than she usually stands. His traitorous mind notes how lovely she smells, and a fantasy of her in a bath, her climbing onto him after flashes lightning-fast in his mind, and his cheeks flush anew.
He's relieved to focus on the much simpler issue of leaving this damned place. He takes a step, then another. The floor only tilts a little.
"I am going to have Balthier's pretty head for this," he grumbles. These thoughts had been pleasantly buried and locked before that pirate started his meddling, and now he wasn't certain how he was going to manage standing in the same room as her.
Watching him take a few steps Ashe prepares herself and moves forward, her hand catching his upper arm and resting there, trying to steady him while they both move to the door and the street behind - something she hopes is quieter than the establishment they're leaving.
"Perhaps tomorrow you'll awake having forgotten all this?" And why does that make her feel a pang of resentment, aware that she won't have that luxury when morning comes, and that some part of her will forever wonder how much sincerity fueled those clumsily issued but still deeply bold statements.
She makes a face after hearing the sky pirate's name, scowling at the street ahead of them.
"I'll gladly aid you in that pursuit." Then again, had she not ignored his words and followed Fran, she wouldn't be in this situation, but a night spent pacing her bedroom and fuming over those messages wouldn't have turned out any more restful than this.
"How do you fare?" Ashe asks, sounding unsure of herself as the hand on his arm tenses fleetingly.
The touch on his arm is like the jarring static of thick Mist. It addles his senses, too present to ignore and too ephemeral to grasp. Why is she staying so close to his side, after her--
Gods, was Balthier right? Was she...? Somehow that thought is even more terrifying than the thought that he's misstepped.
"I would rather face the consequences of my actions than not know why someone's engagement with me has changed," he says with a shake of his head that he immediately regrets. He staggers, just for a step, and her hand keeps him upright. The cool night air helps too, sobering, more real somehow. Her hand tightens, asking how he is, and he winces, but this time he stops, turns, and meets her eyes.
"I don't understand why you're here. I was grossly out of line."
He doesn't notice his hand going to cover hers until it's already there.
"I was concerned for your safety!" Ashe ruffles defensively, too rattled to notice his hand on hers. "You...didn't seem yourself." She could navigate a room full of diplomats with command and ease, but a conversation about the things he said? Like this? She's never felt more at sea, and raising her hackles however slightly comes easily.
"Perhaps you were under duress and sending a coded distress message, or–" It sounds ridiculous the moment it leaves her mouth and Ashe loathes herself for grasping at straws like this, aware Basch can see her fumbling for reasons why he would send her something so uncouth and desirous.
"I know not why you would wait until you were in such a state to say things like that to me."
If he were entirely himself perhaps he'd manage something more clever or strategic to say in response to her increasingly confusing words, but instead his heart is getting tighter in his chest. His eyes are fixed on her face, like he'll be able to peer into her head and somehow understand, and his mouth opens in silent incredulity. His knees feel like they've gone to flan and the ground is spinning again.
"I was sure they would be rejected," he blurts out, immediately cursing himself. If only he had a fraction of Balthier's tongue. "It's not proper for a knight to-- I wish to serve you to the best of my ability." Gods, now he's flushing again. Double entendre will be his undoing. Drat Balthier. Drat this entire evening.
But her hand hasn't moved from under his, and he tightens his fingers ever so lightly around hers. Did she want him to...? How did he even go about...?
"Balthier said perhaps it would help, for you to relax, if-- Not that it was only his idea. Not that I'd been considering. But now that I have, I--"
He has the simultaneous urge to run down this street and never look any of them in the eye again, and to dip his head and kiss those frowning lips, and so he does nothing but cling to her hand, heart hammering and tongue running away with itself.
"If you want me to ask you again, more composedly, I will. And if you never want to speak of this again, then it is forever sealed."
There is nothing about this conversation that has gone in a way Ashe could have foreseen. His hand tightens around hers and her heart jumps into her throat, part of her ready to be affronted that someone would dare get so familiar with her. Instead, she finds herself turning more towards him until her other hand can rest further down his arm even though she knows it means she can no longer write this off as merely trying to steady him.
"You're drunk," she whispers, still frowning and aware that not even the lowering of her voice can fully conceal the tremble that clings to it.
"You cannot know what you are offering. I'm a widow. We... What future could there be for us?" For all the reasons she can think to give him, that she doesn't wish for closeness with him isn't among them, and while Balthier - and possibly Basch - might see what he's proposing as a tryst, Ashe simply doesn't think in those terms. If he wishes to be with her like that, it won't be something that she can easily wash her hands of once their time on the road is through and Dalmasca is restored.
Scowling, her forehead wrinkles as she tries to look more irate than flabbergasted. "Will you ask me again?" If he does, then he means it, and it's meant to be something to consider rather than something that perplexes and frustrates her utterly as it is now.
He's hurt her by letting this be the way his desire surfaced, and yet he can't be entirely sorry, because this conversation is happening, and he'd never have dared otherwise.
But she talks of a future, and his lips press tightly. Inside, he wants to assuage those concerns; he already knows he would follow her to the ends of the world if she'd have him, as her lover, if she wanted yes, but as her knight. He's no fool though. He's a war criminal, and she is a queen, and some day she will need an heir, and the most he can offer her is a steady presence and a warm bed when she wishes it. If she wishes a husband, he is a poor option.
And yet, some part of him wants to argue it anyway, and that is unlike him, and so he keeps it buried, tries to start packing those feelings away again.
Except that question is not a demand he leave this be. He doesn't trust his read of words and tone, but the arm on his...
"Yes," he says, flushing as he does, even if he forces himself to hold her eye. If he's made himself a fool, he may as well lay the truth before her. "I--" Gods, why is speech so difficult? "Have feelings for you." It feels like too big an admission, and yet woefully short of what he wants to say.
"But you deserve that confession when I am sober, if you'll have it."
"Feelings for-" Her eyes go wide and there's no long-learned lesson on etiquette that can keep her surprise off her face. Ashe has never let herself think about the way Basch makes her feel in any detail, pushing aside those pangs as they arise with ease, but to hear him drunkenly confessing to having grappled with the same is perhaps even more shocking than his poor attempt at coming onto her.
"You should rest now and, tomorrow, if you truly intend to confess such things to me, confess them then." They should both bear the burden of having clear heads for what she's already imagining will be an impossibly difficult conversation to navigate.
Even though she tells him to rest, she still doesn't move, caught between wondering if he'll kiss her and chiding herself for wanting such a thing from him while he's too intoxicated for her to be certain he means it.
Her heart flutters against her ribcage, anxious about how unfamiliar this is, despite having already undergone the motions of courtship and marriage. This is so different from how Rasler made her feel it may as well be emotions invoked by a completely different turn of events.
She's telling him to go, but she's already told him off for trying to go without her, and she's still holding his arm. The desire to kiss her is there, louder than it ought to be, but he's sobered enough not to act on it. That, at least, he wants to mean something, even if waiting means it may never come to pass.
Still, he stands just as frozen, unsure what to do, unable to pull away from this moment of closeness.
"Will you walk back with me?" It as much to try to parse where she stands as it is a request.
She's been so caught up in their conversation, that she only realizes how much further they have yet to talk when he mentions it. Momentarily embarrassed and perplexed at herself, Ashe shakes her head and steps back, leaving just one hand on his arm instead of holding onto him with both as she had no business doing in the first place.
"Come on then," her voice is quiet, trying to hide her uncertainty as she tugs his arm and starts down the street again.
"You..." Oh stars above why is she even asking this? "You really spoke to Balthier about me?"
Her hand lingers on his arm. He does not deserve that, feels shame, even, that she is being so kind when he has breached every bit of protocol and respect he possibly could. She made clear she does not want to leave him, though, so he keeps his protest to himself out of what respect he can.
That, and, his hear is beating too fast at the touch. It takes all his attention to walk steadily and control his tongue.
Her question sends another flare of shame. "I am sorry, milady. It was not appropriate to voice, least of all to someone else in your company. Were we in more typical circumstances, I would dismiss myself from your service."
But he cannot do that, because there is no one else, and she must succeed.
He is determined not to put his foot any deeper into his mouth, and when they reach their accommodations, he will separate himself and...try to assess this damage in the morning.
He desires her. He desires her and he told Balthier about it. He desires her, told Balthier about it, and Balthier - at his most maddening - deemed she might return the sentiment enough for Basch to feel empowered to voice it.
It's a lot. She's never been desired before - at least, not that she's aware of. With Rasler it was a learning process, one they were still figuring out when he was taken from her. They were discovering what desiring one another was, and that was nice, but it pales when compared to the prospect of being so clearly and precisely wanted.
It's no less weighty a matter the following day as it was when she left him a the door of his room, walking in relative silence after waving off his apology all the way back to their lodgings before turning abruptly and disappearing to her own quarters without so much as a farewell.
Because this is a lot! Ashe wants to be mad about it, and for a few hours after waking from a restless too-short sleep, she is angry. Angry that he be so disruptive and disrespectful and keep all these thoughts running in a loop in her mind along with how warm and solid his arm had been against her hands. She stalks around her room about it, she builds a fire and she glares at it, and she waits without admitting to herself how earnest she is to hear the sober truth from him.
Basch is content to be silent and lose no further stock in her eyes, and he's content to stumble into bed and sleep in dreamless, drunken stupor.
Morning comes, and the light hurts, and his head throbs, and if he thinks too much about the night before, he wants to moan and bury his face. He has to speak to her today, but she deserves him...better...and so he goes through the motions of finding a hangover meal, bathing and grooming, and when he still doesn't quite have the wherewithal to begin, several rounds of exercises.
But it's getting late into the day, and he does not wish to shaft her anymore than he has, and there is not version of this where things get any easier. It has been a good long while since he felt want of someone, and certainly no one as impossible as a monarch. He's hurt them both by crossing this line, and he is unsure he can repair that, unsure he can properly serve her the way she deserves.
He owes her a sober conversation, though, and so he brings himself to her chambers, rapping on the door and waiting.
When he knocks, Ashe goes still as a stone mid-pace. She's waited for this for hours and now she can't quite bring herself to move. The part of her that is queen reminds the rest of her that he can wait, that everybody can wait for her, even if it is polite not to let them wait too long.
Still, she gives it a minute, glancing around her room frantically as she suddenly feels like she needs to arrange herself before she lets him in, not wanting Basch to see her just standing in the middle of the room she's been briskly storming through all afternoon.
There's an awkward moment where, after arriving beside the fire - a spot she secretly feels most comfortable - Ashe forgets where she wants to put her arms before she poses like she's just turned away from watching the flames and calls over her shoulder.
In normal circumstances, he would wait to be admitted, but there are no attendants or guards here, and it's an easy calculation that speaking too plainly through the door causes her more risk than not. That doesn't mean his heart is steady as he does it thought, trying the door and, finding it open, stepping just inside with his head bowed.
"I wish to speak with you, milady," he says, feeling like he'll be absorbed by the quiet of the room. "Is now an agreeable time?" One harm hovers, the door not quite shut, a silent acknowledgement that he will go if she only say the word.
"Basch." Ashe knew he was going to walk through the door, but the sight of him is still enough to throw her, pulling his name past her lips as she momentarily forgets herself. After a day of wondering, there's a sudden pang of fear, the thought that he would want to apologize and take it all back seizing her imagination, making her shoulders tighten as she fights a rising ride of concern.
"Come in," Ashe turns away from the fire, her hands clasped together in front of her as she fights the urge to look down at them and away from him. Her unwillingness to let anyone see how much they've thrown her keeps her gaze level, her eyes on his even as she can feel herself softening the longer she looks at him.
He doesn't let himself look at her, not really. The seat she's taken feels like a throne, and that makes some piece of this easier even as it makes the other harder. He made up his mind to be true to his word, and so he shuts the door and kneels before her, hands balled into fists on his knees. She is his charge, yes, and his would-be queen. But traveling like this -- she is also his companion, as blasphemous as it is. They have fought side by side, they have dined side by side, and somewhere in all that, he has seen her as a woman first, a solider second, and a queen third.
It is not proper, and it is not right, and yet it is the truth of things, and he has never had much deftness as politics or deceit.
"I need to apologize to you twice over, Lady Ashelia. First for my behavior last night, and second for my behavior today." He takes a deep breath in through his nose to steady himself, and then turns his face up so he can meet her gaze.
"I was uncouth, but I was not dishonest. Our circumstances are strange, and they have led me to forget my place and yours. I should not have made that even more complicated by admitting myself to you intoxicated. Please know, though, the morning does not change my feelings. I wish to serve you as your knight, and as much as I had kept my desire in check before last night, I wish to serve you as a companion serves his the woman who holds his heart. I can do one while not being allowed the other with truly no qualms, my lady, but I understand the desire itself may well negate your interest in my services at all."
His voice, curse it, cracks in the delivery of that last portion.
"I will respect whatever choice you make in regards to my further role in this team. You must succeed, and if I am a hindrance in any way to that end, I implore you to dismiss me."
A pang of alarm runs through her as Basch takes to his knees before her, and though her expression remains nonchalantly neutral, Ashe needs to work to quell the worry inside her that he is on the verge of taking this all back. She's no closer to understanding or even knowing her mind on the matter, but she knows enough to know that's the last thing she wants to hear.
Then he speaks, and she sits, listening, all the breath knocked from her lungs as he lays it all out for her, doubling down instead of taking back the things he told her last night before the matter's left in her hands.
"Have I been so blind?" Ashe asks quietly, her gaze shifting from the hands she's clasped in her lap to him, lips pursing into a thin line. "I've held your heart and only come to know it because you've told me."
Her heart hurts, aching with longing, and unsure of whether seeking to quell that longing is the wisest choice. His making his feelings clear has done much to aid her understanding of her own, but she still feels all at sea. This isn't the kind of thing a princess gets to choose for herself ordinarily, but then, none of this is anything a princess usually has to endure.
"And...you want this? Not out of obligation or to protect me, but because you wish to be companions?"
She sits so easily through his speech, and it is only years of training and more years sitting unflinching in a prison cell that keep his own countenance even as he awaits her reply. He has prepared himself for rejection. It is the most rational course of action, and her assessment that there is no future for them, regardless of any affection she may feel, is well-taken. The most he has dared to hope for is her acknowledgement of his situation, perhaps forgiveness due to a shared warmth.
His chest tightens as she speaks, and he inclines his head again. "If you have been blind until last night, then I have misstepped less than I feared. It was my intention you not ever know."
So they can hopefully set this aside and move forward.
Except his head snaps up, brows furrowed at her question. Surely any interest she had shown had been his drunken haze, his own desire coloring his reason.
"I don't make a habit of harboring romantic feelings for my charges," he says. It takes a moment to realize it's left his mouth, and a burning flush races across his skin. "How could there be obligation in a feeling that only makes both our lives more complicated? I have failed obligation in letting this desire grow as it has."
Though she understands why he would call it a failing, Ashe finds it impossible to agree that it is. Like him, she could deny this for the greater good if she needed to, and while there are more than a few alarm bells ringing in her mind, Ashe can't quite convince herself that she needs to. She likes to believe she knows when she's being selfish, but at this moment the line has never felt more blurred. A thousand ways and reasons she could let this happen run through her thoughts, and, in a far weaker voice, the reasons why it mustn't.
"Basch," Ashe's hands tighten into fists before relaxing, and for a moment her arms seem to tense and she looks like she's on the verge of reaching for him before deciding to keep holding back. "I have only ever been a companion out of obligation. You speak of desire, and yet I wonder if I've ever known such a thing before."
She takes a deep breath, determined to get through this, for both of their sakes. Even if she doesn't know how to reach for him physically, she can be as transparent as he has been with her.
"But, even though I have never been an object of sincere desire, that does not mean I do not understand what it feels like to want." Trailing off her eyes narrow at him, pointed and hesitant, so close to spelling it out and losing the thread at the last moment, her lips purse in frustration, and she does what she can to finish her thought, in the most basic and idiotic sounding way possible– "Basch."
His heart aches, and not for the continued belief this is a diplomatic dismissal. To only be a companion out of obligation. It isn't foreign to him, and so he knows the weight. Still, most -- himself included -- had had moments of mutual want, pockets of intimacy, even if nothing came of it. That she has been so alone makes him want to gather her to him and lavish her wish gentle touches.
The strength of that want nearly bowls him over, and he'd be grappling with it were she not still speaking.
And then he's blinking, mouth open, because if he knows her at all, he knows how she stumbles when one of them has found something to engage her with which she does not know how to speak. His heart is warning him to step back lest he bruise himself worse, but every piece of knowing his charge tells him that she's trying to--
"If you desire my companionship, it is already yours," he says, skin prickling with fiery self-consciousness. This is past what he rehearsed, past any sense of safe territory, and yet some protective part of him wants her to feel the way she -- Ashe, not the position of princess -- is cherished.
He could say more, but, he knows what it is to be overwhelmed with a more experienced person offering things he did not know how to receive, let alone direct his preference on. Carefully, slowly, he gets to his feet, watching for any change in her demeanor. His heart beats so thunderously he feels sure he will lose his balance again, but he reaches her all the same, holding his hands palm-up in an invitation for hers. Nothing about this is proper. He does not like standing above her, does not like being the one to lead, does not know what to say. But he offers her a smile, one that he lets warm his eyes and soften his face. "Serving you makes my heart full, my lady. If I may do that more deeply, then I am eager to."
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for @dalmast
Basch doesn't respond because Balthier has taken his phone, which Basch quite thinks he should have done before this endeavor started. He resents being convinced to carry one at all, and is replaying tonight's terrible slew of choices for the umpteenth time when he spots Fran, and a moment later, Lady Ashe.
He sucks in a breath, which means he snorts in the pint of water he's been nursing. Rather than sneak out diplomatically, he's now pounding his chest and hacking away at the counter, Balthier grinning like a fox and patting his back as he waves the ladies over.
"One knight, relaxed and loosened, as promised," Balthier says cheerily.
"There is nothing -- relaxing about any of this -- " he wheezes, carefully making eye contact with only the counter.
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She doesn't have to look at Fran and Balthier to know they're enviably more relaxed about meeting up than she is. Unwilling to be thrown by something as silly as a foolish exchange with a man who is fathoms away from sober Ashe strides toward Basch, her shoulders squared, lips set in a thin line while she focuses on sizing the situation up.
"You must not lose consciousness before we arrive." There's a strange note to her voice, as though she were trying to sound comforting even while laying out a very firm provision. With a resigned sigh Ashe lingers beside Basch, her hand touching his side quickly before withdrawing, wordlessly signaling that she's ready to help him stand if it comes to that.
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"I assure you I have not drunk myself that far under the table--" he protests, but his words dry up when he feels her glancing touch at his side, and he has to close his eyes and clench his fist because, for a fleeting moment, the conversation that led to that ill-guided message is back in his mind and his body is threatening to take this gesture as meaning something.
"I can go back with these two, milady," he tries to continue, but he's cut off by Balthier's cheery, "Well, since the two of you have this handled, we'll see you tomorrow, hmm?"
"Balthier--" Basch protests but the other two have done what they do best and already slipped away, no doubt more of Balthier's meddling. He's fortunate that he's already flushed from the drinks, because some choice comments are coming back unbidden. She needs someone she can trust to help her loosen up and I've seen the way she looks at you when she doesn't think anyone is watching.
Determined to prove all of them wrong, he slides his stool back and stands, bracing against the counter. Only a little dizzy, though gods above he's going to be hung over tomorrow.
"I can see myself home," he insists, still keeping his eyes carefully averted. He can't right fathom why she's here after that message.
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"Don't be foolish," she sputters, squaring her shoulders.
"Do you expect me to walk home behind you and pretend we aren't acquainted?" It would be no more ridiculous than those messages that brought her here in the first place - out of concern for his well-being rather than the blindsided curiosity still coursing through her, of course. Shaking her head, Ashe returns to Basch's side and looks up at him resting the urge to lean in and duck her head in an effort to catch his eye and make him look at her.
She tells herself it doesn't matter if he looks at her right now, and thus refrains.
"Shall we?" Ashe inclines her head toward the door while trying to figure out how fit he is to navigate on his own.
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But he grunts at her criticism of his plan, leaning back from the bar and finding he can stand alright. With a deep breath, he meets her eyes briefly before inclining his head. "I meant no disrespect. I simply thought you would wish to go on without me." Away from him. Not -- closer than she usually stands. His traitorous mind notes how lovely she smells, and a fantasy of her in a bath, her climbing onto him after flashes lightning-fast in his mind, and his cheeks flush anew.
He's relieved to focus on the much simpler issue of leaving this damned place. He takes a step, then another. The floor only tilts a little.
"I am going to have Balthier's pretty head for this," he grumbles. These thoughts had been pleasantly buried and locked before that pirate started his meddling, and now he wasn't certain how he was going to manage standing in the same room as her.
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"Perhaps tomorrow you'll awake having forgotten all this?" And why does that make her feel a pang of resentment, aware that she won't have that luxury when morning comes, and that some part of her will forever wonder how much sincerity fueled those clumsily issued but still deeply bold statements.
She makes a face after hearing the sky pirate's name, scowling at the street ahead of them.
"I'll gladly aid you in that pursuit." Then again, had she not ignored his words and followed Fran, she wouldn't be in this situation, but a night spent pacing her bedroom and fuming over those messages wouldn't have turned out any more restful than this.
"How do you fare?" Ashe asks, sounding unsure of herself as the hand on his arm tenses fleetingly.
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Gods, was Balthier right? Was she...? Somehow that thought is even more terrifying than the thought that he's misstepped.
"I would rather face the consequences of my actions than not know why someone's engagement with me has changed," he says with a shake of his head that he immediately regrets. He staggers, just for a step, and her hand keeps him upright. The cool night air helps too, sobering, more real somehow. Her hand tightens, asking how he is, and he winces, but this time he stops, turns, and meets her eyes.
"I don't understand why you're here. I was grossly out of line."
He doesn't notice his hand going to cover hers until it's already there.
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"Perhaps you were under duress and sending a coded distress message, or–" It sounds ridiculous the moment it leaves her mouth and Ashe loathes herself for grasping at straws like this, aware Basch can see her fumbling for reasons why he would send her something so uncouth and desirous.
"I know not why you would wait until you were in such a state to say things like that to me."
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"I was sure they would be rejected," he blurts out, immediately cursing himself. If only he had a fraction of Balthier's tongue. "It's not proper for a knight to-- I wish to serve you to the best of my ability." Gods, now he's flushing again. Double entendre will be his undoing. Drat Balthier. Drat this entire evening.
But her hand hasn't moved from under his, and he tightens his fingers ever so lightly around hers. Did she want him to...? How did he even go about...?
"Balthier said perhaps it would help, for you to relax, if-- Not that it was only his idea. Not that I'd been considering. But now that I have, I--"
He has the simultaneous urge to run down this street and never look any of them in the eye again, and to dip his head and kiss those frowning lips, and so he does nothing but cling to her hand, heart hammering and tongue running away with itself.
"If you want me to ask you again, more composedly, I will. And if you never want to speak of this again, then it is forever sealed."
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"You're drunk," she whispers, still frowning and aware that not even the lowering of her voice can fully conceal the tremble that clings to it.
"You cannot know what you are offering. I'm a widow. We... What future could there be for us?" For all the reasons she can think to give him, that she doesn't wish for closeness with him isn't among them, and while Balthier - and possibly Basch - might see what he's proposing as a tryst, Ashe simply doesn't think in those terms. If he wishes to be with her like that, it won't be something that she can easily wash her hands of once their time on the road is through and Dalmasca is restored.
Scowling, her forehead wrinkles as she tries to look more irate than flabbergasted. "Will you ask me again?" If he does, then he means it, and it's meant to be something to consider rather than something that perplexes and frustrates her utterly as it is now.
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But she talks of a future, and his lips press tightly. Inside, he wants to assuage those concerns; he already knows he would follow her to the ends of the world if she'd have him, as her lover, if she wanted yes, but as her knight. He's no fool though. He's a war criminal, and she is a queen, and some day she will need an heir, and the most he can offer her is a steady presence and a warm bed when she wishes it. If she wishes a husband, he is a poor option.
And yet, some part of him wants to argue it anyway, and that is unlike him, and so he keeps it buried, tries to start packing those feelings away again.
Except that question is not a demand he leave this be. He doesn't trust his read of words and tone, but the arm on his...
"Yes," he says, flushing as he does, even if he forces himself to hold her eye. If he's made himself a fool, he may as well lay the truth before her. "I--" Gods, why is speech so difficult? "Have feelings for you." It feels like too big an admission, and yet woefully short of what he wants to say.
"But you deserve that confession when I am sober, if you'll have it."
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"You should rest now and, tomorrow, if you truly intend to confess such things to me, confess them then." They should both bear the burden of having clear heads for what she's already imagining will be an impossibly difficult conversation to navigate.
Even though she tells him to rest, she still doesn't move, caught between wondering if he'll kiss her and chiding herself for wanting such a thing from him while he's too intoxicated for her to be certain he means it.
Her heart flutters against her ribcage, anxious about how unfamiliar this is, despite having already undergone the motions of courtship and marriage. This is so different from how Rasler made her feel it may as well be emotions invoked by a completely different turn of events.
"Go rest, before you make fools of both of us."
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Still, he stands just as frozen, unsure what to do, unable to pull away from this moment of closeness.
"Will you walk back with me?" It as much to try to parse where she stands as it is a request.
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"Come on then," her voice is quiet, trying to hide her uncertainty as she tugs his arm and starts down the street again.
"You..." Oh stars above why is she even asking this? "You really spoke to Balthier about me?"
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That, and, his hear is beating too fast at the touch. It takes all his attention to walk steadily and control his tongue.
Her question sends another flare of shame. "I am sorry, milady. It was not appropriate to voice, least of all to someone else in your company. Were we in more typical circumstances, I would dismiss myself from your service."
But he cannot do that, because there is no one else, and she must succeed.
He is determined not to put his foot any deeper into his mouth, and when they reach their accommodations, he will separate himself and...try to assess this damage in the morning.
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It's a lot. She's never been desired before - at least, not that she's aware of. With Rasler it was a learning process, one they were still figuring out when he was taken from her. They were discovering what desiring one another was, and that was nice, but it pales when compared to the prospect of being so clearly and precisely wanted.
It's no less weighty a matter the following day as it was when she left him a the door of his room, walking in relative silence after waving off his apology all the way back to their lodgings before turning abruptly and disappearing to her own quarters without so much as a farewell.
Because this is a lot! Ashe wants to be mad about it, and for a few hours after waking from a restless too-short sleep, she is angry. Angry that he be so disruptive and disrespectful and keep all these thoughts running in a loop in her mind along with how warm and solid his arm had been against her hands. She stalks around her room about it, she builds a fire and she glares at it, and she waits without admitting to herself how earnest she is to hear the sober truth from him.
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Morning comes, and the light hurts, and his head throbs, and if he thinks too much about the night before, he wants to moan and bury his face. He has to speak to her today, but she deserves him...better...and so he goes through the motions of finding a hangover meal, bathing and grooming, and when he still doesn't quite have the wherewithal to begin, several rounds of exercises.
But it's getting late into the day, and he does not wish to shaft her anymore than he has, and there is not version of this where things get any easier. It has been a good long while since he felt want of someone, and certainly no one as impossible as a monarch. He's hurt them both by crossing this line, and he is unsure he can repair that, unsure he can properly serve her the way she deserves.
He owes her a sober conversation, though, and so he brings himself to her chambers, rapping on the door and waiting.
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Still, she gives it a minute, glancing around her room frantically as she suddenly feels like she needs to arrange herself before she lets him in, not wanting Basch to see her just standing in the middle of the room she's been briskly storming through all afternoon.
There's an awkward moment where, after arriving beside the fire - a spot she secretly feels most comfortable - Ashe forgets where she wants to put her arms before she poses like she's just turned away from watching the flames and calls over her shoulder.
"Yes?"
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"I wish to speak with you, milady," he says, feeling like he'll be absorbed by the quiet of the room. "Is now an agreeable time?" One harm hovers, the door not quite shut, a silent acknowledgement that he will go if she only say the word.
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"Come in," Ashe turns away from the fire, her hands clasped together in front of her as she fights the urge to look down at them and away from him. Her unwillingness to let anyone see how much they've thrown her keeps her gaze level, her eyes on his even as she can feel herself softening the longer she looks at him.
"Say what you need to say."
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It is not proper, and it is not right, and yet it is the truth of things, and he has never had much deftness as politics or deceit.
"I need to apologize to you twice over, Lady Ashelia. First for my behavior last night, and second for my behavior today." He takes a deep breath in through his nose to steady himself, and then turns his face up so he can meet her gaze.
"I was uncouth, but I was not dishonest. Our circumstances are strange, and they have led me to forget my place and yours. I should not have made that even more complicated by admitting myself to you intoxicated. Please know, though, the morning does not change my feelings. I wish to serve you as your knight, and as much as I had kept my desire in check before last night, I wish to serve you as a companion serves his the woman who holds his heart. I can do one while not being allowed the other with truly no qualms, my lady, but I understand the desire itself may well negate your interest in my services at all."
His voice, curse it, cracks in the delivery of that last portion.
"I will respect whatever choice you make in regards to my further role in this team. You must succeed, and if I am a hindrance in any way to that end, I implore you to dismiss me."
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Then he speaks, and she sits, listening, all the breath knocked from her lungs as he lays it all out for her, doubling down instead of taking back the things he told her last night before the matter's left in her hands.
"Have I been so blind?" Ashe asks quietly, her gaze shifting from the hands she's clasped in her lap to him, lips pursing into a thin line. "I've held your heart and only come to know it because you've told me."
Her heart hurts, aching with longing, and unsure of whether seeking to quell that longing is the wisest choice. His making his feelings clear has done much to aid her understanding of her own, but she still feels all at sea. This isn't the kind of thing a princess gets to choose for herself ordinarily, but then, none of this is anything a princess usually has to endure.
"And...you want this? Not out of obligation or to protect me, but because you wish to be companions?"
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His chest tightens as she speaks, and he inclines his head again. "If you have been blind until last night, then I have misstepped less than I feared. It was my intention you not ever know."
So they can hopefully set this aside and move forward.
Except his head snaps up, brows furrowed at her question. Surely any interest she had shown had been his drunken haze, his own desire coloring his reason.
"I don't make a habit of harboring romantic feelings for my charges," he says. It takes a moment to realize it's left his mouth, and a burning flush races across his skin. "How could there be obligation in a feeling that only makes both our lives more complicated? I have failed obligation in letting this desire grow as it has."
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"Basch," Ashe's hands tighten into fists before relaxing, and for a moment her arms seem to tense and she looks like she's on the verge of reaching for him before deciding to keep holding back. "I have only ever been a companion out of obligation. You speak of desire, and yet I wonder if I've ever known such a thing before."
She takes a deep breath, determined to get through this, for both of their sakes. Even if she doesn't know how to reach for him physically, she can be as transparent as he has been with her.
"But, even though I have never been an object of sincere desire, that does not mean I do not understand what it feels like to want." Trailing off her eyes narrow at him, pointed and hesitant, so close to spelling it out and losing the thread at the last moment, her lips purse in frustration, and she does what she can to finish her thought, in the most basic and idiotic sounding way possible– "Basch."
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The strength of that want nearly bowls him over, and he'd be grappling with it were she not still speaking.
And then he's blinking, mouth open, because if he knows her at all, he knows how she stumbles when one of them has found something to engage her with which she does not know how to speak. His heart is warning him to step back lest he bruise himself worse, but every piece of knowing his charge tells him that she's trying to--
"If you desire my companionship, it is already yours," he says, skin prickling with fiery self-consciousness. This is past what he rehearsed, past any sense of safe territory, and yet some protective part of him wants her to feel the way she -- Ashe, not the position of princess -- is cherished.
He could say more, but, he knows what it is to be overwhelmed with a more experienced person offering things he did not know how to receive, let alone direct his preference on. Carefully, slowly, he gets to his feet, watching for any change in her demeanor. His heart beats so thunderously he feels sure he will lose his balance again, but he reaches her all the same, holding his hands palm-up in an invitation for hers. Nothing about this is proper. He does not like standing above her, does not like being the one to lead, does not know what to say. But he offers her a smile, one that he lets warm his eyes and soften his face. "Serving you makes my heart full, my lady. If I may do that more deeply, then I am eager to."
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