"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."
Her heart slides somewhere up by her throat watching Basch rise to his feet and hold out his hands for her. If she had been allowed to choose, it isn't hard to imagine choosing someone exactly like him, if not the man himself - as devoted as she to Dalmasca, unfalteringly brave, loyal despite insurmountable odds as she aspires to be with every weighty choice she's made so far. The troubles that wear on her aren't unlike the burdens he carries, and, beyond all that - he is a good man, handsome and true - the sort of man any woman would think fondly of.
It's affection that pulls her to her feet now, her hands taking hold of both of his. She blows by all her hesitance when their eyes meet, going so far as to let her hands squeeze his briefly when she takes a few steps closer.
"I do not wish to see it as serving me, Basch." Her only frame of reference may be limited, but of this, Ashe feels sure. "When we're alone, I would like to merely be - with you." Just Ashe, the person, rather than a princess on the cusp of taking back her country.
Whatever grasp he had on decorum is gone. She takes his hands, and a smile lights up his face in a way he can't remember feeling since he was a boy. This is absurd and surreal and right now, despite all his better judgement, he does not care.
"Alright," he agrees, voice low and warm. She's as close as she was last night, and the same desire to press his lips to hers stirs again. He doesn't want her to think his motivations are primarily carnal, but he is also aware such talk has not frightened her off. And -- if she really has not had that sort of warmth in her life, he thinks very deeply that she deserves to.
"In the spirit of confession, I would kiss you if you will allow it."
It's been so long since anyone's kissed her that Ashe freezes for a moment, her eyes darting downward before she nods and meets his gaze once more. Her heart was already racing, yet when he smiles so adoringly, in a way she knows she'd never seen before, it found a fresh burst of speed to put on.
Again her hands tighten their hold on his, and Ashe forgets herself, her shoulders relaxing as her face softens into a smile of her own, slight and very gentle, but warmed by the affection for him that she's finally allowing herself to feel openly.
"I would be kissed by you." As often as time and privacy allow, but, she can't quite yet work up the nerve to admit that, even as she's looking up at him and waiting to feel his mouth on hers, her hands aching to reach up and touch the side of his face to guide him closer, but not able to permit it of herself.
He'd have been elated with a positive response in any capacity, but the way her grip tightens and her posture softens sends weakness through his knees. A breathless laugh of incredulous joy escapes him.
Hands clasping hers, he closes the narrowing space between them. It's been a long time for him as well, and the warm flesh of her lips feels unbelievably soft and warm. He'd only intended a peck, but he finds himself pressing a little harder, lingering in her touch as his thumbs stroke the back of her calloused hands.
That rogue part of him wants to cup her face, put his other hand on her back and press her to him, kiss along her cheek to the place behind her ear where the hair begins to grow. But he is not so bold, and truly, his heart is already beating so hard that he does not trust himself.
She's never seen him be so soft before, and while she isn't quite as relaxed into this as Basch is, Ashe privately delights in seeing him this way. So caught up in taking in every detail while he leans down to kiss her, she's taken by surprise when their lips finally meet, inhaling a quick gasp of surprise before the feeling of being touched like this bowls her over.
Not wanting him to pull away she lets herself be brave and release one of his hands so that she can settle hers on his shoulder. Ashe can't pull him in like her racing heart wants her to, but she can hope he realizes how much she wants him to stay close to her.
Lost to the warmth of his lips against hers, she sighs almost dreamily into that kiss, finally giving in to the desire to run her fingers over his cheek, shivering as she feels the hairs of his beard beneath her hand. It's not something she's let herself wonder about for long, but now that she's touching him, having her curiosity sated is already proving to be a brilliant, heady feeling.
That gentle touch on his shoulder is more than enough to keep him here with her, in this moment, and as he begins to realize her affection for him may well have been as well-guarded as his own. It is as though he is in battle, the way his body is deciding faster than his head, and when she sighs and tenderly brushes his cheek, he hums with contentment, letting his floating hand settle onto the back of her ribcage.
She is at once slight and elegant but strong and solid. He knows if they drew swords, she likely could best him. Her ferocity easily made up for his experience. Perhaps that is what makes her tenderness so precious. He has never seen her so soft and it fills his heart that she trusts him so.
There's a moment when she's all but certain he's cast Float on her while she wasn't looking, the feeling of walking on air all too vivid to just be a product of how completely jubilant she is having kissed him. That her feet remain on solid ground is about as unbelievable as the fact that he does care for her as she's secretly cared for him.
Not wishing to pull back but too unsure of how long it's permissible to linger, Ashe breaks away from that kiss, her lips still parted as she looks up at Basch's face with dazed, stunned eyes, the pad of her thumb still tracing over his cheek.
"I must admit, that was better than the times I've imagined it."
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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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It's affection that pulls her to her feet now, her hands taking hold of both of his. She blows by all her hesitance when their eyes meet, going so far as to let her hands squeeze his briefly when she takes a few steps closer.
"I do not wish to see it as serving me, Basch." Her only frame of reference may be limited, but of this, Ashe feels sure. "When we're alone, I would like to merely be - with you." Just Ashe, the person, rather than a princess on the cusp of taking back her country.
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"Alright," he agrees, voice low and warm. She's as close as she was last night, and the same desire to press his lips to hers stirs again. He doesn't want her to think his motivations are primarily carnal, but he is also aware such talk has not frightened her off. And -- if she really has not had that sort of warmth in her life, he thinks very deeply that she deserves to.
"In the spirit of confession, I would kiss you if you will allow it."
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Again her hands tighten their hold on his, and Ashe forgets herself, her shoulders relaxing as her face softens into a smile of her own, slight and very gentle, but warmed by the affection for him that she's finally allowing herself to feel openly.
"I would be kissed by you." As often as time and privacy allow, but, she can't quite yet work up the nerve to admit that, even as she's looking up at him and waiting to feel his mouth on hers, her hands aching to reach up and touch the side of his face to guide him closer, but not able to permit it of herself.
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Hands clasping hers, he closes the narrowing space between them. It's been a long time for him as well, and the warm flesh of her lips feels unbelievably soft and warm. He'd only intended a peck, but he finds himself pressing a little harder, lingering in her touch as his thumbs stroke the back of her calloused hands.
That rogue part of him wants to cup her face, put his other hand on her back and press her to him, kiss along her cheek to the place behind her ear where the hair begins to grow. But he is not so bold, and truly, his heart is already beating so hard that he does not trust himself.
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Not wanting him to pull away she lets herself be brave and release one of his hands so that she can settle hers on his shoulder. Ashe can't pull him in like her racing heart wants her to, but she can hope he realizes how much she wants him to stay close to her.
Lost to the warmth of his lips against hers, she sighs almost dreamily into that kiss, finally giving in to the desire to run her fingers over his cheek, shivering as she feels the hairs of his beard beneath her hand. It's not something she's let herself wonder about for long, but now that she's touching him, having her curiosity sated is already proving to be a brilliant, heady feeling.
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She is at once slight and elegant but strong and solid. He knows if they drew swords, she likely could best him. Her ferocity easily made up for his experience. Perhaps that is what makes her tenderness so precious. He has never seen her so soft and it fills his heart that she trusts him so.
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Not wishing to pull back but too unsure of how long it's permissible to linger, Ashe breaks away from that kiss, her lips still parted as she looks up at Basch's face with dazed, stunned eyes, the pad of her thumb still tracing over his cheek.
"I must admit, that was better than the times I've imagined it."
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