Chapter 3 - Winners and Losers

Balthier's eyelids fluttered, struggling to adjust his to the sharp candlelight in the room. He groaned , and attempted to sit up, only to wince from the sudden movement.

Ashe stood up immediately from the small chair in the corner, and rushed to his side. She thought to call Fran, but decided a few moments alone wouldn't hurt.

'Balthier, can you hear me?' she asked in a low voice.

His eyes were wide open now, and completely focused on the ceiling.

'Princess. Where is my shirt?'

She blinked. 'What?'

'I seem to be missing half of my garments. I don't recall removing them.'

Indeed, Balthier lay on his bed with only his trousers remaining. Ashe cleared her throat and attempted to draw his focus to more pressing matters.

'Balthier, do you remember anything of what occurred in the Tchita Uplands a few days ago?'

'Tchita...a bit hazy at the moment. Remind me.'

Ashe couldn't believe it. Had he really lost his mind from the Malboro poisoning, or was he playing one of his ridiculous games again? She decided to skirt the details. Just in case.

'We encountered some powerful fiends on the plains,' she began to explain, 'in particular, a Malboro. It attacked and poisoned you with a host of diseases. You have been confined to your bed for three days, and treated with Remedies...'

'Ah!' he exclaimed, now looking directly at her. 'I remember winning a certain competition!'

She was right, she realized with dismay. His memory was in full working order...along with his insufferable insolence.

'That contest was abandoned during the fight,' she countered. 'due to foul play and negligible conduct.'

'Because you shot me?'

Ashe reddened. 'No, I-'

'With my own gun?!'

'No! I mean-'

'You tried to dispatch of the competition through underhanded means I have a bullet wound in my chest..'

'Listen-'

I should have known better,' he said dryly, 'than to cohort with the likes of royalty.'

At that, the effects of sleepless nights and constant anxiety finally took its toll on Ashe, and she snapped.

'Damn you, Balthier!' she raged, grabbing a stack of handkerchiefs and throwing them at him. 'This was all your fault to begin with! You speak of attempted murder, and yet you hold the crime of leaving me with an unprepared weapon alone and ill counselled!'

'Ashe?' His voice was softer now, but it did nothing to ease her mood.

'I shot at that Malboro because it was about to devour your sorry soulless carcass! What in Ivalice were you doing, parading around the beast so irresponsibly? Did you wish to die out there?'

Balthier sat up to face his assailant properly, clutching his chest to stifle a groan. 'Absurd allegations. I offered to help set up the gun, and you refused.'

So she had.

'Besides, I...keep telling you... the Leading Man never dies.'

She laughed bitterly. 'Then you are in dire need to be taken to a theatre. It is in my experience that the leading man in tragic dramas always meets a violent fate.'

'I never cared for tragedies,' he retorted smoothly, 'romantic dramas are by far more pleasant. Perhaps we can manage a play in Rabanastre once things have settled down.'

Ashe gaped at the pirate incredulously.

'That is,' he continued, 'as long as you don't slap me too hard. The good captain's bruising from your reunion lasted for a remarkable period, and I must admit I do value my good looks.'

Sensing that the conversation was headed for dangerous grounds, Ashe took a deep breath and made an effort to regain control of the situation. 'I think that is enough for now, Balthier. Your wounds seem to be healing, and you have obviously regained your normal mentality, deficit as it may be. I have taken back my sword and shield, and have left your gun and remainders of your gun to Nono and his crew, who are attempting repairs at this mo-'

'Wait,' Balthier interrupted, grimacing as he leaned forward, 'what do you mean by remainders of my gun?'

'Well, it was not easy to combat the Malboro. Certain actions had to be taken to prevent the creature from finalising its attack on you. I had not my sword, and you did not load the gun with enough bullets, so...'

She turned away from the sick look on Balthier's face. '...So I used the gun to strike the eyes. It was not as effective as a blade might have been, but nonetheless stayed the Malboro's intent.'

'You poked out its eyes with my Altair?'

I had no alternative,' she insisted defensively. 'I needed a distraction in order to allow Basch to kindly finish it off whilst I escorted you to safety...'

'Basch was involved?'

From the tone of his voice, she could tell Balthier's mood had changed dramatically. Turning around, she expected to come up against an anger parallel to her own. This would give her an excuse to leave and alert Fran of her partner's wake.

But his features denoted nothing but disappointment.

'Balthier?' she probed softly. 'Your gun was damaged by toxic residues, but I am sure it will return to full working order by the end of this week...'

'This was all for your benefit,' he sighed, leaning back on to his pillows. 'Basch, that interfering... This entire contest was for your benefit.'

'Excuse me?' Ashe spluttered. 'I recall this contest existing on the promise of a certain wager. I highly doubt that you actually intended to award me with the Strahl.'

Balthier breathed deeply, and closed his eyes, arms across his bandaged chest. 'Do you know how frustrating it is, watching you risk your life in close combat on a daily basis? For every monster you strike down, you risk serious injury, all in the name of a cheap sword.'

Ashe sat down on the chair beside his bed, but said nothing. For such a feeling of helplessness was very familiar to her; she had watched Rasler do the very same until the day of his death.

Now that Balthier had spilled his true thoughts, he seemed unable to stop. 'I hoped you would have sense to realise that attacking from afar with ranged weaponry would be more effective for maintaining your safety...of course, I should have remembered our future queen was too stubborn to consider alternatives.'

'Swords will always remain a part of Dalmasca's heritage!' she insisted slightly louder than she had intended. 'I have a tradition to protect and preserve. Thus I am afforded no choice.'

'There is always choice, Princess,' he replied dully. Now, if you can excuse me I require some rest before we continue our journey.'

Part of her screamed to leave the room, let Fran deal with his tempers. But another stronger, irrational part rooted her to that chair, and obtain a grain of sense from his claims. Balthier was arrogant, rash, stubborn. He enjoyed winning and would defer to no one.

Qualities, Ashe hated to admit, that she also shared. The contest was a foolish idea, but perhaps she had misjudged the pirate.

'How many creatures did you fell with my sword?' she murmured, slowly collecting stray handkerchiefs from the bed, suddenly aware of Balthier's bare torso.

'One,' he muttered after a long pause. 'One couerl. Such a unreliable weapon to depend on. And yourself?'

Ashe, despite herself, smiled. One white lie. He deserved it.

'I was not afforded the chance to defeat anything. Basch took full responsibility for slaying the Malboro.'

Balthier opened one eye. 'I suppose then, in accordance with our agreement, I am declared victor?'

'I suppose, in accordance with our agreement...'

And before she could lose her nerve, she bent down swiftly and gently kissed his forehead.

He smiled roguishly. 'I think you know that doesn't count.'

She stood up and tilted her head slightly. 'Thank you. For caring.'

'Thank you, Princess, for not killing me.'

As Ashe left to fetch Fran, she wondered how far Balthier's good mood would extend. After all, he had not yet seen the bullet holes in his shirt.

Well, she thought with a small smile, you couldn't win them all.