NOTES :: This is the last edit. These are the following things I changed ::
o) There is a new addition to the story. It was a moment I picked out from the ending of FFXII & its credits. So, very spoiler-ridden with a bit of personal interpretation.
o) I also heavily added-onto the story following the new one. Well, not heavily. But it has a funnier punch, I think.
o) Some alteration to the very last story.
o) I was corrected by a few reviewers. Apparently Balthier has brown eyes, whereas in my story I suggested azure/grey. Well, that's fixed! He now has brown eyes.
Thank you for enjoying the story. :) Thank you!

STRANGERS IN PARADISE

"I would introduce myself, but I'm at a disadvantage m'lady."

"What disadvantage would that be?"

"The very disadvantage of not being a man deserving to introduce himself to a lady of your stature."

The bar was fixed with the smell of liquor and smoke. The sounds of whispers interlaced the company of good friends and new acquaintances. Moogles explained the dynamics of an Archadian airship's infrastructure ('much too complex. They don't realize simple design is key to production of the finest. It's pretty, but it just weighs it down...') while a pair of Bangaas discussed the socio-politics Archadia was engaged in ('I don't believe I even saw a single non-hume in that city! Are they really so daft as to be that racist?'). No one approached the Viera - out of respect or fear. This left her to her own devices, long fingers braided as she silently eavesdropped on the company around her. Sensitive ears swivelled back and forth, fixed like a radar as they caught snippets of information, learning that the Princess of Rabanastre's hand was negotiated between her father, the king, and the ruler of Nalbina ('Though, my dear. We all know them royal families. Give it three years before they are actually hitched, methinks'), and also learning Archadia's preparations to expand their territory south. Information turned into gossip, as a majority of 'private' conversations found their subject in her presence. ('Is that really a Viera?') ('She's really quite beautiful. But I hear that Viera prefer females over males...') ('Dear god, what does that young woman think she's doing, walking around in that get up?!') ('At least she didn't dye her hair... I hate it when they do that.') ('Poor thing must be all alone.')

The whisperings were something she grew used to. Fourty-five years of private ridicule and wonder thoroughly jaded her.

She didn't recall hearing him among the crowd. Her ears merely flicked as heavy footsteps, one foot after the other and not missing the slight limp. More weight on the right leg. He was quick to bow, and introduce himself... without really introducing himself.

His character baffled her.

"What mean by you... 'a man deserving of introduction...'?" She inquired slowly, tasting each word and lilting her syllables

"You are very beautiful," He said bluntly. "But I needn't say that. It is unsaid knowledge. A beautiful woman always knows she's beautiful."

She stopped on her tongue, amber eyes widened slightly as her ears flipped backwards. It was physical communication akin to Viera and hares. She was either very annoyed or very frightened. Quick, she sought to correct his advances, "I am not seeking a soulmate."

"Good, we share common place," The stranger pressed into a seat by her at the bar. A hand cradled his chin, honey eyes fixed on her face. "More in common than I think. Not oft do I see a Viera listening to the entire bar without partner or friend by herside."

Lips parted, lithe brows raised in alarm as her amber pools twitched back and forth. She was staring wide mouthed. She felt like a toad.

Using the opportunity, he continued - regarding the shelves of liquor lined on the walls. Long bottles, short bottles, half empty, some discolored, others unopened. Clustered together in a personal organization that only the Bartender could decode. "Certain people might have made that astounding choice to be disowned by their home in return for freedom, but I doubt they would ever envision themselves sitting idly by in this... plebian environment by themselves. Don't you agree?" He lifted a brow and leaned in curiously, "Mmm?"

There were no words in her mouth. While shock was definitely a factor in tying her tongue, she was more or less caught off guard by the idea of having a conversation, not necessary by the topic of said conversation. Most verbal exchanges were restricted to information, trade, finances, and then she would continue to trek through unknown frontier where the only talking left as between her and nature. This, however, was approaching personal territory. She could only offer a vague answer, "Perhaps I did..."

He chuckled, hooking the heel of his boot over the steel frame of his stool, elbow resting over the arched knee as tan eyes swept up and found a bronze face framed by warm, white curls, "Now then... m'lady. Do not be mistaken. You were not the subject of my question. No, my lady. That was me," His gaze watched the woman solidly as her brows furrowed, ears perked in an expression of mixed confusion and lack of humor. "It seems you and I are those people after all, hnn? Trading family and friends for a sense of freedom... Oh well, I suppose I'll drink to that and be on my merry way."

He plucked his alcohol from the table, raised the glass to his company, and downed the bitter drink. She could smell the warm spice of him. Engine oil interlaced with the breath of whiskey. Though there was something else, something familiar. Something that would give reason to murder him in a bar of anti-imperialists. The smell of old money.

He flashed a smile as the glass came down, cheap crystal perched on stained wood. He prepared to make his leave, heaving a sigh as he picked himself onto his feet and turned to make his leave.

"Strangers in a strangeland." Her voice interrupted his stride, slow in her speech as she considered every word before tasting them. They were, to her, precious gems. It was in her nature to speak carefully rather than carelessly, "That is who we are, is it not? You and I? Is that what we share in common? Being strangers... among strangers?"

He turned partially, so that he faced her at a fourty-five degree angle. Slouched, knees bent with the weight placed primarily on his heels. She was not deceived, it was an intentional act on posture. Stand any straighter, let any mannerisms slip and he would be recognized as related to an enemy empire.

He smiled closed lip, one eye slightly closing in a moment of contemplation, "Strangers are only friends we haven't meet yet. Besides, I prefer to think of us as... strangers in paradise. So stranger, what name shall I address you to distinguish your face from other strangers?"

A simple nod was expressed, one hand pushing back the thick bound of white off her shoulder as she shifted her weight to the other leg. "Fran."

Slowly, the man nodded. Fingers touching his chin and sight momentarily fixed on the ceiling. "Fran. Well Fran, My name is Balthier." A languid bow was something more akin to habit and upbringing than intentional. The way his posture slightly twitched, it was obvious he wanted to correct his mistake. But she was still rather amused by the show.

As he rose, the young man then took a few long strides towards her, returning to his position with brown-kissed pools sliding from Fran's right to left eye - his indecisive gaze dizzying her. Lithe brows furrowed and her lips turned, "What?"

"Well..." Balthier cheered, eyes narrowed briefly as he maintained the long contact. The poor Viera couldn't tell if he was studying her out of curiousity, was genuinely attracted to her and doing a poor job at hiding his newfound affections (as most male humes were), or entertaining himself by behaving foolish. "... Do you mind if I tell you a secret?"

Eyes grazed him suspiciously, dirty blonde locks regarded and Balthier's curious habits memorized. The way his brows raised when he was speaking, or how he tilted his head when he posed a question. "... Perhaps." Fran drawled.

"Well..." He began, body leaned towards her as he kept the message within confidence, "I think that I've finally found what I've been looking for."

"What would that be?" A nose wrinkled in slight gesture, intimidated by the close quarters of non-Viera. Discomfort and excitement played a strange melody, and she disliked both tunes.

His hand swept the empty crystal glass from the bar, piece held up by hand as Balthier drew his body backwards. Some grin of mixed mirth and mischief touched his lips as the words fell warm like wine.

"A partner."

"Do you even comprehend the basic mechanics of an airship, let alone the networking system?"

It was empty save for a pirate and his one-manned crew. There was no hiding in these quarters, lavished in an Archadian silk blouse and adorning tight behemoth-leathered pants. Though fashion was ignored slightly for comfort, a few buttons clipped off at the waist and a bit of wear shown through the threaded edges of expensive silk. And while he was clad with all the trappings of classy wear, his only sole company was a far cry from wearing much of anything. In fact, the pieces and bits of metal from weeks previous still fixed upon her body - mythril and shear fabric, some headpiece acquired years ago from her sisters. Fran's hands at her hips as eyes stayed at the back of a rubbishly dirty blonde head.

From behind the wires and meshes of the airship's floorboard, he raised only one finger, indicating silence in a moment of frustration. However, this only further frustrated the problem. A single, long foot snapped into the floor, lifted and then hitting it heel-first. The razor edges of her split stiletto cracked the marble tiles.

"Fiery," Balthier purred, dancing very closely to his doom and enjoying every frightening step.

"I think that we've reached a certain point in our relationship where we must be... open to one another without barriers. Strengthen our partnership, understand eachother. Know the other so well we can interpret what they are thinking..."

Fran frowned, a single ear turned in his direction as the other faced the opposite way. It was a physical declaration of skepticism, "What do you speak of?"

"Well, there comes a point when a lady and a man must... ignore the shackles adorned by society. Throw away those rules. Those... ridiculous claims to etiquette," Balthier rolled, pausing to bite his tongue as he stubbed his finger into the open controls.

"You are unclear."

"In short, may I ask you several questions that have bothered me?" He inquired innocently.

"... Pray tell," Fran replied slowly, turning so her profile faced him.

"Well... to state simply..." Balthier continued, clearing his throat, "Why do you Viera wear those confounded shoes? Is it to hide the size of your feet? Now dear. I want you to know that your feet do not dissuade you from your beauty. Hardly. They enhance it. There is nothing to be ashamed of abnormally large feet. It was the way you were born," He said ever-so-agreeably.

Fran bravely and very blankly stared back.

"Why, even I am not perfect as I may appear. It is all a mummer's farce to disguise weaknesses, a pirate must not present those to the public. For example, I have a funny run," Balthier nodded once.

It was all at that point Fran had learned what no other woman had ever learned to do - she could tune him out.

Balthier shuffled his cards, a wry eye fixed on his partner as fingers deftly switched the waxen paper. He had a habit of lifting one brow up and down when he was doing something suspicioius. Balthier was not very good at hiding expressions or mischief. It reminded Fran why it was a good thing the man was better at negotiations than he was at conning people. The last time he tried to cheat a man, he was a tail end away from having both his brows seared off.

The line of hair kept wavering, upper lip twitching in time to a smirk. Fran blankly watched on.

"What?" Balthier inquired innocently, dealing his cards.

"I speak of nothing," She stated, with an underlying 'something' interlacing the tone of her voice.

"Mmm..." The pirate leaned backwards, one leg propped onto the table as he fixed his hand, investigating his options intently.

It seemed to be the perfect opportunity to open a conversation that interested Balthier. "... You know... Just the other day Vaan asked the most ridiculous things about you..."

Fran sighed, waiting for the floodgate of teasing to open with or without her consent. "What, perchance?"

"Well...," Balthier began with a bit of an amused tilt to his voice. "For example... he was very interested in the size of your feet. At first, he was convinced you were at least thirteen hands high, until he stumbled across the most brilliant revelation that perhaps your added height was not necessarily due to your physique, but rather due to the Viera's curious fashion of stilettos... To which Vaan asked, 'But... why do they wear such high heels?' I, being informed, answered 'For balance.'

"'Balance?' Vaan inquired, further baffled by this. Until he thought about the abnormal length of a Viera's foot.

"'My goodness!' he cried. 'Those feet must be three hands long!'" Balthier concluding, introducing the tail end question to his story, "Tell me, Fran. Do you think he might have a fetish for feet?"

Crimson eyes glowered at the man, lips turned as the amusement drained from her features. "I cannot say. Is that all?"

"Hardly," Balthier laughed, weaving a hand in the air before it settled at the back of his head. "Perplexed by this, Vaan decided to change his inquiry. He tried to figure out your age through deduction of reasoning."

"Continue..."

"Well, my dear, we all know that Vaan lacks reason so there was nothing to deduce," Balthier grinned, one tooth overlapping his lip as he traded cards with the main deck. "But that's not the point. What is interesting is where Vaan's atypical adolescent mind lead him to. 'If she's left the wood for fifty years, where has she been? What has she been doing?'

"It was quite charming to see that boy's face turn up the way it does, a hand cradling his chin as he asked his next question. And do you know what Vaan asked?"

Fran didn't have to make a motion for reply. Balthier wasn't paying attention anyways, too involved in his story as he grinned, "Why I'll tell you. He said to me, 'Balthier, you don't suppose that... she... well... went out out, do you?'

"'Out out? Please, be detailed,' I asked most curiously.

"'Well... been with men... or women... or both... uhm... actually, do Viera even 'do' those things?'" Balthier said in a voice mocking the young blonde thief.

Fran licked her upper lip and snorted, the habit very like a hare. It was oft a sign of territory or frustration. But, patient as she was, the woman merely watched her partner and waited for his astounding conclusion to the story.

Pity that Balthier had both no astounding account nor a conclusion to the damn story, "I told him that I didn't know, what do you suppose the answer is, Fran?"

"Inexperienced I am... as he is," Fran said very flatly as she traded her cards, glaring at her partner. "Above such physical appetites, my sisters believe. We are satisfied being one with the wood. Such urges are only necessary for procreation. We were born of the wood, a mute point pro creation is. We care little for such devices."

"You mean to say you've never even kissed?" Balthier inquired, baffled.

Ladies and gentlemen once inticed by the smooth pirate would probably have been surprised to see him so alarmed. He was shaken to the point of dropping a couple of aces from his sleeve. Without much show, a hand swept off the cheated cards from the table as if they were dust, concentrating still on the game and conversation.

"In the procreative sense? No," Fran slipped, putting down a vial of ooze as she raised the stakes of the game.

Balthier paused, frowning, "I know I'm a patient man, but I wish you would have informed me of your... innocence."

The Viera was silent, lithe brows raised as mahogany eyes slid oft to the side. Both ears swivelled backwards and her lips parted. "Curious, I've always been. Of the acts attached to procreation." She said finally, her fractured sentences emphasizing a certain, underlying point.

"Funny," Balthier said in amusement, head tilted as eyes stayed on his partner, "I've always been curious what it was like to kiss a Viera."

While the statement was the kind to cause Penelo to blush or Ashe to fluster or any typical hume female some skip of heartbeat, Fran didn't appear affected. Balthier's charms never did reproach her in the same way they flattered or frustrated other people.

Fran managed to smile in her own aged amusement, "Then I suppose we will grow to appreciate those curiousities for what they are - fantasies."

Balthier sighed, frustrated. It was the same circled argument she repeated everytime he attempted to introduce the argument of his affections, "Until the time comes that I convince you acting is better than wondering."

She hummed, her voice harmonizing to the mist's buzz pleasantly dancing in her head. He couldn't hear it, but she could. Fran was never very talkative, and it had quite a lot to do with the complex conversations occuring in the world around her. Talking interrupted the mist's messages. "Confident, you seem."

"Well..." He smiled, brows shifting slightly up and down as he placed his cards on the table in a long row before the Viera. "If history is true, there was also a time when a Viera we both know was curious about the outside world, and eventually acted on her feelings. I'm convinced that curiousity is never just a thought. Eventually, it evolves into experimentation."

Fran finally smiled as she placed her cards down in a row. It was a fixed loss produced by the dealer, but she allowed the cheater his victory. "Then you continue dreaming."

"Always do, fair lady. And look where it led me. Playing Seeq's Ace with the most fair... hare in the world." Picking up the cards, Balthier started to shuffle the pack. Fran wasn't blind when he slipped both aces back into his sleeve, "Another game?"

"Are you sure you felt nothing?"

"I am positive. Nothing extroardinary..."

"... Absolutely nothing?"

"No."

"Not even a small instance of something?"

"I felt nothing, Balthier."

"A light tingling sensation of positive perhaps-it-was-there-somethi-"

"Nothing."

"... Then I suppose we will have to find out why."

"It is a grave task."

"Indeed."

"You do appear determined."

"I am."

"Then I suppose I have no choice but to direct you when I do feel something this time."

"Ah HAH! So you did feel something!"

"Would this stop you from repeating?"

"Are you mad, woman? Absolutely not!"

He could see them, three pairs of long ears matched with red eyes peeking from the window. Their fingers curled into the wood, politely turning into position as they sought a good spot for a good gaze. They were curious, Mjrn and her friends. With every right to be. Though in some ways their curiousity differed compared to three years back. To be fair however, the situation of now and the situation of then were very different.

Three years then, he barged into the only safe haven he could turn to when the world outside was still chaotic and quite cruel. Though it had little to do with chaos and everything to do with safeguarding the health of something very precious to him. This sanctuary was only safe because it forbade the presence of outside politics; or really, of outside anything.

It caused a great deal of tension within the Viera ward when the vessel promptly landed into the tribal chief's house.

Though, the anger quickly subsided once Fran's sisters regarded her health. Funny how dying can alter the hearts of even the stone-hearted.

It took a long time for Fran to regain her health; it was the setback of her race. Long age, long health recovery. Balthier had learned through the frightening episode that the typical Viera's metabolism was very slow, and as such their bodies responded in very different ways. Those were hellish nights, staying up for weeks so your partner wouldn't die. When she was conscious and able to move on her own, her sisters quickly addressed Balthier's presence as an issue in their village.

He was a hume male who could contaminate the very traditional ways of living. Not even that, he was causing unnecessary curiousity among the younger girls. It wasn't until Balthier slayed the ancient Wyrm within the forest that he had gained the Viera's respect and credit enough to live in the village.

Though, despite their reluctant agreeance that he was indeed a good friend and ally, Balthier was certain the real reason for his stay had little to do with the slaying of moss-ridden wyrms and everything to do with Fran's condition. A condition neither spoke of until it came a time when that condition was visible enough that speaking of it was simply unnecessary.

His existance in the village riled a great deal of curiousity and approach. As they learned from him, he also learned their ways. Much to Balthier's surprise (or perhaps lack there of), male Viera did exist - though were rare. However, due to the age length of a typical Viera, the idea of sex and children wasn't quite as important to their culture as it was to humes, bangaa, seeq, or the other varying races in Ivalice. For every fifty females, there was one male. And the male in question paired with a single woman, and in their pairing, they often had multiple children. Half of Fran's village was, in fact, her full blooded sisters. The other half were aunts. There were only three men in the village, two who were her brothers, the other who was from another tribe and seeking a soulmate.

The society was trained to be disinterested in breeding. As a gift to the Viera, evolution had endowed the race with long age. But, in return, it limited the pool of males so that over-population would be a mute point. Hence the term 'Born of the wood' - to be born of a pair, but to be related to the whole. Balthier never understood Fran when she stated those terms, but living in his new world... those conditions are what made it a balanced, peaceful society.

Suppose that's what happened when you rid a world of aggression and testosterone.

He didn't mind a bit. Made him more of a leading man, and he got all the attention he always wanted to receive. Gave him that much more of a spotlight.

Which brought him to that point in time. This was very new to him, if not very frightening. Though, as Balthier learned, it was only another adventure in his life. And all adventures were frightening. He just needed a map, and thankfully he did carry one. His map of fatherhood was a very simple illustration. He already knew what it meant to be a bad father. All that was required of him was to act in all the ways his old man did not. Brown eyes raised thoughtfully as those three pairs of ears twitched from the window, smiling as he recognized Mjrn's own unique pattern among her friends. Sighing, he returned to the object of their curiousity. One hand cradling the bundle while the other adjusted his spectacles.

He dully noted he was even beginning to look like his old man. How ironic.

"When do you suspect they will come?" Fran inquired from her bed, ears turned back and white hair falling past her shoulders.

Balthier shrugged, more interested in the wiggling thing that was delighted to find that suckling on his index finger was quite entertaining. "Vaan's not very patient, I suspect he will be crashing into your sister's hut anytime soon followed by Penelo who will insist on apologizing to every single tree in this village for her friend's carelessness. Ashe has her own affairs, and we know how little a princess enjoys departing from a recovering kingdom. As for Basch and Larsa... I cannot say. At least we'll have the littlest-thieves-that-could pounding on our doors, eh?"

Fran deliberated gently before a specific issue was pressed, one that went unsaid. One in regard to a particular princess. "She misses you. Such is a woman's heart," She stated, perhaps a bit too simply. It caused some pain to the pirate.

"When I took her ring, I promised I wouldn't return it until I had acquired a better treasure," Balthier started, pushing one foot off as the chair rocked in gravity's turn. He could hear the girls outside murmuring, though didn't mind their eavesdropping. He took it as an opportunity to seal a specific contract of affection. "I returned the ring in my letter."

Fran was quiet, though he suspected it was because of deliberation. Sometimes the woman was a bit too slow, a bit too patient, and a bit too thoughtful with her words. It at times was a little frustrating, especially since he was quite the opposite of all those virtues, though in the aftermath of his experiences, he began to understand that it was those characteristics that were so important to her person. It was what made her the only woman who could tolerate him and made his life interesting. "Are you suggesting that you've finally found a greater treasure?"

"Indeed," Balthier stated firmly, eyes staying on her as they shared a private moment. She offered a rare smile, amber eyes closed with hands collected in her lap. He was not used to these moments where Fran was affectionate as opposed to stubborn and cynical. Balthier looked away to the gift in his arms, feeling a bit awkward and uncomfortable in the position Fran put him in. He refused to blush. "So, what are we going to call this little treasure of ours, hmm? I quite like the name Ffamran Demen Bunansa the Second. It seems to suit him in a charming, elaborate kind of way."

As he turned to regard his partner playfully, the woman's soft expression swiftly melted into a very hard stare with one ear turned while the other faced the wall behind her. Balthier was familiar to this nonverbal form of communication. It was a simple statement of 'are-you-mad-and-do-you-really-want-me-to-hurt-you?' He much prefered it to the gentle Fran, and was always delighted when he picked out her temper.

Balthier could only grin like a choir boy, returning to the child in his arms, "I could settle for Mustadio Bunansa instead."

"Thirty years, and you still haven't the faintest clue how to operate this damned machine."

"Thirty years and your backside still hasn't lost it's luster. Dear goodness, woman," He laughed outloud, an old charming voice rasped through age and tire. Balthier's once sharp tan eyes reflecting uncharted skies faded greying brown. His face wore wrinkles from smiling and lifting his brow too much, dirty blonde hair turned silver white.

Fran only served some immortal, ageless example of his past. The one thing in his life that went undying and stayed loyal, physically and emotionally. The one thing that didn't go off and marry a royal member of the Dalmascan family. The one thing that didn't make him remember that oh-god-I'm-becoming-old after having his grandchild.

Oh dear lord, grand-children. He almost forgot he had more than one of them.

Though she did cut her hair yesterday, much to his protests. He wasn't sure he could grow to like jaw-length white threads. It was a bit too much. He knew he would miss braiding the loose ends idly, though such thoughts would be dismissed in a year or two.

"Oft times I wish you went to the princess," Fran continued the old, long winded three-decade argument that started the moment their mission was interrupted by a certain bright headed revenging-type royal female.

"Not this again..." Balthier groaned, rolling his eyes. "Now Fran dear, must I repeat all the reasons why I did not - although I admit I was tempted - to marry into royalty?"

Her head cocked slightly, ignoring him as she continued to finger through the various wires at the Strahl's panelboard. He knew she was tuning him out, but paid the motion no head.

"... One, she was still beyond recovery at the death of her husband in such a time. And far be it for me to take the place of a glorious war hero, hardly. Second, I prefer women who are taller than me. Third, nothing against Dalmasca, but the women all look alike. Blonde hair and blue eyes? How long had they been inbreeding? Fourth, I always seek the higher prize."

Fran caught that last piece, ear turned on him with eye fixed, brows furrowed and lips turning to a frown, "... New, your fourth reason is..."

The pirate shrugged slightly, honey gaze confronting the wall before fearlessly addressing the woman, "I had at my hand offered a gold coin and a gold mine. I chose the gold mine."

"... Speak not through metaphor," Fran requested, glaring rather heatedly. She had an idea where Balthier's words were taking him, and wanted more evidence why she should kick him in the head.

"Well... any young dashing beautiful hero can win the heart of a princess. But it takes a real man to melt the ice and win a Viera," Balthier took his turn to offer a bright, bold smile.

The 'gold mine' in question crossed her arms under her breasts and stared at him quite blandly.

Balthier maintained his brave smile, "Is this where you swoon into my arms? Ask me to take you to bed? Fall desperately and absolutely in love with me? Be unable to resist my charming ways and tell me how wonderful I am? Oh Fran, shall we stay up into the late hours and worship one another?"

She shifted her weight to the other leg.

"Or is this where you tell me that you will think about it over the next two years, leaving me cold in my bed?"

The woman shook her head, sending threads of white in various directions before removing herself from the panel. Balthier whistled pleasantly, admiring her body as she left him to his own devices, laughing out loud as he lecherously noted in turn - "Your answer satisfies me!"

"I don't want to leave you alone."

Fran had learned that eighty was not a good age for men. While she noticed his strength and youth draining from him at fourty, Balthier was too proud to depend on anyone or any device to get around his shortcomings. Even now, trapped in bed, he refused to let anyone help him drink water or bite through his food. His face was masked with age, but he still retained his pride and sheer stubborn personality.

"I mean to say, where will you go?" He inquired, lithe brows furrowed as he watched the woman who laid beside him. She traced his arm, amber eyes closed and ears tucked into a pillow while memorizing the moment. "I will stay here. You will not leave me."

Balthier guffawed, grinning. Brown eyes sliding to see her dark image resting beside. "'When there is life, there is death. And in death, life.' So you will listen to nature and hear me, you say?"

"When you return to it, yes," Fran whispered, hand touching his, thumb smoothing the creases and veins pronounced in his papered fingers. "Death is not frightening nor lonely. When you are apart of the whole, there will be another connection. You will be reborn into nature, and I will be with you."

"It sounds like paradise," He stated, eyes closing into a smile.

"It is."

After addressing her as so, the young pirate laid down his glass and sauntered the opposite direction. He was thoroughly amused at the conversation (or lack there of) he had with the Viera. In short, the boy was proud of himself. He was of family and title, stripped of any hope of surviving the preying world around him, and yet he felt like there was nothing he could conquer. It was beautiful. He was a leading man. All that after talking to a woman, a rare woman that no one braved to implore speech with because she was too beautiful, because she was misunderstood, because she was exotic.

However, he didn't imagine she would ever respond.

"Strangers in a strangeland." Her voice interrupted his stride, slow in her speech. It was very exotic. Very unlike the way he flourished his words and found strength in quickness of tongue. Where he was fast, she took her time. As if she had all the time in the world.

"That is who we are, is it not? You and I? Is that what we share in common? Being strangers... among strangers?"

He turned partially, so that he faced her only slightly. He was still alarmed the woman was actually talking to him. Him. Perhaps she was mistaken. Perhaps she was toying with him. He was nothing particularly special. Just a young seventeen-year-old boy who ran away from home, some young child with a little gil and a stolen airship. Slouched, knees bent with the weight placed primarily on his heels. The boy intentionally lacked in posture, testing the Viera. Watching how far she'd judge him based on appearances alone.

His smile was closed lip, one eye slightly closing in a moment of contemplation, "Strangers are only friends we haven't meet yet. Besides, I prefer to think of us as... strangers in paradise."

Strangers in paradise.

He liked that.

Sounded like something a leading man would say.

He found what he was looking for. A perfect stranger who would be a perfect partner.

It was paradise.

AUTHOR'S NOTES ::

I listened to a lot of Loreena McKennitt, Delirium, and Jesse Cook in the writing of this. Balthier reminds me of Jesse Cook, whereas Fran is more on the Delirium side.

It was a fluffy, happy fic. Just private moments between them that sort of highlight their relationship. A bit long but a nice write.

Edit - A cookie to anyone who knows the reference I made in connection to 'Mustadio Bunansa'. Bwahaha.

By and by, I finally watched the last part of FFXII as well as the ending credits. I'm pretty sure Balthier's new child is Fran's, and I love the bit with the three Viera looking into the window. I also wanted to give more depth why he returned Ashe's ring (or rather, why that is such a big deal). It's a little heartbreaking. Ashe lost everything and fell in love with someone whose heart belonged to another.

I love FFXII. It is such a mature story. The princess doesn't always get what she wants, and some people don't have a happy-ever-after while others do. Isn't that the reality of things? Don't get me wrong, I adore Ashe. I just think she has the worst luck with men sometimes.