Summary: Ashe's coronation is happening soon and she reflects back on her journey
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Dalmasca will rise again.
Of that much she is certain.
The war took everything from her. Her father, her husband, her kingdom, her birthright. It would've taken herself had she not been assisted by her friends.
Balthier, the sky pirate, runaway heir of House Bunansa.
Fran, the Viera who turned her back on the woods for reasons only she knew.
Larsa Ferrinas Solidor, newly-apopointed emperor of Archadia, only a child forced to turn on his own brother to right the Empire's wrongs.
Vaan and Penelo, Rabanastran youth caught in the webs of a war which had already taken too much from them.
Basch fon Ronsenburg, the soldier framed for murdering her late father King Raminas, tortured and left to rot for two years in the dungeons.
The war took everything from them, and in loss they bonded. Be it chance or fate, the truth is that meeting them, having their unyielding support was crucial for the restoration of the kingdom. For her own survival.
She closed her eyes, feeling the gentle warmth of the evening sun tenderly kissing her face.
Dalmascans know the desert like the palm of their lover's hands, they slide through the dunes like her fingers through blond hair, like calloused hands on the waves of her body, they become one with the land like sand and water in Ogir-Yensa Sandsea, like two lovers shifting together in waves under the desert moonlight. The motherland is brutal to the unprepared, the harsh winds fustigating the spirit while the ruthless wild beasts beat the body, but those who prove their worth can quench their thirst in its bountiful oasis.
Her eyes slowly opened again, taking in the city, the people, the horizon.
Those like herself. Ashe. Queen Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca, the rightful ruler of this land. But to her friends, just Ashe. She never had to work hard in her life before the murder of her father, she never had to hide her regal upbringing, she never had to travel by foot through the desert, the plains, the jungle or the mountains. She never had to cross caves full of bats and monsters, never imagined herself disturbing a tomb or fighting forces of nature. She wouldn't have done any of those things without her esteemed friends.
But a question plagues her mind. Is she truly worthy of her destiny? She is the only surviving daughter of the royal family, direct descendant of the Dynast King Raithwall, her heritage is indubitable. She was raised to rule this nation, she never strayed from the righteous path, she never stopped fighting to restore Dalmasca, she refused to be puppeted by other nations or the Occurian, yet so many sacrifices were made just so she could reclaim the throne. Reddas. Gabranth. Vossler. Countless people she never met. Casualities of war, but death is never justified. Would things have been different,would there be less casualities and victims if she was stronger, if she had people whom she could rely on?
Her friends.
Balthier and Fran run untamed, seeking adventure and treasure. Perhaps they could occasionally station in Rabanastre and lend her a hand, but she knows she can't leash them.
She can't ask Vaan or Penelo, much of their youth already wasted to war. No, not yet at least, they should enjoy what she has never been given a chance to.
Larsa is but a child with the weight of an empire on his small shoulders. She would always welcome him and hope to help guide his path, but he has a lot to learn on his own.
Basch... Basch chose to honor his twin brother's dying wish, taking on his identity to accompany Larsa and "further the cause of peace in Ivalice". She wondered if he walked with less burden, less guilt, less shame. No more honorable man was there in Ivalice, and if she was being truthful, his absence weighed heavily on her.
Times were shifting, it was time to mourn the past and the fallen, to carry their legacy forward, it was time to correct the mistakes of yore, to rebuild and start anew. Her trials were just getting started and she had to steel herself, hold her head high, the eyes and hopes of an entire nation entirely on her.
She'd already sent out an invitation for her coronation, and Larsa already confirmed their presence. She knew Vaan and Penelo would be there, and she expected Balthier and Fran to make an appearance too, after all what better place for leads to new treasure than a royal coronation? There was yet time, but she anticipated seeing her friends there, and even though she was not one to indulge in daydreaming, she imagined their familiar voices calling out to her again. Ashe. Not Her Royal Majesty, Queen Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca. No, just Ashe to them.
If you feel confused while reading this, that's because I'm intentionally leaving out much of the previous context. Spoilers. Some fun stuff needs to be saved for the full story. @worm-strung-string
Obi and Kal Dance
Their room was dimly lit and the Jedi continued to wear his Temple Guard robes. It had become such a common sight to Kal over his lifetime that he couldn’t think of the Jedi wearing anything else. “Well?” He called. “The Longest Night doesn’t wait. At this rate you won’t show up until sunrise.” The Jedi shrugged. Nor did he turn around, continuing to stare out the window. Kal took a slow frustrated, rumbling breath before walking closer.
His helmet was tucked under his left arm and his knife sheathed once again on his right arm. Kal eyed the now heavily weathered white and gold vambrace the Jedi had offered so long ago as a solemn exchange of armor. Years after Kal had allowed the Jedi the use of his own vambrace with all its weapons and gadgets when the Jedi had been unable to wield the lightsaber. Kal had seen that vambrace on the Jedi’s arm, most of the time wrapped over in the armorweave leather bracers.
“You don’t need to stay. You don’t even need to spend any part of the evening with me,” Kal whispered painfully. “If you thought me telling you how sorry I am would help, I’d have done nothing but apologize. But it won’t change anything until you decide to change it. That’s how the future works, Jedi. We change it.”
The Jedi turned. Those blue eyes were piercing and exhausted. His Jedi had seen too much during that Force inflicted time traveling. “How will we change it, Kal?”
Kal removed a coin from a belt pouch. He was not an artist by any stretch of the imagination. Still, the Jedi symbol was recognizable though less detailed. The Jaig Eyes on the other side were better. Kal had practiced that mark of honor while learning from Munin Skirata, his buir. Kal did not know everything the Jedi went through, but could not think of anyone more deserving of the mark. “One choice at a time. Starting with this one.” Kal held the coin in his first two fingers and displayed both sides to the Jedi. “I owe you a dance.”
“Kal….”
“You don’t intend to collect?”
“That’s not…”
“Then get outside. I don’t like racking up debt and I’m not getting younger.” Kal grumbled. He tucked the coin back into his belt pouch. “You know where I’ll be.” Kal donned his helmet and strode outside quickly. He could feel the heat flash through his cheeks to his ears. The only time he had attempted to dance with this Jedi was after Jango’s death. It had been such a different galaxy then.
Kal waited just outside the bonfire’s warmth. Drums and flutes filled the air with ancient melodies while beskar pounded out its ringing beat. Then a hand settled onto his shoulder. Kal looked up into the bright blue blazing from behind the Temple Guard’s eye slits. “You do owe me that dance,” the Jedi answered. Voice filled with mirth. Even with the Temple Guard’s mask staring down at him, still charred and sliced, Kal released a chuckle, flipping the coin into the air.
“This one is winding down.” He pushed through the pack of Mandalorians overcrowding Kyrimount. He got the attention of the leading musician and asked for a rousing beat. As leader of the Skirata Clan, Kal got the next dance. He stood in the dance space and presented the coin, expecting the Jedi to accept. It was a showmanship Kal bullied through. The missing heart of his armor remained keenly felt. Yet here he was, it the heart of his territory. Among his family and friends. Even invited guests to this Longest Night celebration witnessing that emptiness. “Jedi, I owe you more than a dance.”
The Jedi had yet to tell Kal his name, so Kal refused to use it despite that it was now public knowledge among the Skirata Clan. And he would never use it while the Temple Guard mask was in place. The Jedi had not wrapped over the sand-gold vambrace. It glittered in the firelight. “That you do.” The Jedi did accept the coin.
The drums blasted a loud thump, followed by a low thunderous rumble. The coin disappeared and their left arms slammed together. Neither backed down. That was not who they were. Quick feet and harsh clashes punctuated they’re spins. This was not the dance for the faint hearted. This was more combat than dance. Sparks flashed as Mandalorian Iron scraped against each other. Just like any fight, this dance could not drag out.
With the final blow, they were chest to chest, slow to come back to the world. The Jedi’s eyes glowed that eerie blue. Tonight, that did not bother Kal. The Jedi stepped away first and suddenly Kal lost his breath. “Thank you, Kal,” the Jedi whispered before retreating into the stunned crowd.
It was Jaster who dropped an arm around Kal’s shoulders and steered him away from the bonfire. “That is not what I expected.”
“I don’t care what you expected, Jaster. He’s not a puzzle to take apart.”
“No…. That he is not. Obi-Wan has been lost for far too long.” Jaster offered Kal a mug of something cold and sweet. The Clones of Jango Fett all seem to prefer juices over alcohol. Now that seemed to be the only drink served. “You however, you’re a puzzle.”
“Lay off.”
“You’re actually trying to fix it.”
“I don’t expect you to understand.” Kal brushed Jaster away. “I would have gone back for you if I had the chance… yet I didn’t go back for him when I could have. You don’t fix that.” Kal grabbed another mug of juice and searched out the Jedi, who had found a gently sloping hill that overlooked the bonfire ring. “Always out in the cold.” Kal set the drinks down between them, followed by his helmet behind them. “Tired already?”
“Yes and no.” The Jedi removed his mask and carefully placed it beside Kal’s helmet. “Not from the dance.”
“But from everything else. The Empire is encroaching and Jaster wants to muster a full army to prevent them from taking Mandalore. And he’s only been here for weeks.”
“Kal…” The Jedi removed a slim piece of beskar. “You’ve never stopped being safe. I am tired of being scared of my dreams. The nightmares….” The Jedi took Kal’s hand and pressed the Kar’ta into Kal’s palm. It was his sand-gold heart of his armor. Only it now bore a white flourish. All too similar to the golden flourishes on the Temple Guard’s robes. “I choose to start again. As many times as we must.”
Closing his hand around the kar’ta, Kal was uncertain. “Jedi…..”
“You may call me Obi-Wan.”
Kal snorted, finding the introduction absurd. “Yeah, you made me use Jedi for decades. Don’t expect Obi-Wan to be first choice. Hells, I’ve called you Ben often enough.” He did lean in and gently pulled Obi-Wan’s forehead to his. “You hold my heart. I hold yours. For eternity.”
“Kar'taylir darasuum.” Obi-Wan repeated, knowing far more Mando’a than Kal ever expected.
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