UnShaekable (FFXII)

X) Beheld Betrayal

            It's hours later that the Marquis accepts us. His waiting room is comfortable, to be sure. Simply decorated and large, it is far from the worst place I've had to wait. However, nine hours of pacing and napping and scowling do a number on one's patience, and we're all at our wits' end when a soldier finally appears in the doorway and tells us the Marquis is finally free. Passing a window, I see that it's dark and shadowy outside, the perfect place for disappearing into thin air. Every wall has some sort of portrait, carving, or ornament.

The soldiers push open two large decorative doors that lead into a narrow office. At it's very front sits the Marquis in what might be considered one step from a throne. Before him extends a large wooden table and behind him is a curved semicircle of towering windows bathed in the glow of blue crystal. At his side stands a blue-gray rev in tan robes, clawed hands clasped together as his dark eyes scan over us. The Marquis straightens, hands clutching the ends of his seat.

"Sir Basch fon Ronsenburg," he acknowledges, his accent as thick as ever. "It was not so very long ago that I announced you had been executed."

"And that is the only reason I draw breath," Basch replies, standing tall at the other end of the triangular table. The Marquis keeps his face stern, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table and lace his fingers together.

"So you are the sword he's strung above my head." He sighs. "Vayne has left not a thing to chance. And?"

"A leader of the Resistance has fallen into Imperial hands," Basch explains. My fingers pick at my shirt even when my arms are crossed, my stance swaying just a bit both nervously and impatiently. "A woman by the name of Amalia." Balthier rests his hands on his hips and Fran's nose quivers the slightest bit. "I would rescue her, but I need your help."

"This resistance leader—this Amalia," the Marquis starts, straightening. "She must be very important." At the conversation's pause, Basch places an armored hand over his heart and bows his head.

"You understand I've my position to consider." The Marquis stands, pacing to the left. Vaan springs into action, stepping forward.

"Would you let us see Larsa? He's got my friend with him." The Marquis pauses, raising an eyebrow. Turning to face the boy, he rests his hands a top an ornate cane.

"I'm afraid you're too late." No... No way in Ivalice are we too late. "Lord Larsa's cortege has already rejoined the Imperial detachment. I am told they will depart for Rabanastre upon the arrival of the fleet this eventide."

Vaan's eyes fall to the floor as he sighs, dejected. We're on a wild chocobo chase after his friend and the Resistance at the same time. At this rate, I may as well give up following this group and find somewhere else I'll truly fit. However, there is a detestable whisper in the back of my mind telling me how it would be my fault if Penelo were to be forever lost, all because I gave up far too soon. I take a deep breath, shaking my thoughts away as Vaan lunges toward the Marquis.

"You didn't stop them from...?!"

Balthier rushes forward, grabbing the boy and restraining him. Fran's ear twitches as the sounds of the Imperial fleet flood the early morning air outside. I grit my teeth, watching Vaan struggle against the sky pirate's grip.

"What are we waiting for?!" he demands, stomping on Balthier's foot.

"For you to calm down," the pirate retorts.

"I'm calm," Vaan hisses, jerking free and scowling at our "leading man."

"Captain Ronsenburg," the Marquis says sternly, turning to face Basch with a dark look in his eyes. "Surely the exigencies of position are not lost on you. Why indeed, you should find the enemy's chains... an easy burden to bear."