A/N: lyrics used are copyright of Ayumi Hamasaki and avex trax.

Forgiveness
By Shikhee

Ashe had read that revenge was never a straight line and while she insisted that her intentions were far nobler than vengeance, she still hadn’t expected her journey to be straightforward in the slightest. She would have been a fool to do so… but Ashe had hoped it would be free of too much distraction. Stops to replenish supplies and sundries, to trade in weapons, take up an easy Hunt or browse stocks of magicks were all well and good. Ashe could even tolerate (brief) excursions to pubs and inns if their supply of gold allowed it, but there were some things that went far beyond necessity and existed entirely in the category of pointless distraction.

Ashe didn’t care if they were the best and most sought after entertainers in Ivalice nor did she care what their name was – Tantalize or Tantalian, she didn’t know, she had been trying to tune Balthier out as a measure of controlling her temper - stopping to take notice of migrant troupes was definitely a distraction, and participating with them even worse. When Penelo’s eyes had widened at the sight of the caravan and she let out a surprised, hushed “Ooooh!” Ashe made sure to make these thoughts known.

“They can’t charge of us for looking,” Vaan protested, piping up as Penelo visibly shrunk into herself, looking disappointed.

Balthier snorted with laughter. “Haven’t looked around Lowtown all that much, have you, Vaan?”

Vaan scowled in apparent confusion – and it was also apparent he disliked feeling that way. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that there are some places that do charge you for ogling the merchandise, even if you keep your hands to yourself.”

Ashe’s posture stiffened. She glanced first to Fran, who was smiling vaguely as if entertained by her own thoughts, then to Balthier, making sure to narrow her eyes and keep her expression rigid. “Balthier – ” she began in a warning tone. As usual it went unheeded.

Balthier studied Vaan carefully for a few seconds as if sizing him up. He lifted his left shoulder in a half-shrug. “Maybe you’re too young to have been allowed in,” he said, sighing.

“Do we really need to have this conversation now?” Ashe lifted her gaze to the twilit sky as if pleading for patience, folding her arms across her chest.

“I agree with Her Highness,” Basch interjected, keeping his voice low to avoid drawing attention. He looked down at the princess, his lips twitching briefly. “We can discuss this some other time.”

“And what, deprive Migelo the chance to fulfill his parental duty?” Balthier paused, pressing his lips together over a smirk. “But I suppose a Bangaa’s pearls of carnal wisdom aren’t much use to a Hume.”

“Balthier – ”

Penelo, who had been ignoring them all from the start, approached the nearest member of the troupe. She cleared her throat nervously. “Excuse me, um, is it okay if we watch? For just a little while?” The hope in her voice betrayed her neutral expression.

“No harm there, as we’re just warming up,” replied a woman who looked to be in her thirties. She had a voice that sounded as if someone had clamped a clothes pin on her nose and Ashe was pleased to see that she was carefully tuning an instrument draped over her lap. She didn’t want to imagine what kind of singing voice came with the speaking one.

Penelo turned back to the group, looking triumphant.

“Good service,” Balthier chuckled.

“Highness, it’s nearly nightfall – we cannot hope to travel very far in the dark,” Basch inclined his head to her as he spoke, his voice gentle.

“And you wanted to set up camp here before, remember? When we first passed through?” Penelo smiled at Ashe from around Basch’s back, looking slightly apologetic. “Now’s your chance.”

Ashe knitted her eyebrows together and maintained enough dignity not to pout. “I don’t recall saying that.”

“You did, Highness,” Basch looked apologetic, too, but he was also smiling as a parent might survey his child, knowing her to be defeated.

Ashe didn’t say anything for a moment, aware that they were all watching her carefully. She bowed her head and nudged the ground with the tip of her boot, digging a small rut to vent her frustration. When she spoke again it was in a resigned and quiet voice, an attempt to make peace. “Very well then. We rest here.”

Penelo nearly bounced with delight. “Thanks, Ashe! I owe you one!” And, grabbing Vaan’s hand before he was aware of being captured, she dashed off to mingle with the dancers.

Ashe sighed and looked up at the sky once more.

Tantalus – that was their name. The recognition hit Ashe with a surprising force, but she managed to control it enough to allow only her expression to soften as the blow of nostalgia seeped across her face. She had once had a tutor from Tantalus when she was younger. Her name was Aloise and she had retired from both the stage and gallivants around the Archadian providence in search for a quiet life that Dalmasca’s royal court could happily provide. Sitting back and watching Penelo talk animatedly to various members, Ashe remembered these lessons and how she’d once considered them glorified and well disguised torture sessions. As the years passed and her skills increased, they soon became delightful distractions from her other studies.

All the same, she disliked seeing them now. She disliked the memories they brought back to her. It was easy to mistake the swish of a pale gossamer veil for the same one she had worn, moving about her in a blur as she spun and bowed, her laughter low over the beat of the music and the dozens of feet moving across the floor. It was painful to watch the complicated and impossibly graceful steps and turns, recognizing their pattern and feeling her body yearn to follow along. She didn’t want to remember, but she didn’t see how she could forget when the memories were so stubbornly insisting that they be noticed.

When Basch and Fran had started setting up their shelters for the night, Ashe had thrown herself into the task with a gusto that surprised them both – though it was hard to tell with either of them, truth be told. Their faces were empty of anything but acceptance as far as Ashe could tell, but she didn’t like the way their eyes lingered on hers, Fran’s especially. A Viera’s senses were keen, Ashe knew, and she would rather not be the focus of one’s attention just now.

At least Balthier’s distracted, Ashe thought glumly, glancing sidelong at him as he took a hearty swig from a jug that was being passed around the troupe. She would happily take Fran’s penetrating stare above Balthier’s barbed tongue.

Unfortunate for her setting up camp proved an easy task when there were three sets of hands attending to it, and soon enough Ashe found her mind being drawn back to the crush of memories she wanted to avoid. She had no choice but to sit down with the rest of them and watch as the dancing grew rowdier, the music increasing to a raucous, festive pitch – aided, no doubt, by the second jug that was being passed around amongst them. Even Vaan tried his hand at a few awkward, halting steps, prodded along by an encouraging Penelo who was trying her best not to laugh when Vaan faltered or scream when he stomped on her feet.

The pointless distraction was proving to be anything but, and this truth made Ashe sulk. She sunk into her memories with a heavy, defeated heart.

Rasler had been a good dance partner – not incredibly skilled, true, but he wasn’t as terrible as the other young men Ashe had to endure. They had moved well together according to Aloise, but Ashe wasn’t too concerned about how they looked when dancing. She was just glad he didn’t stand on her feet too often, and she had told him this, to his delight. She smiled at the thought of his lopsided grin and contagious laughter. How often had it made an imitation bloom over her own face! Although now it was a sad twist of her lips that twisted at her already knotted heart.

“Oh, cheer up, lass! It breaks the heart to see you so glum.”

Ashe started at being addressed so plainly, and she glanced up to find the nasally-voiced woman grinning at her, red in the face from drink and fumbling at her instrument. Apparently she was having trouble keeping up with the beat, a fact that did not escape the others’ notice. The song came to an end shortly after and the musicians and dancers drew closer together, talking amongst themselves.

Penelo took this time to massage her sore feet, carefully avoiding Vaan’s eye as she said, “No, no, you did just fine for a beginner.”

“How about a slower one?” Called out a man with silver hair and twinkling blue eyes. He was apparently the decision maker of the troupe for as soon as he spoke the musicians all began re-tuning their instruments, plucking strings or tapping out slow, rhythmic beats that Ashe could not place. She had no ear for music sadly, though she appreciated it with a fervor that bordered on zealous.

“Forgiveness, is it?” The nasally voiced woman asked, and the silver-haired man nodded.

Something tugged at the corner of Ashe’s already barbed memory. It gave her an uncomfortable jolt. The name felt familiar somehow. She sat up a little straighter and listened carefully, watching intently as the dancers aligned themselves into a new pose, partnering into four sets of two. Ashe thought she recognized the initial stance.

Oh gods no.

“Oh, I love this one!” Penelo whispered, reclaiming Vaan as she set about positioning his hands and feet. Vaan allowed himself to be prodded with only a few words of protest, looking thoroughly bored of it all.

Ashe’s heart had begun to beat fast in her chest, making her hands shake and a piercing sting rise up behind her eyes.

“Highness,” came Basch’s gravelly whisper in her ear. Ashe couldn’t bring herself to look at him – she simply lifted her chin a little higher to indicate she was listening, her eyes pinned to the dancers. “Are you feeling tired? Ill?”

Heartsick, yes, she wanted to say, but she didn’t have the courage to speak. She didn’t trust her voice to stay even now that the music had started.

It was a delicate melody, almost painfully fragile. Bells chimed softly beneath the tender sweep of strings and the even, steady pulse of drums. To her surprise, the woman with the nasally voice began to sing, having abandoned her instrument into the hands of someone more sober. The words that came out of her in soft croons were neither slurred nor piercing to the ears – they were beautiful, almost as beautiful as Ashe’s memories from when she first heard it.

Rasler and she had danced to this. It was the last song played at their wedding fete – the last dance for them both.

Ashe ground her teeth against the inside of her mouth, peeling off small chunks of flesh as she tried not to lose herself in the tide of nostalgia. She listened intently to the woman’s voice as it rose higher and louder, spreading itself into the small clearing like a warmth thrust over them all. It seemed to multiply as well as expand; the acoustics of the forest were strange at this spot and ideal for such a song: her voice came back in a bizarre echo. Ashe’s hands trembled harder as she moved her gaze from the woman onto the dancers. They were circling around each other in a tightly packed orbit, their hands never leaving any part of their companion, moving from wrist, waist, shoulders and back in a steady, graceful flow as if they were dreamers recently roused from sleep. She felt tiny pulses of warmth flaring up at these points of her own body, the memory of Rasler’s touch coming back with alarming clarity. It, too, seemed as delicate as the woman’s voice and the song, as if it might break beyond repair if Ashe disturbed it however slightly. All her memories of Rasler felt this way.

As the song continued, as the woman’s voice carried and swept over her like an embrace, Ashe could just barely resist the urge to stand and join. Though she had no partner, though the only proper partner was taken from her far too soon, Ashe’s heart yearned to join in as if she were being lured by a force she could only keep at bay for so long.

All of her memories of Rasler felt this way, too.

It seemed only right to participate, she thought, wrestling with the desire to rise to her feet. It was only fair to pay tribute in whatever way she could to his memory and to her aching, pathetic heart. Maybe then she could rest easy when she heard the song again. Maybe then she wouldn’t mind dancing troupes so much either, she thought with an attempt at humor in the hope to distract herself, but it was no use.

Ashe was on her feet and moving before she could fully accept the thought. She didn’t even have time to feel embarrassed or foolish, didn’t have time to think of anything but how she should move herself now, drawing her hands close to her chest as if in prayer before thrusting them out to the sides, opened wide as if embracing everything, embracing nothing. What did it matter if she was alone, if she should go on living alone? Aloise had told her that the dance had first been a solo performance, but somewhere along the line had been adapted for a duet.

“It’s traditional to perform at weddings,” Aloise told her after first going over the basics. When Ashe had asked why, Aloise showed her a copy of the lyrics. Ashe had written them down she liked them so much, and even now she remembered them. They came back in out of order snippets.

We are only the dots
But are the whole
At the same time.

Ashe closed her eyes and listened to the woman sing; her voice did not falter, nor did the music for that matter. It was as if they hadn’t noticed their new addition or maybe they didn’t care, maybe they had been hoping for this all along. Ashe was glad that none of the others saw fit to comment either, and she thanked every god she could name that Balthier was either not paying attention or else too drunk to care.

Just a little longer. Please, just give me a little more time, she prayed.

Ashe spun slowly on the spot as she cupped her right hand and drew it close to her again, pressing it against her heart. Its pulse had slackened as if content to partake of what it had wanted all along, and her hands had stopped quivering, too. She felt at ease, relaxed – she felt at peace.

As she moved she felt she could breathe again – as if all the breaths and all the beats of her heart before this moment were pale, pathetic imitations of the real thing. She felt limitless and unfettered by anything – spinning still faster, rising up to the points of her toes and dropping down in hasty dips, Ashe could feel even the weight of her scarred memories flinging away from her, cast out and disregarded for the time being, for this one precious second. Her heart soared in time with the song and soon, without knowing from where came her nerve to do it, Ashe was singing, singing with every last gasp of air inside of her. The music carried on but Ashe could barely hear it anymore. She was alive, alive, living and breathing and feeling and, for the first time in a long time, for the last time perhaps for a while, perhaps forever if she could not succeed, she was free.

Maybe everyone, in order to protect love
Maybe everyone wishes to believe in something.

“Every cardinal sins, every immoral deeds – but I was holding on for my love.”