For owlmoose at DW. For the FF Kiss Battle 2016 with the prompt: Old comrades reuniting under the worst of circumstances.

Beneath the guise of peace sat the wrinkles of displeasure needing to be smoothed out. The difficulties might not have been worth going to war over, but they posed as hardships for the likes of Dalmasca and Archadia combined. At times, Ashe longed for a sword in her hand to bring an end to it all, if only to liven up her mundane days as Queen.

She recalled the heat of battle bringing her to pant along with a thrum in her muscles. Those days were long gone, but the boredom got the best of her and thus she reminisced. What she couldn't admit to herself, however, was that she did so to bring forth the memories in which he was still there.

And when there were lulls within the court, Ashe drifted off and wondered what Basch was up to.

Surely he wasn't tied up with deciding the fate of a majority of merchants butting heads for reform in the economic system. Or tradesmen seeking better compensation for their wares. Or the simple farmers requiring more land and equipment to better aid their work. Or academic scholars inquiring to a restructure in the education curriculum. Ashe never thought she'd fret over essentially trivial matters; several years ago, there were grander matters to be fighting over. Yet there she was, signing away papers, conversing with diplomats speaking on behalf of their respective parties, and arguing over the nuances which would decide the fate of Dalmasca. It might not have been a war dealt with blood and weapons, but it was a battle nonetheless which wore on her mind and heart.

She loved Dalmasca and Ashe wished to preserve it, fearing it would crumble to dust if she didn't. But even the Queen required time to step away and decompress over the rapid succession of events unfolding. Of course, Ashe allowed herself little time to do so. Restless nights were accompanied by endless days, daring to crumble her regal posture.

Having Archadia tangled within the mess did her no favors. Not until Larsa himself decided to pay a visit to settle matters in person. Ashe ensured the visitors from the Empire were greeted with the pinnacle of hospitality. They exchanged letters over the years, but never private conversations. After five years, they stood face-to-face again.

And Basch was no different.

Who loomed beneath the Judge Magister's armor was a mystery to all, but Ashe. All of Ivalice would address him as Gabranth, but she knew him to be the old comrade who occupied her thoughts day after waking day. Mustering forth every bit of courage she possessed, Ashe maintained a majestic presence before them. Had she done otherwise, she couldn't count on herself to not make a fool out of herself before Basch.

That didn't stop him from acting otherwise.

There was to be a formal dinner for the Queen's guests after an arduous afternoon of discussing economics, trade routes, and rare goods. Ashe traveled down the dark hallways, dressed in new attire for the event, rich with flowing, silk fabrics of white and silver. Only a few turns away from reaching the dining hall, she caught a glimpse of a figure approaching her. The dim lights within the corridor revealed the scarred face she had once kept in her memories.

A sliver of his name left her lips before Basch stepped into her. He pinned Ashe against the wall and closed his lips over hers. A wave of goosebumps washed over her, followed by a heat once long forgotten. She cooed into him—a gentle plea for more. Her body moved on its own, hips meeting his while her mouth opened to accept his tongue searching for hers. He braced himself against the wall and she tangled a hand into his hair. Short, blond locks met her fingers instead of long ones. Those days were long gone, yet she still remembered them. Remembered this. And it appeared the sentiment was mutual.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Ashe gasped against him when they broke away for air.

And she was right. The logical half of her brain insisted that an affair with Archadia's Judge Magister was a recipe for disaster. The current crises at hand were stressful enough; if a single soul caught word of who the Queen was fancying, rumors would spread faster than her letters ever would.

But the other half of her refused to deny a chance to experience it all again with Basch: to share a warm bed with him and preferably not for a single night.

"No," Basch breathed out, his voice just as alluring as she remembered it, "but we both knew it would be a lie if we disavow this altogether."

Her hand wandered down to smooth over the polished metal of his armor, disappointed when she couldn't sense his heartbeat through the material. "This could destroy us."

Basch nuzzled into her face. The hint of a moan vibrated along his lips. "And yet we've been through worse, my Queen."

Thoughts whirled in her head like a vicious hurricane, tugging and tearing her in every imaginable direction. When the silence persisted, Basch kissed at her cheeks, her neck, and her jaw. Ashe arched her back into him, stifling a moan when his breath tickled the edges of her ear.

"Let me serve you again," he whispered into her ear. "Even if for a night. Let me be yours to command."

How was she to refuse his service? How was she to focus on a damn dinner when her mind overflowed with the possibilities waiting for them behind closed doors? But no, nothing was worth placing her reputation on the line. Or Larsa's, for that matter; surely no one would approve of his Judge Magister tending to Dalmasca's Queen.

But Ashe had been looking for a breather, a way to relax amidst the chaos. Thus when their lips met again, it served more as an answer than any verbal reply could carry.