Fan Fiction The Doctor's Son

[lyralamora]

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1. Judge Bunansa​

The armour was heavy. Too heavy. How did they all do it, trotting around in them all day long, never loosing appearances?
Balthier lifted his gaze and turned around to admire his dashing reflection. There was no denying that he looked striking, as always. The black cloak with the read ornaments, the intricate patterns engraved in the metal and the death bringing weapons made him look like a man of consequence, in addition to being uncommonly handsome. He shook of one of the heavy gloves and caught a strand of his sand brown hair on stray. Too bad he would have to wear that helmet. No way to show off his face and it would make him look a tad impersonal, but at least no less consequential. Besides, no one cold tell his age that way.
A judge at eighteen. No one had lost out on the opportunity of telling him what a tremendous accomplishment that was, but of course that was empty words. Every one knew, as well as him, that the only reason he was wearing this armour was because of his father. All his life he had lived on the fringe benefits of having such a father, and that did not seem like it was going to change, even now, when he was an adult. Well, that certainly took away some of the pressure.
When he had gawked his fill, there was nothing to do but wait, and as he began pacing back and forth, while sudden nervousness began to take hold. He stopped by the large windows that filled the better half of the south facing wall. The grandeur and beauty of Archades was never more striking than from above. But, though his eyes where fixed on the town below, he saw nothing. Through the pulsing nervousness he felt a stab of irritation for himself. When there where no expectations, there was no way he could fail.
A muffled knock sounded through the thick oak door. Balthier grabbed his gloves and took a deep breath. First day at work.

To become a judge was for many Archadens their life ambition. And with the pay and status the job offered, who could blame them? But with all the requirements it demanded, very few made the cut. In addition to having the right social status, a thorough knowledge of the law and military it also had physical requirements. Embarrassingly as it was, it was the latter that had proven to be his biggest challenge. He was of slight build, and though he’s agility had always been remarkably well, he was unfit to wield a sword. As it turned out, he was also unfit to wear armour. He had come no longer than down the steps and out in the colossal hall, before he got weary. The scolding sunlight outside did nothing to lessen his suffering. In the residential area, where he lived with his father (or rather; where he lived in his fathers house) there where not permitted traffic, so he had to walk. The heavy cloak did not flutter stylishly behind him in the breeze like he’d imagined, because there where no such thing on this hot summer day. The helmet did give some shade, but not enough to compensate for the heat inside it. He soon worked up an admirable amount of sweat, and his hair was as well as glued to his forehead. Luckily, the walk was mercifully short, because the judger’s courtroom was placed the same exclusive aria. The courtroom was not actually the court, but a nickname for the judger’s headquarters. It was also placed within short distance of the palace, witch Balthier could see towering up behind the grand building in front of him. Like the other buildings in this district, it where older than most of the archadian buildings. It was the oldest part of town, built even before Old Archades, and in a rather different style. But after a brief glance at the palace above, he hurried into the shade, certain that a few more seconds in the sun would be enough to dehydrate him completely.
The nervousness that had evaporated due to the heat struck once again with full force the moment he was out of the sun and under the colonnadethat covered the front of the building. The grand metal doors were guarded by two soldiers. With as much dignity he could muster he squared his shoulders and attempted to enter. The solider scurried aside making way, and the feeling of power that flowed trough him at that moment was immense. Glad no one could see his satisfactory grin he entered the courtroom.

“Right, right, the doctor’s son,” the stout man behind the desk said distantly, without looking up from the large pile of papers in front of him. Balthier was ever so provoked by the lowly clerk’s frivolous attitude and lack of respect.
“Actually, it’s Judge Bunansa,” he replied in his most arrogant tone, which was perfected from many years of practice.
“Yeah, yeah.”
Thought Balthier was struck by the fellows lacking vocabulary and was tempted to comment on it, he kept silent and waited for further instructions. But the clerk took his good time.
“Special accent you have there,” he babbled on. But Blathiers impatience must have been visible, even with the helmet, so he continued. “Just go right in the door behind me. There you’ll be assigned a mentor of sorts, to help you get into the work of things around here.”
Balthier’s eyes followed the direction of the clerks waving hand, and followed the implied direction to the double doors in the far end of the hall. He began to make his way across the room, but no more than two noisy steps later he was stopped by a light touch on his arm.
“The doctor’s son,” a female voice sounded through her mask, an enormous metal construction. He sighed for himself. Was that to be his brand?
“Judge Bunansa,” he answered and respectfully offered his hand.
“Judge Drace. Nice to make you’re acquaintance. I believe you are to follow me.”
He was immediately repulsed by her short (and in his opinion) offensive way of addressing him. But once again he held his tongue and followed the woman, Drace.
“So, I hear they’re making you my new protégée,” she said without slowing her pace.
“Protégée?” was Balthier’s not so converseive answer.
“Yes, protégée. Did you not know; all assigned to Executive have a mentor.”
The judgers where all divided into three branches. Military, Legislative and Executive. He where apparently included in the latter.
“I do now.”
They entered her office, where she removed her helmet after closing the door. Balthier copied her, and drew a large gulp of refreshing air. Afterwards he placed it on the large mahogany desk and looked up to find that behind the mask, this woman was not much of a beauty, but with a strict face and cold eyes. They where now currently fixed at him in an assessive way.
“Sit,” she finally ordered. He immediately obliged (so much for the feeling of power).
“Now, there is really not much to do here at the moment, and I think you should start with a simpler job,” she paused as she pulled out a drawer an fetched something from inside.
“So here is some paperwork,” she handed him the folder.
The dread when you realise that you’ve got something completely wrong consumed Balthier as he held stretched out his arm for the paper. Paperwork! After all those months of training, and then he would do paperwork. But once again, the cold eyes where impossible to defy. As he cursed his father for fixing the job, a knock on the door interrupted his attempt to fetch the paper. A young man strode into the room without waiting for a reply. Not even greeting he stormed up to Drace and whispered out of breath:
“It has happened. Vayne; he took them both.”
Drace rose in alarm.
“And Larsa? Is he safe?”
“I- I believe so,” the man stuttered. Drace sunk back into her seat and breathed a sigh of relief, while Balthier tried to make out the meaning of their words.
“What was the excuse?” Drace inquired.
“I’m not sure, the news just reached me.”
“What’s going on?” Balthier asked trying not to show the burning curiosity through his nonchalance. But Drace ignored him.
“Who else knows?”
“I have no idea. I reported here immediately after the occurrence. But I know judge Bergan was in the palace at the time.
“What’s going on?” Balthier asked again, this time not eve attempting to hide the curiosity.
“Who’s he?” the messenger asked and tilted his head towards Balthier.
“Just the doctor’s son. Bergan, really?”
“Yes, I think he had a report from Draclore laboratory. Dr. Cid’s son?”
“Yes. Judge Bunansa,” Balthier interrupted. “Now please, what’s going on? I’m as much a judge as anyone and more than some (with a reproachful glance at the young man) and I demand you tell me what’s going on!”
“Oh, I’ll tell you what’s going on. I’ll tell you before someone comes and tell you differently,” Drace spitted in fury.
“Vayne Solidor just killed his brothers.”


Okay, that's the first chapter. Hope you like it! The next will be up soon!! I would really appreciate it if you would comment! I'm not looking for a false sense of satisfaction, but to inprove my writing. so if ther's any odd expressions or terrible spelling mistakes, please, please let me know!
Also, we never get to know Balthiers sirname, so I just took Dr, Cid's. I'm assuming they are the same anyway

 

[lyralamora]

Okay, nex chappie is up!! If anyone is reading, sorry it took so long. ​

2. Encounter​

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The only thing that could have made Balthier run faster was the sight of the light shining through the windows in his fathers study. The armour made it almost impossible to move at any considerable speed, but indeed he did his best. As he saw the house slowly come closer, he gave himself some time to reflect upon today’s event. Who would have thought Vayne capable of something like that? The man had never appeared sympathetic in any way, but killing your own brothers was a bit on the extreme. But he had to admit that even though Judge Drace was disappointingly plain, she had made a convincing show. And now, he could not wait to tell his father. Once inside he did not waist any time with changing, just pulled of the helmet and through it in the closest corner, and then proceeded to the wide staircase. To tired to run he attempted more of a slow trot, but it was too inelegant for his dignity to bear, and had to settle with a pace. He had not worn the armour for more than one day, and yet he had already decided that once his judging day’s where over he would never wear one again. The quivering metal revealed his entrée, and when he at last stormed into the room, his father was halfway across it to inspect the cause of disruption.
“Balthier!” he said in a tone of surprise. It was not custom in this household for the son to enter the fathers study. “What are you doing here?” was his reproachful inquiry.
“Father,” Balthier began in his usual arrogant tone that came completely involuntarily. “Have you heard? About Vayne, I mean,” he than continued in a slightly more comfortable voice.
“This better be important! You can’t make such a racket over the smallest thing. Now what is it?” he demanded.
“Vayne murdered his brothers, father. The two eldest, but not Larsa.” Balthier said through heavy breaths.
Dr. Cid looked immensely annoyed with his son and to emphasize this he simply turned around and made his way back to his desk and the books that waited there.
“Now really, Balthier?” he said, irony heavy in his words. “It is true that Solidor’s oldest sons where executed, but whatever gave you the absurd idea that Vayne was responsible?”
“Executed? Why? What for? By whom where they convicted?” Balthier said, trying to keep his voice calm and steady.
“They where traitors, exchanging military information to the Rozzarians. When Vayne discovered this, he had them convicted,” Cid answered as he reached his desk and sat down. He put on his spectacles and reached for his pen. “It’s a tragedy for sure, but Vayne did what was right for the empire. How come you knew?” he added after a moment of silent scribbling.
“I’m a judge, father. We are the ones who make the convictions,” Balthier muttered, but without really paying attention.
So it where not true, at all? Vayne had not killed his brothers. He had to admit that his fathers explanation made a whole lot more sense. But out of shere principle, he did not want to side with him. And for that reason alone he made his very best to find a flaw in this theory. It was rather easy.
“Why on earth would the heir to the throne betray his own empire?” he asked. It was with no difficulty that he filled his voice with an aloof contempt.
“Balthier,” Cid answered. “I have work to do. You never cared about such things before, why now?”
He put down his pen and replaced it with a stone-like object. He gave it a long, yearning look and even seemed to forget his sons presence for a moment. But at last his thoughts returned from wherever they’d been.
“Leave, now. I’ve got work to do.”
Balthier new that objections where futile. They always where. Where work was percent, it always first in line. He wanted so badly to be fine with that. He wanted to be the nonchalant guy he always portrayed himself as, blind to other people’s opinion. But if he had to be honest (it was hard, even for himself) he would like it if is father had cared as much for him as he did for that stone, or whatever this new obsession was.

He was at last out of the armour and standing in his room, shirtless while searching for something to wear. While going through the oversized closet he didn’t seem to find anything, despite the fact that it was filled to bursting point. In the end he found a black shirt that sat loosely and yet brought out his more muscular parts. He had to skip the tight leather pants that he had grown so fond of lately. They seemed unsuited for a judge, so he chose another pair, still black but looser. After an approving look in the well used mirror he paced around the room, stopping by the window like he’d done only few hours before. But this time his eyes where drawn towards the overwhelming halls and towers that where the palace of Solidor. Inside that palace was the Emperor, probably staggered with grief, and his son who might or might not have murdered his brothers. It was hard to know who to side with, but luckily he new he would not need to. His father would newer want anything more of him than to acknowledged and perhaps one day pick up his own research. But he needed not have an opinion. It would be preferred if he simply did as asked. And as far as Judge Drace went, she seemed to think of him as nothing more than the doctors son, and nether sought his opinion nor wanted it. So he could remain comfortably passive and needed not waist his thoughts on matters that exceeded his understanding.

Balthier was sinking deeper down into the comfortable chair. He had considered the rug, it looked comfortable enough, but he reasoned that the in the chair he would maintain some dignity if someone saw him. Drace had summoned him ten minutes ago, but had to leave and asked him to wait for her to come back. So that’s what he did. As he tended to his hangover, the woman from last night crept into his thoughts. Not the woman that had accompanied him home. No, she was far to plain to make such an impression. But there had been a creature by the bar. And strange and beautiful she was, with her moon pale, waist length hair and a tall and slender figure. But what had been most innerving where her eyes, that where bright amber. He had not talked to her once all night, but he could not forget those eyes.
“Ahem,” someone cleared its throat. “You are in my chair.”
Balthier opened his eyes to find a displeased Drace leaning over him.
“Indeed I am,” he retorted arrogantly before standing up with slow motions. Too slow, in Drace’s opinion, for she pushed him the rest of the way.
“I have a task for you,” she said. “and since you are under my mentorship you will do as asked, no questions, no refusal.”
“What would you have me do?” he asked in earnest curiosity.
“You will,” she said as she stood up, “ help me in my investigations, by finding out exactly what Judge Bergan and Dr. Cid are doing in that laboratory.”
“You want me to spy on my father?” he asked in disbelief.
“Yes,” she answered harshly. “You will find out what’s going on in Draclore. Every little detail you will report to me.” Then she sighed and her expression changed to one of compassion. “I know he’s your father, and that this is a lojality conflict. But I’m asking you to do what’s right!”
“That won’t be a problem,” he answered. And he knew he spoke the truth. He would have no problem with betraying his father. As a matter of fact, he had often fantasised about such an opportunity.

Draclore was deserted as this time of night, but the guards stayed in place. This was no problem for a judge and the son of Cid himself, and for once he was happy to have that advantage. The multitude of airships that swarmed the Archadian sky blocked his view, and filled the air with smoke that remained in their wake. It was not possible to see the stars from this part of town. Too bad, they always had a calming effect on him. He strode past the imperial guards, who saluted in respect. The power, however small, was intoxicating.
But passing the guards was the easy part. Once he was inside, he had nowhere to go. He’d use to come here pretty often as a child, but as he got older, he lost interest. The multitude of halls where rather confusing, but he reasoned that if he could find his fathers office, there would surly be something of interest there. And if he knew his father right, it would be on the top floor. To the elevator then!
With smooth, fast motions, the elevator shoot up the building and stopped with a loud “pling” on the top floor. The doors opened and the room outside it filled his view. And he had been right, it was the correct room. But why in all of Ivalice where she there? Why was the woman with the moon pale hair standing by his father’s desk? And last but not least, why did she have an arrow pointed at his chest?

Hopefully this will create a little cliffie and some exitement... and again, please comment!!!! if no one does, I don't know if anyone i reading, and if ther's any point to keep posting...

 

[lyralamora]

And her's nr 3....​

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3. The viera​

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It was an odd feeling, one that Balthier had never experienced before. Despite the armour, he felt so exposed, almost naked. But his head was clear, completely clear. He had often been warned that it was difficult to keep composed in these kinds of situations, and he felt a rush of pride, despite everything. But the intruder did not look so very dangerous. After all, she was only a young woman. Very pretty, but not likely to be lethal. He relaxed a little and let his eyes wander, from her face and down her body. The sight almost smacked him to the ground and clouded his mind more than the bow in the woman’s hands. Because if Balthier felt naked, she virtually was. All that covered her up, was some black fabric in strategic places and a transparent rag covering her stomach. He glared fixedly at her body, but then she started speaking and he managed to recollect his thoughts.
“Step back, hume, and let me pass.” Her voice was a little hoarse and had a strange accent.
“Certainly,” he replied and could not keep a smile at bay. Beautiful women always had this effect on him, even if they where armed. He made way with an elegant bow, and she attempted to stride past. But as she did, his eyes fell on the leather bags in her hands. Of course! She was a thief! He was close to laughter when realising his own ignorance, but stifled it to a little smirk instead.
“Stop there!” he commanded.
She turned and looked at him in disbelief.
“May I remind you, judge,” the last word came out in a tone that closely resembled hatred, “that I’m the one with the weapon, and you the one with an arrow pointed at your chest?”
How infuriatingly true it was. But than again, he had fulfilled the physical demands that where required to become a judge. As the training kicked inn, his right hand flew to the sheath at his side, and the left hand knocked the arrow out of the woman’s hands. The next minute situations where reversed, and his sword was lightly resting on her exposed throat. Balthier’s grin widened.
“It appears that you have something against judgers. But may I remind you that you are nothing but a lowly thief,” he spat back at her, his voice imbued with triumph and arrogance.
“Better a lowly thief than a common assassin,” she retorted.
In his ecstasy of finally doing something he felt worth while, her words did not touch him, as he thought of little else than the swelling pride. He roughly pulled her hands behind her back in a manner that he thought suitable for an arrest. Unfortunately, he had no cuffs hidden away in his armour, so he would have to make do with a bit of rope that for some reason or another where lying on the desk. As he tied the woman up, a thought suddenly struck him.
“What where you doing here anyway? There are plenty of buildings with more valuables than here, and certainly an easier access.” His mind wandered to the guards at the entrance. “Are you some sort of Rozzarian spy?”
She gave him a look as if deadly offended.
“I’m not in the employee of some Hume,” she spat at him, ignoring his first question.
“Well, we’ll see about that,” he retorted, and began pushing her back towards the elevator. She walked on willingly, her high heals making a clanking sound every time the hit the floor, and her head held high in pride. He scrutinized her strange, pointy ears, that he had not noticed until now.
In the elevator they stood in an uncomfortable silence, and Balthier was for the first time made aware of her fearlessness and calm. It was a relief when the doors once more opened, and the imperial guards yelped in surprise.
“It would seem,” Balthier began, while looking at the “guards” in contempt. “that Judgers are not the only ones you let through.”
“No! Not at all, my lord,” the closest exclaimed. “I swear, we’ve never seen the creature. She must have snuck inn.”
Even though the helmet concealed his face, he could not resist raising one of his thin eyebrows.
“Well soon see about that. You,” he addressed the man who had spoken up. “Go directly to the courtroom. Let them now that it has been an intruder at the Draclore. Tell them that I’m personally escorting the prisoner to the interrogation quarters.”
“Sir… yes, sir!” the guard obeyed, and positively ran towards the entrance.
“You,” Balthier turned to the other guard, and was pleased to find a terrified expression on the fellows face. “You do your job, and make sure that the entrance is actually guarded.”
To scared to speak, the imperial just nodded eagerly, though he was probably raging at the inside. Balthier was not completely sure what kind of creature this woman where, but she no doubt possessed some sort of ability helpful when it came to thieving. But this awareness did not stop him from toying with his power.
“And you, thief, come with me.” He could not help himself; a wide smirk broke forth on his face, thoroughly concealed behind the mask of metal, as he grabbed the creature’s arm and guided her with as much authority as he could summon.

Balthier peeked through the looking glass and into the cell where he had placed his very first prisoner. Another imperial guard was in the room with him, standing by the door. Did they ever get tired of just standing about and… well, guarding?
“Shall I schedule for an execution?” the guard asked, causing Balthier to spin around.
“My good man,” he replied in shock. “She has not even been questioned yet!”
“Um….” The guard answered in confusion. “Well, most of the Judgers don’t bother with that sort of thing in a case like this. It’s really not necessary.” He assured. “She’ll be executed anyway, so you can just save yourself the trouble.
The guard could obviously not see the Balthier’s face, so he could not see how shook the Judge was. Balthier himself found little to reply, so he simply ignored the guard’s last words.
“I will question the prisoner. Please leave, and do not disturb me.”
And with that he strode over and wrenched open the cell door.
It was hard to explain what had changed so suddenly. Perhaps it was his need to do the opposite of every one else, or perhaps it was the guard that finally made him realise what the woman had said earlier.

“Better a lowly thief than a common assassin.”