His expression turns a little more sad - like colors fading in the sunset, just another subtle hint, here and there. Not for himself, or for Jack. Some great thing beyond the both of them.

"Am I so powerless?" He's not a politician; he'll never again be a Judge, and he'd rather send himself to his own, true death than ever act as even a shade of one. He has no country and no home and a price on his head... and it is beautiful. Balthier has no need of Imperial power and influence. If he wants either, all he has to do is walk out on his stage. He turns it on and off at will, and he lives his life without chains - without so much as a string.

Balthier takes another swallow of his wine and then reaches out, his fingertips brushing Jack's elbow, connective, maybe a little wistful. There's something hollow behind his eyes. "That you think of yourself as such," and he drops his hands, goes back to his dinner, "Gives me hope for your world."