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rose_in_winter2024-10-03 10:07 pm
lassarina) wrote in rose_in_winter2024-10-03 10:07 pm
Entry tags:
[Crossover, FFVI/FFXII] The Invaluable Art of Knowing When To Fold, Chapter Three
Characters: Balthier, Celes Chere, Locke Cole (Celes/Locke, Balthier/Celes/Locke)
Rating: NC-17
Contains: Canon-typical violence, explicit sex
Wordcount: 13,727
Notes: Yeah so I started this in 2009, and then it just sat there for fifteen years, but the idea never left me alone, so here we are. This crossover places characters from FF6 into Ivalice as though they have always been there; personalities remain intact, although backstories may have altered.
Beta: none
Summary: One of the most valuable lessons a young sky pirate will ever learn is when it is wisest to simply cut his losses and walk away.
Chapter Index
Dawn in the jungle came suddenly. Beneath the Strahl, the thousand shades of green that defined the Golmore canopy sprang into brilliance, speckled with stunning flowers in impossible colors and animals both mundane and deadly.
Balthier lowered the Strahl enough for their little crew of hunters to climb down the rope ladder to the jungle floor, and then relayed the command to turn on stealth and rise to a safe height, well away from jungle predators who didn't know the difference between a metal airship and a flashy bird. He'd intended to pick up a partner in Balfonheim who could stay with the ship—a moogle mechanic, for preference.
He supposed he'd gotten the partners, at least in the short term, but not the convenience or mechanical skills, although he was perfectly capable of tending the Strahl's mechanical needs himself.
He checked his sundries pouch four times, and his shot pouch likewise. He had cleaned Altair thoroughly last night, but now he checked it again. He was surprised to find himself nervous. Combat was the arena of sky piracy in which he was most experienced.
His companions were well armed and armored. Celes favored the sword, and wore it strapped to her side. Locke had added two more daggers and a pouch of throwing darts to his ensemble; the metal of the daggers glinted different colors in the sunlight, suggesting they were elementally imbued, or perhaps coated with different poisons.
Celes took the lead, and Balthier was more than happy to let her do so. His weapon was best at range, and terrible up close. She moved through the jungle with a quiet, confident step, not hurried but not tentative. He could objectively admire her skills, for reasons other than her attractiveness, though the latter hurt not at all.
They had to fight a pack of angry coeurls, a task made more difficult by the large cats' skill in green magic. Locke proved to be a quick, clever fighter, skilled at getting behind a creature and with a good sense for key tendons that his daggers flashed through. Balthier would not have wanted to face him in a dark alley—or more likely, he admitted to himself, be ambushed by him. Celes was skilled in swordplay and he recognized her stances and cuts as being of the northern school—favored by Archades, yes, but also fallen Landis, and other nations. For his own part, he hung well back, loading and reloading Altair and sinking in shots where they would do the most good. He was pleased to find that his talent for being quick with a potion had not left him since he left the Judges, and at least once it was the difference between successfully bringing down a coeurl and needing a precious tuft of phoenix down.
When the coeurls lay dead and stripped of their treasures, Celes paused to consider the jungle, the angle of the sun, and the map she carried. Without true roads or landmarks (at least no landmarks that couldn't be irreparably altered by a storm), Balthier wasn't sure exactly how she planned to navigate Golmore, but she seemed confident enough. He, for his part, was dismayed at the sticky heat that made his pants cling uncomfortably, and the myriad of insects large and small that thought he was a tasty snack. (They were, of course, correct, but he would have preferred that opinion to come from humans, not pests that left itchy welts behind.)
Off to the right, he heard a hiss, and barely sprang aside in time for the serpent's fangs to miss where his leg had been a moment before. Locke darted forward with dagger in hand, but slipped on wet leaves, and yelped when the snake bit deep into his arm. Balthier focused, aimed Altair, and squeezed the trigger, hoping Locke could avoid flailing in a way that further endangered his limbs.
His shot struck true and the snake screamed, a sound he hadn't known serpents could make, before Celes's sword sliced through its neck and left it scattered in pieces on the jungle floor.
Locke rolled to his knees and grunted. Even several steps away, Balthier could see the purple edging of the wounds, a bad sign. He fished an antidote from his sundries and poured it over the wound. Locke hissed, his fingers digging deep into the moss underfoot, as the antidote foamed and oozed over the wounds, but when Balthier wiped the darkened gunk away with a spare handkerchief, the wounds were red and healthy-looking. Celes took care of those with a Cure spell.
"Thanks," Locke said, climbing slowly to his feet with the help of a nearby tree. He tested his arm, and nodded. Then he looked at the scattered remains of the snake.
"Well," he said, "we've found the part of Golmore where the ochu's preferred food congregates."
"How fortunate for us that we found it via snake and not ochu," Celes said, dry as dust.
They paused to make sure their gear was in order, and to drink from their canteens. The noises of the jungle, loud at first, began to fade. Balthier looked up just as a flock of tiny vivid red birds took wing, zipping by overhead with none of the tiny chirping calls that he had heard from other birds of that type as they walked through the jungle.
"Shit," Locke muttered.
Celes drew her sword and turned, settling into a defensive stance. The sounds of jungle creatures had now been replaced by the crashing sound of a large creature barreling through the trees. Locke withdrew, scrambling up a nearby tree, and that seemed wise. Balthier chose another tree and climbed until he could settle himself firmly into the V where a sturdy branch met the trunk. He added the fire crystal to his shot pouch.
The ochu arrived, bringing chaos in its wake. The miasma of poisonous fumes around it was so strong that Balthier gulped down an antidote in self-defense, cringing at the astringent taste. Over the ochu, he could see the path of toppled trees and crushed shrubs it had left in its wake, some of them already blackening from poison.
He loaded, aimed, and fired. The shot struck dead in the center of the top of the ochu—what he assumed passed for its head—and the creature screamed as bits of itself began to burn. Across the clearing, Locke was leaning down out of his tree for quick, vicious dagger swipes at the tentacles, with one already lying in pieces on the jungle floor.
Celes was hacking with grim determination at the front of the ochu, and Balthier slung an antidote and then a potion at her, seeing the bruises that formed when the ochu whipped its tentacles viciously past her.
They were making slow but steady progress when the ochu abruptly sucked in a large quantity of air and breathed it out again in a horrific purple cloud that wafted up into the trees. Balthier's eyes burned like they were full of salt water, and the smell was so vile that he immediately vomited, fortunately mostly over the side of the branch and not on himself. He fumbled blindly in his pouch for an antidote, which fixed only half the problem. He searched frantically for the small, round ampoule that held eye drops and almost sobbed in relief when he managed to get the liquid into his eyes, clearing them of the poison.
When his vision cleared, he looked around the small clearing, and found that things were in rather dire shape. The ochu had backed Celes up against the tree in which Balthier was perched, and she was doing her best to defend herself—quite credibly, in fact—with thick black gunk clinging to her face and obscuring her vision, and a green tinge to her skin that suggested further ailments. Locke was fumbling with his own medicaments, without much success judging by the curses he was uttering.
Balthier gauged fighting blind to be the larger problem and hooked his legs firmly around the branch, dangling down over Celes's head and extending an opened vial of eye drops toward her. The unscented pale green liquid dripped down and the black ooze dissolved, just in time for her to barely block a swing from the ochu's severed left tentacle. Unfortunately, he was sufficiently distracted that he did not notice the much-more-intact right tentacle coming in and it slammed into his ribs, nearly tearing him loose from his branch, and the spray of leaves at the end dealt him a glancing blow to the temple. He scrambled frantically and barely avoided dropping Altair as he pulled himself back up onto the branch above, his sense of balance all askew.
The ochu now knew his location, and it swatted at him with both tentacles. Celes took advantage of its distraction to gulp down a potion, and on the other side of the clearing, Locke seemed to have sorted himself out well enough, as he was throwing fire spells now from his tree. Balthier grunted as the injured tentacle wrenched his left ankle and aimed his gun right at the creature's face. The fire-infused shot caught the creature as it drew in another gulp of air, and it gave an odd burp, then a despairing howl that emitted tiny fragments of flame from its mouth.
Celes slashed at it in an athletic flurry, shearing its tentacles off at the base and hacking away half the vines it used in place of feet. Locke hurled more spells, and the thing howled and writhed.
Balthier fired into its face once more as Celes struck a decisive blow, driving her sword deep into the center of its leafy body, and the thing screamed again and slowly toppled backwards.
Balthier took stock of his injuries. His left ankle ached abominably, and his eyes still stung from the poison. His head rung like a bell. Breathing was not as easy as it should have been, and worst of all, his fine linen shirt and brocade vest had been devastated by the entire affair. His ribs, too, gave painful indication that he had not come out of the match well.
Celes leaned against the tree and slugged a potion. Her armor was scuffed and there was a rather distressing amount of (red, hume) blood on her, which was likely the reason for the potion. She looked up at him and nodded. "Well done."
"Thank you." Balthier cracked the seal on another potion and drank it, shuddering as the astringent taste mixed with the lingering flavor of sickness on his tongue, but it did ease the pain in his ribs and ankle. He slung Altair to his back and climbed carefully down, avoiding the mess he'd made, to where Celes was gathering up some of its tentacles, as well as an eye, as trophies to demonstrate their success. Locke climbed down from his tree, groaning faintly as he did so. He favored his left leg as he came over to examine their kill. The area reeked of decaying plant matter and whatever foul poisons the beast used to fuel its attacks.
Celes finished collecting trophies and straightened slowly, swaying a bit. "Back to the airship, I think," she said, and stuck out an arm to brace Locke as he staggered.
"Which way?" Locke asked, and Balthier thought he might be serious about it.
"There," he said, pointing. The gap where they had climbed over a fallen tree, now home to many small creeping plants, was clearly visible, and beyond it their footprints in the fallen leaves on the jungle floor.
They made their slow way back to the Strahl, pausing from time to time to rest and to allow stalking creatures to go past them unchallenged. When they reached the airship, Balthier fumbled with the remote control to drop the ladder. Eventually he managed the combination of buttons.
"You first," Celes told Locke.
"I can hardly—" he began.
"Whatever faux knighthood you were about to spout, stuff it and climb," she snapped.
The tips of Locke's ears reddened, but he turned to the ladder and slowly, unsteadily, began to ascend while Celes watched, narrow-eyed. Balthier found, to his annoyance, that the command tone of her voice had caused him to snap into a perfectly upright stance, shoulders back, about to salute.
When Locke had climbed far enough, Celes started up after him, at a careful distance so that she could catch him should he fall. Balthier watched both of them until they were safely aboard, telling himself it was merely caution and not the need for a rest.
His legs proved the lie when he tried to climb himself, and they wobbled. He gritted his teeth, reminded himself that he'd made worse climbs with heavy armor, and slowly dragged himself upward, one rung at a time. The ladder swayed as he did so, since he had freed the spikes at the bottom that held it still, and the dizzying spin made the aftereffects of poison and too many potions more dire.
"Just hold on tight," Celes called down, and even as he tightened his grip, he prepared a flippant response, but then found himself rising faster as the ladder was hauled up. He reached the top to find Celes and Locke braced in the entryway, hauling the ladder together hand over hand. Both were red-faced with effort.
He crawled into the entryway and pressed his cheek into the blessedly cold metal floor. "My thanks," he managed.
A gust of wind cut over them, and Celes pulled in the last of the ladder and stretched up to tap the closure. The three of them sprawled there, in a pile, breathing heavily as they tried to regain their strength.
"You know," Locke said after a long moment, "the last time I was in a pile of people gasping for air, it was under much better circumstances."
Beneath Balthier's ankle, Celes moved her leg just enough to deliver a glancing and very half-hearted kick to the side of Locke's uninjured leg.
Balthier tried not to think about the possibilities of another kind of pile of people. He liked to claim he was ready for any eventuality, but was not sure he could fulfill that boast at this moment.
He rolled aside and hauled himself upright, bracing against the wall. "There's supplies in the med bay," he said when the white-out noise that had filled his ears at the movement receded enough that he could hear any replies they might make.
Celes nodded her understanding and maneuvered until she was braced on one knee. Locke used her shoulder as a crutch to drag himself upright, and then offered her his hand as he gripped the bar on the wall for stability. The three of them made their slow way to the med bay, every sound of boots on metal echoing in Balthier's aching head.
He unlocked the cabinet containing the medical supplies and Celes reached past him, her arm brushing his shoulder, for the green glass bottle of ether. Moments after she poured the concoction down her throat, she shaped a Cure spell that healed his concussion and the ache in his ribs. He was still dizzy and sore, but much more functional.
"I appreciate it," he told her, and even managed a mostly gallant bow without falling on his face in so doing. She shook her head, but had a half-smile as she turned to deal with whatever injuries Locke had sustained.
Another dose of eye drops took care of the residual pain in his eyes, and he gulped down an antidote as well for good measure. That dispelled the last of the dizziness, and he did not expect further attacks in the airship, so he turned his attention to the other two.
Locke was looking much improved as he rooted in his pouch for a final medicine of some sort. Celes still had a large quantity of blood on her armor, but didn't appear to be adding more to the mess. She turned and offered him a real smile, not the guarded one she had used hitherto. "You fought well."
"I daresay you might have been hoping I would be eaten and you'd have the ship for longer," he replied as lightly as he could.
Her face grew somber, and she shook her head. "No," she said quietly. "I did not." Her gaze lingered on his shoulder. "May I?"
He followed her look, and saw the slow seep of blood on his shoulder, completing the ruin of his ensemble. He nodded and she waited for him to sit on the cot before she leaned in close to check it.
Her hands were brisk but gentle as she unfastened the buttons of his vest and shirt, carefully lifted the linen and brocade away from the wound, and eased it down over his shoulder and arm. Curative magicks could be used in the field to quickly heal something without the process of cleaning a wound, but the Akademy had drilled into him repeatedly that after a battle, it was better to check for foreign material and wash up, if possible, before using them, to ensure clean healing and prevent any lingering infection. It seemed Celes had received similar training or come to the same conclusion. She examined the wound, which was shallow, and carefully removed several ochu thorns that had embedded themselves in his flesh. The process was not pleasant, but he fixed his eyes on the far wall and reminded himself that he'd had worse in training and in service.
She finished with the thorns and held her hand slightly above his shoulder. Blue light flared as she shaped the magick and pressed it into his shoulder. He set his jaw against the vicious itching that always accompanied magicked healing, and then that, too, faded.
The skin of his shoulder was whole and clear beneath the rusty streaks of blood that lingered.
"My thanks," he said. "And yourself?"
"I've done most of the work, but it will be tender for a few days."
On the other side of the room, Locke snorted. "You don't need to shrug it off like a soldier anymore, you know."
She cut a glance as cold as a Blizzard spell across the room at him, which he ignored. "I am not shrugging anything off."
"You're favoring your right side," he said offhandedly.
Her eyes narrowed.
"We are hardly short supplies," Balthier said, and stood up, gesturing for her to take his seat on the cot.
She sighed and sat slowly, bracing her left hand on the cot. She did not often change her expression much, at least not that Balthier had seen, but there was a tightness around her eyes and mouth now that he looked closely. Locke crossed the room in three quick strides and busied himself with the fastenings of her armor. Balthier felt that might be a bit personal for him to attempt given the length and type of their acquaintance, so he merely reached out to take the pieces as Locke lifted them carefully away. Locke lifted away her shirt as well, revealing a puncture wound on her shoulder that was the stark pink of newly-healed flesh, and an angry, puffy red scar on the right side of her abdomen.
Celes hissed in a breath when Locke touched the scar carefully, and Balthier poured a double dose of antidote into a medicine cup and handed it over. Celes drank it, grimacing at the taste, and a few moments later the reddened skin faded to a healthier pink as the antidote went to work on the brewing infection.
"Where else?" Locke asked, in a tone that implied he was accustomed to having to press her about hidden injuries.
"Just a twisted ankle," she said. "I healed most of it after the fight. It'll be good after a day or two of rest."
Locke studied her. She stared back, her face back to its bland mask now that the largest wound had been tended. After a moment he seemed to relent and stood back, allowing her to get to her feet. She moved carefully with her left foot, but more easily than she had sat down.
"All right." Locke stretched extensively. "To Rabanastre to turn this in?"
"If our pilot is feeling up to it." Celes turned to face him. "If you need a rest first, please take it. The mark will keep."
Pride ordered him to say he was fine. Wisdom barely shoved it back down. "While I'm confident in my skills," he said, "probably better to sleep off all these potions first."
She gave him a tired smile, and she and Locke went to their guest cabin. Balthier undressed, making a disappointed face at the state of his attire, and fell into bed nude. He might have been asleep before his head hit the pillow.
Chapter Four
Rating: NC-17
Contains: Canon-typical violence, explicit sex
Wordcount: 13,727
Notes: Yeah so I started this in 2009, and then it just sat there for fifteen years, but the idea never left me alone, so here we are. This crossover places characters from FF6 into Ivalice as though they have always been there; personalities remain intact, although backstories may have altered.
Beta: none
Summary: One of the most valuable lessons a young sky pirate will ever learn is when it is wisest to simply cut his losses and walk away.
Chapter Index
Dawn in the jungle came suddenly. Beneath the Strahl, the thousand shades of green that defined the Golmore canopy sprang into brilliance, speckled with stunning flowers in impossible colors and animals both mundane and deadly.
Balthier lowered the Strahl enough for their little crew of hunters to climb down the rope ladder to the jungle floor, and then relayed the command to turn on stealth and rise to a safe height, well away from jungle predators who didn't know the difference between a metal airship and a flashy bird. He'd intended to pick up a partner in Balfonheim who could stay with the ship—a moogle mechanic, for preference.
He supposed he'd gotten the partners, at least in the short term, but not the convenience or mechanical skills, although he was perfectly capable of tending the Strahl's mechanical needs himself.
He checked his sundries pouch four times, and his shot pouch likewise. He had cleaned Altair thoroughly last night, but now he checked it again. He was surprised to find himself nervous. Combat was the arena of sky piracy in which he was most experienced.
His companions were well armed and armored. Celes favored the sword, and wore it strapped to her side. Locke had added two more daggers and a pouch of throwing darts to his ensemble; the metal of the daggers glinted different colors in the sunlight, suggesting they were elementally imbued, or perhaps coated with different poisons.
Celes took the lead, and Balthier was more than happy to let her do so. His weapon was best at range, and terrible up close. She moved through the jungle with a quiet, confident step, not hurried but not tentative. He could objectively admire her skills, for reasons other than her attractiveness, though the latter hurt not at all.
They had to fight a pack of angry coeurls, a task made more difficult by the large cats' skill in green magic. Locke proved to be a quick, clever fighter, skilled at getting behind a creature and with a good sense for key tendons that his daggers flashed through. Balthier would not have wanted to face him in a dark alley—or more likely, he admitted to himself, be ambushed by him. Celes was skilled in swordplay and he recognized her stances and cuts as being of the northern school—favored by Archades, yes, but also fallen Landis, and other nations. For his own part, he hung well back, loading and reloading Altair and sinking in shots where they would do the most good. He was pleased to find that his talent for being quick with a potion had not left him since he left the Judges, and at least once it was the difference between successfully bringing down a coeurl and needing a precious tuft of phoenix down.
When the coeurls lay dead and stripped of their treasures, Celes paused to consider the jungle, the angle of the sun, and the map she carried. Without true roads or landmarks (at least no landmarks that couldn't be irreparably altered by a storm), Balthier wasn't sure exactly how she planned to navigate Golmore, but she seemed confident enough. He, for his part, was dismayed at the sticky heat that made his pants cling uncomfortably, and the myriad of insects large and small that thought he was a tasty snack. (They were, of course, correct, but he would have preferred that opinion to come from humans, not pests that left itchy welts behind.)
Off to the right, he heard a hiss, and barely sprang aside in time for the serpent's fangs to miss where his leg had been a moment before. Locke darted forward with dagger in hand, but slipped on wet leaves, and yelped when the snake bit deep into his arm. Balthier focused, aimed Altair, and squeezed the trigger, hoping Locke could avoid flailing in a way that further endangered his limbs.
His shot struck true and the snake screamed, a sound he hadn't known serpents could make, before Celes's sword sliced through its neck and left it scattered in pieces on the jungle floor.
Locke rolled to his knees and grunted. Even several steps away, Balthier could see the purple edging of the wounds, a bad sign. He fished an antidote from his sundries and poured it over the wound. Locke hissed, his fingers digging deep into the moss underfoot, as the antidote foamed and oozed over the wounds, but when Balthier wiped the darkened gunk away with a spare handkerchief, the wounds were red and healthy-looking. Celes took care of those with a Cure spell.
"Thanks," Locke said, climbing slowly to his feet with the help of a nearby tree. He tested his arm, and nodded. Then he looked at the scattered remains of the snake.
"Well," he said, "we've found the part of Golmore where the ochu's preferred food congregates."
"How fortunate for us that we found it via snake and not ochu," Celes said, dry as dust.
They paused to make sure their gear was in order, and to drink from their canteens. The noises of the jungle, loud at first, began to fade. Balthier looked up just as a flock of tiny vivid red birds took wing, zipping by overhead with none of the tiny chirping calls that he had heard from other birds of that type as they walked through the jungle.
"Shit," Locke muttered.
Celes drew her sword and turned, settling into a defensive stance. The sounds of jungle creatures had now been replaced by the crashing sound of a large creature barreling through the trees. Locke withdrew, scrambling up a nearby tree, and that seemed wise. Balthier chose another tree and climbed until he could settle himself firmly into the V where a sturdy branch met the trunk. He added the fire crystal to his shot pouch.
The ochu arrived, bringing chaos in its wake. The miasma of poisonous fumes around it was so strong that Balthier gulped down an antidote in self-defense, cringing at the astringent taste. Over the ochu, he could see the path of toppled trees and crushed shrubs it had left in its wake, some of them already blackening from poison.
He loaded, aimed, and fired. The shot struck dead in the center of the top of the ochu—what he assumed passed for its head—and the creature screamed as bits of itself began to burn. Across the clearing, Locke was leaning down out of his tree for quick, vicious dagger swipes at the tentacles, with one already lying in pieces on the jungle floor.
Celes was hacking with grim determination at the front of the ochu, and Balthier slung an antidote and then a potion at her, seeing the bruises that formed when the ochu whipped its tentacles viciously past her.
They were making slow but steady progress when the ochu abruptly sucked in a large quantity of air and breathed it out again in a horrific purple cloud that wafted up into the trees. Balthier's eyes burned like they were full of salt water, and the smell was so vile that he immediately vomited, fortunately mostly over the side of the branch and not on himself. He fumbled blindly in his pouch for an antidote, which fixed only half the problem. He searched frantically for the small, round ampoule that held eye drops and almost sobbed in relief when he managed to get the liquid into his eyes, clearing them of the poison.
When his vision cleared, he looked around the small clearing, and found that things were in rather dire shape. The ochu had backed Celes up against the tree in which Balthier was perched, and she was doing her best to defend herself—quite credibly, in fact—with thick black gunk clinging to her face and obscuring her vision, and a green tinge to her skin that suggested further ailments. Locke was fumbling with his own medicaments, without much success judging by the curses he was uttering.
Balthier gauged fighting blind to be the larger problem and hooked his legs firmly around the branch, dangling down over Celes's head and extending an opened vial of eye drops toward her. The unscented pale green liquid dripped down and the black ooze dissolved, just in time for her to barely block a swing from the ochu's severed left tentacle. Unfortunately, he was sufficiently distracted that he did not notice the much-more-intact right tentacle coming in and it slammed into his ribs, nearly tearing him loose from his branch, and the spray of leaves at the end dealt him a glancing blow to the temple. He scrambled frantically and barely avoided dropping Altair as he pulled himself back up onto the branch above, his sense of balance all askew.
The ochu now knew his location, and it swatted at him with both tentacles. Celes took advantage of its distraction to gulp down a potion, and on the other side of the clearing, Locke seemed to have sorted himself out well enough, as he was throwing fire spells now from his tree. Balthier grunted as the injured tentacle wrenched his left ankle and aimed his gun right at the creature's face. The fire-infused shot caught the creature as it drew in another gulp of air, and it gave an odd burp, then a despairing howl that emitted tiny fragments of flame from its mouth.
Celes slashed at it in an athletic flurry, shearing its tentacles off at the base and hacking away half the vines it used in place of feet. Locke hurled more spells, and the thing howled and writhed.
Balthier fired into its face once more as Celes struck a decisive blow, driving her sword deep into the center of its leafy body, and the thing screamed again and slowly toppled backwards.
Balthier took stock of his injuries. His left ankle ached abominably, and his eyes still stung from the poison. His head rung like a bell. Breathing was not as easy as it should have been, and worst of all, his fine linen shirt and brocade vest had been devastated by the entire affair. His ribs, too, gave painful indication that he had not come out of the match well.
Celes leaned against the tree and slugged a potion. Her armor was scuffed and there was a rather distressing amount of (red, hume) blood on her, which was likely the reason for the potion. She looked up at him and nodded. "Well done."
"Thank you." Balthier cracked the seal on another potion and drank it, shuddering as the astringent taste mixed with the lingering flavor of sickness on his tongue, but it did ease the pain in his ribs and ankle. He slung Altair to his back and climbed carefully down, avoiding the mess he'd made, to where Celes was gathering up some of its tentacles, as well as an eye, as trophies to demonstrate their success. Locke climbed down from his tree, groaning faintly as he did so. He favored his left leg as he came over to examine their kill. The area reeked of decaying plant matter and whatever foul poisons the beast used to fuel its attacks.
Celes finished collecting trophies and straightened slowly, swaying a bit. "Back to the airship, I think," she said, and stuck out an arm to brace Locke as he staggered.
"Which way?" Locke asked, and Balthier thought he might be serious about it.
"There," he said, pointing. The gap where they had climbed over a fallen tree, now home to many small creeping plants, was clearly visible, and beyond it their footprints in the fallen leaves on the jungle floor.
They made their slow way back to the Strahl, pausing from time to time to rest and to allow stalking creatures to go past them unchallenged. When they reached the airship, Balthier fumbled with the remote control to drop the ladder. Eventually he managed the combination of buttons.
"You first," Celes told Locke.
"I can hardly—" he began.
"Whatever faux knighthood you were about to spout, stuff it and climb," she snapped.
The tips of Locke's ears reddened, but he turned to the ladder and slowly, unsteadily, began to ascend while Celes watched, narrow-eyed. Balthier found, to his annoyance, that the command tone of her voice had caused him to snap into a perfectly upright stance, shoulders back, about to salute.
When Locke had climbed far enough, Celes started up after him, at a careful distance so that she could catch him should he fall. Balthier watched both of them until they were safely aboard, telling himself it was merely caution and not the need for a rest.
His legs proved the lie when he tried to climb himself, and they wobbled. He gritted his teeth, reminded himself that he'd made worse climbs with heavy armor, and slowly dragged himself upward, one rung at a time. The ladder swayed as he did so, since he had freed the spikes at the bottom that held it still, and the dizzying spin made the aftereffects of poison and too many potions more dire.
"Just hold on tight," Celes called down, and even as he tightened his grip, he prepared a flippant response, but then found himself rising faster as the ladder was hauled up. He reached the top to find Celes and Locke braced in the entryway, hauling the ladder together hand over hand. Both were red-faced with effort.
He crawled into the entryway and pressed his cheek into the blessedly cold metal floor. "My thanks," he managed.
A gust of wind cut over them, and Celes pulled in the last of the ladder and stretched up to tap the closure. The three of them sprawled there, in a pile, breathing heavily as they tried to regain their strength.
"You know," Locke said after a long moment, "the last time I was in a pile of people gasping for air, it was under much better circumstances."
Beneath Balthier's ankle, Celes moved her leg just enough to deliver a glancing and very half-hearted kick to the side of Locke's uninjured leg.
Balthier tried not to think about the possibilities of another kind of pile of people. He liked to claim he was ready for any eventuality, but was not sure he could fulfill that boast at this moment.
He rolled aside and hauled himself upright, bracing against the wall. "There's supplies in the med bay," he said when the white-out noise that had filled his ears at the movement receded enough that he could hear any replies they might make.
Celes nodded her understanding and maneuvered until she was braced on one knee. Locke used her shoulder as a crutch to drag himself upright, and then offered her his hand as he gripped the bar on the wall for stability. The three of them made their slow way to the med bay, every sound of boots on metal echoing in Balthier's aching head.
He unlocked the cabinet containing the medical supplies and Celes reached past him, her arm brushing his shoulder, for the green glass bottle of ether. Moments after she poured the concoction down her throat, she shaped a Cure spell that healed his concussion and the ache in his ribs. He was still dizzy and sore, but much more functional.
"I appreciate it," he told her, and even managed a mostly gallant bow without falling on his face in so doing. She shook her head, but had a half-smile as she turned to deal with whatever injuries Locke had sustained.
Another dose of eye drops took care of the residual pain in his eyes, and he gulped down an antidote as well for good measure. That dispelled the last of the dizziness, and he did not expect further attacks in the airship, so he turned his attention to the other two.
Locke was looking much improved as he rooted in his pouch for a final medicine of some sort. Celes still had a large quantity of blood on her armor, but didn't appear to be adding more to the mess. She turned and offered him a real smile, not the guarded one she had used hitherto. "You fought well."
"I daresay you might have been hoping I would be eaten and you'd have the ship for longer," he replied as lightly as he could.
Her face grew somber, and she shook her head. "No," she said quietly. "I did not." Her gaze lingered on his shoulder. "May I?"
He followed her look, and saw the slow seep of blood on his shoulder, completing the ruin of his ensemble. He nodded and she waited for him to sit on the cot before she leaned in close to check it.
Her hands were brisk but gentle as she unfastened the buttons of his vest and shirt, carefully lifted the linen and brocade away from the wound, and eased it down over his shoulder and arm. Curative magicks could be used in the field to quickly heal something without the process of cleaning a wound, but the Akademy had drilled into him repeatedly that after a battle, it was better to check for foreign material and wash up, if possible, before using them, to ensure clean healing and prevent any lingering infection. It seemed Celes had received similar training or come to the same conclusion. She examined the wound, which was shallow, and carefully removed several ochu thorns that had embedded themselves in his flesh. The process was not pleasant, but he fixed his eyes on the far wall and reminded himself that he'd had worse in training and in service.
She finished with the thorns and held her hand slightly above his shoulder. Blue light flared as she shaped the magick and pressed it into his shoulder. He set his jaw against the vicious itching that always accompanied magicked healing, and then that, too, faded.
The skin of his shoulder was whole and clear beneath the rusty streaks of blood that lingered.
"My thanks," he said. "And yourself?"
"I've done most of the work, but it will be tender for a few days."
On the other side of the room, Locke snorted. "You don't need to shrug it off like a soldier anymore, you know."
She cut a glance as cold as a Blizzard spell across the room at him, which he ignored. "I am not shrugging anything off."
"You're favoring your right side," he said offhandedly.
Her eyes narrowed.
"We are hardly short supplies," Balthier said, and stood up, gesturing for her to take his seat on the cot.
She sighed and sat slowly, bracing her left hand on the cot. She did not often change her expression much, at least not that Balthier had seen, but there was a tightness around her eyes and mouth now that he looked closely. Locke crossed the room in three quick strides and busied himself with the fastenings of her armor. Balthier felt that might be a bit personal for him to attempt given the length and type of their acquaintance, so he merely reached out to take the pieces as Locke lifted them carefully away. Locke lifted away her shirt as well, revealing a puncture wound on her shoulder that was the stark pink of newly-healed flesh, and an angry, puffy red scar on the right side of her abdomen.
Celes hissed in a breath when Locke touched the scar carefully, and Balthier poured a double dose of antidote into a medicine cup and handed it over. Celes drank it, grimacing at the taste, and a few moments later the reddened skin faded to a healthier pink as the antidote went to work on the brewing infection.
"Where else?" Locke asked, in a tone that implied he was accustomed to having to press her about hidden injuries.
"Just a twisted ankle," she said. "I healed most of it after the fight. It'll be good after a day or two of rest."
Locke studied her. She stared back, her face back to its bland mask now that the largest wound had been tended. After a moment he seemed to relent and stood back, allowing her to get to her feet. She moved carefully with her left foot, but more easily than she had sat down.
"All right." Locke stretched extensively. "To Rabanastre to turn this in?"
"If our pilot is feeling up to it." Celes turned to face him. "If you need a rest first, please take it. The mark will keep."
Pride ordered him to say he was fine. Wisdom barely shoved it back down. "While I'm confident in my skills," he said, "probably better to sleep off all these potions first."
She gave him a tired smile, and she and Locke went to their guest cabin. Balthier undressed, making a disappointed face at the state of his attire, and fell into bed nude. He might have been asleep before his head hit the pillow.
Chapter Four