And Thus a Traitor Was Born

by Laziness Incarnate

A story that tries to answer this question: how could Locke ever think Celes was a traitor? The day after the Battle of Narshe, Locke and Celes investigate the mineshaft where three Imperial soldiers—one of them wearing a slave crown—once tried to capture an Esper. Celes seems strangely preoccupied with the fates of the two soldiers spirited away by the Esper...

Chapter 1

Locke groaned and cracked open his crusty eyelids, blinking blearily at his surroundings. He was flat on his back, a thin mattress pressing lumpily into his shoulderblades. Above him the ceiling was dirty with candle soot. He turned his head to the side. Using his keen adventurer's senses (ha ha) he noted the brittle grey of the walls, the wind whistling through the gaps in the moulding, the threadbare blanket barely covering his toes. A name, a cold austere name, rose up in his mind: Narshe. He was in Narshe. The inn, if he wasn't mistaken.

So this must've been how Terra felt when she woke in this town: dazed, confused, and freezing her ass off.

He blinked again. It felt like early morning, judging by the quality of the light filtering through the windows and the worse-than-usual temperature. There was a quiet hum of activity from below, people getting breakfast in the common room. Ordinary, boring Narshe sounds.

But yesterday, he remembered in a flash...yesterday, the city of Narshe was crawling with about a hundred Imperial soldiers, a dozen Imperial magitek armour units and one psychotic Imperial clown. Yesterday, ragtag Returner forces finally scuttled out of their hiding places to band together with the local untrained militia; somehow they'd managed to fight off the invasion. Yesterday, Terra stood at the edge of a cliff and screamed an unearthly scream of pain or madness or maybe ecstasy (or all three at once), before turning pink and fiery and flying off in a blaze of light, far far away...as far as Locke could remember anyway.

And now it was today...and here he was in an unfamiliar bed with a spotty memory of blue Esper magic blasting him in the face, a thousand aches in his body, and...

*BANG*

"You alive! Gau thought you dead for sure!"

...and an unwashed wildchild throwing the bedroom door open wide, now bounding delightedly toward his bed.

"Mr. Thou," Gau announced the name with relish, "told me to check, make sure you okay. You okay?"

Locke groaned and put a hand over his face. His head was pounding and this kid was...not the quietest. "Hi Gau. What happened?"

"Big magic! Fwoosh! You hit head, almost fall off cliff! Gau very concerned!"

"Thanks? Where is everyone?"

"Busy! They do important things. You not important."

"Thanks," Locke said again.

"But ice lady wants to see you. She has job for you." Gau grabbed him by the arm and started to pull. "You go now! No be lazy!"

Locke's stomach immediately threatened to leap from his throat. "Urgh! Give me a minute! Unless you want to see me throw up."

"Don't want to see that!"

"Then get out."

"Okay okay, I tell ice lady you coming."

"Fine, sure...yeah, I'm coming."

On his way out, Locke noticed the scrap of paper on his bedside table that said Bed rest for two days, no stressful activities, doctor's orders.

Locke put down the note and lurched his way to the door, because what was more important, a doctor's order's or an Imperial general's?

- 0 - 0 -

Now here he was, less than an hour later, hopped up on a breakfast of dried meat and healing potions, plus a dose of Celes' weird curative magic, which felt like drinking too much coffee and too much alcohol all at once. He stood (barely) in the foyer of their cheap, dingy inn, ready to go outside and fight through a white-out snowstorm—all because Celes wanted some help "investigating" an abandoned mineshaft.

Clearly Edgar was right about the hero complex thing.

"Are you sure you should be out of bed?"

True to form (i.e. idiocy) Locke grinned and waved Celes' worries away with a grin. "If you think I look bad, you should see the other guy!"

Celes' hand, resting lightly on the inn's unoccupied reception desk, twitched like it wanted to cast another curative spell, but she didn't tell him to go back upstairs and lie down in his bed (he almost wished she would). "What's that thing you're holding?"

"It's for you." Locke handed over the thick winter coat in his hands (he'd "borrowed" it from behind the reception desk), wondering if she even needed it. He'd heard a lot of stories about the Empire's general or ice being, well, a thing of ice. "We didn't have time to get you a coat during the battle," he blathered. "You didn't seem cold, but, um..."

But it turned out Celes Chere was made of mortal stuff after all; she accepted the proffered winter coat readily enough, shoving her arms into the white, fluffy mass of hide and fur without comment. It looked only slightly ridiculous on her. Fingering the material she asked, "What kind of animal is this?"

"Vomammoth. You know those big fellows with the tusks? The Narsheans use them as pack animals, war animals in a pinch, and I guess for their fur as well. "

"Smart. They use up their animals thoroughly, even after they die."

"You could put it that way."

She ignored his nervous, slightly concussed chuckle. "Why is this one white? All the ones I've seen so far are grey."

"Once in a while, there'll be a Vomammoth born with white skin and fur. And, um, scary red eyes. Albino, you know. I thought it would look good on you."

She gave him a small eye-roll. "I'm just glad to be warm."

So she did feel the cold. Inwardly he chided himself for his thoughtlessness. He'd vowed to protect her after all—

Without warning, Celes drew her sword and cut a fine arc through the air, all in a single flawless motion. Locke's bangs (and Locke's ego) received a slight trim. "Terrible mobility though," she muttered, sheathing her sword without a hitch, despite the heavy coat in the way. "If I need to fight, I'll take it off."

She was giving him that look again, the one that said she knew he was watching her and didn't like it—so Locke did what he always did, and deflected.

"It's better protection in a fight than what you usually wear," he said, gesturing with just an eyebrow (he was good with his eyebrows) at her thin yellow vest, but Celes acted like she hadn't heard him. She strode past him to the inn's main door and opened it with a grunt, letting in a shock of freezing (literally freezing!) wind and snow.

"Hurry up and get your coat on before you faint again," she said, raising her own eyebrow when he flinched away, and Locke wondered if the rumours of the ice general were true after all.

- 0 - 0 -

Leaving the inn behind them, they made their way toward the southern end of the city. They didn't talk much along the way—easier not to. Navigating through the blasting snowstorm, not to mention the iced-over cobblestones and layers and layers of grimy, stomped-down snow beneath their feet (the Narsheans wouldn't be cleaning the stuff until the storm blew over) took a whole lot of concentration. He could see why the average Narshean on the street was so taciturn.

Unfortunately, whenever Locke wasn't running his mouth, his brain started working. Between each trudging footstep (trudge, trudge) he asked himself: What had happened while he was in bed last night? He had the facts but not the facts. Terra's trail was now confirmed—west over the mountains, toward Kohlingen of all places—but none of the Returners he ran into during his hurried breakfast could tell him about her, whether she was okay or hurt or...even human anymore.

What he did know was that, while he'd been out of it, Celes got summoned twice to speak to the hastily formed "inner council" of the Narshe-Returner coalition. A former General of the Empire suddenly landing in their laps—absolutely invaluable. So invaluable no one had bothered to give her a damn coat.

He wondered what Banon and Arvis and the others thought of her. Maybe those meetings had actually been tribunals, and she'd barely made it through not-guilty—

Locke's foot slipped on a patch of ice. He yelped and checked his balance, glad that nothing worse had happened. He should probably pay more attention to where he was going.

"Are you sure you're fit to be out here?"

Locke looked up, winked and gave Celes a big thumbs-up. It was easier than replying, what with the wind screaming like a crazed Esper in his ears.

Celes shrugged and left him to suffer in (noisy, windy) peace.

- 0 - 0 -

Finally they reached the southern reaches of Narshe proper, if his eyes (blinded by snow as they were) weren't deceiving him. It was taking them twice as long as it should to move forward—Locke was pretty sure Celes was slowing down for his sake, but he tried not to let it get to him. It was honestly awful out here. There were hardly even any Narsheans out and about, and Narsheans were used to this crazy kind of weather. That meant Locke and Celes were even crazier.

Speaking of crazy...there was someone ahead of them, a tall figure wrapped in furs like theirs, face hidden by swirling snow and shadows. Also a hood and scarf. The man (Locke was pretty sure it was a man) wasn't doing much of anything, just leaning against a lampost and trying to look imposing while bundled up in furs like a poofy Ipooh bear. As they approached the man he snapped to attention, almost military-like.

"Where are you going?"

Locke tried to peer under the hood. That voice was familiar. Locke figured out who it belonged to more from the accusatory tone more than from the thick Doman accent.

"We're headed to the mines," Celes called back at Cyan, her words clear and even. (The general had a good set of lungs on her.) "Where the Esper was found."

"Why?"

"Clues."

"To what?"

"Terra."

The name was like an invocation—the wind rose higher, shrieking like a train wreck. Locke pictured Terra out in this storm by herself, cold and shivering and scared: Terra the way he knew her, not the way he'd last seen her.

Strangling down his worries, he grinned all friendly-like at Cyan, the way he always did when he was working a job, hey relax, we're not doing anything wrong, just sniffing out some treasure, but Cyan probably couldn't see his face under all this snow.

"We were told to rest," shouted Cyan. "To prepare for tomorrow's journey."

"I don't need to rest," Celes replied. "I need to understand what happened in those mines."

The man stood still and stiff—everyone and everything was stiff out here, but Cyan was especially stiff—as Celes moved forward, passing him by without a background glance. Real warm relationship these two had.

Then, as Locke tried to follow her, Cyan's iron-strong fingers—maybe actually clad in iron?—gripped his forearm, and the Doman leaned in close enough to be heard even without yelling. "You think it safe? Alone with her?"

Obviously these were words for Locke's ears only.

"Are you kidding? There's no one safer to be with! The monsters practically run away before we can kill them. But it's actually her doing most of the killing truth be told." Locke flashed his chattering rictus grin again.

"That is not what I—"

"I know what you meant."

Cyan's iron fingers loosened slightly, then swiftly re-affirmed their strength.

"Then why..."

"You saw her at the battle, right? Could we have won without her?"

Frowning, Cyan released Locke's arm, pushing it away even, as if touching it offended his delicate samurai sensibilities.

"You trust too easily," he said, then turned his head, to resume his vigil or self-punishment or whatever it was he was doing out here.

Locke turned away from him too...and found Celes watching, grey eyes as clear and unfathomable as ever.

---

Chapter 2

Locke nudged at the pile of slime with the toe of his fuzzy boot, which was clearly a bad idea—the stuff oozed right into the fur—but Locke was never one to shirk his duty to muck around.

Celes was less interested in muck though. "What is this?"

"Arvis says a giant Whelk was set to guard the passage here. Apparently Terra—plus the two other magitek units—blasted it to hell on their way in."

Locke scrutinized the five-week old corpse. Maggoty creatures (they looked a lot like the Crawlies so common in the Figaro cave system but smaller) still swarmed the great mass of blackened, oozing flesh; the cold weather was probably slowing down the decomposition. Gross. The whole thing probably would have fallen apart if not for the leather harness straps still wrapped around it. The hard knobbly shell, though, was completely intact and surprisingly beautiful, what with the glittery violet colour, the thick spiralling structure, and the long spines sticking out at gracefully random angles. Bits of metal and grey ballistics powder lay scattered around the body, completing the scene with an almost artistic flare of ugliness.

Fascinating. Just fascinating. Locke kneeled down to study the particular qualities of the festering ooze more closely.

"I can't believe this."

Celebs was frowning at the poor Whelk's remains, arms crossed and brows drawn together like a disappointed parent. Locke tried not to smile at the sheer disgust in her generalship's voice. He was pretty sure it wasn't the sliminess that bothered her (anyone who worked in the Empire had to be used to sliminess). It was the...disorganization of the Narshean mine that had her bristling.

"A real delicacy, fried Whelk," Locke quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

"They just...left it like this."

"We should be thankful the remains stayed the way they were, if we want to investigate them," Locke pointed out with a diplomatic shrug. "The Narsheans abandoned this mine shaft as haunted, you know, after what happened with Terra. Even though it's a new shaft! So it's not like all this junk lying around got in anyone's way."

"Yes. Of course." Celes gave a curt nod. "This creature is just junk."

He gave another, more irritated shrug. Narshe was still reeling after the two Imperial attacks; it wasn't as if they, or the Returners for that matter, had the manpower to be cleaning up all the Empire's messes.

He and Celes followed the long scraping "footsteps" of the magitek units down into the bowels of the shaft, not speaking and not seeing each other clearly, both physically and metaphysically, as the darkness and gloom deepened. Edgar said there were actually ghosts down here—he and Banon and Terra apparently encountered some when they used the mines to sneak into town last week. Sabin said he met some ghosts too on his journey, and even rode the legendary Phantom Train…

Locke wasn't sure if he believed any of that though. There were plenty enough terrors he already knew about—no need to go inviting more. (He thought of Rachel, asleep in her bed, and tried to think of something else.) He thought of Terra trudging through this same murky passage atop one of those magitek horrors, face as blank as her memory, slave crown wires needled deep into the skin of her forehead. What kind of bastards could do that to a girl—

It was who Celes broke the silence, and broke the deepening darkness too. Just when Locke was reaching into his belt pack to break out a torch, suddenly she said a bunch of gobbledygook and just like that a wisp of icy light burned into existence in her right hand—weak and pale, but illumination enough that they wouldn't trip and die on a rusty pick.

"So that's why you said I didn't need to bring a light," said Locke.

"And yet I see you brought one anyway."

"That's what I do."

They walked on.

- 0 - 0 -

Eventually they came to a crossroads.

He turned to Celes to ask her opinion on which way they should take; but he was so startled by the way her silhouette flickered in the light of her spell, cold and wraithlike, that the question fled from his mind entirely. No wonder the Narsheans had abandoned this place.

"The left," she said, holding up the light. "I can see signs of some kind of struggle up ahead. They must have run into some guards."

The "guards" turned out to be a pair of Vomammoths, whose crumpled bones and flesh and fur now lay mouldering in many different places on the path. Locke looked at the sleeve of his warm furry jacket and felt unaccountably guilty.

"Terra did this?" Celes said, gesturing at the corpses.

"She was wearing a slave crown," Locke reminded her. "And those two soldiers they sent with her had magitek too—I bet they caused most of the damage."

Celes' outstretched hand—the one with the spell in it—twitched, bending the blue light into weird patterns, as if she wanted to make a fist. "It was Kefka who put the slave crown on her head and ordered this mission. We shouldn't have let it happen."

"We?"

Celes didn't explain. "I knew he'd done something to her."

That was not the royal "we." "I don't think you could have stopped him."

"How could you possibly know?"

In the face of her scorn, and pretty ignorant of whatever the heck she was talking about, Locke could only say, "I know because I've seen Kefka in action. That guy is not only nuts, he's got the nuts to carry out his plans. I mean, look at Doma, there's no way anyone could have stopped that—"

He wanted to clap a hand over his mouth. Why did he have to mention the thing that got her jailed and condemned for execution? Unbidden, memories arose in his mind: the soldiers flaying long strips of skin off her back, the thin membrane floating away in the wake of the whip; the way they laughed at her pain until she couldn't make a single noise, an animal cowed to silence; then Cyan's accusations at their first meeting, the mute guilt in her eyes as the Doman lashed out at her sure as any Imperial whip...

She remembered too. Celes lowered her hand, letting the light dim a little.

"How did someone as crazy as Kefka get into power anyway?" Locke added glibly.

"If you need to ask that question, clearly you don't belong in politics."

Her voice was steady. Good. "Sure I do. I help our good King of Figaro play politics, don't I?"

"'Play,' yes."

They passed the Vomammoth corpses without stopping again. But Celes didn't shy away from the sight of it, kept her grey eyes fixed on the hairy, maggoty heaps of charred flesh without flinching. Drank in the sight like a punishment, eyes raking over the leaking intestines, the broken tusks...and the older lash-wounds striping the animals' backs, the healed over scars of pink and red...

It struck him, as she closed her fur coat tighter to her body, that she wasn't upset for quite the reasons he'd thought.

- 0 - 0 -

At the end of the mine shaft they found:

Very little. Overturned carts and scattered coal; abandoned picks and shovels and other tools he couldn't name; a mound of rock where the giant Esper must have sat (the Narsheans had moved the Esper to the mountainside, he reminded himself); and the tortured remains of three magitek units, blackened and charred to a crisp, resting on their gangly metal haunches around the empty mound like...dead golems gone back to the earth, the kind from those stories his grandma used to tell him. Or maybe three supplicants to an abandoned throne, or three goddesses kneeling as one...

"What happened," said Celes, "to the soldiers?"

Locke turned at her puzzled tone. "Other than Terra, gone without a trace. The city council have been keeping a watch out for them, and the Returners did their own sniffing around, but…." He shrugged. "I doubt they looked very hard."

There was a subtle flutter to her breath—he only noticed it because the air was so damn cold you could see it—white clouds puffing from her lips.

"There should at least be some traces of their bodies. Their uniforms, their metal helmets, their bones."

"I guess the Esper was just that strong?"

Celes nodded without seeming to hear a word he said. Her face was very pale, paler than usual anyway. She took one step forward, hesitant in a way that was completely unlike her, and kept one hand upraised, the same hand she used to cast her spells; and indeed her lips moved silently, mouthing words he couldn't possibly fathom, while that blue light flickered at her fingertips.

It made him distinctly uncomfortable—for her sake, of course, because she was so young and the Empire had put all this frightening power in her...it was obviously too much for her, for Terra too. Oh hell. Who was he kidding. He thought he was over this but here it was again, the old fear of magic coursing through him just like the first time he saw Terra throw fire from her hands.

"The Esper spirited them away," said Celes, voice somehow as pale as her face. "He used a spell. I feel like I should know it—" She stopped her forward motion and closed her eyes, hand still held high. "It's on the tip of my tongue. If I had enough time…." She opened her eyes. "If I were near him again, I could learn it."

Locke shivered in his warm coat. Him? "I don't know if we have time to visit the Esper—that's a long trip up into the mountains. Are there any clues here and now?"

"Let me look around more," said Celes, already approaching the three junked magitek armours.

While she busied herself with that, he made a show of checking out the rock mound where the Esper was found. He kneeled and ran his fingers over the rough grey granite, then the bits of debris chiseled away from the main mass. Nothing of interest here that he could see—but maybe seeing wasn't what was needed here.

I can feel its mind, Celes had said at the cliff, right before Terra turned into...whatever she'd turned into, and flown off in a burst of screaming pink fire. I think it wants to talk to us. To Terra. Thinking back, it was strange...Celes said she somehow felt the Esper's mind...and now here she was calling the Esper a him instead of an it...

"Damn it." Her voice rang out clear and brittle in the dead quiet of the mine.

Locke looked up at Celes, who had climbed up into the driver's seat of one of the "regular" magitek armours (the third unit was a larger, fancier model with missile launchers on its side). It was unnerving, seeing her up there. She looked right at home in that gutted metal menace.

That's general Celes! She torched Maranda!

Pressing his lips together, Locke silently told Cyan's voice in his head to shut up.

"What is it?" he said aloud.

When she didn't immediately reply, he strode over to her magitek armour and (gallantly, nonchalantly) hoisted himself upward so he could sit on the edge of the cockpit; there wasn't enough room in there for the two of them. "Found something?"

She held up a pair of small, square metal plates strung together on a chain. Dog tags. "This was in a special compartment under the seat."

"They belong to the soldier?"

"Yeah." She cleared her throat. "I know him. Knew him."

Locke peered at the inscription on the tags: Corporal Parrin Vicks, 0-734. The name didn't mean anything to him.

"He was one of my subordinates. Kefla must have requisitioned him without my knowledge."

"You knew him well?"

"No, not especially. But he was my responsibility."

Cocking his head, Locke waited for her to say more, but she had clammed up again. "What about in the other units?" he finally asked.

They found one more set of dog tags in the other "regular" magitek armour—under the seat again in the "special compartment." The latch was hidden extremely well. Celes only found it because she knew it was there.

"Sargeant Lotham Wedge," Locke read. "Ring a bell?"

Celes' face was like stone. "One of Kefka's men. He must have been in charge of the operation."

They searched the last armour, the heavy missile unit, but found nothing special about it other than the extra weapon attachments and heavier armour plating.

"This is the one Terra rode," Locke said. "They gave her the biggest guns and threw her in front to wreak havoc. Heard it from Arvis."

Celes gave a short, military nod.

After that, Locke expected she would want to search the area thoroughly, especially the Esper's mound of rock, but she only took a cursory look around. "I need to see the cliffside," she said. "The trail of magic leads there."

"I guess we can try to make time for it," said Locke, not nervously at all, no sirree. "But let's report our findings first. We need to pass through town anyway."

Celes looked like she wanted to argue but then seemed to think better of it. "All right. You do the reporting. I have an errand to run while it's still daytime."

"You're...not going to the cliff by yourself, right?"

"No," said Celes. "I need to find a bird."

---

Chapter 3

"You spent the whole morning in the mines, and all you found was a couple of dog tags?"

For a king, Edgar sure was blunt sometimes.

"There wasn't much left to search," Locke said with maybe more irritation than was warranted. "The Esper was moved, remember? So it was just the three empty, burned-out magitek armours, that's all we found."

Locke gave a nervous mental swat at the 'trail of magic' or whatever it was that Celes said she could sense. No need to tell Edgar everything. "Anyway, it was better than sitting around, or going to those endless meetings.'"

Edgar nodded without any expression. He was seated before a small table, a late lunch laid out in front of him. With his knife and fork he sawed slowly at his hunk of Leafer; it looked like it had once been frozen, same as everything else in Narshe. Even this room, presumably the best one at this inn if it was assigned to the King of Figaro and the Prince (as much as Sabin could be called that title), was in the prevailing decorative style of this city: drafty and spare and devoid of cheer.

"The talks aren't going well. They're still stringing me along," Edgar bit out, in between bites, "because they want Figaro's support."

"How about our requests?"

Edgar didn't look up from his food. "They're still pretending to talk about it, but I know the Elder and I know Banon; we're not taking back South Figaro any time soon."

"But they heard what Celes and I said—what's happening in the city—and they know how a place goes when it's occupied for a long time—"

"At most," Edgar broke in, "I can negotiate for the services of Narshean spies. Not saboteurs—just informants, posing as traders. Real traders would be best. And they're absolutely right that we need information. Before we take back the city need to find out who we can trust or else we'll just lose it again." He exhaled heavily. "It was quite a shock to me, finding out that Marius betrayed us."

"Not just him," Locke said. Posing as an Imperial soldier, he'd spent some time chatting with the richest family in South Figaro, and it had been clear that the whole household had been paid off, even the servants and kids. "I could go back in and find out who else was part of that deal."

"You'd do more harm and good. The Imperials know your face by now."

"Right." Fighting his way out of town with Celes at his side probably hadn't helped his profile. "I guess there's nothing I can personally do at this point."

"No. There's very little any of us can do. The magitek units and soldiers keep pouring in. At this rate Figaro itself will be at risk. That's why I want to get back to the castle as soon as possible."

Edgar's face looked so old. Locke decided to change the subject.

"So my spying career is over, huh? Fine by me. My priority now is to find Terra anyway. I made her a promise."

After a moment Edgar looked up from his plate and gave Locke an unimpressed once-over. Was everyone going to do that to him today? "You won't be able to help anyone the way you're going, Locke. You should have been resting this morning. That storm is no place for a recovering invalid."

"Hey," Locke protested. "A guy gets knocked out for a bit and suddenly he's an invalid?"

"Where's Celes?" Edgar looked at the door, as if expecting her to burst in, the way she and Locke had done just before the battle. "She shouldn't be letting you do stupid things."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Where is she?"

"Sending a letter."

"A letter!"

It wasn't Edgar who had spoken.

From behind the door to the hallway, out stepped Cyan—because apparently eavesdropping was acceptable behaviour in the samurai code of Doma.

"You would let her send a message?" Cyan strode forward, footsteps extra rigid with righteousness. "She may be writing to the Empire!"

"I know. That's exactly what she's doing," said Locke.

"What?" Cyan's hand fell to the pommel of his sword. "And you let her? You are as much a traitor as she!"

"I'm sure there's a good reason," Edgar said, eyeing Locke meaningfully. "Right?"

"Of course." Locke shifted his weight from one side to the other. Why did he feel so nervous? "It was just a condolence letter, okay? One of the men who disappeared in the mine was her subordinate."

"That makes sense." Edgar's voice was calm, reasonable. "I've heard that she does that—writes letters personally to grieving families. Not for all her men, just some." He took a bite of his food.

"I have never heard such a tale. I like it not." Cyan's hand moved off his sword, but his whole bearing still radiated suspicion. "You should not give trust so easily."

Locke's patience was just about ready to snap. All these insinuations, the same ones as over and over…it just made him feel wrong inside, like a bit of Cyan's suspicious nature was taking up lodgings inside him.

He wanted it out.

"What more do you want from her?" he practically snarled. "She's fought her heart out for us, against her own people! You know when I found her, she was getting whipped and spat on because she stood up against Kefka, and you wanna know what for? Because she found out your kingdom was gonna get poisoned!"

Immediately he regretted his words. Cyan's face drained of blood; his eyes went wide and stricken. It was like he'd taken poison himself, or rather like Locke had served it to him...

For a long while none of them moved—three grown men at an entire loss for words or will.

Then Cyan turned and started for the door. The way he moved, it was like he was an old, old man.

"I hope for all our sakes that you are right," he said in a voice devoid of emotion. Then he stepped out the door. The sound of his footsteps gradually died away, screaming misery with every slow, quiet shuffle.

Edgar cleared his throat.

"I know," said Locke, feeling wretched. "I shouldn't have said that."

"I don't think I need to tell you that." There was a grave, kingly timbre to Edgar's voice that made Locke feel queasy. "But I do...understand his point. You should listen to yourself speak about her."

"How do you mean?"

Edgar resumed cutting up his Leafer. He chewed thoughtfully before saying, "Like you'll do anything for her."

"I just met her."

"All the more reason to be concerned." Edgar glanced out the window, to where the storm had died down just a little. "Did you watch her during the battle? It was probably hard to see, with a hundred different skirmishes happening at once in all those nooks and crannies. But I watched Celes very carefully; she didn't kill a single Imperial soldier."

Locke wondered if they were talking about the same battle. "I saw her mow down tons of Imperials. She was firing ice missiles all over the place."

"She hurt a lot of people, yes." Edgar's voice was eerily dispassionate. "But she didn't kill a single one"

"Are you sure?"

"I was right next to her, in the long-range group."

"You said it was hard to see."

"It was also hard to avoid killing, but she made a point of it."

Locke gave his friend a hard look. "You sure it's not your own guilty conscience speaking?"

"No, Locke. By this point, none of us has his hands clean." He sighed, kingliness deflating a little. "I am just...very aware of how difficult this must be for her. Deciding to leave your hometown, your values, all the people you know—surely you, out of everyone here, can understand that she might be feeling regrets. You can never go home again, can you?"

That hit home a little too closely. Locke deserved it—but still...he had a strong urge to hit Edgar in his well-mannered face.

"I trust her." It came out harsh instead of earnest like he wanted it to. "She's not the type to do things lightly. You weren't there, Edgar, when I found her in that jail cell. She wasn't trying to make excuses or grovel her way back in. She'd made her choice and meant to follow it through."

"I'm sure she did," Edgar said slowly. "But do you truly believe that she expected to live past that day? Was she really imagining herself joining the Returners, hunkering down in the trenches with us for the long haul...killing her old comrades, destroying the Empire that raised her? Or...did she go down to that basement to die?"

Locke opened his mouth but no scathing retort was forthcoming. He remembered the way she'd looked in her cell, blood spattering the floor and walls around her twisted body, bruised, puffy eyes staring into nothing, like he wasn't even there. Leave me, she'd said. There's no way I can walk out of here on my own, and no way you can protect me.

But he had. He had.

"I trust her," he said again simply. "After what we've been through, it wouldn't make sense not to."

Edgar let out his second sigh of the evening. "I'm not saying she's a traitor. She's been an invaluable help. I'm just suggesting you think about things a little. You have a habit of picking up any lost lady you find and turning her into...well, a cause."

Turning her into Rachel, you mean. At least he'd had enough tact not to say her name.

"Please, Locke," Edgar said. "It's not just about you."

Then why did make it about me? But Locke replied, "I know."

"Then you'll keep an eye on her? I just want you to watch what she does, not say anything to her."

"Yeah, I'll be more...observant."

"All right. Good." Edgar visibly relaxed in his chair. "Observant of more than just her gorgeous hair and perfect complexion, I hope."

Locke managed a weak grin. "You jealous?"

"She's not really my type."

"I mean jealous because she does tall, blonde and pale a lot better than you do."

"Ah. But it's not exactly a fair contest. The desert sun wreaks havoc on my skin."

"Then why are you still so pale and pasty-faced? Sabin too. Is it a royal bloodline thing?"

Edgar wiped his mouth delicately with a napkin, but with his other hand wagged a finger saucily (it was even covered in sauce). "That, my friend, is a secret."

There was a knock on the door. One of the inn staff, a young man with a mop of brown hair, padded into the room and gestured mutely at the dinner plate, which was mostly empty now. Edgar smiled and thanked him profusely for the wonderfully cooked dinner. The young fellow starting clearing the table, stealing not-so-subtle glances at Edgar from under his hair, before walking away with a quick, strangely grateful bow.

Locke saw his friend's fond smile, thought about the way Edgar could turn on the charm so quick and easy like that, and felt a little queasy again.

"Hey Ed," he said. "Where did you hear about Celes writing condolence letters? I've never heard that before, and you know me—I've got my ear on all the Imperial gossip."

Edgar's smile sloughed off his face. "Ah, that. I lied about the letters. It's a bit alarming that she's suddenly sending one now. But it got Cyan off your back, right?"

"Oh. I see. Yeah."

Edgar pushed his chair out and stood. "I better get to my meeting. And you'd better get onto what we talked about. Discreetly, of course. Take it easy—no fainting again, no matter how pretty the lady."

"Yeah," said Locke again.

- 0 - 0 -

Celes wasn't at the general store.

"I saw your lady friend," said the one worker crazy enough to be on duty in this storm, a grizzled old coot with a squint in both eyes. "I told her, it's a blizzard out there, you notice? We've had no birds going out today, I told her, I did, but she wanted that letter sent today, and I could see she was the sort of person used to getting her own way..."

Locke frowned. "Where is she now?"

"I was just about to tell you—when I turned her down she bought a bird from us. Couldn't really spare one truth be told, but she offered me a pretty penny and we had us here an old one we was planning to boil up for dinner soon anyway—"

"Did you see which way she went?"

But Locke already knew the answer.

---

Chapter 4

The blizzard had lightened a little since morning, but the snow and wind were still howling mad as a Lobo. Not that any wild beasts were dumb enough to be out in this weather. Just him—and Celes and Cyan—and maybe Terra.

Locke made his way to the northern town gate this time, head held low so he could keep the snow out of his hood. This meant that his eyes were looking in the right place—down—to spot Celes' footprints. He knew they were hers; he recognized the narrow sharpness of her bootheels.

North, she was heading north of course. Out of the city, into the mountains, toward the cliffside.

She wasn't trying to hide her tracks at all—a good sign, he supposed.

- 0 - 0 -

The mountains cradling Narshe were steep, craggy, treacherous, and probably the only reason the Returners had managed to defend the Esper from the latest Imperial attack. He'd heard from Arvis what kinds of terrain you'd encounter if you stepped off the narrow "civilized" path—crevasses wide as gorges, monolithic granite walls, sheets of frozen waterfalls—and part of him itched to seek out these hidden wonders, but another part of him was rightly terrified. In this storm even the well-trod paths were dangerous as anything. Locke found himself hugging the rock walls so he wouldn't get blown off the mountainside.

So much for "taking it easy." He grit his teeth. Damn Edgar and his diplomacy.

With nothing better to do as he slogged up the mountain path, Locke occupied his mind by pondering geopolitics and wartime economics and the character of this northern clime. He hadn't spent enough time in Narshe to really get a firm handle on it, but he could see there was something weird and almost perverse about the people here—the way they were so standoffish and even mean at times, but when you got them talking some of them wouldn't stop, and if you asked them for help they might give it, but only in the ways they saw fit. It was as if...Narshe was so lonely, so isolated here in these stupidly treacherous mountains, and so proud of its isolation, proud of its stoicness, the way its people could keep doing their jobs that only they could do, their mining and their fur trade, their animal husbandry and now their...Esper husbandry...but at the same time they hated it, hated and feared the magical thing they were protecting (they'd banished it all the way up here after all), hated being so special and needed by the world, so alone in this hard, cold place.

Speaking of which...was that a shack? Up here? A little brown thing, just big enough for one or two people to take shelter from the storm. Vaguely he remembered Banon saying the Returners were planning to set up surveillance on the mountain in case the Imperial Air Force showed up, or Terra decided to come back—but honestly it didn't seem like much of a guardpost. He almost wished someone would come out and question him.

Making a quick decision, he trudged over to the shack and pulled open the flimsy door. A moment's respite from the cold, that was all he needed. Or for Celes to be in there waiting for him, or better yet Terra…

He looked down. In front of a low brazier on the frozen ground, a young woman lay snoring. It wasn't Celes and it wasn't Terra. She was dressed in Returner gear—"armour" made up of random bits of padding and metal—and draped awkwardly across her back, like someone had laid it over her as she slept, was a thick winter coat made of Vomammoth fur, pure and white as snow.

Locke stepped forward. He tried to wake the woman, who kept snoring and snoring no matter how he shook her or pushed or yelled.

Locke stopped back. He hadn't known Celes could do this kind of magic too.

He rested only for a few moments. Before he left, he stoked the little fire in the brazier and made sure the smoke was ventilating properly.

The coat, he left on the girl's back.

---

Chapter 5

Half an hour later he came to the worst part of the climb.

In front of him, coarse stone walls and random pillars rose like frozen monsters out of the earth. This was the battleground proper, where they'd thrown Kefka and his Magitek goons off the mountain: a sloping, winding maze of glacier-carved stone, forming crevices deeper than a man was tall. Perfect place to be defending from above with slings and boulders and the support of local folk who knew how to avoid falling to your death—awful to be scaling by yourself in a freezing snowstorm and with only half a functioning brain.

Locke closed his eyes for a moment. He felt the wind and snow roiling in front of his face, uncaring of his tiredness or the ache in his temples. No point in putting this off. He opened his eyes, reached out to grasp his first handhold, and started to climb.

- 0 - 0 -

Slowly, slowly, he made his way upward through the labyrinth. In some places had to climb up and over a high ridge of stone or ice, wriggling his body gently across the surface so as to spread out his weight. In other places he could walk upright for a few steps, still vaguely following Celes' trail (he could see the places where she'd disturbed the snow), and trying to remember all the places the Narsheans had told him not to tread. There's an underground river under parts of this, he reminded himself. A cavern heated by geothermic currents. You fall in and it's a long way down.

Locke tried to keep his breathing slow and deep and even. Last night he'd dreamed about this place, about the Magitek units climbing spider-like across the crevices, hissing out their magical bolts into the fragile human insects opposing them. In reality, the clunky Magitek armours had fallen into the crevices left and right, but in his nightmares they'd been invincible. Being here again he remembered something he'd forgotten from his dream—the sound of someone screaming, something screaming, like Terra when she transformed, like Rachel when she fell…

He shook his head. This was what happened when a guy got knocked out by Esper magic. He dreamed weird Esper dreams.

Throwing caution to the wind (and there sure was a lot of wind!), Locke tried to hurry along, thrashing and cursing against the snowstorm. He imagined getting lost in this maze until nightfall (which would be soon enough, at this northern latitude), and the thought of being here in the dark sent his thoughts spiralling into the dark too. At one point he looked down and realized he couldn't see Celes' footprints anymore. He breathed hard and sucked in a freezing shock of air into his lungs, which made him dry-cough for a very long time.

But once he stopped coughing he laughed. At this moment he was under an overhang of rock, a shelter from the storm, so there was no snow on the ground. Of course there were no footprints here. If he climbed a bit more surely he would find her trail again.

He took the opportunity to rest for a moment, catch his breath, try not to think too much (You sound like you'll do anything for her), tell himself this was just another treasure hunt same as always, until he could continue.

- 0 - 0 -

Eventually he made it out of the battleground—the steepness levelled off, the crevices disappeared. His foot finally came to rest on mostly flat, solid, snow-covered plateau. He gave a tired inner cheer but didn't stop to rest. If he stopped now he might not be able to start again.

This plateau had to be in the lee side of the mountain; the wind was not so awful now. The snow was still falling but it swirled around lazily, a flimsy curtain between the world and this place. He was swimming in snow, sending huge powdery puffs flying with each step. Good thing he had on tight, proper boots—only a little powder got inside to melt against his skin.

So tired. Head was starting to hurt again. He stumbled and sloshed around with very little thought for his precise route. Just needed to head to the cliff where the Esper waited—and Celes. He wondered what he would find at the summit. Would he arrive just in the nick of time to see Celes turn pink and fly off into the west, as Terra had done? Would he see her communing with the beast in the ice, lightning arcing from her fingertips? Or would he even be able to see anything, would it all be beyond him?

I can feel the Esper with my mind…

Locke plunged deeper into the snowplain.

- 0 - 0 -

There was nothing especially dramatic about his arrival at the cliffside.

He walked, didn't run. It was a little hazy up here among the clouds, and things came into focus slowly, like a foggy fever dream dissipating as he drew near. It was the oddest feeling. Or maybe he was walking into the dream...

He shook his head to clear it.

As he approached the edge he glimpsed the bluish cast of the Esper's icy prison—was it pulsing brighter and softer at turns? He couldn't trust his eyes. He was a little lightheaded now, breath coming out in short, shallow puffs; was the air was really that thin up here?

He tried not to look at the body of the Esper itself within the ice: the wild greens and reds and yellows, fur and feathers and claws. Off to the side he found the smaller figure of Celes, a pale dab of yellow in a world of white and grey. He noted her thin vest, her bare shoulders, the frosty white of her face, but she wasn't shivering or keeping her arms hugged around her body or other things people did when they were cold. Not made of mortal stuff after all, their General Celes...

She noticed him even though she wasn't facing him. Her whole body stiffened at his approach.

"Locke," she greeted without turning her head. "You didn't need to come up here. It's dangerous."

"Dangerously beautiful," he said, moving forward so he was next to her, but not too close—a few feet away. "Is it just me or is the Esper glowing?"

She was ignoring him. Not in the usual, dismissive way either—she was distracted, her eyes focused on something white and living held tight between her strong hands.

"Celes, is that—"

She opened her mouth and strange words of magic spilled out. It wasn't the usual strangeness either—he didn't recognize this spell as ice or light or cure. Her head was bowed, eyebrows unattractively scrunched together, a look of painful concentration etched upon her face. The thing in her hands fluttered, agitated, and the feathers of the bird (because that's what it was) fluffed up between her fingers and made small sounds of panic, coo coo. But she kept in her grip on it, gentle somehow, until it settled down as if it were listening to her words, a stream of words that could somehow bore into his head and make him understand without understanding at all—

Farewell.

A long column of green light flared up around the bird in her hands. Then the light flowed around her whole body, too fast, like gas spilled on a fire. And—oh, the way she glowed, it was like the Esper in the ice, like Terra before she turned into that thing that flew away, and without thinking Locke stumbled forward and reached out his hand in sudden fear toward her—but stopped just short of touching her, his gloved fingertips hovering in the air before that column of light, an inch away and a world away—

"Don't go," he said.

—and behind the curtain of eerie light her eyes snapped open.

She stared at him in shock, as if she'd forgotten he was there. Mouthed a few more words, soundless this time. He stood frozen, she stood frozen, and between them, separating them, the wall of magic flowed...

Then the bird in her hands, it started—dissipating. Pieces of it flew away, slowly at first then faster and faster—like snow carried away on winter wind.

Celes watched it go, her face unearthly in the last flush of green light, until the bird was no more. Her hands were empty. The light sputtered and died.

Then she sighed. Once more she was just a slender woman standing on the edge of a cliff, at the end of the world, without a coat on or even a light cloak, eyes tired and hollowed of their magic.

Locke sighed too. He considered his outstretched hand and put it away in his pocket, embarrassed at how...emotional he'd gotten. The light was gone now. The magic was gone. Swallowing down all the weirdness he said, voice as normal as he could get it, "What was that?"

Celes finally turned to look at him. "A spell," she said wearily. "I sent the bird as far as I could outside the storm. Tritoch helped me."

"Tritoch?"

She glanced up at the giant block of ice. "The Esper."

"Ah." Locke swallowed again. "You were just...talking to it. To the Esper."

If she heard the doubt in his voice she didn't acknowledge it. She seemed dazed. "I never thought that a person could learn magic from an Esper without…"

She didn't finish her sentence. After a moment, Locke realized she never would. He said, "The bird...your letter was attached to it? For the soldier?"

"For his family, yes." Now she hugged her arms around her body; it made her look as young as she was supposed to be. "I convinced Vicks to apply for advancement to Private First Class two months ago. Because of that, because I gave him some positive attention, Kefka probably…"

Wanted to punish him.

Locke decided to not-so-subtly change the subject. He did that a lot with her. "Did you figure out what happened to him and the other soldier? I take it the Esper—"

"Tritoch."

"—Tritoch used the same…magic spell that you just used...to send those two soldiers somewhere else? So...maybe they survived?"

She looked up again at the Esper in the ice. At Tritoch. For a long moment she stared at it, eyes unfocused. Listening, maybe?

"They didn't survive. Trust me."

"Ah," he said again.

Locke rubbed at his eyes, suddenly very tired. He was done asking questions. He'd done all he could to...to spy on her. It would have been nice if he'd been able to read the message attached to that bird, but he'd arrived too late. Besides, how could he have done it without arousing suspicion? Better that she still trusted him.

(The fact that Locke had to think like this now made him want to wring Edgar's royal neck. Or his own.)

"Let's go back," he said. "It's going to be dark soon."

She blinked. Somehow the practicality of his suggestion had gotten through to her. "Yes," she agreed. "Let's go. You're going to freeze to death out here, and unlike Terra, I can't warm you up."

Locke put on a weary smile. "If I were Edgar, I'd be saying something rather suggestive right now."

"Good thing you're not him."

As she started forward, he noticed a glint of metal in the snow by her feet—a small silvery cage, door unlatched and insides empty, nestled in snow. Following his gaze, Celes saw it too.

In one slow, sure motion, she leaned over, picked up the cage, and heaved it over the side of the cliff. It didn't make a sound as it fell.

---

Chapter 6

The way down should have been scarier than the way up. They were practically hurtling down the steep, slippery trail, unable to choose their steps so carefully in the lengthening shadows...but at least now it was them together and not just him.

Also he had the reassurance of Celes' magic...he supposed.

"Don't step on that spot." Celes pointed at a seemingly innocuous patch of snow. "I set a trap there on the day of the battle. It's a thin layer of ice over a deep hole. You can't see it under the snow."

"Thanks," said Locke. "Too bad no one fell into it. From the Empire I mean." He thought about that for a second longer. "Not that I wish any harm on anyone you might have known." He thought about that again. "Except Kefka, or anyone else who's just awful."

"I do know plenty of people who are awful," Celes murmured.

She held her hand out to him, grasped his wrist to help him over a slippery patch. At other spots he did the same for her, noting the frank exhaustion in her eyes. It was like looking into a mirror.

When they worked together like this, needed each other like this, he couldn't possibly entertain the thought of her betraying them. Clearly she was their ally, their friend. Even Cyan would come around and see her worth, the way he had about Terra—he just needed to see that Celes had been brainwashed by the Empire too, longer and maybe more thoroughly than Terra ever was...

"I wonder if humans might be able to learn magic."

"Humans?" Locke broke out of his reverie, startled. "You mean people like me?"

"I noticed, when I was...communicating with Tritoch, you seemed able to hear some of it. I think...I felt your mind too."

Locke concentrated on his footing for a while to buy some time—he wasn't really sure how to answer her. "I wouldn't call it 'hearing,'" he said slowly. "I just kind of...felt your words...crawling into my head."

He tried to keep the shudder out of his voice, but Celes must have heard it. She didn't speak for a long time. She kept walking, staring straight ahead.

They were passing the shack now, the one with the sleeping young Returner inside. As much as he hated to ask…he sort of had a duty to, didn't he? "Hey, what happened in there?"

"There was a girl on watch. I put her to sleep and dragged her inside."

Well that was succinct. "She questioned you?"

"No, she didn't even see me. I was wearing a white coat in near white-out conditions. And she was barely paying attention."

"You gave her your coat."

"She needed it more than I did."

"Is she going to be okay?"

"She'll wake up soon enough."

Conversation died after that. They walked past the shack, not stopping to look inside. Locke imagined telling Edgar about the Returner lying there unconscious during her watch and mentally shook his head. Celes hadn't hurt the girl. She had helped her, in a way, with the coat. Sure, it looked kind of bad, putting a Returner sentry to sleep and sneaking past her to visit the Esper, to send a message to the Empire...

When he got back to town he would get someone, someone discreet, to check on the sentry. Make sure the sleep spell had not lasted too long. Make sure the girl was generally okay, up here on the mountain alone.

He rubbed at his eyes, exhausted. Celes had gotten a bit ahead of him and he really ought to catch up to her, but his feet were dragging. She wasn't looking back, wasn't going to wait for him anymore...she felt so far away.

But here she was, and here he was, alone yet together in this closed, wide open space. He had so many questions for her. About what happened on that cliff, about her past, about...her, just her. Watch her, Edgar had told him. You don't need to say anything.

(In other words: Don't make her suspect anything.)

Ahead of them the lights of Narshe were starting to haze into existence. Locke walked forward, saying nothing.

- 0 - 0 -

As he lay in bed that night, Locke remembered this:

When they'd first gotten into town, they'd turned a corner near the central square and seen a Vomammoth staggering on its huge furry feet, sick or exhausted or both. Locke and Celes were hurrying to get to Arvis' house, to warn the Returners about the impending attack, but they'd stopped to watch with a sort of sick fascination. The way the Vomammoth moved made it clear one of its legs was already injured; the load on its back was hanging lopsidedly, threatening to fall. For an agonizing moment the beast wavered on the edge of its enormous toes, on the edge of life or defeat, teetering, tottering—

The rider on its back hollered, cracked a whip hard across its neck, shrack! The beast gave a shrill bellow of protest, righted itself, took one halting step forward. Still the rider cursed at it, move you fucking animal, what do I feed you for, you lazy, wretched thing, beating on its spine with gloved fists as it let out its thin bleats of pain.

The whip fell three more times. Finally the beast moved forward, still limping, still halfway dead.

"Come on," Locke had said. "We gotta hurry."

But Celes was watching the Vomammoth and its rider as they staggered away. She spoke in a low, simmering voice:

"The Emperor has often spoken of our duty to bring progress to the dark places of the world. Medicine, technology, law and order—it would be cruel, he said, not to save the these places from their own ignorance. A fine pretext for war, of course, but..."

She turned to look at him, eyes too full of knowledge in such a young face.

"...when I see something like this, I can't wonder how much of it I still believe."

He waited for a moment, wondering if she intended to continue. When she didn't, he screwed up his courage and said, "I think that's pretty natural, isn't it? A person can't leave behind everything they believe in and become someone else in day." He smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. "Trust me, I know."

She blinked, turning to him, surprised by his bitterness. "Why do you say that?"

"I...left my hometown too because of something, well..." He looked away from her, toward the retreating form of the Vommamoth. "I'll tell you when we have more time."

The look in her eyes...was as clear and unfathomable as ever. She nodded. "All right."

They started hurrying along again. But there was something hovering between them now, fragile as spider webs—something easily broken, like trust.

(In his bed, Locke closed his eyes.)

---

Chapter 7

After all the magical whatsit he'd experienced, Locke almost expected to dream up something strange again: Celes transforming into a bird and flying away, Terra mourning nonsense words and dissolving into pink flames, a white coat floating ghostlike through the mountains. Locke had a pretty active imagination and it didn't take much to make him dream up some pretty funky stuff.

But maybe it was the exhaustion—Locke didn't dream a blessed thing.

Instead he woke up groggy and crabby and probably with an infestation of lice in his hair. He groaned as he rose from his natty bed. The room he'd been given at the only inn in Narshe was...not the best. Even though he still felt like death warmed over (and only slightly warmed over at that—for a colliery city Narshe was strangely lacking in indoor heating), he was glad at the thought of getting back on the road.

Morning ablutions, morning resolutions (stop thinking so much, it'll show on your face)—then down the stairs for whatever food the creaky old innkeeper could scrounge up for them at this goddess-forsaken hour.

He peeked into the common room. Speaking of creaky and old...there was Cyan, sitting at a table by the fireplace.

Locke made a face.

The Doman didn't notice him though. He was occupied with Gau, who was actually sitting in a chair instead of jumping around like a...well, a wild child from the Veldt. Not to say the sitting in a chair was done peacefully—as Locke watched, the kid reached out with his hand and put it a little too close to the flames, glancing up to see what Cyan would do in response. But the old knight just reached out and dropped his hand on Gau's head, a gentle enough warning coming from Cyan. Gau grinned, tucked his hand safely at his side, then turned back to staring at the fire. He did not try to dislodge the hand on his head.

A sad little smile crossed Cyan's face.

Locke turned away, gut roiling with guilt. He should apologize for yesterday. But maybe not right now, in the common room. He'd find time to talk with Cyan privately...later.

"Morning," Edgar yawned, coming up behind Locke. "Who was the sadist who decided we needed to meet so early?"

"I'm pretty sure you were involved in that decision."

"Figures."

"Hey, Locke," said Sabin as he strode toward them. Despite the hour, the younger Figaro was annoyingly bright-eyed and bushy-haired. "What were you up to yesterday? You look kinda tired."

"I look like death," said Locke.

"I don't notice any difference, personally." Edgar waved at them over his shoulder as he headed toward a table.

Eventually, the innkeeper's teenaged daughter trundled over with their breakfast. "And who is this lovely vision of...loveliness?" Edgar said almost reflexively, still yawning.

"Whatever," said the girl.

"Your charm is only outdone by your beauty," Edgar yawned again.

Locke rubbed his temples with his thumbs. He was not in the mood for this today. He was almost glad Edgar was only going with them as far as Figaro…for more than one reason...

"This again?" Sabin was complaining about the food, not his brother. "I love...reconstituted dried meat and biscuits as much as the next person, but don't you have any, you know, fresh food around here?"

The innkeeper's daughter leaned over with the universal spite of innkeepers' daughters everywhere. "Do we look like we have any plants growing 'around here' right now? It would help if you southerners sent some traders our way. Ones who don't gouge us just 'cause we're out in the middle of nowhere mining coal for you all. Your Highnesses." She made a mocking little curtsy with her kitchen apron (she was wearing snow pants, not a dress) before stomping away.

"I thought we were supposed to be incognito?'" muttered Sabin, hunching over his meal.

"Good luck with that when you have king lover boy with you," Locke pointed out.

"Right."

"Let's discuss our plans for today," said Edgar loudly, taking up a stick of meat. "I'm afraid we couldn't convince the trade guild to lend us any chocobos, not even one to use as a pack animal."

"So all that waiting around we did yesterday, that was for nothing?" said Sabin.

"No." Edgar chewed thoughtfully on a piece of meat. (And then he chewed some more, because it was very chewy.) "We gained some intel yesterday."

"Sure, 'intel.' Was it about a girl?"

"I will neither confirm nor deny."

Edgar slid a sly gaze a Locke, who knew what that meant: Give me a report, but not in front of Sabin.

"If we push it," Edgar continued, "we can make it to Figaro in two days. We're leaving early enough for it."

Sabin frowned. "You want to brave the desert at night? Those sand scorpions are no joke."

"We'll have a magic user with us."

"True." The ever-refined Prince of Figaro shoved a biscuit in his mouth and abruptly stood. "Speaking of that, where is she? I'm gonna gather up Cyan and Gau and make sure they're ready to go. Gotta make sure they packed properly."

"The boy is a handful, isn't he?" said Edgar.

"No, Gau is fine. He grew up on the Veldt all on his own, so he knows how to take care of himself when we're traveling. It's Sir Garamonde who was stuck in a castle all his life until, well." Sabin's voice softened. "See you in a bit."

"Yeah," said Locke. "Meet you at the front."

They watched Sabin trundle off toward Cyan and Gau. After he was safely away, Edgar raised one expectant eyebrow and said, "I take it you found our errant general yesterday?"

"'Course I did," said Locke. "Treasure hunter always finds his treasure."

"It took you a long time to get back."

"Had to go all the way to the Esper."

"Did you now."

Locke described what he saw on the cliff: the Esper pulsing, the green light, the bird disappearing into thin air.

Edgar leaned closer and spoke in a low voice. "So she did send a message to the Empire."

"Mm."

"And now she has a spell that can...move living things from one place to another."

"Seems like."

Edgar leaned back, looking as tired as Locke felt. "I guess done is done."

"She hasn't actually done anything wrong."

"Hopefully not," said Edgar. In one abrupt motion that mirrored his brother's exactly, he stood. "But I'll be counting on you, Locke, to find out whether she has something to hide."

"Ask someone else to do this. Please."

Mid-stride, Edgar paused. He plucked a napkin from his breast pocket (there were none on the table) and wiped delicately at his mouth, as if that had been his whole purpose for aborting his departure. After a moment he said, "Do you really want that?"

"I—"

"Who else should I ask to keep their eyes on her? Sabin? Cyan? You think they could be subtle about it?"

"No." Locke looked up at his friend. "I know, I know it has to be me. It's just…"

"It's what?" Edgar said mildly, looking down on Locke with a bland expression. "It's hard to do your job? You're our information specialist, aren't you? Sometimes that means you have to do a little undercover work. I know it's stressful to lie and constantly watch your words—I did it for years, after all."

"Right. But Edgar, this is different."

"Of course it is. I'm just asking you not to get carried away with your usual protective feelings toward pretty young ladies, and to keep an eye on someone who recently led entire armies against us, very successfully I might add. A reasonable request. Whereas I had to do something quite different, as you said. For years I had to smile and grovel at the people who ordered my father's death. For years I had to live with the person who fed him the actual poison, pretending I suspected nothing while I investigated her and used her to hunt down all the other rats in my nest. For years I did this on my own, all without the brother I sent away so he wouldn't have to watch me jail and execute people he'd grown up with—do you understand what I am saying here?"

Edgar's voice had gone quieter and quieter while his emotions grew louder and louder. Wide-eyed, Locke nodded.

"Good." Edgar straightened his body, straightened his cravat, straightened out the snarls in his voice. "Then I'll see you soon. With Celes."

- 0 - 0 -

"Prepare thyselves!" Sabin roared. "Thou Imperial fiends of fiendishness! Mr. Thou shall not let thee pass!"

"You are Mr. Thou!" Gau agreed.

As Locke exited the common room, he saw Sabin careening down the stairs, Gau latched onto his back. They were laughing and horsing around, heads thrown back as Sabin brayed like an ass.

It wasn't as funny as it would have been a few minutes ago.

"I am not Mr. Thou!" Sabin suddenly stopped and dumped Gau on the stairs (Gau bounded to his feet immediately). "I'm just acting like Mr. Thou. For the last time, Mr. Thou is Cyan, not me!"

"Mr. Thou is thee!"

"Gah, now you're doing it too." Sabin rolled his eyes then finally seemed to notice Locke. "There you are. Better hurry before King Grumpy Face gets all grumpy in your face."

"Too late," Locke grumped.

"Oh, so he got you too," Savin said with a sympathetic mock wince. "Sorry about that. He's been on edge with all these meetings he's been going to. Edgar doesn't show it much, but he hates politics."

"Like brother like brother, eh?"

Sabin looked like he warned to wince for real now. "I'm kind of dreading going back to Figaro, to be honest. But...I was thinking it'll be nice...in its own way...ow!"

He didn't get to finish his sentence, if he ever planned to. Standing on his tiptoes, Gau had reached up and was tugging on Sabin's ponytail. "We go now?"

"You have to stop that. Sure, let's go—"

"Uwaoop!" Gau leapt back on Sabin, who gave a tremendous "Oof!" and nearly toppled over the bannister. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"If I try, you dead!"

Awkwardly the bear-like man carted the crow-like boy down the stairs and through the hallway toward the main entrance; they mock snarled at each other the whole way.

Now the hall and stairway were startlingly empty. Locke thought he could hear the wind shrieking outside; it reminded him somehow of an Esper's cry, empty and eerie and not of this world, like in his dream the other night…

He shook his head—not good to dwell on useless worries. He was tired, that was all. Still recovering from the day of the battle, and yesterday had really taken it out of him. Today would be spent on the road, trekking across the snow plains then even further south through the grasslands. Tomorrow they'd be sloughing through Figaran sand with all its poisonous scorpions and sand rays. Wonderful. Locke was all for travel, but not when he had a headache and...a job to do that he hated.

"Locke."

He looked up again, at the stairway.

Celes was descending. Her vest was crisp and pressed as if she'd slept in a fancy room in Jidoor that night—or in an Imperial barracks with a strict code of cleanliness, one she'd instilled herself. Even though she wasn't in uniform she still looked every part the Imperial general he'd known afar from pictures. Except her long, unpinned hair—it streamed behind her as she strode down the stairs—and in her arms, a mass of brown fur.

"You missed breakfast," he said stupidly.

"I ate some dried meat and biscuits in my room."

"Oh." Anyone else, he would have teased for being too lazy to wake up on time for breakfast. But she probably just preferred eating alone. "Is that my coat you've got there?"

The furry bundle—his coat, and underneath that his pack—was placed in his hands. "We don't want to be late."

She must have gone into his room. General's privilege, he supposed, to search the soldiers' barracks. Nothing more than that. "Thanks." He shrugged on the fur coat and backpack, noting how little she carried—just a small rucksack slung across one shoulder. "Let's get going then."

"Wait." Celes hadn't moved from the last step of the staircase. "I just want you to know—that spell I cast to send the bird far away, I think it could come in handy. If we're ever surrounded and need to get away...just come near me and I'll cast it on the both of us."

Locke cocked his head. "Just us? What about the others?"

"I'll try, but I'm not sure how many I can transport. Even just that bird really drained me. If the spell goes wrong...I don't know what might happen." She finally stepped off the staircase. "Let's not tell the others yet. I don't want anyone to rely on it. Not until I get stronger."

"Okay," he agreed readily, even though it was already too late—he'd told Edgar. Speaking of which… "You know, if there's anyone you should prioritize keeping alive it should be our resident king. And crown prince. Not a silly treasure hunter."

A funny look flashed across her face, too quick for him to get a read on. "I suppose you have a point. To be honest though I don't worry much about those two."

"They are pretty beefy."

"Out of everyone we'll be traveling with, you're the one most likely to need my help."

Locke wasn't sure whether to be flattered or disgruntled. "And here I thought it was my job to save you," he said, only half joking.

As usual, she didn't know how to react to his overprotectiveness. She walked away from him with swift steps, all business, toward the entrance hall of the inn. She was wearing her sphinx's face, a puzzle and a barricade all at once.

Locke followed her down the darkened corridor. The sun was just starting to rise outside, and as they emerged into the tiny foyer he was struck by how pale and thin the daylight was as it filtered in through the frosted windows. Narshe light—he was sick of it. For all his exhaustion, mental and physical both, he was ready to leave.

"Ready, slow-pokes?" Sabin was a ball of energy by the door, like he was going to throw it open and dash out any second. "We've all been waiting for you."

Cyan stood beside him, arms crossed, like he was guarding the reception desk in place of the perpetually absent innkeeper. He didn't say or do anything, just threw his chest out and gave off a disapproving aura. Locke was glad the poor fool was back to normal.

"My apologies," Celes spoke crisply. "Won't happen again."

"Uwaoo, I know why you two late." The boy smiled shyly. "On Veldt see animals do it too."

"Sir Gau!" Cyan gave up being a stern statue and spluttered, face turning red. Sabin guffawed and slapped his knee. "Way to break the ice!"

Coughing genteely to hide his smile, Edgar nudged Locke and said, "I suppose we can excuse an invalid for being a bit late. Thank you for taking care of him for us," he nodded at Celes. Then he winked. "In more ways than one."

By now Celes' face was red too. "You idiots are definitely twins."

Cyan opened the door—a waft of frigid air blew in and set them all shivering (except Celes)—and he headed out quickly, throwing himself into the wind before it could faze him. "Whoa there—" Sabin rushed out after Cyan, a whirlwind of action as always, Gau galloping just behind.

Edgar tipped an imaginary hat at Celes. "After you, my lady?"

Celes rolled her eyes, much as she'd done yesterday at this same doorway. "After you, Edgar."

Edgar smiled winningly—"and here I was hoping to keep your loveliness always in my sight"—then stepped through.

"Sometimes I can't believe I'm actually with you people," Celes began, but Locke grabbed her hand and pulled her outside.

"I'm glad you're here," he blurted out, shutting the door behind him. "It's just, you know, going to be so much easier to find Terra with your help..."

She was staring at their joined hands. Locke dropped her wrist.

"Don't disappear on me, okay?" he blathered on, starting to walk toward the others, but making sure to look back at her over his shoulder. "Like that bird I mean. I can't protect you if you leave."

She moved forward to follow him. The wind blew her hair wildly around her face, creating a cloud of obscuring yellow. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Promise me?" Locke persisted. "Just to make me feel better."

"Where would I even go? "And what would you people do without me?"

He grinned. He hoped it looked genuine. "Come on then. Let's find Terra."

And fighting the wind, that's exactly what they did.

End