Beneath the Guise
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Squaresoft.
Summary: [FFVI] Forged by the Empire and tempered in battle, no one has ever truly known the woman beneath the general's guise. Character study. Some Celes/Locke.
Author's Notes: The above summary is a direct quote from Celes' character description in the release of FFVI Advance and is the source of my inspiration. This will be a series of scenes blending and contrasting the General and the Woman within. This was originally going to be a romance-focused piece, but the story has since begun to evolve into something more. I guess we'll see where my muse takes me.
Just a forewarning: this is not meant to be a fluffy piece, and there may not be a happily ever after.
Part I: Daughter of Vector
The uniform itched. The helmet was too big, the boots were too small, and the armor plates were practically sliding off his shoulders. His post was incredibly dull, and after four hours, still no one had come to relieve him. He tried slipping away once, but the Armor-riding sentries just around either corner caught him and gave him a threatening reprimand. Since finding himself on the business end of a Magitek cannon was not high on his To Do list, he stayed.
And stayed.
Shifted his stance.
And stayed some more.
He was posted in front of a large house—or mansion, as would probably be more accurate. The front archway and oaken door were sculpted in classically simple Figaro architecture: neither finely ornate like Albrook nor excessively gaudy like Jidoor. The front lawn was crisp and trim, and the stone road leading up to the house was a private cul-de-sac.
There wasn't much going on there. The odd Imperial here and there would go in or come out, the patches on their uniforms identifying them as officers. A messenger came at one point, delivered his letter, and left.
Despite the lack of activity, there was a Magitek Armor patrolling either side of the mansion, one down at the other end of the street, and he guessed a fourth behind the house. The periodic and rhythmic footfalls heard within told the sentry of the constant patrol of guards around the interior. The manor was serving as none other than the Imperial Headquarters.
And was still boring as hell.
Quite suddenly, an entirely new entity approached.
Flanked by two male officers, a woman no older than twenty strode down the walkway, her steel-toed boots clicking sharply on the gray stone. Her attractive features and flowing blonde hair were the first things he noticed until he slowly registered her attire: the white cloak, the gold armor, and the black jerkin clearly marked this woman an Imperial Elitist; a Magitek Knight.
The sentry hastily saluted as she drew near, being careful to avert his gaze. Closer still, and the sentry could see from the corner of his eye that the woman's expression was a chiseled mask. Pale blue eyes were as cold as the depths of an iceberg.
The door behind him opened, and another officer stepped to greet the small entourage with a salute.
"General Chere, welcome back." Upon hearing the name, the sentry unconsciously straightened his stance while the officer continued. "All is well?"
"They had been alerted to our presence," the woman muttered darkly. "The hideout was deserted by the time we arrived."
The sentry shivered as a draft of cold air blew past him. Part of him wondered if it had indeed been swept in by the general's snowy cloak, or if his mind was playing tricks. As soon as General Chere entered the mansion, the chill vanished, and he released the breath he had been holding.
The door closed, and all was quiet for several minutes. One of the windows on the top floor was cracked open, and the sentry soon caught parts of a muffled conversation. The first voice sounded like the officer who had come out of the mansion.
"—reports…intruder…sabotage…continue searching…" There was a short pause. "—new orders…Vector…this morning…"
"And?" a female voice prompted.
"Emperor Gestahl…resort…drastic measures…Doma…South Figaro…poison…flush…out…"
There was a long moment of silence.
"General?" a new male voice asked.
"No," the woman said.
The first man spoke again. "Ma'am?"
"—will not…responsible…deaths…" There was another pause. "—will not…blood…women…children…hands…" Her next words were so quiet, the sentry nearly believed he imagined them. "Not again…"
"—Maranda…necessary…"
"—death…never necessary…"
The first man raised his voice in frustration. "Celes, be reasonable!"
"Major Collins!" the second man snapped. "Do not forget you are addressing a general."
The sentry listened with growing interest. The Imperial Army was a well-oiled machine not thought to have such dissension in its ranks.
"—apologize, General…remind…Figaro supports…Returners…allow…unpunished?"
"—concern yourself…South Figaro…my judgment…conversation…over."
There was a grumbled assent from Collins, and a closing door signaled the general's exit from the room. A few moments later, Celes emerged from the manor with her two escorting officers, and the sentry saluted. The chill sprang back up, then faded quickly as the blonde strode down the street. As she did, he saw that the back of her cloak was embroidered with the Imperial Eagle intermingled with the marking of Magitek and one other symbol he wasn't familiar with.
Just as the sentry started to relax, he heard hushed voices from the window above him again. One he knew to be Collins, but there were two or three others that he didn't recognize. They spoke in such low tones that he couldn't make out anything they were saying. Finally, a single word jumped out at him:
"—unacceptable…"
The other men's mumbles sounded of agreement. The sentry listened for more, but nothing else was said. Collins and three other officers exited the house and walked down the road. The major spoke to the Armor-mounted soldier, then disappeared around the corner with the others. The Armor also clomped off out of sight.
Interested, the sentry slunk down the path and took a quick glance around. Now there wasn't a single Imperial within a three block radius. Careful to avoid being seen by the two Armors still back at the mansion, the sentry continued down the street to find where the missing patrolmen had gone.
It wasn't long before he found them.
A large throng of Imperial soldiers had begun to form near the center of town—it was then the sentry noticed about a quarter of them were female. A Magitek Armor guarded every intersection leading to it. Curiosity flaring, the sentry pushed his way through the lines of troops towards the inside to see what was happening.
General Chere stood speaking with Collins. The larger built and higher ranking of Celes' escorts was nowhere in sight, and the second eyed the enclosing ring warily.
"With due respect, General, I feel I must remind you of our duty here."
"I am well aware of our duty, Major," Celes assured. "But I don't see releasing poison into the Figaro water supply as a way to flush out the rebels. It would only drive them further into hiding and risk the lives of those that have done no wrong."
"But—"
"I already told you, Major, this was my decision," the general repeated sternly. "I will take full responsibility with the emperor, so do not concern yourself with this any longer."
The major took a couple steps forward, coming well within Celes' personal boundaries. "You of all people know the emperor does not tolerate disloyalty."
Collins did nothing to try to hide the accusation in his statement. The sentry's fascination with the Imperial affair was quickly turning to anxiety. This was not a situation to get mixed up in.
"Disloyalty," Celes echoed, her tone growing deadly. "Treason is a serious accusation, Major. I wouldn't throw the term around so lightly. Stand down." The officer continued his defiant stare, and Celes barked out the command more forcefully. "STAND DOWN, MAJOR!"
Every single man and woman in the vicinity heard the taint of distress crack her voice. Nevertheless, Collins backed off a few steps.
"Captain, detain Major Collins and his men until such a time I see fit to return them to Vector for evaluation." When Captain Brandt didn't respond, Celes turned to him, barely keeping her anger in check. "That's a simple order, Captain."
"But it's not simple, General," Collins answered. "We have our orders, and if you won't carry them out, someone else has to. General Chere, under Imperial Codebook Chapter Twelve, Section Four-A, I'm relieving you of your command."
The blonde's already cold expression grew frigid. "For sparing innocent lives?"
"For ignoring an order of His Majesty Emperor Aurelius Gestahl."
Celes laughed bitterly. "I wasn't aware the Empire had become an army of butchers."
"I wasn't aware the Daughter of Vector showed mercy to the lands that spawn rebellion," Collins retorted. "Captain Lowe, relieve the general of her sword."
The woman's blade was out of its sheath and pointed at the mutinous officer's throat in a fraction of a second. "You're welcome to take it," she dared.
If the general was at all bluffing—and the sentry truly doubted she was—she did a good job hiding it. He could see the mounting tension in the Imperials around him as they shifted nervously from foot to foot. When no one stepped forward, Celes continued in a near snarl.
"I am still the commanding officer here, and I say this is not happening. Anyone care to question?" Silence. "Good. Now, Captain Brandt, I gave you an order."
The officer saluted. "Yes ma'am."
As Brandt stepped up to disarm Collins, Lowe withdrew his riot stick and crashed it down on the other captain's outstretched hand. The cry of pain that followed wrested Celes' attention from Collins, and the major exploited the opportunity. Batting the general's sword away from his neck, Collins drew his own riot stick. He first knocked the blade out of her hand with a blow to her wrist, then quickly struck her across the face.
The sentry watched miserably as the lady general was surrounded by over a dozen of her own troops, all bearing the metal batons. Looking very much the cornered feral cat, Celes' eyes darted from soldier to soldier, carefully assessing her situation. Likewise, the Imperials kept their eyes trained on the general, refusing to give her an inch. Yet not one of them, especially Collins, could conceal their fear.
Challenging a Magitek Knight was clearly not high on their list of life goals.
The sentry briefly closed his eyes in dread when he saw the Imperial directly behind Celes shift his stance in preparation to strike. When the attack came, he unconsciously held his breath, only to let it out in a gasp of surprise.
Without even looking back, Celes swung her right foot behind her in a swift pivot. She caught the Imperial's descending arm and deftly flipped him over her hip to the ground in front of her. A strong side kick to the chest dropped the second soldier to approach, and soon the rest of the ring closed in on her. Brandt and a few others tried to intervene, but they were held back by their mutinous counterparts.
The general put up a valiant fight, her golden gauntlets and shoulder armor taking the brunt of the riot sticks' barrage. Her balance was finally thrown by a jab to her side, just beyond the edge of her breastplate. The soldier who had scored the lucky hit had his nose shattered by her elbow a split second later, but the chain reaction had already begun.
An Imperial with exceptionally large arms swung his riot stick, delivering a devastating blow to Celes' chest. Her breastplate caved in, and all air rushed from her lungs. With a sharp crack, another baton struck her under the chin. As she staggered back, a fourth blow to the back of her right knee collapsed her to the ground.
Two Imperials took her arms to restrain her, but the general struggled fiercely. When another two moved in to hold her down, Celes began muttering words in a tongue the sentry didn't recognize.
"Silencer!" Collins shouted. "Someone get me a silencer!"
An intense blue light erupted from the knight's hands, and an icy blast sent all four Imperials flying back. Her attempt to stand was thwarted by the four new soldiers that forced her back to her knees. Even then, the four men had a hard time containing the general's violent thrashing.
Just as another incantation was about to pass her lips, Celes felt a prick in her neck, and the words died in her throat. Glaring up at Collins, a haze settled in her mind, and she realized the silencer was mixed with a sedative.
The major watched as the drugs took effect. Even as her struggling grew weaker, Collins drew his riot stick. The sentry winced as Celes was struck in her left temple, her body going limp.
"Detain her," Collins ordered Lowe. "She'll be executed at dawn."
"That is not your prerogative!" Brandt cried. "As an Imperial officer, she has right to a fair—"
"Traitors don't get trials," the major interrupted. "So unless any of you wish to join her, I suggest you all get back to your posts."
As the Imperials began to disperse, Lowe motioned to a couple of his underlings. The unconscious general was bound and carried away. Soon, the only person left in the town square was the sentry.
He stood staring in the direction the general had been taken. He knew that this was his opportunity to skip his post without being noticed. He knew it was probably the only opportunity he'd get. Shaking himself out of his stupor, he took one final look down that street, then turned and walked the opposite way.
The sun had long since set by the time he reached his destination; crossing the entire city while avoiding patrolling soldiers had not been easy. He crept through the back door of a darkened house. As soon as the door closed, a young and impatient voice called out to him.
"Where the hell have you been? I've been waiting here for hours!"
"I know, I'm sorry. I got held up."
There was a short squeak, and soon a small lantern flared to life, illuminating the form of a small boy as well as the room in a dim and flickering light.
"Well, come on, then," the boy beckoned. "I wouldn't do this for just anyone, you know."
"And it's much appreciated."
The boy took several books off a large bookshelf and pushed the small panel on the wall behind them. He then opened one of the doors to the cabinet beneath the bookshelf and stood aside. The wall at the back of the cabinet was no longer there, instead opening into a dark passageway.
"This should get you where you need to go. Just be careful when you get to the other side."
"What's on the other side?" the sentry asked.
The boy shook his head. "Sorry. Can't help you with that."
"All right. Thanks, Billy."
"Yeah, yeah. Just get out of here. And don't let any of those Imp. bastards about this."
"You got it."
Getting down on his hands and knees, the sentry crawled through the small cubbyhole. The cabinet door closed behind him, and when he stood, he found an already lit torch hanging from the wall.
"Thanks, kid," he whispered again.
Another hour was spent traversing the winding passage. When it finally ended, the sentry found himself in an underground storage room. Climbing the stairs, he stealthily opened the door and looked outside.
He swore under his breath.
He was back at the Imperial Headquarters, and a Magitek Armor sat less than fifteen yards from the storage room door. Luckily, it faced more or less away from him. Hugging the wall, the sentry inched his way to the door leading into the mansion. Just beyond the door was an empty kitchen.
From what he could tell, about a dozen low-ranking Imperials milled about the main level. Donning a purposeful stride, he left the kitchen and made his way to the stairs leading to the upper level. A couple soldiers glanced his way, but no one moved to stop him.
The first door on the right led to the office where the earlier conversation between officers had taken place. The room was empty. The sentry checked directly across the hall to where the master bedroom was. It, too, was deserted, and blood stained the hardwood floor. He felt a cool draft coming from the far wall and, upon closer inspection, he saw the large bookshelf had been pried away from the wall, revealing a narrow staircase leading down into the cellar.
Cautiously, he descended the steps and soon heard voices coming from within what used to be an armored vault down the hall. Creeping up to the door, the sentry peeked through the small vent.
There the general stood, wide awake and chained to the wall by recently mounted shackles. Her uniform was gone, replaced by a simple brown tunic and pants. Angry bruises marked her face and arms as testament to her brutal capture. The sentry also recognized Major Collins and Captain Lowe.
He bit his tongue. Just a few hours before, he believed he had been walking away from this, but Fate seemed to be toying with him.
"—any idea what you've done?" she was asking them almost jadedly. "Disrupting the chain of command like this is going to have repercussions you can't even fathom."
Collins spoke as if he hadn't even heard her. "It's a shame, really…an Elite Knight reduced to a common traitor and sentenced to the gallows. You're a disgrace to everything you used to serve."
"How is mercy a disgrace?"
"You refused an order."
"I'm not going to order the deaths of thousands of innocent people. Do you think I'm out of my mind?"
"No, I just think you've grown soft."
Lowe walked over, lifted a hand to her face, and brushed a few fingers across her cheek in wonder. "You know, I almost expected you to feel as coarse and brittle as you let on."
Celes pulled her head away with a venomous glare. "To execute a general without trial or the emperor's approval…Gestahl will have your heads for this mutiny."
Collins shook his head. "Not if we offer him yours first, along with the explicit tale of your betrayal. So tell me, with no rank, no weapons, and no hope, what does that leave you with?"
She defiantly stared him in the eye. "Me." A beat of silence. "…and your foul stench."
The echo of his hand connecting with her face sounded throughout the cellar.
"We'll see if you're still laughing tomorrow morning when faced with the gallows. Just a few hours left." With that, Collins turned to leave, stopping momentarily in front of Lowe. "Remind her what happens to traitors."
Lowe saluted. "Yes sir."
The sentry saluted, and the major didn't spare the man a second glance as he exited the cell and ascended the stairwell. The sentry cringed at the abrupt sounds of fist meeting flesh, air rushing from lungs, and rattling of chains. He heard it again and again and again, the sounds repeating themselves at a leisurely pace.
Unable to listen any longer, he walked deeper into the cellar and began his search for the tunnel entrance. Nothing among the haphazard collection crates, chests, shelves, and grandfather clocks stuck out at him as overly unusual or obvious. Of course, he realized that his exploration was only half-hearted. His mind kept wandering back to the general.
Giving up, he sank to the floor between a couple of crates and held his head in his hands. He wasn't sure how much time passed, but he eventually heard the door to the general's cell open and then close. As the captain's footsteps died away, the sentry emerged from his hiding place. Approaching the vault, he peered through the vent once again.
She was kneeling on the cold stone floor, arms chained painfully over her head. Fresh blood trickled from her nose and mouth. Her face was unreadable as she looked up at the chains that bound her, then at the tiny window that would tell her when dawn was approaching. Finally her eyes dropped back down the floor beneath her. Her expression never changed.
The fearsome general had an infamous reputation across the globe, often rivaling, if not exceeding, Kefka's. The sentry had heard her spoken of through many titles. The Heartless. White Raven. Queen of Ice. Butcher of Maranda. Bitch of Vector.
Looking in on her, though, seeing her chained and beaten, she seemed smaller than he thought she'd be. More human. Was it possible to pity someone who did not pity others?
As quietly as he could, he picked the lock of the cell door and walked through, carefully closing it behind him. She didn't look up as he entered the cell nor as he took a few wary steps towards her. Her lack of reaction to his presence made it all the more startling when her voice cut through the stillness.
"You're not an Imperial."
"Is it that obvious?"
"You're the rebel saboteur who has been evading my troops. And with a stolen uniform…good show."
The young man inspected the patch on his uniform. "Apparently my name is Cane. Most people just call me Locke."
"Ethan Cane, Private First Class," Celes recalled. "Twenty-two years old, he's served under me for seven and a half months. I'm assuming he won't make it to eight."
"He's still alive, if that's what you're worried about."
"Then he'll be discharged for incompetence."
"Obviously I haven't given the best first impression," Locke remarked casually. He knelt in front of her. "If I undid those shackles, would you kill me on principle?"
"That depends on what mood I'm in when the chains come off," she replied mirthlessly. She finally looked up and studied him for a moment. "If you were planning to kill me as your final act, I doubt it would do you much good now."
"General, if I was going to kill you, I wouldn't take off your chains. I'm offering to help."
"To what purpose?"
"Your survival?"
Celes grunted in scorn. "People of my rank don't fear death."
"People of your rank don't accept it this easily, either," Locke retorted.
The blonde shook her head in doubt. "And what value is the life of an Imperial to a Returner?"
"I don't want to let someone die again."
Confusion replaced her expression of growing annoyance. "Again…?"
The thief faltered. A distant chime sounded five times, saving him from explanation. "What is that?"
"The bells sound the dawn of a coming execution."
There was the nearly imperceptible change in her tone, the flatness taking on a razor-thin edge of fear.
"General, please let me take you out of here."
The urgency in his tone was accompanied by the footfalls of soldiers in the house above them. The thief looked over his shoulder towards the cell door in concern. When he turned back to Celes, the blonde was staring at her hands.
"I can't wait around. If you're not going to come, then I have to get out of here."
Locke stood up and walked to the door, hesitated, then looked back to Celes. She hadn't moved. He reached for the door handle, hesitated again, and swore softly. He quickly returned to her side.
"Okay, you may not care if you live or die, but I do, so let's go."
The thief quickly picked the locks of her chains. As the metal fell away, he took a hold of the general and began pulling her to her feet, half surprised by her lack of protest. When they got to the door, Locke paused, intently aware of the soldiers' footsteps drawing ever closer.
"There's a passage leading out of the city from this building," he whispered. "Do you know where it is?"
He received a suspicious glance. To his relief, Celes nodded down the hall, deeper into the cellar. Locke took off in that direction, nearly pulling the general along with him. Feeling a sharp tug on his hand, the thief found that Celes had stopped in front of the large grandfather clock standing against the northern wall. Catching her meaningful glance, he searched the clock's structure and soon discovered a draft coming from behind it. Comprehension hit, and Locke quickly began sliding the clock away from the wall, revealing an opening beyond it.
As soon as there was adequate space, Celes slipped through, the thief following closely on her heels. Just as he pulled the clock back into place to seal the entrance, the two heard the shouts of Imperials coming from the cellar; their prisoner was missing.
Locke took a step back from the clock, keeping his eyes fixed on it as if expecting Imperials to come through any second. It was then he noticed the lit torches lining the walls of the passage.
"Imperials patrol this, don't they?" he guessed in dread.
Celes opened her mouth, but a low growl from behind them changed her reply. "Don't. Move."
Despite her warning, Locke swung himself around. An instant later, the Vector hound lunged forward and latched onto the thief's left arm. His yelp of pain was drowned out by a stern command from the general.
"Aus!"
The canine immediately released Locke's arm and returned to its threatening stance in front of him. To his credit, the thief managed to remain quiet and still this time.
"Voran."
The hound broke from its position and stalked up the hallway to resume its search of other intruders. Both watched it go until it disappeared around the corner. Even then, the general continued to stare down the passage, not seeing Locke sink to one knee as he cradled his arm.
"Are you deaf?" she snapped irritably. "I told you not to move."
"I panicked," he explained through grit teeth. "I'm sorry."
Celes whipped around to face him, a sharp reply on the tip of her tongue, but she bit down on the urge when she saw the blood flowing freely down the thief's arm. Somewhat wearily, she knelt down next to him.
"Look, if you want to play hero, fine. Just remember that I know the Empire and its subjects better than you ever will."
Locke nodded but didn't say anything. Celes took his arm and gave a quick once-over. The muscle on his forearm was nearly torn off the bone, and at least one major vein had been severed.
"I can't do anything for this now," she told him. "The silencer they gave me hasn't worn off yet."
The general stood, trying to hide her wince as her broken ribs shifted. "We'll have to move fast. The blood will attract the dogs like sharks."
As she spoke. Locke removed his helmet and slipped off his bandana. As best he could with one hand, he tied the worn cloth around his wound and hoped it would be enough to slow the bleeding.
He noticed Celes' contemplative expression. "Which way?"
The general shifted her gaze to the intersection a few paces ahead. "…left."
Locke sent her a skeptical look. "You have no idea, do you?" She didn't answer. "Wonderful."
The Returner staggered to his feet, and the two made the left turn. No longer than two minutes of navigating the maze of hallways passed before a firm voice called out behind them.
"Halt!"
The order was accompanied by the whine of Magitek rifles charging. Locke followed Celes' lead as she slowly turned around to face the sentries. Over the rifles leveled at her, the general recognized them as Sergeants Nicholas Harp and Cassandra Pike.
"General Chere," Pike acknowledged in mild surprise, lowering her weapon.
Harp mirrored the gesture, though he eyed the thief-in-disguise suspiciously. "With all due respect, ma'am, I thought you were under house arrest."
"It's been resolved," Celes lied.
Pike faltered. "I…I'm afraid I'll have to escort you both up to headquarters to get this sorted out. I'm sorry, General, but—"
"It's protocol," Celes finished evenly. She put a hand on Pike's shoulder. "I understand."
The general's hand became a blur. A distinct crack echoed through the hallway, and Pike fell limp to the ground. Harp raised his Magitek rifle. Before he could take aim, though, Locke charged into him and tackled him to the ground.
Pulling his arms free, Harp struck the thief across the chin with the butt of the rifle. Locke drew his dirk, but the Imperial bashed his hand into the ground, and the weapon fell out of the Returner's fingers and slid across the floor. The men wrestled for dominance, but Harp, being the larger of the two, maintained the upper hand.
The thief tried to roll out from under the soldier, but Harp caught him and locked an arm around the Returner's neck. Pinned down, Locke desperately reached for his dirk, which lay just beyond his grasp. With his air supply cut off, the thief began to black out when he was suddenly released. Coughing, he scrambled away from the Imperial, only to look back and find Harp face down on the ground with Locke's own dirk embedded in his back.
Locke stared at the Imperial in confusion for several seconds before looking up. Celes stood motionless as she gazed down at the two soldiers' bodies, both dead by her hand.
Massaging his throat, the thief got to his feet. "General?"
Locke touched a hand to her arm and then gave a light prod. Though she didn't respond, he chose not to press.
Finally Celes stirred, crouching down to take what she needed from the fallen woman. Pike's brown leather jerkin was buckled over Celes' own tunic. The general strapped on the soldier's bronze shoulder armor and gauntlets. Lastly, Celes slipped Pike's brown leather boots onto her bare feet and stood up, holding the other woman's weapon and sword belt.
Locke drew in breath to express his sympathies for her plight, but the general spoke first.
"Apologize, and I'll kill you."
She brushed past him, buckling the sword belt over her shoulder and across her torso as she went. Retrieving his dagger, Locke spared the lifeless Imperials a final look before turning to catch up with Celes.
Without another word, the two ventured further into the catacombs beneath South Figaro, barely avoiding two more Imperial patrols. The winding hallways eventually came to a stairwell that led to a small room even deeper underground. Taking up the entire space was a squat circular wall of gray stone.
"A well?" Locke wondered with a questioning glance to his companion.
The general sent him a pointed look, and he peered into the darkened hole. The soft trickle of a stream could be heard, and from the sound, the treasure hunter guessed the well didn't run very deep. Celes lifted a conveniently placed torch from its holder on the wall and handed it to him.
With a small shrug to himself, Locke dropped down into the well, landing with a large splash in three feet of water. He happily noted the stream was relatively warm as he stepped to the side and waited for Celes to follow. When she landed, the impact jolted her ribs, and she grunted in pain.
Locke looked at her in concern. "Are you okay?"
He reached out to her, but she pushed his arm away. "Fine," she answered shakily.
A spell of lightheadedness overtook her, and she clenched her eyes shut against the impending nausea. This time, she didn't object when the Returner moved to steady her.
"Are you going to be able to walk?"
After a short delay, Celes nodded in reply. Locke looked first upstream and then downstream to get his bearings. Quite abruptly, he realized the water had grown colder and sent a curious sidelong glance to the general.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing." He turned upstream. "Come on. This way."
They waded through the water along the narrow channel until it cut across an adjacent path. Relying on instinct from years of cave exploration, Locke veered into the left passage. After following several twists and turns, the treasure hunter paused at a trail junction.
"Wait…" He held the torch up and looked around. "I know this place. These caves lead to the desert around Figaro Castle." He steered them down a familiar passage. "There should be a spring up ahead. We can rest there."
As predicted, a small spring came into view a short while later, and it was pride alone that kept Celes from collapsing onto its sandy bank in exhaustion. Slowly kneeling down, she slipped off her gauntlets. Unbuckling her Imperial armor, she began to lift it from her shoulders, but the stretching motion only increased her misery as her chest continued to burn. She bit back a groan, but it didn't go unnoticed.
"Do you need any help?" Locke asked as he also removed his Imperial armor.
"I told you I'm fine," she hissed, more out of pain than anger.
Though unconvinced, the thief let the general be, instead turning his attention to his own wound.
With the thief's focus no longer on her, Celes stared at her reflection on the water's surface. She was a walking bruise, the most prominent of which nearly swelling her left eye shut. Her bottom lip was split, and there was a gash both above her right eye and on her left temple. With each breath, the sharp pain of her fractured ribs was refreshed, and the faint desire to pass out lingered on the edge of her mind.
When she could no longer bear the sight of that reflection, she broke the image with her hands. She remained like that for several minutes, her hands trailing in the liquid mirror, and a chill gradually permeated the water as though from her very fingertips. Celes splashed the cooled water into her face and cleansed away the blood and grime of her imprisonment.
With beads of water still dripping down her face, the general stared at her hand, looking like she was trying to puzzle something out.
"What is it?" Locke asked.
She didn't answer right away. Her hand felt strange—kind of prickly—as though it was waking up after being numb for hours. Soon, she felt the sensation all over her body.
The silencer was finally wearing off.
She glanced at Locke. "Give me your arm."
The thief complied without question. Celes took hold of his wrist in one hand, letting the fingertips of her other hand brush over his still-bleeding wound as she whispered words he had heard only one other speak. A soft green light glowed beneath her palm, and as he watched, the shreds of his mangled flesh joined, reconnecting tissue with tissue, muscle with bone. The bleeding stopped, and broken skin receded to its former placement, bonding with its neighbors. Soon, all that remained were thin red lines zigzagging across his arm where the Vector hound's teeth had ripped through.
The green glow faded, and Celes lowered her hands. As she leaned back against the cold stone of the cave wall, Locke noticed the gashes on her face had closed and healed as well.
"Thanks," Locke said after a moment. "Not just for this, but for before with the dog and…well, you know."
"We're even now," she replied flatly.
Taking the cue to let the subject drop, Locke pulled a couple ration bars from his pack and handed one to Celes. "Nicked these from Cane when I stole the uniform. It's not much, but at least it's something to eat, right?" He sat back and peeled the wrapper from his, watching in amusement as Celes looked at hers with unconcealed disgust.
"These things taste like cardboard."
"Hey, I gave you the triple berry. If you don't want it, I'll trade you for the oatmeal."
"I might actually prefer the cardboard."
The thief chuckled and nibbled tentatively on his bar. His face scrunched up in distaste, and he fought the urge to spit it out. As time passed, he periodically glanced up at Celes, studied her for a few moments, then turned back to his ration bar.
Finally, Celes sighed. "What do you want?"
The thief answered as though he had anticipated the question. "Come with me to Narshe."
She quirked an eyebrow. "Why?"
"I thought you might be willing to help us?"
"And why would I want to do that?"
"You just…you seem like too good a person to be working for the Empire."
"I'm not."
"Then why disobey an order?"
She gave a bitter laugh. "Don't be so quick to judge me based on one isolated decision. I've made a thousand others that ensure my damnation."
"That's a little pessimistic."
"It's realistic," she corrected.
"You'd be an invaluable ally."
"And here we find the true value of an Imperial to a Returner. You want me to betray the closest thing I have to family."
Locke scoffed. "You call that family? They tried to kill you."
"So have a lot of people. It's the way of the world, so you'll excuse me if I don't jump at the chance to trust you and your little rebel band. I doubt you'd understand," Celes muttered, shaking her head.
"I wouldn't?"
"Not even if you tried."
"Afraid to let me?"
She fixed him with a deadly glare. "I suggest you get out of my sight before my strength returns."
Locke ignored the chill that ran up his spine. "I can't. I'd be breaking my promise."
Her anger was again replaced by puzzlement. "…you didn't make me a promise."
The thief averted his gaze. "I didn't say it was to you…"
"Ah… Then who are you trying to save if not me?"
Locke cursed to himself. "Why do you care?" he countered.
"I just want to know what I'm getting myself into."
"If you don't share, I don't share. All right?"
Celes was quiet for a moment. "…fair enough."
She stood, albeit with some effort. Before she could take two steps, though, Locke was already on his feet blocking her path.
"What are you doing?" he asked
"Leaving."
"What? Why?"
"I don't plan to rush headlong into a web of secrets and twisted fantasies."
"But…where would you go? The only way west is through Figaro, and you can't go back east because the Imperials will be looking for you. That leaves north, which is where I'm headed, so you might as well just come with me."
As she stared at him, Locke could practically see the gears turning in her mind, trying to come up with a way to refute his logic.
"Let's say, hypothetically, I follow you north," Celes began. "Answer me this: where could I go then?"
"Well…you could go southeast to Nikeah—"
"And then what? Buy a house and settle down?" She sneered at the idea. "Or maybe take a ferry east towards Doma? I'd be massacred."
"Where is it you want to go?"
"Home," she answered simply. "I want to go home."
"To Vector."
"Yes, to Vector. Maybe then I could get things straightened out."
"Or you could get very dead." Celes looked away and didn't reply. "Look…if you come with me, I might be able to get you safe passage through Figaro. Then, if you want, you can go your own way."
With that said, Locke returned to his spot on the ground. After a long hesitation, Celes sat down as well but did so without any indication that she had reached a decision. Before long, the exhausted Imperial surrendered to sleep's embrace while the Returner fought to stay awake so he could keep watch. He knew he shouldn't drop his guard, especially with the general, but sleep ultimately overtook him.
When he awoke the next morning, he found Celes already geared up and looking much more refreshed. She waited patiently while he assembled his own gear. When he finished his preparations, Locke stood and looked expectantly at Celes.
"No promises," she said simply.
The thief nodded in acknowledgment, and the two made for the desert expanse of Figaro.
Author's Note: The German obedience commands Celes uses with the Vector hound are "Out" and "Go on" respectively.