They've not been sleeping for long when she sits upright in bed. Balthier jolts awake with her, wrapping his hands around her waist.
She's burning under his fingertips, sweat a thin-sheen over her.
"Fran?" he asks, blinking himself away from sleep and into this place where she's awake and quivering in his arms.
She spasms, her breath coming in short gasps and his heart pounds.
"Fran?" he sits up, and pulls her into his lap and she shudders. "Fran, what's happening?"
She shakes her head and jerks again, gasps. "By the gods, Balthier. So much... Mist. The air is thick... life... and Mist. Screaming. I cannot—"
Balthier holds her tighter, her skin is afire beneath his touch, and tries to stay calm, calm, calm—he's not a teenager anymore, dammit—he asks, "Fran...?" his breath catches as what must be a tear lands on his hand, "Fran, what do you need?"
"Death, Balthier. There is... death. A tragedy. So many... lost. Blown across the universe, souls crying, confusion... I don't understand, by the gods, I don't understand."
She's sobbing and what can he do but press his mouth to the top of her head and rock her?
What else can he do?