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Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like it so far. You would not believe how many hours I agonized over what color Locke's hair was going to be :)

Chapter Three: A New Beginning

Slowly, she came back into consciousness, and her senses came to her one by one. First was her touch, and she felt a horrendous pain all over her body. But she also felt a familiar sensation running through her; her magic had begun to awaken from its slumber. Second was her hearing, and she heard the soft trickle of running water nearby. Next came taste, and there was a dry coppery bitterness in her mouth. Then came smell, when the stench of dried blood and damp air invaded her nostrils.

Finally, she slowly opened her eyes, at a complete loss as to why she wasn't in either her prison cell or the execution's block. Remembering the running water, she moved her hand and felt sand run through her fingers. She looked down at herself, and saw her white cloak wrapped around her. Looking under it, she saw she was still in own boots and her torn white tunic, though it could hardly be called white under the dirt and blood. A flash of silver caught her eye, and she noticed her left hand was bare.

She sat up, ignoring the pain shooting through her body, and looked at her surroundings. She seemed to be in a tunnel, the path of the underground stream. Her sword and dagger were in their sheaths, standing against the rock wall, and her black gauntlet was laying on a stone slab by the water. There was an unfamiliar pack next to her with a couple pieces of bread on top of it. She was starving, but was wary of the food nonetheless.

She heard something coming from upstream, and saw the light of a torch approaching. Throwing off her cloak, she grabbed her sword and waded into the cold water, retreating downstream until she was out of sight.

The thief rounded the corner, and was shocked to see the woman gone. He glanced once around the area, noting that only her sword was missing. Turning around to begin looking for her, he quickly found a slightly curved but very sharp-looking blade leveled at his neck.

"Looks like you're finally awake," he noted, glancing at the sword, "…and not happy."

Her eyes narrowed in vague recognition. "You…? You were at the banquet."

The thief nodded. "With Edgar. And we met once before that, as well. In Maranda."

She tilted her head slightly as she searched her memory, vague recollections of the tavern slowly surfacing.

"Who are you and where are we?" she demanded.

"I'm Locke. Locke Cole. And we are in the hidden tunnels beneath South Figaro, roughly a quarter mile north of the city."

His voice was calm and quiet, but still she didn't lower her guard as she ran this information through her mind. Locke Cole… She knew that name. Her icy stare, hard as nails, didn't soften in the least and she didn't move an inch, despite the growing weakness in her extended arm.

"You know, there's some bread over there, if you—"

"Yeah, I saw it," she interrupted. "What do you want?"

"I want to help you," he said simply. She just stared at him, raising an eyebrow slightly. "Look, Celes, I know the things they did to you…"

She cringed at the recollection, lowering her sword slightly as he continued.

"I'm not going to hurt you. And I won't let anyone else harm you, either. You have my word."

"Why should I believe a Returner?" she asked suspiciously.

This time, Locke quirked an eyebrow. "How are you so sure I'm a Returner?"

"Call it Imperial intuition," she sneered.

"Fair enough. Have I given you any reason not to trust me?"

"Other than the fact that you're breathing?" she responded dryly.

Locke smiled faintly. "And?"

"You're a Returner."

"…And?"

"I'm an Imperial."

"You were," he corrected. Celes was silent. "Look, as soon as your wounds heal, you can do whatever you want."

He shifted uncomfortably as she stared silently at him over the shaft of her blade. Her icy gaze seemed to pierce right through him.

"I don't need your help," she stated firmly.

"Well, then maybe you'd like it back in your cell," he retorted. "Or better yet, why don't you just kill yourself and save us both the trip back?"

His harsh tone actually gave her pause as she drew back ever-so slightly. Locke looked down and sighed.

"I'm sorry. I just thought you'd be a little more grateful."

"Then you obviously have no clue what I've gone through," she whispered. "I never asked to be freed."

"Celes, you're so young—"

"And I've endured more than most men would in three lifetimes."

"Then don't throw the rest of your life away. Think of this as a beginning."

Her head snapped up. "What did you say?"

Locke hesitated, unsure what startled her. "Uh… A beginning. A chance to start a new life."

This is only the beginning. You will have to choose to be reborn.

The words rang clearly in her mind. She looked to the ground, surrendering to the weakness in her arm by lowering her sword.

"I'll protect you," Locke vowed, misreading her distraction as worry. "I promise…"

Celes looked up at him, but didn't respond. She suddenly looked very tired and Locke offered her his hand.

"Come on, sit down for a while. You need to rest."

She looked at his outstretched hand warily.

"Celes, I'm not going to hurt you," he assured soothingly. "If I try, then kill me."

Though he said it with a note of flippancy, there wasn't a doubt in his mind that she could harm him at will, even in her weakened state. The fact that she hadn't killed him yet gave Locke some comfort, but he knew she would remain a lethal threat if provoked.

Refusing his hand, Celes walked around him to sit against the cool rock wall herself. But as soon as she bent down, she winced at the stab of pain in her abdomen and held a hand to her ribs.

"What is it?" Locke asked worriedly, rushing to her side.

"It's nothing," she muttered through clenched teeth.

"It's your ribs, isn't it?"

Celes merely stared at the ground, biting her lip. With every breath, she felt the sharp twinge course through her like jolts of electricity. She didn't resist when Locke took a gentle hold of her and eased her to the ground.

"Let me take a look."

When he reached to lift up her tunic, however, she recoiled, distrust evident in her eyes.

"Celes, that needs to be taken care of," he insisted.

Reluctantly, she submitted, though watching him guardedly. Locke carefully folded back her tunic, revealing a contusion covering her entire abdomen in menacing purplish-black.

"Oh gods…" he breathed. He pulled his pack over and started rummaging through its contents. "When did this happen?"

"When a very frustrated sergeant slammed a chair into me," she answered in a voice shaky from intense pain. "Not to mention the other three days' worth of beatings," she added bitterly.

Locke fought the urge to try to console her. That wasn't what she needed now. He pulled several different bottles from his pack and set them in the sand next to him. Taking off his bandana, he soaked it in the stream and gingerly wiped away the dried blood and dirt from the area while Celes grimaced in silent misery. He twisted the cap off one of the vials and handed it to her.

"Here, drink this."

She recognized it as a potion, and almost immediately after swallowing, she felt the pain start to diminish. Locke opened another bottle and poured some of its contents into his hand.

"This is a healing ointment I stole…er…borrowed from a merchant in town," he explained. "I imagine this'll hurt, so would you like something to bite on other than your own flesh?"

Unaware of his slipup and ignoring his attempt at levity, Celes just shook her head. Locke rubbed the ointment between his hands, then, as lightly as he could, massaged it over her broken ribs. As he did, he watched remorsefully as Celes clenched her hands and eyes shut, taking breaths as shallow as possible. Then all of a sudden, she relaxed, her hands released themselves, the tension drifted out of her face, and her breathing became calm and unlabored.

She stayed that way even after he was finished with the ointment, and he remained by her side, watching her breathe, thinking of the first time he cared for a bruised and broken woman. A woman who didn't remember her own name, much less his, even though they were…

Locke shook his head, willing the memories away. To distract himself, he gently lifted Celes' left arm and studied the complex web of steel. He rotated it and ran a couple fingers over the smooth surface, marveling at the nearly seamless transition from metal to flesh.

"What are you doing?" she muttered quietly.

He looked over at her face, but her eyes were still closed. "I didn't know you were awake."

"I wasn't ever asleep."

"Then what was that earlier?" he wondered.

"What?"

"You were in so much pain, and then nothing. You didn't pass out?"

"No. I made myself focus, concentrate, go into a world where there is no pain."

Locke raised his eyebrows. "Wow. I wish I knew that trick. Feel no pain…"

"I feel it. I just separate it from me, detach mind from body. It's still there, it's just farther away."

Opening her eyes, she tried to sit up, but the pain just came back to her. Before Locke could say anything, she brought her hand to her ribs and mouthed silent words. As he watched the green aura glow under her hand then disappear, Celes saw the questions form in his eyes.

"I was given a silencer, but it wore off enough for a simple spell," she explained.

He nodded. "Are you going to be all right?"

"Define 'all right,'" she muttered, rubbing her forehead as she sat up.

She still had a headache, and being hungry only made it worse. Locke seemed to sense this, and handed her the bread before sitting against the opposite wall.

"It's not much, but I'm betting they didn't exactly feed you."

Celes merely snorted as she tore a small piece off and put it in her mouth. As an afterthought, Locke took his canteen out of his pack and dipped it into the stream before handing it to Celes.

"Here."

She took it without hesitation and drank greedily. The cold water felt wonderful on her cracked lips and burning tongue. As she ate, Locke sat against the opposite wall, pulled out a deck of cards, and began shuffling them.

"You have cards?" Celes asked, almost disapprovingly.

"Of course. All great thie—treasure hunters carry decks of cards."

Once again, Locke's stumble was lost on her. Able to relax somewhat, though still keeping her guard up, Celes finally took a moment to study the Returner while he laid out a hand of solitaire. His dark plum headband did little to tame the tousled dirty-blonde locks that hung into his face and eyes, dark steel-gray orbs that held a degree of sadness in their depths.

His black jacket was short and open with a high wide collar and frayed sleeves only reaching his elbows. Under the jacket was a skin-tight white shirt that revealed his lithe yet moderately muscular build. He also wore close-fitting black pants and worn black leather boots. On his hands were leather gloves, black and fingerless, and various rings and trinkets garnished his fingers and hung from his wrists, neck, and belt. A single pewter hoop adorned his right earlobe, and a dirk was strapped to his right leg.

As worn as his clothes were, his face was smooth and clean, boyish in contrast to his generally rugged weather-beaten appearance. There was a trace of a Northern accent in his voice, possibly from the Irish clan from the mountains around Narshe. His skin was tanned from his extensive travels, and he seemed to be weary and jovial at the same time.

She pushed these thoughts from her mind, and focused on eating. Locke wasn't really concentrating on his card game anymore, instead paying more attention to Celes. She looked so tired, so pained, fragile and vulnerable, yet composed and dangerous all at once.

What he had noted earlier as he attended her wounds was that, though she had a tall slender figure, she was delicately muscular. He could tell the woman was in impeccable shape from her smooth yet powerful legs, her finely toned stomach and well-shaped waist, and her gracefully muscled shoulders and arms. In contrast to his, her skin was creamy white, but the feature that still struck him the most was her eyes and the piercing intensity of their paradoxical depths; brilliant as blue flame, bitter as the arctic chill. Cold, dark, and distrustful, deadened by years of pain.

Locke had expected her to be a vulnerable, broken-spirited kid who would be grateful for his help. But this was a woman whose pride had been shattered and whose faith had been shaken, and was yet full of defiance, trying to salvage the pieces of her tattered ego.

A warning suddenly went off in Locke's mind, and he assembled his cards and stood.

"I'll be right back."

Celes sensed his concern. "What is it?"

"Call it Returner intuition," he replied wryly.

He disappeared downstream, and Celes reevaluated her situation. Half of her wanted to find the bastard behind her betrayal and make him die a slow agonizing death. The other half wanted to take her sword and just end it, something she had been considering since she woke up. But something told her to wait. Surely she couldn't trust this Returner, but something urged her to see where this new path would lead her. Maybe to death. But maybe to the answers to all her questions.

A short while later, Locke returned looking quite rushed. "Listen, Celes, normally I would never even consider asking you to walk in your condition, but it seems the Imperials are tearing the city apart looking for this passage, and I wouldn't want to press our luck by lingering too long."

Celes figured she really had no choice; Locke had vowed not to leave her there to die, and she was in no condition to go it alone, so she merely nodded her agreement. She refused his offer to help her walk at first, as her pride was already hurting enough, but she eventually stumbled from her agonizing wounds. Moving swiftly in front of her, Locke caught her shoulders before she fell.

"Why are you helping me?" she asked again.

"Because I can."