A/N - At last! An update! May you enjoy:)
Mortal
Fran tightens her grip on Balthier's slippery palm. It is cold, colder than she has ever been before, and the icy wind is tearing the warmth from her skin. She can normally cast a warming spell at the snap of her fingers, but today she is far too weak. They both are.
She can only remember the the dimmest of sounds from the crash. It was sudden, violent and shocking. To fall from the sky... Fran felt a deep hollowness in her stomach, driving ever upward even as they descended. Then, the sound of the Strahl folding in on itself, twisted and battered in a shriek of crumpling metal, and then...
Silence.
Fran thinks she can hear snatches of Balthier's murmurings, but he should be conserving his strength. In all this time, he has barely glanced at his beloved ship. Perhaps he cannot bear to assess the damage just yet. His focus seems wholly centered on her.
Slowly, she loosens her fingers. They should be looking for shelter, for Nono, for something other than lying dazed in the snow. It occurs to her that Balthier is not lying down. No, he is kneeling beside her, his murmurings growing more urgent.
"Fran...listen to me!"
But she cannot bring herself to speak. It is as if the cold has seeped into her and she is paralysed. At some point, she feels his hand levering her into a sitting position. She goes unresisting, noting that her limbs are oddly slack. It is as if the body is no longer hers, and she is observing it from the perspective of some scientist. Something is wrong about that, but she cannot quite figure out what.
"Fran! Fran!"
She makes a great effort, forcing the words out and drawing more cold, cold air into her lungs. "I am here."
The arms around her sag with relief. "Having a little snooze in the snow were we, Fran?" asks Balthier drolly.
"I was tired," she manages, feeling strangely weightless and warm. Oh yes, she has been lifted off the ground, and wrapped in some sort of white shirt. It smells of coffee and oil and a sort of musk that is as familiar to her as the engine room of the Strahl.
As warmth returns to her, so to does awareness. "The ship, she has crashed," she says, sounding the words out for herself.
"Mmm. Just over this rise if Nono's sense of direction holds true," Balthier replies. His words are starting to sound more clear, and she takes that as a good sign.
"You have given me your shirt," are her next words,
"Try not to crease it, mind you."
True to Balthier's word, they come upon the broken ship after they crest a snowy hill. Fran gives a gasp of dismay, echoed physically by Balthier's wince.
As he gently lowers her to the galley floor [incidentally, the only undamaged part of the ship], Fran notices that his arms are shaking. No, not shaking, trembling.
"We can repair the ship, you and I," Fran assures him.
"I do not care about the ship," Balthier says roughly, looking at her. She catches her breath.
Because they had always assumed that he, the Hume, would be the first to go. Never had they considered this other possibility. This unwelcome possibility.
"Oh Fran..." Balthier sighs.