A/N - Shall I start with an apology? I am very sorry that I have been out of commission for a very long time. Thank-you for all of the lovely messages and support! I haven't had internet for the past couple of months you see, and I've just started my first degree...

Anyway, I now have a cute little chibi Balthier figurine on my desk that berates me when I don't write about him, so I am continuing on with these themes and updating whenever I am able. My exam period ends in about two weeks, but hopefully I will update more often than I have been.

Please enjoy the new chapter. It's a bit all over the place, but I'll regain the knack of it soon:)

Once again, thank-you all for your patience and support!

~Z

Leading

If he wears long sleeves and a vest in the hottest of deserts, then how on earth should anyone expect him to cope well in colder climes? Balthier is used to fireplaces and the warmth of airship engines, and has a special place in his heart for Rabanastre, though he will only ever reluctantly admit this to Fran.

So it is not without considerable grumbling that he finds himself accompanying the following people into the Paramina Rift:

A headstrong, uptight princess with the misguided belief that thigh-high boots quantify as modesty.

A former captain of the royal guard who contributes only monosyllables to conversation.

An orphaned girl so sweet it makes his teeth ache.

An orphaned boy who he can only assume is Penelo's pet, when he isn't asking so many inane questions.

An annexed viera, his long-term partner, and the one who agreed to this insane venture, who he of course had to follow.

And what would a trip to the snowy mountains be without murderous wolves and the undead? It just wouldn't make any sense!

Quite predictably, they haven't brought any coats.

The whole day had been one battle after the next. As the sun, or what was visible of it behind the heavy clouds, made its way below the horizon, Balthier knew they needed to make camp somewhere, and quickly.

"There is a cave," Fran said, sensing their need. She gestures at what appears to him as blinding whiteness. He grasps her hand and lets her lead, offering his own to whoever is behind him.

With the wind threatening a blizzard down on their heads, they struggle as a human chain through the snow. If not for Fran's sharp senses, they would surely have been lost.

"Praise be to Lente!" Fran finally gasps. Balthier has to stoop to enter the cave which, thankfully, is facing away from the wind.

"Or any other deity for that matter," he responds, knowing his blaise way with religion will annoy Fran greatly.

Balthier feels quite strange upon finding Ashe's hand affixed to his own when they reach relative safety. The princess is white-lipped and shaking, and doesn't say a word nor make any attempt to let go.

He clears his throat awkwardly.

He casts an anxious glance at Basche, who is scrabbling to start a fire.

It would be ungentlemanly and rude to shake out of her grip, so he awkwardly pats her on the shoulder.

Finally, it is Penelo who solves his dilemma, gently taking the Princess by the other hand and pulling her in the direction of the relative warmth of the fire. It appears they are finally safe.

"The wind is changing," Fran says suddenly, appearing behind him.

A few frantic minutes later, they have blocked off the entrance with snow, save for a tiny sliver for the air to penetrate at the top.

The issues that are soon to follow are hardly surprising. After all, at this point, Balthier's poor spirits are beginning to topple over into bad mood territory. They are all cold, tired and sick of running a losing race. And, well, there is also an odd smell...

Fran is the first to notice, and wrinkles her nose delicately. No need to raise an alarm, for it could be that she is just in an enclosed space with humes. This air is nothing like the poisonous effluent of a Marlboro, so she puts it out of her mind.

Balthier, to his credit, is second, testament to what living with a viera can do to improve one's senses.

"Vaan...!" he says, exasperated. "Please have a care for your companions."

"...Wha?" asks the half-frozen boy. His face screws up. "Uggh, no, that's definitely not me!"

Balthier sinks down next to the fire, managing the feat without slumping too inelegantly.

"What is wrong with the air? Could it be poisonous?" wonders Ashe. She makes to get up, but like everyone else, she is exhausted.

This is not the typical mustiness of a cave, but dryer and grittier. The cave is quite small, so Balthier is at a loss as to where it is coming from.

"Sulfur," says Fran.

"And ash, though not of the princess variety," Balthier adds.

Fran turns to him. "You are learning."

Her approval warms him up somewhat.

"Come," she gestures, this time offering her hand. It is like ice.

'Dear gods, she must be cold,' Balthier thinks, reaching for the fastenings of his vest. Though not designed for cold, it surely must be warmer than her own garb.

"Come," she insists, tugging him along, "We must find the source."

"Well, alright," he agrees, abandonning the attempt.

"There really isn't much to explore. It's just a little cave," Penelo warns. She too is huddled near the fire, whispering newly-learnt fire spells under her breath.

Balthier smirks. "When a lady offers you her hand, you follow her wherever she wishes to take you."

"No way am I leaving this fire!" Vaan exclaims.

"Terribly sorry Vaan, but your lady love there has the final say," he says, shrugging.

Penelo is a little embarrassed, and stares at her hands.

"She's not my lady love," mutters Vaan.

By this time, the sky-pirate duo have disappeared elsewhere.

Balthier has no notion that the inky blackness of the cave walls hid an even darker tunnel leading deeper into the mountain. Yet here he is, wandering after Fran as the air grows even more pungent, and oddly enough, warmer.

Suddenly, they round a corner and emerge into a wider cavern. The walls glow with an eerie light, though Balthier can barely see for the steam.

Fran lays her hand on the wall. "A type of fungus," she explains. "It feeds off the darkness to give off light."

"That something such as this exists is...a wonder," says Balthier quietly, forgetting himself. Fran gives him a Look.

He returns it with the most put-upon expression he can muster. "Praise be to Lente."

A smile flashes through the mist.

A large hollow of bubbling water lies at their feet, the source of the pungent smell of sulfur they had all complained of. But they were not complaining now.

"A fire-water pool," says Fran reverently. "They run deep in the earth. The Wood once said they were dragon's tears, seeping from their burning eyes."

"Good gods, this would be much better than that poor excuse for a fire out there," Balthier says, finally feeling as though not everything is going quite so wrong.

Fran is just standing there, poised on the edge.

"Fran, did you know this was here?"

In response, his companion abruptly kicks off her heels and pulls him closer. He hasn't realised until now that they are still holding hands. Now, she does not take her eyes off his.

He grins. "My dear..."

"You must follow me wherever I wish to go," says she, taking another step.

Then another.

And if they return later with water still steaming off their hair, perhaps it is a good thing that everyone else is too excited about their discovery to comment on anything else.