Midway through the day, the sunlight had faded behind the clouds, darkening the sky to a dismal grey. Though the roiling clouds on the horizon warned of an oncoming storm, the mist and fog in the air were a blessed respite from the heat of the day. The moisture painted the grasslands with glistening water droplets and saturated any absorbent material available, which meant that Penelo's clothing was heavy with it. But she slogged ahead anyway, that much more determined to make Balfonheim before the sky opened up and released the torrential rain that threatened.
Balthier had been hanging well back, conversing quietly with Fran for some time. Penelo supposed that he'd revealed more to her than he'd wished to and was now regretting testing her. Nonetheless, she could afford to be generous - she'd let him have his petulant sulk if that was what he desired, much as she hadn't protested his little midnight jaunt last night. She'd been asleep by the time he'd returned, and she was willing to bet that he'd planned it that way.
"You doing okay?" Vaan asked from her right. "Basch thinks we'll make Balfonheim within the hour. Getting hard to tell, though, through all this fog."
"I'm fine," Penelo said. And she was, thus far. The moisture that had soaked her pants through was acting like a cold compress of sorts, and felt rather soothing against her wound. "I can't even see the city lights through all this anymore, and we're walking right into the heart of the storm, it looks like. I hope Basch knows where he's going."
"I'm sure he does. After all, he said this slope runs right into the city, so as long as we follow it, we should end up there." He shifted his bag on his shoulders and dragged his shoes to scrape off the mud that clung to them. "We're gonna get rooms at an inn when we get there."
Penelo darted him an uncertain glance. "Will that be safe? We are trying to keep a low profile."
Vaan shrugged. "I wondered, too, but then Ashe started talking about real rooms with real beds. Basch thinks it'd be better not to, but he says the city's large enough that he doesn't think anyone'll take much notice of us as long as we keep to ourselves. And it'd be a difficult night, trying to camp out in the storm, anyway. No way to build a fire."
"Yeah, I guess you're right." She considered the low-hanging clouds, heavy with precipitation. "We'd probably mildew. Or drown. Or both. So, I guess...it'll be nice, to have a real bed for a night."
"We got enough gil from those marks to rent rooms for a month; we might as well get some use out of it. After all, it's not that much further to Archades." He pushed his hair out of his face, frowning as though it had only just occurred to him that their destination might truly be their final one - and that unspent gil could be gil wasted.
She injected a cheerful tone into her words to draw him from his sudden dark mood. "Well. We'll live it up a little tonight, won't we?"
And just as the muted coronas of the city lights in the distance broke through the fog, the heavens opened and released an onslaught of icy rain.
The inn was small, but at least it was clean and dry. On the outskirts of Balfonheim, it was the best place to stop - out of the way, down a rarely-used lane, and containing only eight rooms to let. Established by an elderly widow seeking to eke out a living after the death of her husband, it was the perfect place to spend the night - quiet, secluded, and far away from the bustle of the city streets.
Though they'd arrived wet and bedraggled, the proprietress had eagerly ushered them inside and shown them to their rooms, assuring them that she would send her serving girl up with a light supper and bath water as soon as it could be heated, which, she regretfully informed them, might take some time.
Basch passed around room keys, instructed them to meet on the morrow in the common room downstairs, and they'd all dutifully dispersed to their rooms. Penelo's room was at the far end of the corridor on the second floor; a small but cheerfully-decorated room, with a thick, downy coverlet spread over the narrow bed, and a fire already burning in the hearth. A fluffy white towel was draped across the footboard of the bed, and she wrapped it around her shoulders and sat down before the fire, not wanting to be caught undressed when the servant brought up dinner.
The glow of the fire brought the feeling back into her toes, which had been numbed by the cold for so long that even the pinpricks of returning sensation was a relief. The wind outside rattled the shutters of the window, so loud that when the knock came, heralding the arrival of dinner, it was a struggle to hear it over the racket.
Penelo unlatched the door, allowing the little maid to shuffle inside, weighted down by a tray laden with covered dishes. She sat one such dish, and a small, steaming mug at the small table near the window, and sketched a curtsy before bustling out the door, on her way to deliver the rest of the food. The scent of roasted meat caught Penelo's attention, and she lifted the silver cover on the tray, revealing a thick slice of roast beef covered in gravy and mushrooms, as well as a generous portion of vegetables and a crust of steaming white bread slathered with butter. The mug contained hot apple cider, thick with cinnamon and nutmeg. It had been a very long time since she'd had such a meal. For that matter, it had been an even longer time since she'd had a whole room to herself. The silence was equal parts welcome and heady as it was foreign and unnerving.
Alone in the room, with no one to judge her table manners, she sat down at the table and broke into the bread to sop up the rich gravy, taking bites that were far too large, but enjoying the warming heaviness of the meal. For once, it felt like she was consuming a meal that would stick with her, sustain her for more than an hour or so. The rain had lessened somewhat, coming down in a soothing patter rather than a beating flood, and the darkened sky had been in stuck in the twilight phase for hours. Halos of light wreathed the streetlamps, and she gazed blankly out the window, chewing absently, until light flooded the dimly-lit alleyway, and a lone figure emerged from the door beneath her window.
She rubbed at the condensation that fogged the glass to clear it, and froze, the mug of cider halfway to her lips. Balthier. Of course it was Balthier; it was always Balthier. She watched, enthralled, peering through the window as his retreating figure passed. He paused under the nearest streetlamp and rubbed the back of his neck, as though he could feel her eyes on him. He turned about abruptly, staring up at the lighted windows of the inn. Penelo jerked away, scooting back in her chair to remove herself from his line of sight. But she caught herself - she'd done nothing wrong - after all, it was hardly a crime to look out of a window. So why had his searching gaze made her feel like she'd been watching something she oughtn't to have been?
She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, absently brushing the crumbs of crusty bread from her shirt. Balthier clearly had business about town, or he'd not have left the inn. And he hadn't taken anyone with him, that much was certain - so he was about something that he didn't want anyone to know about. She tried to tell herself that she was piqued only because he was so fond of going off alone when he'd railed at her for the same action, but really, she was just...curious.
So she carefully replaced the silver cover on the dish, hung the towel over one of the bed posts, and opened her door slowly, so as not to make a sound that might alert the others of her journey, but she needn't have bothered. Though the door was heavy, its hinges were well-oiled, and it slid open smoothly and without so much as a tiny betraying squeak. After a quick peek down the hall to make sure no one was lingering nearby, she stepped lightly down the stairs, and ducked out the front door, keeping to the shadows in case anyone else happened to glance out of their own window.
The alley was long and narrow, and she followed the path Balthier had taken, which dead-ended into a wider, well-lit thoroughfare. In the wake of the storm, only a few people were out and about, and none of them paid any attention to her. Some distance ahead, she caught a glimpse of Balthier just as he rounded a corner. She quickened her pace, trailing him through the city, keeping just far enough behind to avoid drawing his attention. They had gone off the main thoroughfare once more, and Balthier was wending his way down side streets, for which Penelo was thankful, because it was far easier to stick to the shadows on streets with fewer streetlamps.
Balthier turned another corner, and Penelo scurried after him. But as she peered around the corner to see when she could safely follow, she felt a hand clamp around her wrist.
"Oi, love. What're you doin' in this part o' town?"
The rough voice sent a shiver down her spine. She'd heard many like it before, from the Archadian soldiers in Rabanastre, leaving taverns, their cruelty, so tightly leashed during their service hours, loosed and exposed after too many drinks. Predatory with their groping hands and lecherous smirks. She'd had far too many close calls before, and already she was considering ways to escape her present predicament.
The hand encircling her wrist was large and meaty, attached to a thick arm covered in dark hair. She followed it up to her captor's face, leering down at her with that familiar, toothy grin - perhaps lacking too many teeth to truly be called 'toothy.' True to type, he looked the sort of man that had gotten in - and won - many a bar fight. His broad, unshaven cheeks had the drunkard's flush she knew only too well. She'd be no match for him in a fair fight, of course. This sort of brute was used to overpowering with brute force, and the scars that lined his hands spoke all too clearly of his willingness - no, eagerness - to resolve disputes with violence.
But Penelo had never been a fair fighter. Smaller, physically weaker, and without weapons in Rabanastre, she'd had to rely on wits and cunning. This man was stronger than she was, but she was willing to bet she was a good deal smarter than he.
"I have business here," she said carefully. "I'll thank you to leave me to it." She tugged at her hand, giving him the opportunity to end the confrontation before it began. But he merely tightened his grip, his stupid, broad grin widening to a ridiculous degree.
"Looked to me like you was followin' that swell," he said. "No need to go runnin' off now, we was just gettin' acquainted."
"No, we weren't." She looked the man dead in his beady little eyes, her chin tipped upwards stubbornly, a message that she was not afraid of him, uncowed by his menacing air.
Unaccustomed to being refused, to having his brutish authority challenged by his chosen victims, the wide grin slid into a threatening scowl.
"I saw we was," he growled. His grip tightened painfully, but Penelo didn't so much as flinch. "And if you know what's good fer you, you'll come along nice-like."
He jerked on her arm, and Penelo allowed herself to be pulled closer. Thinking he'd scared her into submission, the hateful grin emerged again. He took a step closer, reaching out with his free hand. But Penelo caught it and used his momentum to propel him closer, jerking her knee up, hard, right into his groin.
With a sharp cry, he bent double, releasing Penelo to clutch at his injured privates. Hands now freed, Penelo grabbed the back of his head, shoving it down as she again lifted her knee, smashing his face into it. She heard the crack of bones and his pitiful whimper. As she released him, he sunk to the ground, face down, moaning in pain. She neatly sidestepped, planted one dainty foot on his back, and grabbed his arm, twisting it painfully behind him. Rage and pain made him struggle, but he ceased when he realized that any further movements he made would wrench his arm from his socket.
"You bloody bitch," he howled, "you've broke my nose!"
Penelo shrugged. "You should have listened," she said. "You're lucky that's all I broke."
"You'll get yours," the words were a gutteral growl, imbued with all the hatred the bested bully could muster. "You'll have to let me up sometime. I'll get you. I will."
Penelo gave a painful jerk on his arm, and he yelped in agony. "I could still slice you from gullet to gut," she snarled savagely. "Don't tempt me."
A metallic click, the sound of gun being cocked, caught both Penelo and her attacker's attention. She jerked her head to the right, and froze. Balthier stood, leaning back against the wall, enshrouded by shadows, observing the exchange silently. His gun he held in one hand, trained straight at the man Penelo held fast to the ground.
"Oi, mate," the man called, "this bitch attacked me. Get her offa me, would ya? She was followin' you, I was doin' you a favor and all, keepin' her away." He was too stupid to realize that the mask of indifference Balthier wore like armor disguised his utter contempt for him. But Penelo sensed it, felt the raw fury rolling off of him in waves, and shuddered, because Balthier was unpredictable at the best of times.
Balthier shoved himself off the wall, loping casually across the deserted street, dropping to crouch beside the trapped man. He considered his weapon for a moment, then pressed it to the man's temple.
"This girl," he said, his voice a dangerous purr that prickled the hair on the back of Penelo's neck, "is under my protection." He increased the pressure of the weapon, watching as the man's beady little eyes widened in abject terror. "I believe you owe her an apology."
"S-sorry!" the man gasped. "I didn't know she was with you, mate. Hand to gods, I didn't. Never woulda touched her if I knew!"
"Apologize to her," Balthier said, affecting a bored expression.
"Cor! What for, then?" The confusion in the man's voice scraped across Penelo's raw nerves. But Penelo was not the only one who'd been angered by it, for Balthier again cruelly jabbed the man with his weapon. And Penelo no longer believed he was merely threatening the man, because the expression on his face bespoke not only his willingness to shoot him, but how very much he would enjoy doing so.
"Balthier, don't -"
He shot her a quelling glance. She subsided into silence immediately, and knew, simply from that look, that she, too, would be getting a lecture all her own.
"You've accosted an unwilling girl. And as much as I would prefer to put you down like the rabid animal you are, I believe the lady would prefer it if I were to offer you a second chance. Not," he said harshly, "that I believe you deserve one. But blood is so very difficult to remove from one's clothing, you know. So apologize to the lady for forcing your unwanted attentions on her. And you had better make me believe it, or I'll simply have to buy a new shirt."
Finally sensing the seriousness of the predicament, the man dissolved into blubbering apologies, swearing he would never so much as look at another woman with ill intent again. After a long moment's silence, considering the veracity of the man's claims, Balthier finally tucked his weapon back into its holster and rose. He offered his hand to Penelo, who took it with her free one, stepping away from the man as she released her hold on his arm. Finally free of the painful hold, the man scrambled to his feet and backed away from them, fleeing as fast as he could into the darkness.
Penelo tried to shake her hand free, but Balthier held it fast, the iron strength of his fingers manacling hers. Without so much as a glance at her, he began striding away, dragging her along in his wake, keeping to the dimly lit alleyways. She followed him silently for a few minutes, before the desire to attempt to soothe his dark temper won out.
"Balthier -"
"Not a word, Penelo." His icy tone was biting, dark and dangerous.
She tried again. "But -"
"Penelo. Shut. Up."
"I only wanted -"
He stopped abruptly, shoving her back against a wall, pinning her there with his hands and his livid gaze.
"Will you never simply do as instructed?" he hissed furiously. "For the gods' sake, you can't go more than a few days without getting into trouble, can you? What the hell were you thinking, following me, alone in a strange city? Oh, yes, I knew you were there, you bloody idiot. I could feel you watching me. And then to get yourself tangled up with that great buffoon, all because you were too busy sneaking after me to pay attention -"
"I had it well in hand!" she snapped back. "I've handled his like before!"
And really, that was the core of Balthier's rage - that she had clearly been cornered by men like that frequently enough to know how to handle them, that she had not actually needed him to rescue her, that she had had reason to learn to defend herself because she had lacked for protection. That he had realized she had no longer been following him and had searched her out only to discover that she had already taken care of the problem. That, had anything gone wrong, he might not have discovered her soon enough to save her. That the mere thought of such a happenstance had jerked his heart into his throat, made his fists clench with rage and his stomach clench with fear. That just now he had wanted to kill a man, desperately wanted to plug a bullet into his brain, simply because he had had the audacity to lay a hand on Penelo.
The stubborn tilt of her chin incensed him, made blood pound in his head. She was now as furious as he was, and, perversely, it made him want to laugh. But instead, he hauled her up against the wall, lifting her, pinning her against it with the length of his body, and she gasped, clutching at his shoulders as her feet were no longer firmly planted on the ground.
She seemed to sense his intent, blue eyes thickly fringed with black lashes going wide, then half-shuttered. Her pink lips formed a little 'o' of surprise, then her teeth worried at her lower lip nervously. His right hand grabbed her leg, lifting it to wrap around his waist, and her other leg followed suit. Her elbows were locked, holding him at a distance.
"I could scream."
A harsh chuckle. "You won't." His left hand buried itself in the silky softness of her hair, tugging her head back, arching her neck. Her arms trembled, then sagged, the token resistance faded as if it had never been.
As he touched his lips to her throat, she jerked in his arms as though he'd seared her skin. She smelled like rain, and he felt her pulse jump and flutter wildly beneath his searching mouth. Her fingers curled, nails scraping across the fabric of his shirt, digging into his shoulders, but the pressure was good, right. She should be clinging to him. Perhaps he had started this in anger, in the heat of rage and fear, but he found himself unwilling to betray the fragile trust she had placed in him by being rough with her. Instead, he traced the line of her jaw, circled the delicate shell of her ear, listened to her ragged breathing.
Her eyes were closed, sooty lashes fanning flushed cheeks. His hand withdrew from her hair, cupped her cheek, tilted her face upwards. He bent again, lips brushing hers, a gentle, teasing caress. Her lips parted, breath escaping on a sigh, and he pressed his advantage, fitting his lips over hers. The fingers that had clutched at his shoulders went lax, lifted, wrapped around him. He made an approving sound in his throat as he felt one arm encircle his neck, the other hand sift through the hair at the nape of his neck, nails raking through it gently.
She didn't know how to kiss, probably she'd dropped anyone who'd ever tried as efficiently as she'd felled her attacker earlier in the evening. But she was an apt student, mimicking his actions, meeting the first forays of his tongue with curiosity rather than reticence, indicating her own approval with a sigh, or an indrawn breath, or tiny shudders that sent tingles down his own spine. She tasted sweet, clean and fresh, and she threw herself so headlong into the kiss that his head spun with the heady sensations she aroused.
She drew back only when he pressed closer, letting her feel his body's reaction. She broke away, gasping, her eyes once again wide and wary, and he mourned the loss of the innocent passion she had so generously bestowed upon him.
Slowly he released her, setting her gently on her feet, perversely pleased that she clung a moment, as though she needed the time to steady the trembling of her legs.
"You could have had me on the ground just as easily as you did that poor bastard earlier," he said.
"Yes," she said, still shaken.
"Then why didn't you?"
"I...I don't know." She backed away a step, feeling awkward and uncertain.
He made a rough sound in his throat, dragging his fingers through his hair. "Next time, I think you'd better."