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year 5, quarter 3
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[attr=class,bulk] Dion’s heart quickened as they entered the city’s walls.
He did not know this place, this city of Torensten within a Dukedom of the same name. He did not know it, and yet despite the pain and weakness within his still broken body, despite his darkened thoughts and his dreaded anticipation of an impending conversation with Clive Rosfield, he could not help himself but to lean over the side of the rattling chocobo-drawn cart and gaze upon the city in wonder.
It was a habit of his, an unending curiosity that stemmed from a childhood locked within the gilded walls of Whitewyrm Castle. It was a likewise childlike awe that he perhaps ought to have grown past when his service among the dragoons had brought him across all the lands of Storm, but this was not Storm. It was not even Valisthea as Healer Yuna had told him, and for the first time, that thought brought him no pain. These were new lands to explore – new people to meet without the ever-present burden of his duty upon his shoulders. Its loss left him feeling giddy and light.
He had felt some shadow of this wonder as their cart had started off into the farms and woodlands outside the likewise foreign city of Provo. It was dampened, however, by his cramped quarters, shoved between the cart’s splintered side and the menagerie of mechanical components that Captain Mid had loaded inside along with them. The conditions of the road had been less than ideal, and every bump and hole had sent the entire cart shuddering and brought a sharp pain in Dion’s side where his ribs had all but shattered only weeks ago. He had not minded Mid’s excitable, sometimes incomprehensible speech at first, but after several days, it had grown somewhat tiresome.
Now, he hardly noticed any of it as he took in the towering spires of the city with all of its noise and the bustling of merchants and mercenaries alike. Overheard, he heard a strange whirring and looked up to see what appeared to be a ship sailing effortlessly through the sky.
What was this place, he could not help but wonder, and for what purpose had he been drawn to it? He had no answers.
The cart stopped in front of a small, multi-story building with a large wooden sign depicting a wyvern in flight crossed with a sword. Mid was out of the cart before they’d come to a stop, already ordering about the nearby men as though she were their military commander, directing each mechanical part towards their proper destinations. Dion slipped away unnoticed in the clamor, and he did not wait for Mid’s business to conclude before he approached the heavy wooden doors to the Wyvern’s Rest and placed a hand upon them.
Inside, he’d been told, he would find Clive Rosfield and the answers he sought. The thought somehow stilled him, and though he had come all this way against his healer’s better judgment, he could not help but hesitate.
Clive Rosfield had been a trusted ally, but never quite a friend. Dion was not unused to such arrangements, but it felt strange, seeking him out with such urgency. He felt like a drowning man grasping at driftwood, lost in this unfamiliar place with only scraps of normalcy scattered around him. Perhaps if this had been nothing more than a social visit, Dion’s hesitation would have lasted longer. As it was, he quickly steeled himself and pushed open the double doors.
What had happened in Origin after Dion’s unsuccessful sacrifice? What had become of Valisthea?
He stepped inside the humble place of business, his boots creaking against the wooden boards. His armor had proven too heavy on his weakened frame and so he had traveled without it, and the humid weather had made him glad of its absence. He carried his spear in one hand, keeping the other free as he gazed about the entrance hall with its breezy open windows and its empty hearth. At the far end was a desk and behind it was a young woman who looked up at him expectantly, greeting him and asking if she could help.
”Ah, yes.” Dion shook away his uncertainty and lifted his head, striding towards her with a practiced confidence. ”I am an acquaintance of Miss Midadol Telamon. I was told that a certain Clive Rosfield was stationed here?”
In truth, he had been told that the well-intentioned outlaw was imprisoned here against his will after a rather eventful night storming the city’s castle. Dion could not help a secret sort of satisfaction at the news as a deep part of him, the part that had never quite forgiven Clive for the destruction of Drake’s Head, found a kind of karmic justice in the arrangement.
The young woman affirmed Clive’s location and asked for a name. Dion gave it, and the woman excused herself, heading down the hallway presumably to inform Clive of his unexpected visitor.
Dion waited by the desk, spear in hand as he cast his eyes about the place, willing his curiosity to suppress the dreadful anticipation that awaited him. The walls were decorated with various draconic motifs. Shields and weaponry were mounted between them, not quite ornamental in their placement.
’It is good to see you well,’ Dion thought, practicing the words so that he would not freeze in place upon Clive’s arrival. ’I believe we have much to discuss.’
They did, or they would, he hoped. If Clive had truly survived. If he had prevailed against the dark power of Ultima. If Origin had fallen and Valisthea had been spared its divine judgment…
Anticipation rattled through him as he knew that it would, and he gripped his spear tighter to keep his composure. Whatever answers he received, he would accept them with grace as any leader ought to. He would move forward, and then…
He knew not what, but that would be a matter for another time. For now, he had but one task before him, and from that task, he would not falter.
Post by Clive Rosfield on Sept 21, 2023 16:21:32 GMT -6
THE OUTLAW
"Clive? Oh thank the gods he has a visitor."
Which probably wasn't quite the response that Dion was expecting from the young lady at the desk. She didn't seem -too- upset but clearly something had happened to make her very annoyed -- and relieved that Clive would be occupied. "Not that he's done anything terrible, mind you. But if not for all the paperwork I've had to do involving housing a criminal, I'd think they put him under house arrest to rib me. He and his gigantic monster dog spend any moment they don't have an escort or being ordered around by Mid, trying to help out with chores around the Rest. Which is really nice, even if it's weird having a criminal walking around doing that and I keep thinking he might stab me if I look away. But I already have enough on my plate trying to tell Mr. Caius and Ms. Celes to rest before they collapse, and now I have to worry about the crystal smasher passing out on my floor."
So there it was. Mid's insistence on sending Clive on errands, and Clive's own inability to sit still when inactive, had driven the poor girl batty. Taking a deep breath to settle herself, she at least seemed better now that she had gotten that out.
"Apologies, it's been a long week at work. I gave Mr. Rosfield a few texts about Torensten to keep him on the couch for awhile. I'll see where he is" she spoke then as she got up and peered into the next room over. The sight she saw, however, made the maiden loose an exasperated groan.
"Of course NOW he's asleep" she seethes under her breath as she returned to the desk. "I will fetch him for you, Mr. Dion. One moment" she gave in her best professional voice as she, perhaps alarmingly, picked up a long stick a shorter person would use to close the blinds then disappearing into the lounge before Dion could stop her. She hated doing this, but...
Sleep, true sleep, had finally claimed him.
In the prison, he hadn't felt safe. Like Ultima could return and claim him at any moment. He was alone, in a place he didn't know, full of people who would rather see him dead. But here... While it was possible Ultima could return, he was no longer alone. The Dragonblades were altruistic warriors, and more importantly -- Torgal was with him. While it had taken some work to get the frost wolf placed into Mid's care, Clive had calmed down a great deal once the pooch was returned to his side. And while perhaps the law would have been happier if Torgal had gone with Mid on her trip, Mid had promised to figure out some matter of bullshit if they found out she'd left Torgal at the Rest while she was off to Provo.
He was thankful for that. But Clive hadn't been one to stay idle just because he was out of jail. Not that he could if he wanted to for the most part, since Mid had set to sending him out for every little thing she could think of. He didn't mind it too much, he didn't have much else to do until his trial, and it was nice to get to see the sights and explore this new world a bit without the strain of his duties as Cid weighing on his shoulders. But he couldn't take five minutes before she found something new for him to do.
Of course, while he had said he would get some rest once Mid was on her business trip to Provo, actually doing so had proved... Difficult. On the basis that Clive just wasn't a rester. He was too used to always being on the move, always doing something. A fact that had infuriated Tarja to no end. With nothing to do, he had sought to make himself useful to the people whom had taken him in and found a way to free Torgal. Which the receptionist lady seemed to appreciate, at least at first. But by the time the Rest was perfectly organized, polished and free of clutter, he had the impression that Tomoe was starting to fret. And her lectures about resting were starting to sound a lot like Tarja...
Though it was different in some ways too. While Tomoe was perfectly professional, his presence seemed to make her nervous. Her asking several times if he really had tried to smash the crystal told him why. Clive really had committed some kind of cardinal sin here in Torensten. And even if Celes had told Tomoe it was a misunderstanding, someone looney enough to whack their Crystal made her uncomfortable.
Believe it or not however, Clive didn't blame her one bit. He'd grown up with full knowledge of how important the Mothercrystals were to their culture. Of course she would feel that way.
Eventually he had been handed a stack of books. The pamphlet they had written for "newcomers" so to speak, as well as texts on the history and culture of Torensten. Though the pamphlet was more like a handbook with how much information they had needed to include. But between the long hours of reading, the rise of exhaustion, and Torgal sleeping in his lap on the couch, that high-tension button in him had finally found itself being released...
As with Torgal resting against him, he finally felt safe to drift off.
BONK!
"Mr. Rosfield, please wake up."
"Mrrrgh?"
Clive felt a long stick prodding him in the head, and after a few bonks, he would gently swat the stick aside.
"Please stop hitting me with the stick, Tomoe."
He knew why she'd used it, of course. She couldn't trust him. He had tried to crack their crystal, of course she would be just a mite afraid of him. But couldn't she let him sleep for five more minutes? Now that he was actually comfortable, sleep actually seemed kind of nice...
"You have a visitor, Mr. Rosfield. Says his name is Dion."
That shot Clive to a sitting position immediately as all the bells started ringing in the Dominant's head.
Dion. Dion Lesage, Prince of Sabreque. Dead, last he'd seen him. And last he'd seen him, they were with...
"Is anyone with him?"
"No."
"... I see."
He supposed it was too much to hope for that Joshua would have been revived along with Dion, and brought here. Well, he supposed he could at least take some solace in the fact that revival was indeed possible. Dion being here meant that there was still hope.
"Alright. Boy, get up. Let us see what His Highness has to say."
But he was only greeted with doggy snoring in response. Clive's brows scrunched in response.
"... Torgal, up."
The groan and stretch that followed indicated the canine was indeed awake, but wasn't interested in moving.
"Torgal."
That tone was scolding this time. One of Torgal's eyes popped open and stared at Clive for a moment, loosing a few lazy growling noises in complaint.
"Oh, don't give me that. If you don't get up, I'm going to carry you. I know you won't like that."
Torgal stared with both eyes this time. Clive shrugged then as he would pull himself up to his feet, taking Torgal with him and quickly hoisting the wolf over his shoulder. Torgal let out an almost annoyed-sounding yawn whine, but otherwise just adjusted itself atop his shoulder as Clive walked out the entryway.
So it was that Clive would arrive, matted with bedhead and with a large wolf dog over his shoulder. And there Dion was, very much not dead.
"Your Highness," Clive greeted calmly with a nod. "It is good to see you back with us."
To be honest, Clive didn't know what to say. Presumably Mid had filled him in already. So why was he here? Looking at Dion, he could tell one thing -- there was a burning question written all over his face. Killing Ultima was their only mutual business together, and they were not really friends at all. So there was only one thing that this could be.
Had he really come all the way here just for confirmation?
Clive took a deep breath then, before deciding to just say it.
"If you're wondering. Ultima's dead."
At least, right now he was. But Clive decided it was better to first give Dion the gratification he seemed to want. Considering he had given his life to free Valisthea from Ultima, this kindness was the least he could do for the Prince. Perhaps it would have been liberating for him by saying it as well, if not for what Lady Chere had told them. And Dion's standing here before him was all the proof in the world.
[attr=class,bulk] Crown Prince Dion Lesage had been taught from a young age to never lose his composure. He had been taught to think before he spoke, to practice conversations before they began, and if needed, to test any given speech with an advisor on etiquette for flaws. It was for this reason that Dion was rarely left speechless or taken aback, and yet, as he heard the clomping footsteps of Clive Rosfield’s approach and turned expectantly to face him, this was one of those few times where he lost his practiced composure and was left at an utter loss.
Clive, a bear of a man in himself, had approached him with his monster of a wolf merely thrown over his shoulder. Dion could hardly see the man’s face over the wolf’s sheer mass, its gray fur obscuring everything but the man’s unkempt hair and cool eyes. It seemed impossible that any man should be able to so easily bear the weight of such an animal, but then, he supposed that Clive Rosfield had spent his life training with a greatsword and had the musculature that came of it. Dion and his dragoons had trained in acrobatics and precision. He had never before been so aware of the differences between them.
Clive spoke first. He greeted Dion with the proper title and with courtesy, but there was something else behind it as well. Though the eldest Rosfield might have been utterly unpredictable and had certainly forgone usual etiquette in their meeting, Dion knew well enough to read between the lines in such formal conversation. Before he could decipher it, he added a short, ”And you,” in answer.
There was a short silence between them as Dion tried to collect himself. He knew what to say. What he had to say, but to actually say it…
’I believe we have much to discuss.’ That was all he needed and then they could begin, but once again, Clive outpaced him.
Dion’s mouth opened in surprise. Clive was so blunt, so bold, that it left Dion momentarily speechless. When he finally regained his composure (it took him nearly twenty seconds – his tutors would have scolded him for it), he simply said, ”That is good to hear.”
He hadn’t disbelieved Mid’s account, exactly, but he had hoped to gain more details from Clive. He had hoped that somewhere in their mutual alliance, they might have formed the comradery at least to share that much with each other. Though Dion was loathe to admit it, a part of him felt somehow betrayed by Clive’s short words and blunt admissions. While he had struggled to identify the hidden message in his greeting, he knew it now.
’I’m glad that you’re not dead. But please leave as soon as possible.’
What other reason could he have for cutting so straight to the point? While Dion was left grasping for any sense of familiarity, lost in this strange world, Clive already had Mid, a kind of adopted daughter, to ground him. What use could he possibly have for the Imperial Prince?
Dion’s grasp tightened on his spear. He had faced many who had wished he simply take his leave. He had faced many who had dismissed him in the Imperial courts. He had resolved himself to face Clive Rosfield and find the answers he so sought. His resolve would not falter.
Dion raised his head, looked Clive in the eyes, and said, ”I believe we have much to discuss.” He said it with more force than he had originally intended, but this had become a battle of wills. Clive did not desire his presence. He did not desire his conversation. Dion, however, desired both deeply for a time, and he would not take no for an answer.
”I fought alongside you to breach the walls of Origin,” he went on. ”I sought to avenge those felled by Ultima at all cost. You must understand. I sacrificed my own life so that your brother could heal your mounting wounds. I know nothing else of what followed except for the base hearsay of an excitable young woman.” He paused. That may have been unfair to Mid. Any secondhand retelling would not have satisfied him. Still, his point stood.
”I must know how it happened. How Ultima fell, how Origin was destroyed, and what became of Valisthea. I must know…of your brother’s fate.” His eyes fell at the mention of Joshua. Mid had told him, almost off hand, that the Phoenix had fallen and even the thought of him pierced his heart like a dragoon’s lance. But that made the story, the knowledge, the confirmation all the more dire.
”I sacrificed myself to spare him,” he said, and he could hear his own pain seeping through the cracks of his composure. ”How is it that I now draw breath while he…?”
Dion took a long breath, closing those cracks as well as he could before he raised his eyes once more. ”Please. I know it must be difficult, but I would hope that I have earned this much in your eyes.”
Post by Clive Rosfield on Sept 27, 2023 13:58:27 GMT -6
THE OUTLAW
Contrary to his thoughts, Clive didn’t mind Dion.
Sure, “Clive didn’t mind Dion” was the extent of their relationship. But he had no problem with the Prince, not really anyway. And he would have no problem conversing with him normally. In truth, he had gotten straight to the point in order to provide Dion some level of comfort. After he had died for Joshua’s sake, it was the least he could do.
And it had been done in hopes Dion would not do what he was now doing. But Dion wanted to know it all. Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? Would Clive not want all the details in his position? He didn’t blame Dion one bit. He just… Wished he hadn’t.
And Dion was being very, very insistent. Emphasizing multiple times that he had died for this. Sacrificed himself, in particular. Hadn’t they all sacrificed themselves by going on that suicide mission? Everyone at the Hideaway knew they weren’t coming back. And so did they. But Dion was acting like because he had, he was owed it. Even knowing it was difficult, as he said. It came off every bit as entitled as the Empire's head honchos always seemed to be. Dion might be a good egg, but he perhaps wasn't as different from his father and stepmother as he would like to think.
But the way Clive averted his eyes the minute Dion said “your brother’s fate” said it all, really. He didn’t want to talk about it. He’d already agonized through one retelling. He didn’t want to do it over and over again.
“I understand.”
A long sigh erupted as he accepted that this was necessary. Yes, he supposed telling Dion was the right thing, even if he wasn’t happy with him for disrespecting Mid like that. And he did address that, his expression hardening a moment. While still remaining calm all the while, showing he wasn't angry or anything. “But I would take care to show Mid a bit more respect if she took the time to tell you. She may be young, but she’s lost those she loves to Ultima, just as you and I have. And she cared about Joshua, I doubt that was easy for her” he spoke quietly, again looking Dion in the eyes. He did not mind Dion, but he wouldn’t see Mid treated like that either. “I say this for your own sake as well. If she finds out you called it “base hearsay”, I wouldn't forget she is Cid’s daughter. I do not recommend offending her.”
Because she’d do a lot worse than Clive if he did. But as it was, the story needed to be told. “Please find a seat in the lounge whilst I find a place to deposit Torgal. I will answer what you ask."
With that, he looked to Tomoe, who was still trying to process the sight before her. "Miss Tomoe, would it be possible to have a drink prepared for His Highness? His journey has been long, I am sure" Clive then requested politely to Tomoe, who shakily nodded her head. Clive would then join Dion in the lounge he had come from, deciding to deposit Torgal back onto the couch as he took a seat on one of the bar stools.
"The first thing I suppose you should know, is that we found out Ultima created the Mothercrystals and planted some sort of clone of himself within them to absorb aether using said crystals. For every bit of magic mankind took from the crystals... Ultima claimed a hundred times more, all for that spell."
Clive regretted not asking Tomoe if he could pour a drink for himself, and it felt awkward to leave now and go ask her. He would just have to bear it, then, as he got to the part Dion had wanted to hear most. Keeping to the trend of getting the biggest things out right away, Clive decided to get the worst of it over with quickly. This time perhaps more for his own sake. Clive couldn't look at Dion, knowing he could lose his composure again as he spoke next, his hands beginning to shake as those horrible, wretched memories came flashing back...
"... The last clone he needed, the one from Drake's Head, Joshua had sealed into himself to save me from Ultima's grasp all those years ago in Oriflamme. With his power at its fullest, Ultima freed the clone with mortal injury to Joshua."
Founder, this was still harder than he'd thought it would be. Even after already recapping Mid, it just... Didn't get any easier. Clive took a deep breath to prepare himself to utter it again. His hands had balled into fists and he found himself wanting to hit something. Out of respect for Miss Tomoe, he would refrain.
"Joshua... Gave what life he had left to grant me the power of the Phoenix, so that I may finish off Ultima myself."
Another, more shaky breath. He hated this. He hated remembering it. He hated that he couldn't save Joshua. At every turn, he had promised to be his Shield, to protect him from anything... And twice now, he had failed. It was always Joshua saving him. What kind of Shield did that make him?
"... No matter how much I pleaded to him not to. Joshua died in my arms the same way he lived his life -- doing what he thought was right. To save us all."
[attr=class,bulk] It was clear to Dion in an instant that he had caused offense. He couldn’t understand why. He had been certain to argue his case in detail exactly how he’d been taught, but however Clive Rosfield may have felt of him, it seemed he was, at least, willing to give him a chance.
”I understand,” Clive said with a long and tired sigh before his gaze caught on Dion’s own, a kind of warning in them.
Clive chastised him for his lack of respect towards the young engineer who was, at the moment, still busy outside with her machinery. Dion felt his confidence falter at Clive’s words before he finally gave a sigh of his own and bowed his head respectfully.
”Forgive me,” he said, a hint of his own exhaustion breaking through the cracks of his composure. ”I meant Miss Midadol no disrespect. She found me in her travels and kindly brought me to your doorstep. I owe her a debt indeed, but it has been a long journey, and while I admire her passion, I find myself run slightly ragged.”
At the mention of Cidolfus Telamon, he couldn’t help a wince. Perhaps he would owe Ramuh’s daughter an apology before long. Dion, blinded by his duties, had never allowed the dominant of thunder the benefit of doubt.
”I will keep that in mind,” he replied. He would have been a fool to anger the girl, as he well knew. He had already learned the extent of her temper and spirit.
Whatever his grievances, Clive soon moved on, offering Dion a seat which he took, accepting the fellow dominant’s courtesy as Clive asked the woman at the desk to bring him a drink. It seemed that whatever Clive Rosfield’s rougher mannerisms, he had not forgotten the roots of his noble upbringing. Dion appreciated the gesture of welcome for what it was, feeling slightly more at ease under these more familiar circumstances.
Clive joined him shortly, sitting across from Dion in a roughly carved stool after depositing the wolf onto the couch angled between them. The wolf, for its part, gave a snort and rested its head upon its massive paws. The sight made Dion yearn for the days in which he himself had fought alongside a tamed wyvern of his own. He could, if nothing else, understand Clive’s affections for the beast.
Dion met Clive’s eye as he began his tale. He started with Ultima’s plotting, and the revelations he shared shook Dion to the core. He had already been made aware that the Mothercrystals, symbols of hope and power as they were, had parasitized Valisthea’s aether, but to hear that it had all been a part of Ultima’s schemes…
Dion felt his fist tighten in his lap. He did not dare interrupt. He knew what would come next before Clive spoke of it as the eldest Rosfield’s eyes clouded with pain and darted away.
Dion closed his own eyes as he listened. A pain of his own rose within him, finding its way to his throat where it held fast. Joshua…The Phoenix had made clear that he knew his life would soon come to an end. Dion had thought it madness to seal that dark force inside of himself, but he had also understood it to be an act of both desperation and love. It did not surprise him that Joshua had given Clive his power and his life willingly.
”The Phoenix…was nothing if not self-sacrificing.” Dion opened his eyes, training them on his knees. He had lost many comrades in his time to the throes of battle. He could not say he had grown accustomed to it, but merely that he had learned to contain his grief. This felt different. Despite his primal power, Joshua was no soldier. He had been kind and trusting – naive perhaps, but always acting with the strength of his heart.
Dion had admired him deeply.
”He came to me for aid,” he went on slowly. ”Though I was the prince of a nation he should have considered his enemy, he came with trust and hope in his heart. The both of you had every right to forfeit my life once you had quelled Bahamut’s wrath, and yet you spared it instead. That kindness…has not been forgotten.”
His pain found its way through the stranglehold it held on his throat as he went on, ”You have my condolences. Your brother…deserved far better than this.”
He was silent for a moment, simply focusing upon his breathing. He would allow himself to feel the full force of his grief in private, once they had parted. He knew that the pain he felt must only be a fraction of Clive’s own agony.
”Forgive me,” he said, his gaze still downcast. ”It was selfish to demand such a retelling. I only wished…to know.”
A hint of guilt crept within him, past the grief and his own urgency and confusion. ”It is good to see you well. Truly.” He swallowed hard enough to free his throat from its painful prison. ”I have not forgotten what you have done for me nor for the people of Valisthea.”
Post by Clive Rosfield on Sept 29, 2023 10:28:09 GMT -6
THE OUTLAW
"I am not the one you need forgiveness from" Clive corrected calmly when Dion explained himself. While Clive did not approve of disrespecting Mid, she was the one that the Crown Prince would have to answer to if it came to it. "She can be as terrifying as her father, if not more. But as much as she keeps that upbeat face and cheer, she cares a great deal about those around her."
He closed his eyes a moment. "I have done my best to take her in and ensure she knows she has a home to come back to. People that love her and can help her move through her grief. But I can never replace her father. No child should have to go through what she's had to, but now she's found herself shouldering my burdens with me, when I should be the one taking on hers."
Joshua's death pained her, he knew. But she had tried to outwardly push away her grief to focus on the possibility he could return. And trying to keep him from focusing on Joshua's death, when he should be the one supporting her in her own grief. One he knew she held very deeply, even if she refused to say so. Yet here she was, saving him from jail after his own mistakes, and trying to take on bringing Joshua back herself...
He didn't know why he had admitted that to Dion. Perhaps it was because he hadn't had much chance to process his grief, and all that had occurred since. Maybe it was because Dion was one of the few in this entire world that would understand.
But Dion was here for Joshua's fate, and that he would have.
Once he finished regaling that part of the tale, Clive fell silent. He had been too tired to process what he was saying to Mid before, but here, he was wide awake and fully aware. But even now, Joshua's death still felt as fresh as though it had happened yesterday. He knew Dion was struggling with his own pain, and he let him have his time to do so. It was the least he could do, especially when Clive himself needed a moment to recompose himself. As much as he wanted to break down into uncontrollable sobs once more, it wasn't the time.
Though Dion didn't make it any better by speaking highly of the person Joshua was. Perhaps he felt a bit honored to know Dion thought that way of him, but it was overshadowed by the pain of loss.
"It was Joshua's kindness, not mine. He thought enough of you to heal you at his own expense. That was good enough for me" Clive admitted quietly. That was the kind of person that Joshua was. Compassionate, forgiving even amongst the worst of circumstances... He even tried to bring their mother with them, away from the collapsing palace. Even after her betrayal, even after all they had done...
Joshua deserved better than this. He did. He knew that. And knowing that made it all the more painful. But with Dion's apology, he shook his head.
"No. I would have wanted the same. I just..."
A long sigh came once more as he decided to just... Be honest. Strange to be such in front of the son of his enemy, but he supposed those things mattered no longer.
"... I keep looking at that door. From the moment Mid said it was possible for those who have died to return here. Every time that door opens, part of me hopes and pleads that the next person to walk through those doors is Joshua. And every time that it's not, a part of me withers away. And for the slightest moment I find myself resenting the person who did, even if I shouldn't. It's stupid, it's unreasonable. The chances of him returning are slim, I know. But I would give anything to have it be he who lived."
The next deep breath came more as an attempt to defend himself, as he wiped his face with his sleeve. "I've killed so many. Caused so many people pain. Whether it was as one of the Empire's Branded soldiers..." he trailed off, his hand tracing his scar a moment. It didn't hurt anymore, but the reminder would always be there. "Or even if it was necessary to destroy the Mothercrystals, I know what I've done. And on that day I was willing to die, to atone. But Joshua... He's never hurt a soul if he didn't have to. He didn't deserve to die. And I did everything I could to bring him back, but..."
Of course. There was more Dion didn't know. He'd forgotten, Joshua having taken over his thoughts and the conversation in kind. But Dion's words and the remark about bringing him back brought it back to light. He'd have to find a moment to bring that up.
"I am happy to see you alive, believe it or not. While I had issue with your father and stepmother, you gave your life to keep Joshua safe. I owe you for that. Joshua saw kindness in you that I was too blind to see. And you yourself deserved far more than to die that day. I know Joshua would have said the same thing."
[attr=class,bulk] Dion did not know what to make of Clive’s confessions. It was not that they were somehow out of line for him, but rather, that he could not place the relationship between them. Clive spoke openly in a way that seemed unbefitting of their few, stilted interactions together. Perhaps Dion had been mistaken in his assessment of the other Dominant’s welcome. Though Mid he was undoubtedly fond of Mid, one could not confide in a child – let alone a more or less adopted daughter. Though Dion and Clive were not overly familiar with each other, Dion was, as far as he could tell, the only other from Valisthea to be found.
And so he listened.
He listened respectfully, pushing his own pain and frustration aside for the sake of one lost to his own. Dion did not miss the implication that Clive would have much rather Joshua have miraculously revived than him, but that was to be expected, and Dion took no offense. He was far more surprised as Clive went on after wiping the tears from his eyes.
He’d killed as…one of the Empire’s Branded soldiers?
Dion’s mouth opened to interject. He felt his brow furrow in confusion and concern. Had he heard correctly? But…how? Why? Had the Imperial armies mistaken the blessings of the Phoenix for a Bearer’s magic? How had the eldest Rosfield, a noble by birth, been unable to confirm his true identity? How would such a thing have been possible while Anabella, his mother, sat the throne of Sanbreque?
Even so, Dion kept his thoughts to himself. He did not dare interrupt when Clive needed more than anything to speak his pain. Still, Dion found himself sitting forward, frowning with the questions he could not yet speak. The thought of Clive forced into such conditions sickened him. The thought of the Empire’s culpability in it all sickened him further.
Perhaps it was this potent mixture of emotions that spurred him to finally interrupt when Clive mentioned his father and step-mother.
”I had no love for that woman,” he scowled almost before he had realized it. Then he sat straight, trying his best to collect himself after such an egregious breach of etiquette. Clive spoke of his mistaken judgments of his character. He said that he was happy to see him alive. That was enough in itself.
”Thank you,” Dion responded, for it was truly touching that Clive thought of him in such a way. ”I regret that I did not take the time to know you better when I had the chance.”
He paused, uncertain what else to say. What would be prudent for him to say? As the seconds passed, Dion became aware of the tropical birds chittering outside the window. Mid’s muffled voice breached the silence, no doubt shouting her orders like a captain at the helm of a ship. He looked down at his folded hands, frowning for a moment, before a thought came to him and he looked up at Clive once more.
”You know,” he said, ”I’ve only just realized that we are technically step-brothers.” A strange smile tugged at his lips – half genuine and half ironic. He certainly had never considered Anabella a mother of any kind, but by law at least, he and Clive were linked.
”I always longed for a brother to share in the solitude of Whitewyrm Castle. Once I had one, I was at war and the child was demon possessed.” Dion gave a short breath of humorless laughter as he shook his head. ”Perhaps it was fate that the three of us should join against Ultima. All of us brothers in one way or another.”
It was then that the woman at the desk, Tomoe he believed, returned. She looked annoyed and slightly harried, particularly as she glanced at the frost wolf snoring on the couch which had, admittedly, begun to sag under the beast’s immense weight. Still, she had the drinks as requested, handing Dion a glass of water while she placed a cup of something stronger on the table. Dion thanked her kindly, and she returned to her desk and whatever work awaited her there.
Dion looked down thoughtfully at the water in his hands. If only his mind could be quite so clear and still. Instead, it was awry with grief and confusion and questions he could not answer. He took a moment to sort through his thoughts and form a response.
”I would like to apologize,” he said without raising his head. ”For all that you have suffered at the Empire’s hands. For all that your friends and colleagues have suffered. I was only a child during Rosaria’s annexation, and I have had little say in Sanbreque’s governance since, but as its prince, I would like to apologize on my nation’s behalf.”
His grip tightened on the glass, and he raised it to his lips, drinking slowly. He had not realized until that moment how much he had needed it. The water’s cool touch was a welcome relief, and he relished it.
When he lowered it, his resolve was stronger than ever.
”If we should find ourselves on Valisthinean soil once more, I hope to face my sins in order to protect and unite my people. I would hope to join hands with you and your cohorts so that you might assure that this new Sanbreque does not stray from its righteous path and repeat the cruelties of my father’s rule.”
Post by Clive Rosfield on Oct 18, 2023 10:22:55 GMT -6
THE OUTLAW
“And she none for me” Clive admitted with a small, bitter laugh as Dion began to... Was he actually trying to find common ground between them because they were technically step brothers? It was a nice sentiment, and maybe in a perfect world, they... Well, actually in a perfect world they would probably barely know each other. Much less be siblings. It was very nice of him to try, though. He could at least appreciate that. He could hear Mid shouting orders even beyond the walls, and that made him smile slightly, as he continued to listen to Dion.
He supposed he felt a bit bad. Stuck in that big castle alone, with only his cruel father and even crueler stepmother as company. While Clive's childhood was fraught with pain because of his mother, and all the work he put in just to prove himself because of her, in a childhood that was tragically cut short... He still had Joshua. Dion had Harpocrates, but even he had been taken away. And when he did have a brother, well...
Clive didn't envy him one bit. Sure, he'd witnessed his people being slaughtered at the age of 15 before being branded, but growing up around Anabella and Ultima actually kind of sounded -worse- in his eyes. In the end, Dion apologized for what the Empire had done, even without knowing the full extent. He supposed for that too, he was owed an explanation. Because Dion didn't owe him anything, this apology was a courtesy. Dion had not perpetrated a single thread of Clive's suffering. Those who had were now dead and gone. Hopefully, never to return. Tomoe arrived, and Clive thanked her when she gave Dion his drink. He didn't ask for one himself -- he didn't want to trouble her further. So instead, he turned his focus to Dion.
“You don't owe me a thing, you weren't to blame" he made clear very quickly. "My mother, though... From the moment the Phoenix rejected me, I was nothing to her but a failure taking up space in her domain. When she betrayed us and perpetrated the slaughter at Phoenix Gate with the Empire, when they found me in the rubble – she ordered me killed. But before the final blow could be struck, she changed her mind and had me branded" Clive decided in the end to just come out and say. Glossed over the whole Phoenix and Ifrit thing there, sure, but he could cover that later. "Solely to spite my father, for believing in me even when she thought me only trash.”
Yeah, she wasn't exactly a model mother to him either. "If it helps any, or maybe this will just make you hate me instead. But I did technically betray the Empire in turn" Clive brought up then, almost finding humor in the fact he was telling Dion this. But Dion should know the full extent of the story, he knew. Especially when the Empire itself had a hand in creating the very "Cid the Outlaw" who had destroyed his people's mothercrystal. Which he was sure that for a boy growing up under the Empire's propaganda, was still coming to grips with. Even after everything that had happened.
"About... Let's say 13 years into my time as a branded soldier, I was assigned to what they called the Bastards. A unit of Dominant killers. We were to hunt any Dominants that did not yield under the Empire's heel. During a battle between Dhalmekia and the Ironblood, we were assigned to kill Shiva's Dominant."
He let that sit for a second, because even he knew it would be obvious to Dion where this was going.
"When I realized it was Jill, whom had been taken by the Ironblood amongst many other Rosarians in the wake of Sanbreque's conquering us, I tried to escort her off the battlefield. I had... Found out her identity much later than I would have liked, so she was incapacitated and needed my aid if she was to survive."
Yeeeah, Sanbreque had pitted Clive and Jill against each other. That was still a kick in the groin for him. "What remained of my unit attacked me, and I had to defend myself and her. I'd have been marked a traitor for that if the Empire had any idea who any of their Bearers were, or cared that any went missing in the battle."
For once, Sanbreque not even calling their Branded people worked to his advantage. He was able to walk around in branded armor for months without them even realizing a branded had survived the battle and turned against them.
"Cid and Torgal saved Jill and I from the Ironblood, then. And that... Pretty much sums up how I eventually became Cid the Outlaw."
There was more to it, but he doubted Dion needed that much more information about his reasons. He had lived in Sanbreque long enough to know about the plight of Bearers. That, combined with knowing that the mothercrystals had caused the Blight, said enough for someone like Dion to piece it all together. Probably, anyway. Maybe he was giving the Crown Prince too much credit.
"But for what it's worth... I do share your sentiment. If we ever do return, I would like nothing more than to work together for a better, brighter world to be enjoyed by all as equals" he admitted softly, for the first time showing a genuine smile. "It was always Cid's intention, if you didn't already see during your time at the Hideaway. Even before he died, Cid was working on these wonderful machines meant to replace magic. To ensure the world could rebuild, and heal, better than it was. Though I think you will find, at the very least, some of Sanbreque has already begun the march forward in terms of progress."
He did remember he still needed to elaborate on what happened with Ultima, but this took precedence for the moment. And the least he could do for Dion was to ensure he knew that while much of Sanbreque could be cruel... At its heart, Clive had found some good in its people.
"With the Dame and the Duke of Oriflamme, as well as their former Guard Captain. I know your Empire is in good hands even if we never do leave here. I just hope the rest of the world follows suit. Fortunately, my Cursebreakers are good, kind, strong people. With or without me around, I will happily entrust the mission of a brighter world to them. A world where all can live and die on their own terms... I know they can do it."
[attr=class,bulk] ”What?” Dion sat up, eyes wide with shock. He stared at Clive for a moment longer than he should have, struggling to comprehend what he’d been told. Clive reaffirmed that he had indeed been branded by no other than…
”Your own mother would…?”
Anabella. The vicereine. The empress of Sanbreque. His own step-mother. He’d known her to be heartless. He’d felt her presence like a venom sinking deep within the cold marble halls of Whitewyrm Castle since the day she had arrived, and yet even he, as acquainted with the woman’s treachery as he was, could have never imagined…
”She Branded her own son? She raised you! What evil could have-?” But Dion did not have words to describe the sense of rage he felt at Clive’s behalf. He felt Bahamut stir within him, prideful and indignant, and he wished that Anabella was stood before him so that he might finally enact his murderous intentions upon her. From the moment that Joshua had enlightened him on the nature of Ultima, he had been certain that she had been the demon’s vessel, insistent that her puppet sit the throne on her behalf.
His half-brother may have been the one truly possessed, but her evil surpassed his by far.
Dion’s knuckles were tense, collapsed into the fabric of his pants, and he attempted to loosen them but found that he could not. If he had been in full possession of his power, he might have feared his vision would turn yellow. That diabolical woman had betrayed her country, killed her husband, Branded her firstborn son, and all of it before her crimes in Sanbreque.
Clive went on, and while Dion had no opinions on his technical desertion, another detail struck him like ice. ”You were sent to kill…Dominants?” he asked, his mouth curdling in disgust. ”On whose orders? Your commander’s? Or…could Father truly have…?” Again, he could not finish. The very thought of it brought bile to his throat.
There was so much that he, the supposed crown prince, had never been told. Was it because they had never intended him to take the throne? Or was it that they would have known his objections? Dion was useful as a dragoon, as a commander, as a figurehead, as Bahamut, but he could not say that he had ever been useful as himself.
”That is abhorrent,” he muttered, more to himself than Clive. It seemed the eldest Rosfield knew far more of Sanbreque’s true nature than Dion did himself.
He listened as Clive shared his sentiments about a brighter future for Valisthea, collaborating together. He did not mention his own secret discomfort near the Bearers of Clive’s Hideaway nor did he comment on the world of which Clive and Cid had dreamed. Here merely listened, already lost in musings far too dark for thoughts of a peaceful future. He stirred only when Clive mentioned the current events of the Imperial territories, though his reports did little to ease his mind.
”I know neither of those names,” Dion said with a shake of his head. ”Sanbreque has been a centralized nation since the days of its first emperor. I cannot say that its people could not survive in a fractured state, but…” He sighed. ”I would feel better if those who wished it could be united under the eyes of Greagor. That is all.”
For what else had he been born and raised? He had been born with power unimaginable. He had been raised to rule and to protect his people. Anything else was…
Failure.
”That night,” Dion went on slowly, ”I led my forces to treason with one purpose in mind. I would purge the poison from Sanbreque’s veins. With the power I wielded, I would force my father to see reason, and…I would kill my brother and step-mother both…”
Only moments earlier, he would have felt too ashamed to admit his murderous intentions towards Anabella to her firstborn son. Now, he felt none.
”That wench cared only for the purity of blood and for herself most of all. She would have seen all of Valisthea burn for nothing but her own pride.” Dion hesitated, not daring look up from his own clenched fist. ”Do you know…what became of her? I only wish I’d had the strength to avenge you of your pain.”
Post by Clive Rosfield on Oct 28, 2023 16:04:30 GMT -6
THE OUTLAW
Well, at least he didn't seem to hold it against him for technically betraying the Empire. They had betrayed Rosaria first after all, and well... Anabella really was to blame for it all. But Dion was completely taken aback by the story -- it seemed he didn't even know that the Bastards existed. Imperial propaganda machine worked wonders, didn't it? Dion was, unsurprisingly even to Clive, absolutely furious. When he tried to ask about his own mother branding him, Clive just cocked his head and pointed towards the scar on his cheek. Which if Dion looked closely, happened to greatly resemble a brand...
Anabella was a horrible, evil woman. Clive had figured that out a long time ago. But even then, while he'd scarcely admit it. Part of him had always wanted to regain the love she had once held for him. It was part of why he had worked so hard, because deep down, as much as she scorned him... He wanted her to see that he was worth a mother's love even without the Phoenix. But in the end, years later, Clive had finally come to terms with the fact that nothing but a Dominant would satisfy her. And not even Joshua had been enough to keep her from selling out her own people with intentions to start anew with another child.
While Dion tried to figure out who in the world had formed the Bastards unit, Clive stayed silent on that account. He didn't know, nor cared whom had ordered it. They had been forced to do it, or suffer the consequences. Though Clive had never actually killed any Dominants. Jill was the first he had actually fought. Though if Dion's father, whom most likely did order it in order to take out any potential threats to his power, were ever brought to Zephon... Clive didn't know if he would be able to restrain himself. Not even for Dion's sake. Dion was a nice kid, but Clive had several scores to settle with his old man.
Clive heard the mutter, his expression curling into what was almost an amused smirk at that. Dion didn't know the half of how abhorrent Sanbreque was. He was naïve and had been raised around naught but propaganda and falsehoods. To be honest, it was a surprise he had turned out as decent as he was, considering all that. But Clive supposed he still wasn't surprised there was no comment on Cid's plans to help rebuild the world after they whacked the crystals, either. He figured that wound was still fresh. It was fine, he didn't expect an Imperial Prince whom had benefited from their ways all his life to understand. Dion probably still viewed bearers as lessers, too, despite him being nothing himself but another bearer with advanced magic. The only true difference between them was the brand. Maybe Dion would understand that someday.
He didn't know either of those names, which actually got a small laugh out of "Cid". "My apologies for laughing, I shall try to explain. The Duke Of Oriflamme took that title after what happened to the Royal Family following your coup. An attempt to seize power for himself, essentially. I think before that he was..." Clive trailed off as he tried to remember who the Duke was. "To be honest, I don't actually know who he was or his position before that. Stuffy old man, has an adult daughter perfectly willing to manipulate those around her just to boost herself and spite her own father. Apparently had enough power to take command of Northreach at the drop of a hat the second the Royal Family was gone. Intended to kick out the merchants and other commoners to turn Northreach into a military stronghold to fight the Akashic. His opposition in this plan was..."
Oh boy. If Dion didn't know who she was, this was going to be almost fun. "The Dame. The Mother for an establishment of... Ill repute, let us call it. With influence held so great she may very well have been the most powerful person in Northreach, on par even with our friend the Duke."
And that was why he had laughed. The mother of a brothel was the guardian angel of Northreach. And the most powerful and influential figure for miles. For someone raised the way Dion was, it had to sound completely absurd.
"She stood for the common people, the merchants, the bearers -- the very backbone of Northreach, and stood in the way of the Duke's desire to see them gone. It took some doing by her, myself and the efforts of the now-ex Guard Captain, but we were eventually able to sell our friendly Duke on cooperation between the military and the people, for the betterment of Northreach and to face down the akashic hordes together."
Which was surreal for Clive to do, considering how much he despised Sanbreque. But duty took precedence above all, and he wasn't going to leave Isabelle in the lurch.
But then came Dion's admissions about that fateful night. Clive actually knew all about it, he had seen it all, felt everything Dion had felt, heard his thoughts, his feelings... All of it, from the moment he had walked into that throne room. All because he had accidentally taken Dion's power.
Which was weird because he couldn't recall that happening before that.
"Oh, I know. She told me" Clive admitted softly, chewing the inside of his cheek as he had to once again reckon with seeing his mother die. Warts and all. "She made it clear as day. She betrayed her people, killed her husband, led to the seeming death of one son and the enslavement of another -- all to birth a child that would hold the powers of both the Phoenix and Bahamut. All because Joshua was sickly, because even he wasn't enough for her."
A flicker of anger shone through his eyes at that. While Clive had kept his cool throughout talking of his mother's own feelings for him -- he found himself growing quite angry when it came to what she had said about Joshua.
Dion asked what became of her, and Clive averted his gaze as he stared at the bar with a look almost conflicted. Even now, he didn't know what to think of what he had seen.
"Joshua showed up with you in tow, and healed your wounds. You killed that child, and he turned into Ultima. Then Anabella saw Joshua, screamed something about ghosts, and killed herself on the spot. Even as Joshua tried to save her, after everything."
It was certainly anticlimactic, that's for sure. As evil as she was, part of him had wished she could have seen reason and survived. At the same time, going out on her own terms was too good for her. Could Clive have killed her himself, given the chance? He didn't know.
"We left her there as the castle crumbled. It wasn't worth it to try and bring her body back for burial while Joshua and I were spent, and getting you out alive had to come first. If she had still been alive, Joshua would have tried. But as it was..."
Rosarians were deeply spiritual about laying their dead to rest. In a perfect world, a non-treasonous Duchess would have been buried alongside her husband with ceremony. But in truth, she had forsaken any right to a Rosarian burial long ago. She didn't deserve one. Even if she was his mother... Being buried unmarked under the rubble of a castle was still too good for her.
