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year 5, quarter 3
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[attr=class,bulk] Dion was uncertain how to respond to Clive’s comparison to his father. Had he intended some kind of insinuation, or was it merely as he’d stated – a comparison and little else. Dion wavered between praising the memory of the late Archduke Elwin or indicating that perhaps Clive should not place his faith in a man who reminded him of one whose fate had been sealed in a game of bloody politics. Neither option seemed particularly wise, and so he said nothing. Silence, he had been taught, was often the most tactful response.
He understood the elder Rosfield’s animosity towards the Holy Empire. Dion wondered if that animosity extended towards himself.
Despite Dion’s expression of sympathy, Clive looked…somehow affronted. Dion frowned back at him, uncertain of what he could have said to cause offense. If anything, he had thought himself as vulnerable before him, offering no excuses for the lives he had taken as Bahamut, for all of the homes burned and the livelihoods rendered inert. It was well known that Eikons existed for war. Had…Clive not considered Ifrit in the same light?
Once again, Dion sensed the gulf of experience which differed between them. Dion had known Bahamut’s light from birth. He had studied the scriptures and the art of combat in equal measure and been raised not as a child, but as the great dragon’s vessel. He had once feared that power then grown numb to it and then hated it for everything it had taken.
He had blood on his hands in the name of his eikon. He had assumed that Clive must have borne the same weight.
If he had caused Clive any offense, the other dominant did not show it. Instead, he merely sighed and straightened himself. ”I can live without being able to prime,” he said. ”My mission is complete. However, we may both feel differently if Benedikta, Kupka, and Barnabas return as well with eikons intact.”
”Ah.”
He had to admit, the thought had crossed his mind. Already, he felt his mind focus. He listened to Clive’s tale with a hand at his chin, turning over each piece with careful consideration.
”Of course. We are bonded by all we have lost and all we would stand to protect. You may forever count me as your ally, however…” He had been trained in the art of politics, including diplomatic relations. He had gone to war against every sovereign nation in Valisthea, and he knew their players well.
”While I have no doubt that Commander Harmon and Hugo Kupka would hold a grudge against you, they are not the type to strike the innocent at random – not even with their eikons. Harmon was ruthless, but sharply intelligent. And Kupka…” Dion’s brow furrowed. ”He had no interest in the state of Dhalmekia nor his role as the Warden of Earth. He never acted without personal incentive. If either were revived, I doubt that they would find cause to prime except to smite their enemies or at the command of another.
“King Tharmr is the far more immediate threat. He was a conqueror by nature and cared nothing for human life. If he were revived in this world then it would be a grave danger indeed.”
Bahamut’s full strength had only been enough to briefly deter Odin’s might. Dion felt a chill at the thought of confronting the Warden of Darkness without it.
”We will face these threats together,” he said, straightening his posture. ”Despite our history, I may be able to reason with Harmon and Kupka. If we hear word of the King, rest assured that you will not fight alone.”
Dion doubted that even their combined efforts could strike down Odin’s blade, but then, he had once doubted that their efforts could kill a god. They had sacrificed their lives to that fight, and yet they had succeeded nonetheless. Dion did not fear death so long as his life might be in use of a noble purpose.
”I shall alert you if there is any sign of their revival…Or that of your allies.” He knew well of Clive’s comrades, of the cursebreakers and the many faces which had passed him in the blighted Hideaway. He knew of Cidolfus Telamon, and of course, he knew Joshua.
Clive knew none of Dion’s associates, but that could not be helped. There were more important matters at hand.
Post by Clive Rosfield on May 9, 2024 10:51:56 GMT -6
THE OUTLAW
It was mere comparison, but one Clive was well aware may trigger unpleasant memory. It was difficult to speak of his father’s fate when the circumstances were kneaded so tightly with Dion’s own family. As far as Hremit went? It was almost comforting to see the similarities… Yet worrying, as well. It was clear this realm was peaceful because of the man, that he could see. But how fragile was this peace? And a man like Hremit, like his father before him, had to be vulnerable to the greed of other politicians. Perhaps not mentally, but…
The king was not as strong a combatant as the outworlders. And where there was greed and lust for power, there was death. A just and kind ruler was only as good as however long he could live. A blade in the dark, and…
Peace could fall. Just like that. A fate Clive was all too familiar with. And at the end of the day, Hremit was not his father. Too many unknowns, too little he knew, for him to be trusting.
As for Ifrit? Clive knew what Ifrit was. But it was still a part of him, and the comment was too soon. Especially when Ifrit’s role as a force of destruction rang too close to home. But he didn’t hold it against Dion. How could he know? It wasn’t intentional, he was only trying to help. That, at least, Clive understood. Dion though, had a different understanding of the other Dominants than him. Though Clive disagreed, he didn’t think less of the Crown Prince for it. It made sense for him to think that way, considering he would have likely only faced them in the game of war, at best. They were, in a sense, professional. All business. Clive’s battles, however, were a touch more in-depth and personal.
“You’re correct in that they have seemingly no reason to strike, only in war, or at me… If we were still in Valisthea” Clive brought up then. “I’ve fought Benedikta and Kupka both, seen them at their highest… And their lowest. They each hunger for the same thing, something their nations each gave them that they would lack here — power. Benedikta will do whatever it takes to be in a spot above where she may look down on others, and Kupka? A brute, a bully, someone with no care for slaughtering thousands of innocents to get what he wants. He enjoyed a very lofty life in Dhalmekia, I don’t see him, or Benedikta, settling for less. And that makes them dangerous… Especially if they work together.”
And Hugo was an easily agitated fool. It wouldn’t take much for him to rain destruction upon all around him if set off. The worst kind of Dominant. Well, except for…
“I don’t know what King Barnabas will do, here in a world without Ultima. And that? Is terrifying” Clive wholly admitted. The other two were predictable, Clive could read them like a book. But Barnabas? A man with that amount of power, with that much blood behind him and a mind that far gone, now without direction? If he showed up, this world was in grave danger. “I agree, his history as a conqueror doesn’t bode well if he were to appear. And he genuinely wanted all of humanity to become akashic. I can’t imagine what he might do now.”
Still, Dion’s cooperation was a comfort. And Clive gratefully lowered his head. “Thank you, Your Highness. There are not many in this life I would feel as confident fighting alongside as with you. I hope it won’t be necessary, but know I will be there if ever you find yourself in trouble.”
He highly doubted Dion could reason with Kupka or that woman, but Clive had stated his thoughts already, so he just nodded in agreement and… Hoped for the best, he supposed? And that Dion wouldn’t die in the process. There was a lot of history there, but he didn’t actually want anything to happen to Dion.
“Is there any you might wish me to look out for?” He asked, then. He couldn’t just let Dion help him out without him doing the same.
[attr=class,bulk] Clive disagreed with Dion’s assessments on the other dominants. This was to be expected. Dion did not know Clive’s experiences though he had heard they had been far more personal than Dion’s, and that Titan had fallen at Ifrit’s hand. He also knew that Clive had taken his place as an outlaw, an anomaly outside of the social, religious, and political world in which a dominant was meant to reside.
Dion had not thought well of either Harmon’s sadism nor Kupka’s self-interest, but whatever they were as people, they were still just that – people. He knew the burdens of their power and the expectations it had placed upon them, and he doubted they would wish trouble with Bahamut no matter what they thought of Dion. Dion held a certain respect for every dominant regardless of their casualties, every dominant except of course for King Barnabas Tharmr.
He feared the Warden of Darkness. Not for his own sake. Not for the sake of a life cut short in battle. He feared only for those countless men who would fall for the sake of his bloodlust and his own crazed ambitions.
”There is a small solace to be found in the King’s madness,” Dion offered. ”He is not the type to fade quietly into obscurity. If he takes to the blade once more, we shall doubtless hear news of his atrocities. His name shall spread swiftly, and his reputation long preceding it.”
He had read of the terror which had gripped Ash at the time of Odin’s conquest. It was not a comforting thought that such terror might grip these lands once more, but at least there would be those to stand firmly against him.
He did not fully understand his own relation to Clive Rosfield. It felt at once tense and reassuring. They were not friends. He knew that for certain yet their loyalties ran deep. He could not help a touch of fondness as Clive confided that there were few he would rather have at his side in case of conflict, and Dion smiled faintly to himself at such high praise.
There were many amongst his cohort who Dion would trust with his life. Even so, he could not deny the strength of a bond formed in a mutual fight to the death. He realized with some surprise that he shared Clive’s sentiment. Despite his many friends and allies among the forces of Sanbreque, he would rather stand beside Clive, the outlaw, the second dominant of fire, than almost any of them.
Even so, Dion was taken aback by Clive’s offer to search for those closest to him. He was not accustomed to such inquiries towards his personal wellbeing. Dion considered it for a moment before he slowly shook his head.
”Do not trouble yourself for my sake,” he told him. ”I have as many friends as I do enemies among the ranks of my nation. Even I cannot always tell the difference between them.”
He paused for a second longer before he added, ”You may trust any among the Holy Order of the Dragoon. They were my cohort, and their loyalty is assured. And I suppose…” He glanced away, his eyes dulling with pain. ”If you were to come across my father…I ask that you spare his life. I cannot say that he should deserve such mercy, but there is much that I would ask of him and much that I wish to know.”
Never before had Dion felt so raw and vulnerable. This was a request not born from logic or faith, but of his own personal torment.
”I know it is much to ask considering all that he has done. But I ask as an ally and a comrade in arms. You may imprison him, but please. Send for me. I dare not hope that I should speak with him again, but so long as there is a chance, I would take it.”
Post by Clive Rosfield on May 10, 2024 13:24:25 GMT -6
THE OUTLAW
That woman and Kupka, in his eyes, were monsters and little else. They could not be reasoned with, for they were horrible human beings that would hurt people without care. Much like Barnabas, the world was better off with them dead. He didn't mind the existence of Dominants such as Jill or Dion, however. Jill had just wanted to be left to her life, while Dion would have no reason to use his abilities if not for the Empire's obsession with expansion. Then, of course, there was Joshua. A gentle soul belonging to a nation that did not seek out war if it did not have to. Not perfect, no... But if Joshua had been allowed to use his power to heal all that came to him, he would have gladly spent his life doing so. He was the perfect example of what a Dominant should be...
And why he could never begrudge Joshua for inheriting the Phoenix's blessing and not him. None of it was Joshua's fault, he did not make their traditions, and he was not responsible for Annabella scorning him. He had been chosen to do his part, and he did it better than anyone ever could have hoped. If only the Empire hadn't invaded, if not for Ultima... Oh, what a ruler Joshua would have been.
"If Barnabas appears and begins his bloodletting, he will have to be dealt with quickly," Clive agreed to Dion's appraisal of the Dominant of Odin. "The longer he is allowed to walk free, the more that will suffer. We need to go after him the moment word reaches."
He did not fear Odin. But he had enough scars to know how much of a problem that Barnabas would be if he were to appear. He would not allow it. All traces of Ultima and their pawns needed to be wiped out for good, if this world, or any world, were to be safe. He didn't care how many times he had to kill Ultima, or Barnabas, Kupka, Benedikta, or any of them to ensure that those he loved who came to this world would be safe. Just Mid being here was enough reason for Clive to take up the sword. If he had to, they would die, and his loved ones could enjoy the peace they had long fought so hard for. And if he had to choose someone to fight that fight with him, Dion would rank top amongst them. He abhorred his Empire, and detested his father, but he could not deny that Dion was as strong as he was reliable. Dion was true to his word, and Clive held that in high regard.
He did his ask for anyone in particular amongst the Dragoons, however. Instead, while he told him to trust in his dragoons, and Clive nodded to acknowledge that, it was who he did ask for that caused Clive to look away. An attempt to hide that look of pure, absolute contempt that shown the moment he even broached the idea of doing anything to his father but stabbing him. Clive held a deep, deep contempt for the late Emperor. By all counts, the Emperor deserved to die again if he were to be sent here. Clive wanted to stab him personally, and even by practical counts, he was too dangerous to let roam free. To Clive, he was just as much a monster as the others.
Because it took a monster to do what he had done.
A shutter of the eyes, a long, deep breath. Those came and went as Clive allowed himself to calm down long enough to answer Dion's request with as clear a mind as humanly possible in a circumstance where Dion had just asked him to do what should be impossible. Did he want him to spare Annabella too? Maybe Ultima while he was at it?
"Fine."
That visibly pained him to say, but Dion had earned that boon after everything. "He gets one chance. If he wastes it, I'll ensure he doesn't hurt a soul again."
Personally, he hoped the Emperor stayed dead. He was a greedy, selfish bastard who didn't care how many lives were lost for his aims. Clive had seen far more of that pompous -fuck- than he had ever wanted to while experiencing Dion's memories before priming. If Zephon's gods knew what was good for them, he, Ultima and the others would rot uninterrupted.
[attr=class,bulk] Dion lowered his head. ”Thank you.” What else could he say? He knew the gravity of his request. While some part of him longed to explain himself – that while his father had been neither the perfect emperor nor parent, that he had been the only father he had ever known – he knew better than to make apologetics for a man who had wronged Clive so deeply.
His father had wronged much of Valisthea in the same way, and though Dion still whole-heartedly believed him to have acted under undue influences, he could not argue the results. His father, emperor of Sanbreque, had ordered the attack on Phoenix Gate. He had annexed Rosaria under false pretenses, had disregarded a historic peace agreement in his flagrant conquest of the Crystalline Dominion, and had raged war against Dalmekia in Valisthea’s most turbulent times. He had even ordered the deaths of his own people by Bahamut’s hands.
Dion knew all of this, but he could not hate him. He felt too much love for that.
And so he said nothing. Only ’thank you,’ for there was nothing else to say. Even the request, he knew, had strained his already tense relationship with Clive Rosfield.
”It’s strange,” he said slowly. ”That you and I differ so greatly. We began life in such similar circumstances. We have suffered at many of the same hands. And yet…” Dion shook his head. ”I can’t help but wonder how it could have been if fate had not been set so awry. If our nations had continued on as allies, we could have been friends, I think. I would have liked very much to have met you in the sparring ring and set my skills against a shield of Rosaria.”
Post by Clive Rosfield on Jul 26, 2024 9:48:04 GMT -6
THE OUTLAW
Clive didn’t like Dion’s request. Never in a million years, would he like his request. The late Emperor of Sanbreque was a greedy, selfish, racist, traitorous monster who barely qualified as a man. The pain and suffering he had inflicted on not just his own family, but on the people of Rosaria as a whole, was insurmountable. Clive had no clue what he would do if he had the chance to cut him down right in front of him. He would try for Dion’s sake, but… He didn’t know if he could do it. But the request had been made, and Clive had sworn to do his utmost. Hopefully it would never come to that. If there was any justice in this world, the bastard would rot in hell, alongside Ultima.
But what came next, as Dion spoke of their differences, despite their backgrounds… Actually got a trace of a chuckle out of the man who bore Ifrit.
“We differ less than you think.”
It was strange of him to say that, perhaps. And maybe Clive should have just kept his mouth shut, even he knew that. Especially as…
“We were both slaves to the Empire for our magic, pressured to use it for war. In a country conditioned to hate magic — to see its bearers as tools and nothing more – no title will change that fact.”
That. He didn’t think Dion would like to hear that. But it was how he saw him, and if he wanted to ever mend things with Dion after all their families had been through, he knew that he should be honest with His Highness. Even if he wasn’t the best at communicating it, he did want Dion to understand how he felt. In a way, Dion was a kindred spirit. He had been the Crown Prince, sure, but aside from how they were treated on the surface… Were they really all that different? Did it matter if one had command of troops or not, or if one cage was a bit more ornate than the other? A cage was still a cage.
“It was an order we both broke free from, marshaling those who would followed us in a bid to do right by the ones who believed in us,” Clive continued, hoping Dion wouldn’t resent him for that thought. “Tomes — Harpocrates, believed in you, as Cid did for me. We both sought to do them proud, to do right by Valisthea’s people, no matter who despised us for it. You, in your rebellion. And myself in mine… And it was that same path which brought us to the same fight against Ultima.”
And the same fate, as well.
“There are differences. We grew up under different kinds of people, who saw the world in different ways. But we still wound up in the same place, with the same goal. I would like to think that counts for something,” Clive tried to wrap up that thought as gracefully as possible. He had been far too removed from noble life to put things as… Cordially, as he once had, but he did try. He hadn’t forgotten Dion’s wistful statement, however, and he had to admit. Part of him did kind of wish…
“But if the alliance could have remained… I think that would have been nice,” Clive agreed, though ultimately reality would have stood in the way. “I don’t know if our peace stood a chance. Sanbreque and Rosaria were too different when it comes to how we saw Bearers, our people, and how we saw other nations. Not as different as I would have liked, but enough nonetheless. Sanbreque’s old…”
He wanted to say something really profane and likely very offensive about Sanbreque’s Emperor and his council of old bureaucrats. But Clive still had some royal upbringing left that hadn’t been literally kicked out of him. Part of him still knew better, at least somewhat. “… Older generation; would have wanted us annexed eventually, regardless of outside involvement.”
He turned to look to Dion, then. “Though, perhaps I’m wrong. There was one chance I think, for peace. And that was you, Prince Dion. You are a Dominant, able to identify with man and mage both. Conditioned the same as the Empire’s people, perhaps, but you lack their cruelty. There’s a pureness to you, perhaps a little naive but…”
Clive awkwardly laughed a little at that, before his voice grew quiet. “Truthfully, I think that’s what the Empire needed. If the alliance had held long enough for your ascension, perhaps you and I would be sitting at tea right now. Or in the sparring ring.”
Clive stared back down at the table, taking a deep breath as he closed his eyes. He missed Rosaria, his father, Joshua… All of it. He missed them dearly. Things had to change, perhaps… But did it have to come at such a cost?
“Even I’m not immune to wishing for what could have been.”
But the past was past. And all he could think of now was ensuring the people here did not suffer as they did. But, he liked to think, as well… If Dion kept that pure, burning desire to do right in his heart… Well, Clive wanted to be confident they could do just that.
