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Post by Sir Terence on Dec 20, 2023 7:24:14 GMT -6
Sir Terence Beaufoy
Human | 28 | 5'9" x 160 | M | Soldier
It is.. not easy, to go on after someone dear passed away. This, Terence knew all to well. There was this constant ache in his chest, that often took his breath away. It made him feel weak, his body heavier than it should and terribly stiff. At times, he would even lose consciousness because of these sudden attacks of pain and breathlessness. Yet he tried. He tried with all he had to keep on going. He knew that, when the time came, his deeply adored Prince would come for him.
Although he did come visit him in dreams every single night.
At times he would see him happy, alive and well, and they would love each other like many other times before. But then he would wake, and know it could never happen again. Other times, he simply tended to his wounds, only to wake up and know that if he hadn't let him go, his wounds would not have been fatal that day. He would not have died.
Yet again, Terence could not do that to him. He could not beg him to stay, not more than he had done. Not after he heard just how much Dion wanted to use his own strength, and his strength alone, to atone for what he had done while controlled by Ultima. He could only wait, knowing his lover would be in grave danger, but hoping he still would defy fate and reunite with him. And then he heard of the fall of Bahamut. And Dion never came back.
What was he supposed to do? Dion would never forgive him for taking his own life. So, no matter how strongly he longed for him, no matter how dreadful it was to live, he would stay. He had to. Dion had entrusted that girl to him, and although it was incredibly hard to even just lay there and exist most of the times, he could not let himself go, in honor of his love. No matter how scary, destabilizing and generally terrible it was to be without him. For him, he would endure it all.
His thoughts had been breathtaking for the entire day, enough for him to be unable to calm down. He had fainted in the middle of nowhere after one of his usual episodes of breathlessness. After he awakened, feeling heavy and with his lungs and chest aching, he dragged himself back "home". He had been lucky, as it was getting dark and some wild beast could have found him while unconscious. One part of him wished it had, but only for a moment. He shook his head to let the thought fade away.
When he arrived home, he had no strength or will to do anything. He tried to force himself to eat some of the soup the girl had left for him, but it did not manage to stay inside his stomach for long. He ran outside, and coughed up his entire being onto the ground. As soon as his stomach finally settled, he did his best to drag himself back in once again. He washed his mouth with some water, then laid on his bed. He would not sleep -he did not want to-, but at least perhaps he could rest. His mind wandered to his lost lover.
Months had passed, and the pain was still as vivid as the first day. Like having a knife stuck in his chest. He wanted to resent Dion, he would have preferred to hate him and stop suffering, but he just couldn't. He loved him, and he could do nothing about it. He could only keep dragging himself onwards. For Dion, for the girl.. for.. something. The must be something worth living for, even without him. He just could not find it yet.
He ended up crying himself to sleep like many other times before. Had he known he was about to fall into slumber, he would have been terrified. Yet he opened his eyes without even knowing when he had closed them.
The surroundings were unfamiliar to him. Slowly, he sat up, looking around. What an odd dream. He had never dreamt of such a place before, nor did he recall ever seeing it. But as he was wondering about this, he heard a voice. "Do not touch me, savage." The man said. Terence stood, and looked around. Two people were standing not too far from him, looking at each other. One was a tall, blonde man that looked extremely large - and perhaps even dangerous. He was well-dressed, clearly in a nobleman's garments.On the other side of him, there was a woman with dark hair and eyes, in a green dress. A little suggestive, perhaps. Could she be working in a brothel? Well, it did not matter.
Terence quickly walked closer and positioned himself between the two as soon as he saw the giant reach out for his scythe. Only in that moment did he notice he was wearing his armour. When had he put it on? Well, no matter. He stood before the blonde, locking eyes with him, and getting an icy cold stare in return. He would have to speak, so he forced himself to. "I will not allow you to harm this civilian!" said Terence, one hand already at the hilt of his sword. "She is not even armed!" He continued.
The man moved his gaze to the woman, then back to him. "I have only warned her." said the blonde "She would bore me.""Bore..?" Terence was confused. What exactly did the stranger mean? "No matter. Your hand has reached for your weapon. It was not a warning." The blonde sighed just slightly. "Are you supposed to be a soldier of sorts? Do you plan on boring me to death?" But Terence denied, and straightened his posture. "No. I am Sir Terence Beaufoy, Lieutenant of the Holy Order of Knights Dragoon of Sanbreque. And if you dare lay hands on the civilian behind me, I will fight you. You won't harm her as long as I draw breath."
He had to. It was his first instinct to help those in need. And Dion would never forgive him for allowing someone to get hurt when he could easily help. But oh, how wrong he was in hoping to be at the giant's level, and how quickly he understood he should not have intervened. This he realized the very moment the blonde curved his lips in the slightest hint of a smile. "Good. You want to fight." He said, then he took a couple of steps backwards and drew the scythe. "Let us fight, then. And do not disappoint me."
Terence drew his sword and shivered. There was something in that man's eyes. Something ominous, dark and terrifying. Even just the pressure he was putting on the soldier was enough for him to think that man was actually not human. A dominant, perhaps? He would not have a chance against one... But he could not waver, he could not yield. He had not managed to protect the love of his life, so he had to at the very least potect the innocent. Even at the cost of his own life, should it be necessary to let the woman have the time to escape.
He told the civilian to go, and prepared himself to dodge any attacks that giant may throw at him. But he did not even see it. The man slashed at the air, and Terence felt the blow on his armor without even noticing whatever had hit him. He widened his eyes. How? He was way too far to hit him with that weapon. Was it magic? Wind, perhaps? He had no time to think about it. He needed to get close, quickly, or he would be in a huge disadvantage. So he darted towards him, weapon in hand, attempting to dodge the man's slashes simply by getting out of his attacks' arc.
It worked. It worked, all the way, until Terence attempted to slash at the stranger. The man took a firm hold on his wrist with apparently no effort at all. Terence was startled for a moment, as the man pulled him upwards, then kicked him away. He did not land well, and hit both his back and his head against he didn't even want to know what. Still, he stood. He could not falter, he could not let the man do as he pleased. No matter the dizziness, no matter the pain.
"Is this your all?" Asked the blonde "Disappointing. I expected more from such a boastful warrior." But in reply, Terence attempted another attack. The stranger slipped away, and swiftly slashed at his exposed back, piercing through the armor, and at the very least his skin. He felt as if he was still in training. A squire. Perhaps even less. His body was stiff, his reflexes slow. How long had it been since he last had a proper fight? "You will not harm her!" He almost shouted, but at that point the blonde just raised an eyebrow."Harm who?" He said, and the absurd thing was that he truly seemed to have forgotten. "It is you who have become my prey. Come hither."
After those words, he slashed at Terence with three full blows: one from the bottom right upwards, then one horizontally from the left, and finally he rotated the scythe above his head and let it fall down upon the soldier's chest in a motion opposite to the first, piercing both his armor and his flesh. He carved a deep line from Terence's right shoulder to his left side, and the sanbrequian soldier could barely even react: he could only step backwards just enough not to be quite literally torn apart. But he was wounded, and gravely.
He fell on his knees, breathless, the pain unbearable, as the man attached the scythe to his back once again. "You truly are a disappointment. But no matter. I will find someone else to fight." he looked at the soldier for a long moment, then turned away. "Hm. The stubbornness not to die is not entirely without value. These wounds should not kill you, if you treat them quickly." he said, and then he started walking away. Terence gathered his strength and stood, ready to attack him again, but he did not have enough to lift his blade. The stranger, instead, simply left without even looking anyone in the eyes. As if it didn't bother him at all, and it was none of his concern. As if he didn't care he was the one who put him in that state.
He held on. He could not fall into slumber, or he knew full well it would have been the last time. The pain was too real for it all to be a dream. He needed to find shelter. A healer. Something. He gathered whatever strength he had left and started walking towards the settlement, as he could not stay where he was. The woman he had saved ran to call for a healer, and another person -at this point he could not even see properly, everything was turning into a blur of colorful dots- attempted to help him stay on his feet. He walked, and walked, and walked. To where? He did not know. But he could not yield. He could not yield. He could not yield.
Yet no matter how hard he tried to hold onto the thought of his lover to find the strength, there were things that prayer and determination alone could not do. So he raised his head one more time, the mirage of his lover standing far ahead of him. As he raised his arm to reach him, though, his legs failed him and he fell to the ground. He could barely feel someone's hands turn him around, and voices and faces - so, so many. But amidst all of them, in the delirium that clouded his mind as his soul wandered closer and closer to death's embrace, one was clear to him -and one alone. The love of his life. He could see him right before his eyes, smiling and warming his heart as only he could do.
"Finally.." Terence whispered, with a soft smile painted on his lips "You've finally.. come to take me.. my love." He looked into his eyes, brimming with happiness even though he did not have enough strength to show it. "At long last.." He tried his best to stay awake. Only to be able to look at him for a moment longer. But his body could not hold on any longer. "Together.. Again." He whispered peacefully, his voice almost inaudible, before his consciousness faded away.
[attr=class,bulk] Dion’s thoughts were troubled as he roamed the many narrow streets and canals of the city he now called home. It was a strange feeling, this unfettered roaming. There were no eyes upon him except in passing. Without his lance and armor, he appeared as nothing more than he was – a man, taller than average perhaps, with amber eyes and a naturally confident gait that had been practically beaten into him by his tutors in etiquette and politics. He would watch the common people pass as they went about their daily lives, their gazes lighting on him and then passing away just as his passed from theirs. It was a strange feeling, almost bizarre in nature.
He had never been free of movement. Not like this.
He remembered once when he and Terence had been called back to Whitewyrm Castle at his father’s request. They had been only boys then though armed with spears and the company of dragoon knights, they had thought themselves men. Terence had told him that he’d never visited the city of Oriflamme before and Dion had admitted that though he had lived in the city all his life prior to his military service that he too had never truly visited, locked away as he had been behind the walls of the castle. It was then that Terence had hatched a plan.
Dion did not know exactly where he had procured the cloaks which would hide their faces, but they used them to abscond like thieves into the night, using their dragoon training to jump nimbly from the castle’s walls and spires until they reached the city streets below. Dion had stared in wonder at the lives of the common people, at their stores and their gossip and the way that they danced openly, without poise or purpose, simply to the rhythm of the drumming of their hearts. He had seized Terence’s hand and dragged him about, wishing that night could last forever, if only they could show their faces.
They had been but boys then though they had thought themselves men. How time had changed them. Time and responsibility. Now Dion could show his face openly for there were none here that knew it. He was a prince of no nation. He no longer carried the expectations of Bahamut, champion of his people, upon his shoulders. It was all he had ever wanted as a boy, not yet a man, but he had grown since then, and now he knew that this life was not for him.
Eventually, his wandering brought him to the outskirts of the city where the narrow streets widened into dirt roads and the multistory tenements gave way to open fields of wheat and barley. Still, his feet carried him forward on this dry, hot day with wind that hinted at the changing of the seasons. Soon, the harvest would begin and farmers would be hard at work, carrying bundles of crops onto chocobo-drawn wagons. This would provide them with the means of life for themselves and their families, and in this way, they had their purpose.
But what of himself? Here? Now? Clive Rosfield’s advice echoed like a dark reflection through his thoughts.
’If I can protect this world the same as Valisthea, I will do so. It is only right that I do right by them. As for yourself, Your Highness, what you do now is yours to dictate.’
Dion had been born to die for his people. This had been his purpose from the start, whether he’d known it or not, and he’d learned rather quickly. His tomb had been constructed before his cradle. The priests had carved it with his name – Dion of the House Lesage – and his date of birth – 850. All it awaited was a date of death and the remains to fill it, be they flesh or stone. Then he would be sealed away in the Vault of Bahamut so that future generations of dominants could enter and gaze upon his sarcophagus in holy contemplation.
All of this, he had known. All of this, he had accepted. But now, what was there?
His feet continued down the road, his boots kicking up dry dirt and dust as he went. He had no destination in mind, merely pacing like a caged animal though there were no longer bars to hold him. His eyes wandered often to the sky where he had once found solace. So lost was he in his own dreadful thoughts that he did not notice the crowd until he was practically among them. He heard their whispers among these farmers and travelers and traders, and he frowned as he peered past them towards the form they kept almost entirely out of view.
”He saved me! This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t-!”
”Poor lad. I doubt there’s a healer in the city who could help him now. Not that there’d be time to get him to one.”
”We can take him to my house down the road. Get him out of the street at least. Best we can do.”
It was then that Dion saw him, lying there limp in the dust and the dirt, hair askew, armor torn asunder, pooling in thick, dark blood.
And time seemed to stand still.
”Terence…?” Dion pushed forward as though in a dream, first cautiously and then roughly shoving the bystanders aside. There was nothing that existed now. Nothing but him lying in the road, lips pale and chapped and bloodless. Dion felt himself collapse, falling to his knees beside him. He touched his chest, his neck, his cheek. He lifted Terence’s head though his love did not gaze back at him. His eyes were half-closed and glazed with unconsciousness. His lips, deathly still, almost seemed to be smiling.
”Terence!” Dion’s voice broke as he brought Terence closer, staring into those glazed, unseeing eyes. ”I am here! Please, stay with me! You promised…”
A weight fell upon his shoulder. A hand. ”We can move him somewhere quieter if you’d like. For the both of you.”
”Stay away!” Dion thrust the hand aside and grabbed Terence by the shoulders, lifting him to his chest in a tight embrace. His hands slicked on blood. Dion pressed his face into Terence’s neck and felt a heartbeat, weak and frail. “No. Not like this. Not like-!”
Cold adrenaline engulfed his own pounding heart. It drummed in his ears and made his mouth go dry. He felt a sob escape him, his shoulders trembling.
And with it, came the light.
Bahamut stirred within him, surging with his holy might. It was too much. All too much. His thoughts and the eikon’s and his pounding heart and the weight of Terence, lifeless in his arms.
’My love-’
’My dearest subject-’
’What became of you?’
’They shall be punished for their insolence!’
’I shall not let you go!’
’You have served me well.’
’No matter what it takes-’
’Worry not for-’
’I shall-’
’-save you!’
With that, the two became one, clicking into place as the light overcame him, surging forth with a power all its own, and Dion cried out in agony as his vision tinted blue then yellow then blue again and there were shouts of alarm and the scrambling of running feet and from his back sprouted a pair of wings – ethereal at first before they took solid form, wide and jagged and leathered. Horns sprouted from his temples, arching above him like a crown, and the light pulsed through him, streaking through his hair and pooling at his forehead like a third eye.
Someone screamed. There was the slick metallic sound of a sword being drawn. It did not matter. All that existed now was Terence – Terence and his mission and Bahamut and his power. He placed an arm beneath Terence’s knees, his gloves transformed with thick scales and wicked claws, and gently lifted him as though the weight of his body and his armor were nothing more than a child’s. Then he launched himself into the air with inhuman strength, and at the peak of this height, he unfurled his wings.
Like this, they flew. Like this, they soared above the city – Dion, Bahamut, and Terence. The townspeople cried out. There were cries of a dragon circling ahead. Demands for archers or mages. None of it mattered.
’Let them try,’ growled a voice just behind Dion’s fangs. ’We shall smite them in holy fire!’
At last, they reached their destination, and Dion shot like an arrow towards the earth, spreading his wings at the last moment to slow his descent so that he could take to the ground at a run. He burst through the doors of the clinic, nearly tearing them off their hinges in his urgency, and there were shouts of surprise and fear from the people in the lobby.
”Yuna! Monori!” His voice was layered. Dion’s – urgent and desperate. Bahamut’s – a booming roar. ”I need a healer! Please!”
He gazed into Terence’s face. Terence, the boy who always snored just a little on the military cot beside him. Terence, whose glances could hold a conversation’s worth of meanings and who laughed when Dion kissed the hollow of his neck. ”I shall stay by your side,” Dion whispered. ”Always.”
[attr=class,bulk] Yuna had just been thinking about taking lunch when the front door of the clinic suddenly burst open so violently that it banged against the opposite wall and left cracks in the plaster. There were shouts from the people waiting in the lobby, and Yuna tightened her grip on her staff as something scaly rushed inside. The draconic humanoid called her name in a gravelly voice, and as her eyes lit on the injured man in his grasp, Yuna frowned and stepped forward.
“I am Yuna, sir. I’ll take him if you can bring him to-...” She had been gesturing towards the now empty room behind her, but her voice trailed off as she registered something familiar about his voice. Even if there was currently an inhuman element to it. “...Dion?” Now that she saw the prince under the horns and wings, she didn’t know how she had mistaken him for a stranger. The dragon motifs covering his armor suddenly made a lot more sense too, but she wondered why he had never mentioned that he could change his form. “You’re a fayth?” She asked with no small amount of wonder. That wouldn’t have made any sense on Spira because Dion was very much alive, and the aeons were all humans who had sacrificed their lives. Still, he must have been the Valisthea equivalent of a fayth—perhaps even Bahamut given his dragon-like appearance. Completely out of habit, Yuna circled her hands and dipped forward into a traditional Yevon bow before she suddenly remembered the man in his arms and shook her head. “I’m sorry. Let’s go to the back.” The impossibility in front of her could wait when someone was dying.
Yuna walked into the free exam room, trusting that Dion would follow her. She only paused to look over at the reception desk to see if Lyari had everyone else covered. He gave her a weak thumbs up that told her he wasn’t comfortable with whatever was going on here, but hopefully he’d at least be able to calm down everyone who was left in the lobby. Yuna shut the door firmly behind them so that they’d have some privacy. Both for the injured man and for Dion who was still looking a lot more scaly than usual.
“We’ll need to remove his armor so that I can get to the worst of it, but I’ll start more generally,” Yuna murmured to Dion as she leaned over the unconscious brunette and outstretched a hand. “Curaga.” She worked quietly at healing him for a bit, noting that his armor resembled what Dion had been wearing when he had first been brought to her. “His wounds are deep, but I’ll do everything I can. You found someone from your home already...I'm just sorry it was like this.” Given the circumstances, she was also resisting the urge to squint over at the prince and ask just when he had been planning to tell her that he was Bahamut, the greatest of the aeons that hadn’t been lost to time. That didn’t seem at all appropriate while there was an injured man between them, but she was absolutely going to let him have it if the brunette man pulled through today. Come to think of it, Yuna still hadn’t given Dion a piece of her mind after he’d left and gotten injured a second time, since Monori had been the one to heal him then. She supposed that she had a lot on the backburner to yell at the blond man for.
After several spells, the man on the bed started to stir as he slowly regained consciousness, and Yuna interrupted her thoughts to smile slightly and take a step back. She still had plenty of work to do on him, but given how terrified Dion had seemed, the two would probably want some privacy first.
When he opened his eyes, he could barely think straight. He remembered a fight that felt more like a one-way beating, then some blurred images accompanied by unbearable pain. And then Dion. He tought his lover had come to take him away, to bring him to their next life together. But now he was awake. In a terrible situation health-wise, that he could definitely feel, but awake. Which meant he was not dead. Which meant Dion had not truly come.
Then he saw him, right there, looking at him. And he could not help but chuckle. "I have gone mad. I have finally gone mad." He muttered to himself. His voice was faint, barely more than a whisper. "You are only inside my head, aren't you?" He looked away and sighed. "Why am I still alive, my love? I thought you would come to take me with you.. I thought we would finally be together.. And here I am, speaking to a ghost, when I've barely spoken to anyone ever since you..." He interrupted himself and stared at the ceiling, not really daring to move too much or finish that sentence. He could feel his eyes water, his vision blur. "Why must I live without you? Why must I bear this pain every day, every moment I breathe? ... But you would never forgive me had I chosen to take my own life, would you?"
Slowly, he sat up. The physical pain was much, but his heart ached more. "Why can't I be with you? Why must you linger in my dreams and thoughts and heart and-" he stopped, positioning a hand on his heart. It hurt. It hurt unbearably. To the point where he could not breathe. "Ah, not again.." he whispered, closing his eyes as hard as he could. He knew how this would go. He knew he would not be able to calm down, to breathe regularly, to stop shaking and crying. As his breathing gradually became irregular, he wrapped his arms around himself in the desperate attempt to calm down. He was alone. Alone, and cold, and afraid, and in pain and completely overwhelmed. And he only wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. But he could not breathe -even if he was taking in so much air he felt dizzy.
[attr=class,bulk] Yuna. His eyes caught on her, rushing forward with her staff and it was only with great restraint that he did not dash towards her, thrusting Terence upon her without preamble, his blazing blue eyes rimmed with unshed tears.
She greeted him as a stranger, polite and professional. Then her brow furrowed in confusion before she finally recognized him.
This did nothing to assuage her confusion.
He called him by a term which he did not know. She straightened in respect and then bowed before him. Within him, Bahamut held his head high, pleased at this show of reverence from his subject. Dion, however, could not keep the desperation from his layered voice as he cried out, ”Please!”
It was almost child-like, his pleas, if that child bore the undertones of a demon in angelic form. Yuna quickly remembered herself, and her expression turned professional and urgent once more.
She ushered him into an empty room, and he hurried inside, laying Terence upon the bed with as gentle a touch as his draconic strength could muster. He gazed down upon his lifeless form, head lolled to the side, cracked lips partially open with the rattle of his breaths, and he felt something break inside of him. If Yuna could not save him…If he was beyond the aid of magic then…
Then…
Yuna’s voice startled him from his thoughts, and he nodded numbly. Of course. Of course, Terence’s armor would need to be removed. As Yuna casted her spells, Dion set to work on removing Terence’s pauldron only to find that his thickened, scaly fingers tipped with their talon-like claws could not work the buckle.
Dion took a long breath. Channeling Bahamut’s form had been second nature, an accident in his agony. Even still, the king of dragons pulsed with every beat of his pounding heart, his light flooding him with the desire to kill to fight to make them pay, whoever “they” might be.
Such power was intoxicating, and Dion struggled to keep his own consciousness afloat above the waves. The time for strength was done. For now, there was none to fight. He could not protect Terence with this light when disaster had already struck him in Dion’s absence. For now, he was powerless to his fate.
It was this powerlessness which he must accept, and he did, closing his eyes, willing his heart to slow and the light dim. Gradually, he felt himself diminish. His leathery wings lost their form until they were but silver shadows upon his back which then dissipated to nothing. His horns shattered and his fangs retreated and scales melted away. When Dion’s eyes opened once more, his vision was no longer tinged in blue.
Exhaustion struck him so violently that his knees nearly buckled, but he merely gripped the side of the bed, taking a moment to steady himself before he began his silent work on Terence’s armor once more.
His fingers trembled as they undid the many buckles and straps which held Terence’s armor in place. Was his trembling from exhaustion? From fear? He did not know, but he thanked Greagor that he was so accustomed to this ritual, helping Terence from his armor after a long day of military life as Terence aided him with his own. He was able to free Terence of it with little difficulty, setting each small piece aside before carefully sliding his breastplate over his head, hoping as he did so that it would not cause him pain.
A ridiculous thought when Terence was decidedly unconscious.
He said nothing as Yuna worked. She promised to do all she could, a promise he knew she intended to keep. He was grateful towards her, regardless of the outcome, but he could not bring himself to mutter even a word of thanks. His throat was closed tight, his eyes unwavering from Terence’s face. Dion was powerless. He did not have the healing fire of the Phoenix on his side. His power wrought only destruction, and so he could do naught but wait.
And then Terence stirred.
Dion’s eyes widened. He felt drawn towards him, his unbearable exhaustion all but forgotten. Yuna, too, seemed to fade as though there was nothing else in the world but this. Just him and the stirring form of the man he loved, brought from the brink of death back to him again.
Terence’s eyes opened slowly, half-glazed from weakness and pain. Dion smiled back at him, a smile of relief and pain all at once. He would live. Or if he would not live then he would at least live long enough that Dion could spend this time at his side. Slowly, Terence’s dark eyes found his and Terence let out a half-delirious chuckle. ”I have gone mad,” he croaked. ”I have finally gone mad.”
Dion’s smile turned in confusion until finally he understood. His expression was overtaken by concern and then anguish and then the deepest of shame.
Was this…the life to which he had condemned his love?
Terence struggled to a sitting position before the pain overtook him and he placed a hand to his heart, eyes locked closed. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and the sight broke every thread of Dion’s composure. There was nothing, nothing, more important than this.
He placed a hand upon Terence’s chest and pushed him back, gentle yet firm. ”You must rest. Your wounds are not healed.” Dion’s voice threatened to tremble just as his fingers threatened to tremble and his knees lacked the strength to carry him. Still, he persisted. ”Take my hand,” he said softly as he threaded his fingers through Terence’s own. He leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together as they had so many times before, and Dion breathed in the smell of him, like fresh earth and chestnuts.
”I am here,” he said through his own tightened throat. ”By the grace of Greagor, my life was spared, and by that same grace we have been united once more.” Dion felt his eyes burn with warmth. Finally, tears spilled from them, streaming down his nose until they fell upon Terence’s cheek.
”I shall not leave your side. Not now, and not ever again.”
Post by Sir Terence on Jan 11, 2024 18:12:48 GMT -6
Sir Terence Beaufoy
Human | 28 | 5'9" x 160 | M | Soldier
Terence tried his best not to be overwhelmed by emotions, even if he knew full well that this would not go any different from every single other episode of breathlessness he had faced before. That was until, much to his surprise, he felt Dion's hand. And then he heard his voice. And then he felt his lover's fingers thread with his own and then his forehead and his scent and his tears. It was all so different - enough for Terence to stop crying for a moment and just witness the events unfold in utter confusion.
Then he heard them. The words he had longed to hear ever since Dion had told him he would be left behind. Not now and not ever again. And these very words brought Terence to hesitantly use his free hand to cup the blonde's cheek. He gently rubbed it with his thumb. "Great Greagor.. It truly is you, isn't it?" He whispered. "My Dion." he went on as his hand slowly fell back down to rest. "My Prince." he continued, trembling, as his eyes watered once again and his voice cracked. "My love, my reason, my everything."
It took only one moment longer for him to throw himself on his lover's lips. He needed to feel him just as much as a breathless man would need air. Terence could not help but feel that Dion was the air to his drowning soul. And thus did he extend his hand again, letting his fingers run through his golden hair and then keeping him close by wrapping his arm around the man's shoulders. He would not dare let go of him until the pain from his wounds would be too much to bear. Even then, he would only wince and squeeze Dion's shoulder, perhaps a little (or more than a little) stronger than he had intended - for what strength he could use, at least.
He would not let go unless forced to. He could not bear another illusion, another separation. It didn't matter if this all felt different, it didn't matter if something deep within his soul was telling him this was all real. He could not bear to wake up and find out he had dreamed it all yet another time. He refused. He refused to let go.
[attr=class,bulk] Dion felt a hand upon his cheek. He felt the gentle motion of a calloused thumb against it. He felt Terence. How familiar it all was! It was as though an emptiness within him had been filled. As though he had finally found his way home.
Terence’s voice was nothing but a hoarse whisper. ”Great Greagor. It truly is you, isn’t it? My Dion.”
Dion’s heart leapt into his throat the way it always did when Terence called him by name. It was an uncouth act. A practically heretical one, and yet, it was an act of warmth and love, a recognition of himself which could rarely be muttered aloud. Terence’s hand fell from his cheek as he muttered, ”My Prince.”
Dion laughed weakly, his relief nearly cracking his voice as he answered, ”My Knight.”
’My love, my reason, my everything.’
Yes. This was how it should be. How it always should have been. They could speak freely now with no witnesses to hurry their gossip to the Imperial courts. They could speak freely. They could love freely.
Terence threw himself upon him, and while Dion knew that he should caution against it, that he should push him away and demand that he rest, he was powerless against the pull of his heart. He wrapped Terence in an embrace of his own, heedless of the blood which would stain him nor of the weakness in his arms from the exertion of Bahamut’s light. He pulled him closer, ever closer, as though they might unite their hearts as one. Terence’s cracked lips met his own, and Dion deepened the kiss, compelled forward by love and love alone. How he had missed him! How he had missed this, the only warmth he had ever felt in his harsh life of duty and endless expectation! Terence’s hand stirred in his hair, and Dion angled his head, bringing him closer, ever closer, as though he might never let go.
”Terence,” he muttered into his lover’s lips. ”How I’ve longed for you at my side. Apologies cannot right what I have done. Please. Forgive me.”
Passion would not allow him to end this moment, and he kissed him deeply again and again as though he might drown without it. Love kept his arms wrapped firmly around him, helping to steady the wounded man and bring him ever closer to his heart. He prayed to Terence as he might to the grace of Greagor.
’Forgive me, my love. Forgive me of my sins. Forgive me for the pain I have wrought in you. Forgive my selfishness and my sacrifice. I ask only this and nothing more.’
Post by Sir Terence on Jan 21, 2024 3:28:04 GMT -6
Sir Terence Beaufoy
Human | 28 | 5'9" x 160 | M | Soldier
He did not think for even a moment that there might be someone else in that room. There were only Dion and him. So when he felt his lover embrace him, Terence set aside any doubts he might have had until that moment, recognizing his Prince's touch and warmth.
Terence wanted to say that he had forgiven everything when Dion spoke, but all was forgotten in the very moment their lips met again. The exchange brought from their love blew anything else away - that was, until the pain started to be too much to bear once again. At first he just tightened his grip on Dion's shoulder, but eventually he was forced by that same pain and a sudden dizziness to let go. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes tight with a pained expression, which he kept for a while before the pain subsided enough for him to bear it again.
He was ashamed of feeling so weak, but at the same time he did realize his life had been on the line -and probably still was. So, as soon as a little bit of the pain let him be, he tried his best to keep his composure and looked at Dion with a slight smile. "There is no need.. to ask for forgiveness." He said slowly, trying not to let his voice betray him and show just how terrible his body felt. "All was forgiven.. when you said.. 'never again'."
He knew this was all real, but one small part of him was still afraid it would all dissolve in the blink of an eye as soon as he looked away. But a moment later, in seeing Dion covered in his blood, he chuckled faintly. "You need.. a bath." He said, ad playfully as his weakness could let him, then he tried to reach for his lover's hand again and looked in his eyes. "But you're still a heavenly vision." He could not help it. Every time he looked at Dion it felt as if his heart could leap out of his chest. He took his breath away in the best possible meaning of the words.
For a moment, his mind flew back to their kiss, and then to the last time he had seen Dion without bloodstains, armour, and whatever other piece of clothing. Had he not be wounded.. But as soon as he realized to where his mind was drifting, he looked away, his cheeks slightly more colored than before. It was not the time, nor the place.
[attr=class,bulk] ”Terence?” Dion felt his love stiffen in his arms. He felt the short, warm huffs of his labored breath against his neck, and in an instant he understood. He gazed upon Terence in horror as his knight pushed himself away and lay back where he should have remained – resting with his still grievous wounds. Terence, as always, tried to play off his own pain even as he could hardly find his voice between the spasms of it.
”Forgive me.” The words fell out of his mouth once more, a tumbling, desperate plea. ”Forgive me my passions. I should have known better. To risk your health for my longing of you…” He felt his cheeks redden as shame overtook him. Terence may have worn a strong visage, but Dion was no fool. He knew it was all for his sake. As always, his knight sought to shield him from his burdens. Even so, Dion could not help a short, breathless laugh at the man’s jests.
”You flatter me,” he insisted, and a traitorous smile crossed his lips. He should not be smiling at a time so dire as this, but Terence had that way about him. Even at death’s door, he was a light stronger than any which Dion wielded at his command. It threatened to blind him to reality.
A reality which was slowly shifting into focus. Dion started as though only just remembering himself, and he looked up at their unwitting audience with a look somewhere between surprise and mortification.
”Ah,” he started only to find that words had abandoned him as readily as his self-control. He lowered his eyes from Yuna’s youthful professionalism and cleared his throat awkwardly. ”Yuna, this is Terence. My…knight.” Yes, his knight. Only his knight. What good was the pretense now when she had seen them bear their hearts in the throes of passion? Still, Dion tried at some semblance of composure.
”Terence, this is Yuna. She is a skilled healer.” He paused before fixing him with a meaningful look. ”This place is not Valisthea. Magic runs freely here, and its wielders are revered for their talents. Yuna is no exception.”
He hoped that his implication was clear. Yuna was no Bearer, not culturally speaking at least. He wished to spare Terence the same shock and confusion that Dion had felt when he’d lain bedridden in this very clinic. Thankfully, Dion had managed to stifle any words which might incriminate him of his thoughts. He thanked Greagor he had not offended the healer and her kind, gentle gaze.
”Rest.” Dion took Terence’s calloused hand in his own and squeezed it reassuringly. ”I shall not leave your side. Though perhaps I am in need of a chair.” It was Dion’s turn to jest, his lips quirking slightly. After all the events of the morning, it felt strange that it should end this way, sitting patiently at Terence’s side, but there was no other end which did not threaten to strike his heart. Dion forced himself to breathe, slowly and quietly.
He banished the last echoes of Bahamut from his mind. This was no place to entertain the Dragon’s thoughts. There was only Terence, and whatever Terence might need of him, Dion would provide.
Post by Sir Terence on Apr 11, 2024 10:35:13 GMT -6
Sir Terence Beaufoy
Human | 28 | 5'9" x 160 | M | Soldier
In hearing his lover ask for forgiveness, Terence shook his head slightly. "Don't." he replied "I could have stopped you at.. any given time. And I have." he soon added. He lost himself in thought for a few moments, until Dion's voice brought him back to the present. When he heard the prince call someone's name, he tilted his head to follow his gaze, laying eyes on the figure of a young woman with dark hair. As his face reddened up to the tip of his ears, Terence stared quietly at the girl. "Oh." he muttered in surprise, and then he tried to sit up - failing miserably. He winced, then laid back down with a whimper. Out of embarassment, he had forgotten his wounds for a moment.
"Forgive me, lady Yuna... I would stand and salute you properly.. but I appear to be... in no condition to do so." He then said slowly, with an apologetic smile on his lips. Then he turned to face Dion as he told him they were not in Valisthea. His eyes widened in surprise and confusion. If the place was not Valisthea, and magic could run freely, and the wielders of such an incredible power were not feared or subdued but respected and revered... then was he truly still dreaming? Was it all another wound for his soul to attempt to heal from? But his prince, he was there. Terence could feel his hand, his warmth, he could still taste their previous kiss.
His skin crawled as the man who almost killed him crossed his mind again. Remembering the look in his eyes - those terrifying blue eyes, cold as ice yet fiery as a predator's - made him shiver. "Great Greagor." he muttered, in barely more than a whisper, before turning to Dion with a deeply concerned expression on his face. He still spoke slowly, but his weakness could not stop or conceal his worry. "Is the civilian safe? Did that monster harm her?" he asked. "Had I not forsaken my training.." He was about to say he could have done better, but he hesitated. He wanted to believe that in better condition he could have beaten that giant, but he was fairly sure of the opposite being true. "No. I could not have stopped him either way... Not even in my wildest dreams."
He closed his eyes with a pained expression. "He was a monster. Nothing I could ever have handled... but.." He looked at Dion again. "I'm sorry... I could not bring myself to let her die... I could not bring myself to run... It would go against everything I believe in - everything I have always fought for." It was frightening to think that Dion might be furious at him because he almost died, but at the same time the knight believed he of all people could understand that feeling: having to fight a battle he knew he could not win. "I did not mean to worry you. I.. I thought your soul would never forgive me for.. for avoiding intervention."
