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year 5, quarter 3
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[attr=class,bulk] The woman who turned to face him was simply clad with warm eyes and a cascade of brown hair that was braided in the front and tied to keep it from her eyes. She looked like a farmer’s daughter in any rural town of Sanbreque, the kind whose youthful beauty would leave his men pining while he stifled an exasperated sigh. Here, however, there were no soldiers under his command. It was only him, this woman, and a child he had not noticed before.
The child stared at him with an expression somewhere between wonder and caution. The woman, Nerissa Muireach, only smiled and asked him his name.
That question, simple as it was, had long carried the weight of expectation and titles that now meant nothing. Indeed, he felt himself hesitate before he brought himself to full height again and extended his hand. ”Dion Lesage,” he answered. His own name sounded bare without its usual complications. ’Prince, Dominant of Bahamut, Warden of Light.’
It felt somehow liberated and hollow at once.
Still, Dion managed to return her soft smile. ”I owe Yuna a great debt and only hope that I can be of help to those who would seek her aid.”
He couldn’t say how well he played the part of a commoner. He had foregone his gauntlets and chainmail armor. He wore no signifiers of his status except, perhaps, for his ruby inset earrings and his conspicuously ornate lance of which he would surely have no need. He could hardly leave it unattended, however. It would fare far better stored safely inside.
Dion nearly started in surprise as his love cupped his cheeks and angled his gaze until they were intertwined. Terence had never been so forward before. He had voiced his concerns, yes. He had attempted his persuasions, but never this. Never had he so directly pleaded for Dion’s inaction.
Dion could only stare at him, unable to so much as look away from the pain in his love’s eyes. He felt that pain infect his own and reach down deep until his throat had constricted and his heart ached. Was this Terence’s true self, so long hidden behind a facade of duty and expectation? Was this how he had always felt when he had watched Dion take to the skies against each new opponent as he stood helpless but to wait for his return? Dion’s eyes lowered. It was his only defense.
”Terence…” he said again because it was all he could say. ”You have my heart. Of course you do. But I-...”
He could not finish. Any excuse felt hollow in the face of Terence’s pleading.
How could he deny him all which he asked? How could he so forsake everything he believed in?
Terence lowered his grip and instead took Dion’s hands, squeezing them tightly. It was a grounding sensation. A sharp reminder – ’I’m here.’
Never before had Terence so tested him. Never before had his love and his duty so conflicted. Dion could not raise his eyes. He could not look within Terence’s to see the agony which Dion had so caused him. How long had Terence felt as such? How long had he suffered?
In one desperate, final plea, Terence threw himself forward, heedless of his injuries, and clung to him like a life raft in a turbulent sea. ”Please, please, please don’t go,” he begged, and Dion wrapped his arms around him and held him tightly. Though Terence was far broader than him and possessed greater raw strength, Dion held him as though he could protect every ill which might befall him. He held him tightly, protectively, as though he were the knight, and Terence his prince.
Dion pressed his forehead against Terence’s and closed his eyes. ”You know my burden,” he muttered. It was hard to speak through the pain in his heart, but he soldiered on, emboldened, perhaps, by the comfort of Terence’s embrace.
”Would that I could serve you half as well as you deserve.” He brought a hand up to gently stroke Terence’s cheek. ”I make this oath to you. I shall not face him on your behalf, and I shall not do so alone.”
Dion lowered his hand and finally pulled himself away if only slightly. ”This gift, such as it is, has granted me strength possessed by no other. This is not my kingdom, it’s people not my own, yet I have strength which they do not. I cannot rest while they face such danger. I cannot betray my own virtue.”
”When last I faced him, I had not yet recovered from my injuries. I was granted mercy on the brink of death, it seems. By Greagor’s grace I was not left to perish alone, and instead, I was brought here to Yuna’s capable hands. This place…it has weakened my gift. I fought him without Bahamut’s light. Not as a dominant, but as a mere dragoon.”
Dion took an unsteady breath. He would not divulge the insanity and bloodlust he had witnessed that day nor the feral glee which had lit in the fiend’s eyes. Dion could not forget what he’d seen, but he would not burden Terence’s nightmares any further.
”I have since reconnected, but His power is weak and ill-controlled. It feels as though I am still a child, training with the astrologers while you try not to chide me for working too hard.” His lips twitched into a small smile. That small memory allowed him the strength to straighten in his seat and carefully guide Terence back to a resting position.
”I will regain my strength. I will entreat my allies for aid. I no longer stand alone.”
[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.”
[attr=class,bulk] Dion felt immediately foolish for his own self-centered worries. Terence was weakened and traumatized. He did not seem to care nor notice Dion’s confession, too lost in the moment of his attack to chide him for something so trivial. Dion reached out and took Terence’s hand, hoping that this small gesture would provide him some comfort. There was little else that he could do.
Yuna, unaware of the burden of a dominant and his eikon, expressed concern over his exposure as Bahamut. Dion smiled wryly. ”I believe that I left quite the impression,” he answered. Thankfully, the dragon’s wings had been swift, and the people below hadn’t the time to notch their arrows.
Come what may, he had no regrets. Bahamut had gifted him the strength to spare Terence’s life. If that made him a monster in the eyes of the public, then he would bear their animosity with pride.
What was done was done. He could not reassure a fearful populace. He could not erase Terence’s pain.
He could only hold tightly onto Terence’s hand, leaned in close enough to bring him some modicum of comfort. He listened with thoughts racing and rage brewing within his heart. His eyes were locked on the opposite wall. He did not speak until Terence had finished his tale, and even then he kept his silence.
This man…This monster...
He had dared...
Yuna spoke, bringing Dion’s suspicions to light. His grip tightened on Terence’s hand.
”I will end him,” he said simply. His jaw was set. His darkened eyes saw only the monster which still haunted Terence. A feral beast of a man, hulking and monstrous, wielding dark magic and a wicked scythe.
If only Dion had had the strength…
If only he hadn’t failed...
”He is a threat to all who stray upon his path. I shall face him once more and bear judgment upon him.”
[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.”
[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.
[attr=class,bulk] Terence looked as abashed as Dion felt. His dark eyes landed on Yuna and with a sudden realization, his ears reddened the way they always had whenever shame overtook him. Dion couldn’t help the fondness in his gaze at its familiarity. Any other time, he might have brushed Terence’s hair behind his ear and teased him lightly for his ease of embarrassment.
This was not one of those times.
For now, he must try to regain what little dignity still remained for him in the eyes of their healer. Then there was the matter of Valisthea…
Terence’s eyes widened at the news of their arrival in this strange place. Dion offered him a sympathetic look of his own, taking his hand and stroking the back of it softly. He could not tell what tormented his knight’s thoughts though Dion could guess. He had experienced the same news himself, after all, and it had sent him into something like depression. His own lack of purpose, his own powerlessness in the face of Valisthea’s fate, had so nearly crushed his resolve. Now Terence was beside him again, and he hoped beyond hope that he might protect his knight from suffering the same crippling blow.
After a moment, Terence muttered the lightest of curses before he locked his eyes on Dion’s, urgent and anxious. ”Is the civilian safe? Did that monster harm her?”
Dion stared back at him. His blood ran cold. ”That monster…” He could have only meant his attacker. Bahamut stirred within him, whispering his unspoken wrath upon the unjust, but Dion silenced him again.
”She is safe. I swear it.” Dion tightened his grip on Terence’s hand and offered him a weak smile. ”There was a woman beside you. She blamed herself for your wounds and offered her gratitude that you would shield her from them.”
No matter how Terence disparaged himself for his perceived weakness, he had always been strong of heart. He had proven his courage time and time again, and it came as no surprise that he had risked his own life in protection of another.
This monster though…The attacker. Dion would inquire further once Terence had fully healed.
”You did well,” Dion said gently. ”You acted bravely to defend the innocent. I could not resent you if I tried.”
Why did Terence insist on apologizing for his injuries when Dion had acted with far less regard for his own life? When he had left Terence on a mission they both knew to be tantamount to suicide?
He looked back at Yuna as she spoke, insuring him that he could stay at Terence’s side so long as he promised to sleep for the night. Dion gave a short, tired laugh. ”I shall try,” he said. If she was scandalized by such blatant displays of affection, she did not show it. In fact, she was smiling.
Dion’s fondness for the healer swelled within him. Most would not have been so approving. Her heart was a gentle one indeed.
He took the chair she offered gratefully, falling into it with a short sigh. In the heat of the moment, he had nearly forgotten his own exhaustion. His bond with Bahamut had been severed and now reforged. He felt like a wounded soldier learning to walk again, struggling with the dragon’s light as he had when he’d been nothing more than a child.
It was a strange feeling, frustrating and yet not entirely unwelcome.
Yuna began her spells again, imbuing Terence with her healing magic. She too seemed alarmed at Terence’s claims.
”I found him outside the city proper on a road near the farmlands.” Fatigue had crept into his voice. Now that he could finally rest, he could no longer keep it at bay. ”He was only semi-conscious. The people there were kind, but could offer him no aid. They claimed he would be lost, and I…” Dion winced at the memory of that pain, that panic. ”I could not retain my composure. Bahamut’s will overtook me.”
He kept his eyes down, shifted slightly to one side. He could not stand to see Terence’s concern nor his guilt. He would doubtless object to Dion’s sacrifice, hastening the curse for Terence’s sake.
”His wings were swift and Yuna acted quickly on our arrival. If I had not acted…” Dion shook his head. ”You still live. Your wounds will heal. I could ask for nothing else.”
[attr=class,bulk] For three weeks, Dion hardly left Terence’s side. He slept in Terence’s bed meant for one, his head resting on Terence’s shoulder and Terence’s arm wrapped comfortably around his waist. He insisted upon caring for Terence in all ways other than magic, and the healers agreed even if Terence was reluctant to accept. Dion had learned the art of cleaning and dressing wounds from the camp’s physickers though he had never been allowed to perform such lowly work himself. To care for another, to bathe them and bring them food and assist in their recovery was not suited for princely hands.
But he was no prince here – at least, he was a prince without a kingdom to serve – and there were no such expectations from any but the two of them. Terence might have objected on principle, but Dion delighted in the freedom of this broken taboo. Terence’s objections quickly faded once they were able to eat together, both picking off a single tray set upon Terence’s lap. Terence’s eyes closed contentedly every time that Dion brought a cloth of warm water to his bare chest in a loving, almost sensual motion. As for the caring of his wounds, Dion could think of no better suited. The act of giving rather than receiving such care was a gift that he could do nothing but cherish.
When there was nothing else, they would idle away their hours with stories. Terence, telling of the world his sacrifice had created. Dion, telling of this new world and all he had learned of it. He would also tell of the local gossip simply to pass the time, and one day as he passed through the clinic preparing another tray of food and a bag of the appropriate potions, he heard of such gossip passing through the secretary’s hands.
There had been a request – mercenarial business, it seemed, though quite unconventional at that. A local orphanage had asked for an educational visit for its children. The secretary lamented that while this was good work, they were a clinic and needed every set of hands they could muster.
Dion brought this news to Terence, and to his surprise, his knight countered with a request of his own.
”Could it not be you?” Terence asked, and Dion nearly started in surprise.
”I vowed never to leave your side,” he countered, but Terence gave a weak laugh and pointed out that such a task, if taken literally, would be quite troublesome indeed. He was feeling much better, he insisted, and Dion’s talents could be better served elsewhere.
He was not wrong. After nearly a month of recovery, Terence was no longer a man on death’s door and looked stronger every day. Dion needn’t worry for his health, but to leave him here when they had only just been reunited…
It was a difficult decision, but one that he ultimately conceded. Terence was rarely wrong. Not in this nor in anything else.
And so Dion unexpectedly volunteered to take on the task. He was given directions and seen off on chocoboback. The road was easy to follow with little danger in sight, but still, Dion kept his lance strapped to his traveling pack even if he had not donned his armor for a fight. He did not expect one, and one did not come to meet him. The orphanage was only two days of travel away, and he made to his destination in good time.
He arrived by morning to a quaint cottage near the woods. It was isolated along roads lesser traveled, but it was not lonely for its isolation. Indeed, it seemed almost cheerful with the brilliant rays of sunlight and the sounds of laughter from children at play in the yard. It was only as Dion dismounted, unstrapping his lance out of habit, that he realized that he had never played at the role of a tutor before. Not a scholarly one, at least, and though he was well-studied, he couldn’t help but wonder the good it would do when he had been educated on strictly Valisthean matters – more specifically, that of the Holy Empire.
Dion sighed and shook away his doubts. He had learned well that confidence was key, and that if he did not possess it, he must at least present the facade. And so he strode towards the cottage with his head held high, offering a polite smile to any child that stopped to gaze at him in awe. He supposed he posed a striking figure even without his noble titles or his dragoon armor. It was only natural that he would draw their eye.
He found a woman among them, tending to the garden it seemed with a young child at her side. Dion slowed his step so as not to startle her. ”Pardon,” he said as he approached. ”But you would not happen to know of a Miss Muireach by chance? She sent a summons to a clinic to the north.”
Post by Dion Lesage on Mar 20, 2024 9:25:06 GMT -6
Ifrit,
I hope this letter finds you well. I vowed to write should I discover any facet of the light I had once lost. I know not whether it is a blessing or a grave portent, but it seems my power has returned as far as I am willing to test it. I would not dare loose Bahamut upon this peaceful world, and so I cannot say if I possess full command of my eikon. I have, however, wielded his light in the heat of battle, and merged with his draconic image under desperate circumstances.
In this, I promise to wield my for the sake of our shared cause. I do not know what it might reveal of the other Dominants you had once rendered powerless. Perhaps they could be reasoned with in these new, troubled times. I fear it will not be so.
Our time away has been infinitely eventful, it seems, for in that short time, I have been reunited with one I knew well in Valisthea. A friend, my second in command amongst the Holy Order of the Knights Dragoon, has found his way to my side. He shall accompany me in my travels as I seek your counsel on these matters though I fear we must delay such a meeting. He has sustained grievous wounds in battle and must recover his strength before we set out for your southernly station. I hope that you understand the delay.
Though the two of you have never met, we are aligned in the same cause. As I set sail for the Enterprise that I might aid you in Stonehyrr, my knights remained with your Lord Uncle and supported him in his efforts to secure Ran'dellah from the Askhashic and forge a Dhalmekian alliance with your Cursebreakers. At my request, he then returned to Twinside to repay the last of my debts.
His loyalty is without end, and I have no doubts that he shall stand with us in our crusade.
[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.
