Archive of Our Own ^beta

Her name is Kihel. The young girl to whom Sir Terence owes his unending gratitude.

At a time when Prince Dion was most vulnerable; at a time when thousands were injured, grieving, or dead; at a time when Terence feared for His Highness' safety - too far from his side to be able to help… She spared what little medicine she had to save the prince's life.

Finding her proved tricky. Even with a name and description of her appearance, the sheer volume of refugees fleeing from Twinside after Bahamut's rampage made it a difficult task. Twice did worry seize his heart that the girl had perished since the prince last saw her. How cruel a fate it would be, for one so selfless to be taken before her kindness could be repaid. How disheartening it would be, to be set on this path by His Highness and be unable to follow it through.

My prince… Come back to me…

But Terence held steadfast to his orders and was rewarded in time. Kihel, a willowy scrap of a girl, was picking wildflowers on the road from the Dominion when Terence approached her. She confirmed that she had indeed been the one to help the prince, and had even shown Terence what poultices she used to heal him. To look at her as the masses would, she appeared an ordinary urchin. Perhaps one that might apprentice with a healer, if only there were any willing to broaden her studies. To Terence, she was a saint.

A young, starving saint whose eyes broadened to the size of saucers when he held out the sack of coin in its simple yet pristine pouch. The money she took without hesitation. Why wouldn't she? She could feed herself for a year if she were careful with that much gil. His offer to stay by her side, however, was questioned. Why? Why would a knight from Sanbreque stay and watch over a beggar like her?

His answer was simple. He would do anything His Highness asked of him.

Dion… My love, my light…

And so brought them to this moment.

The masses who were lucky enough to have fled Twinside before the city's most recent upheaval flocked to the nearest towns, villages, and farms that would take them in. Terence and Kihel were among those who trekked west into Storm, offered the spare room in a baker family's home to rest in for as long as they needed to.

The room is humble. Dusty. Kihel called the bed plush when she sat on it, despite the evidence that the mattress and covers had seen better days. Terence agreed that it was better than a battlefield cot.

She lays now tucked under the blanket beside him. Curled up just so, she barely takes up a quarter of the bed. A memory comes to mind looking down at her sleeping form. Memory of his younger sister curling her little body around a book at night so that their parents wouldn't know she was staying up to read it by moonlight.

A commotion from outside catches his attention and Terence stands to go to the window. All the sound proves to be is a pair of drunken fools clambering over themselves on their way home, and he watches them in silent amusement until they disappear around the far side of a building.

The town is otherwise quiet. Those who can be seen crowded around low-burning fires speak in hushed whispers, if at all. Tragedy has brought them to this moment, but that tragedy is behind them. A new day awaits.

Eyes drawn skyward, Terence takes in the beauty of the pearl-white moon and its smaller crimson companion. Tears muddle his vision and he looks away to wipe them from his eyes, only a moment before that celestial red light dims.

Would that we could embrace that new day together.

~ ⊰✥⊱ ~

Joshua Rosfield is intimately familiar with the warmth of fire.

His every moment since childhood has been spent with the flicker of the Phoenix’s flames surrounding his soul. He knows the heat of its fury when directed at an enemy and he knows its nurturing warmth when used to heal a friend. His most secret fear for when he would one day leave this world was that he would spend an eternity without the Phoenix burning within him.

Yet in death, in that empty void of cold, he feels it once again. Sees without eyes a radiant feather drifting towards him.

He cannot move.

Yet it floats to him all the same. Its light shines bright when it makes contact with the aether of his being, dissolving and melding with it in a surge of embers that fills his fleeting consciousness with exuberant joy.

And he gasps awake. Inhaling cold air so sharply that it burns his lungs in a manner very different from a searing fire.

Joshua becomes apparent of a great many things in a very short amount of time. Every inch of his body aches. The coppery tang of blood has gone from his lips. The wound in his chest has scarred over. The starry sky can be seen overhead. Stone cracks around him, the ground shifting. Parts of the platform he lays upon are crumbling away.

Ultima is gone.

“C-Clive?” His voice is hoarse. No one answers. Joshua manages to pool enough of his strength together in order to stand, but just as quickly loses his footing as the earth shifts beneath him.

The central section of Origin’s core has already fallen away, and the stone he stands upon threatens to join it in short order. Cursing under his breath, he spares only a moment more to look about for any sign of his brother before turning to run. He doesn’t know where to go, only that he cannot stay here.

Clive, where have you gone?

He casts out his senses as he has time and again to search for Ifrit’s signature in the aether. Nothing.

Have his ties to the Phoenix already left him?

No, for when he leaps over a gap in the path before him it is the Phoenix’s wings that keep him safely on his feet when exhaustion threatens to make him stumble. Then if it is not for lack of his connection to his Eikon…

Joshua will not allow himself to grieve Clive just yet. There is work to be done.

He has no idea where Dion’s body could be, or if he’ll find anything at all of his friend to bring home and bury. He has no idea if he’ll have the strength to prime and return home on the winds. But he has to try. He will not abandon the prince.

The only uplifting thought he can muster is that at last Ultima is gone. It can control them no longer.

But at what cost?

No. None of that now.

He pushes on despite his body protesting. Whatever magic brought him back from the brink invigorated him enough to move of his own power, but only just so. Worst of all is the ache in his chest. Skin sewn shut over a gaping hole. It healed perfectly - if one disregards the scar left behind - and yet it feels like his chest is drawn tight as a bow string. Like the hide pulled taut over the hollow of a drum. Nevermind the grief that threatens to tear open his heart all over again.

Another section of Origin cracks and tumbles away to the firmament.

Amidst the cool, dark stone is a flash of brightness. White cloth. Pale skin.

Like a fire that’s been freshly stoked, Joshua presses forward with new energy until he comes collapsing to a halt beside Dion.

The prince is still as stone. Blood drips down the side of his skull and a pool of crimson has formed beneath his back, staining the once pure white robes he wore. Joshua gently takes the prince by the arm to shift his body over, revealing the culprit as a shard of stone poking up from the ground that Dion must have fallen on. Would he have felt it? Had he passed before impact or after?

“Oh Dion…” Grief leaves his voice cracking on the prince’s name. He swallows it back down and pulls the man up to cradle to his chest.

His mind reels on how best to escape the pressing situation when the floor beneath him gives way. Panic has him gripping Dion’s body tight so as not to lose his grasp. Together they plummet through the downpour of rock and crystal. Joshua struggles to breathe deep as the air is torn from his lungs.

He reaches out for the Phoenix’s fire and attempts to prime.

The first attempt proves a failure. Though he can feel the Phoenix, it seems his ability as its conduit has been dampened. Though it should come as no surprise. Benedikta Harman, Hugo Kupka. Clive was clear on the fact that neither of them had ever fully regained control of their Eikons. Garuda's maelstrom temper and Titan's gluttonous vengeance only came about through desperation. Desperation that sealed their Dominant's fates.

Unfortunately, Joshua feels rather desperate at the moment.

His eyes fall briefly to the prince's face, shrouded in blond locks whipped about as they fall, too peaceful in death. Jill continued to wield Shiva's ice after gifting it to Clive. Dion was able to call on Bahamut's light both as a man and as the wyvern. If they could do it, so must he.

"Damn it," He mutters, the words torn away by the wind as soon as they pass his lips.

Please Phoenix… We need you. I won't lose another life this night.

He tries a second time to no avail. A third. After which he allows the harried panic to bleed away from his mind. He can't force the Phoenix to work through him, but he recalls a lesson from his tutor. The man had lived when his grandfather still reigned and knew enough of the manner in which the late archduke channeled the Phoenix's flames to guide young Joshua in his first attempts at doing the same.

So he finds the aetheric cord that binds him to the firebird and holds out his hand in offering rather than command.

Scarlet light envelops him. The familiar warmth of it nearly brings him to tears. The burst of fire from his priming sends the rock around them flying away, leaving enough room for the Phoenix to spread its wings and take its passenger in gentle talons.

Streaking away like a shooting star in the night, Joshua carries them only as far as he dares. West back towards Storm. They pass over the coastal shore, gliding low over a copse of trees. Already he can feel his strength waning. A break in the canopy appears and Joshua dives down into its shelter.

Great care is taken in laying Dion’s body against the trunk of a solid oak tree. Care that cannot be said for when the Phoenix’s iridescent feathers dissolve away and he crumples to the ground beside Dion, heaving up blood in the grass.

When at last his wheezing breaths even out, Joshua turns his gaze on the prince.

And finds his heart seizing in his chest when he feels the faintest brush of Eikonic energy dwelling within Dion, even as the prince plays the perfect part of a corpse.

Prince Dion is alive! Clinging barely to this world, but alive!

Joshua brings a tender palm to the prince’s face and draws in a shaking breath. He can heal Dion.

Warmth builds in his veins. The gash along the prince's temple slowly sews itself closed. He takes the hand on Dion’s face and reaches back to find the puncture wound from the prince's fall, letting that warmth seep out from his skin. His hand comes away with blood when the deed is done and he wipes it on his own clothing. No need to sully the prince’s robes any more than they already have been.

Once more the familiar tickle of blood pooling low in his lungs accosts him, unyielding to his efforts to stifle it and further staining the prince’s robes despite his best efforts a moment before.

“My apologies, friend…”

With the strain of his expenditures, with the fade of adrenaline in his system, with the weight of utter exhaustion pulling at his consciousness, Joshua collapses against Dion’s chest. In the distance he can faintly hear the sound of the crashing of water. Origin’s fall, he thinks. A final thought crosses his mind before he’s pulled under.

Clive, if you're still with us, I pray… Find your way home.

~ ⊰✥⊱ ~

Dion feels cold. Strange, given that he never expected to feel anything in the afterlife.

Stranger still because the chill in his limbs is at odds with the warmth in his torso. And isn't that odd as well? Being able to identify parts of his body. Feeling crisp air fill his lungs. Feeling the solid presence of something at his back - stone or wood perhaps. Only when he manages to pry open his heavy eyelids does he concede that somehow, someway, he still lives.

Why?

Is this my hell then? To live on with this guilt? Am I unwelcome to join you in death, father?

The warmth, he finds, has its source from the body laying against his own. A mess of bright waves barely conceals the pale, bloodied face of the Phoenix. Joshua. And so there lies his answer. The Phoenix's flames must have kept him from his demise, its wings must have bore him to… wherever they are now.

He has just enough strength to turn his head and survey their surroundings, though there isn't much to be seen in this forest. Morning light filters through the canopy overhead. Proper sunlight. A beam of it graces his cheek when the branches shift just so and Dion allows himself to bask in its glow.

A gloved hand curls over the fabric of his collar, accompanied by a soft grunt of discomfort. Dion lowers his eyes to the slumbering form of his friend leaned against him. Brows pinched tightly together, jaw set against a pain that Dion can't discern the source of.

Hesitant, Dion raises a trembling hand so that he can brush the hair from Joshua's face. Starts to speak, stops when the sound is barely a croak, wets his lips, and tries again. "Rest easy, Phoenix. You're safe here."

The effect is gradual but Dion is relieved to see the discomfort bleed from Joshua's face. Though it does nothing for the physical blood present there. In fact, now that he can properly focus on the man Dion notes, with a mix of sympathy and mild disgust, that there's a quite large splatter of crimson staining the breast of Dion's armor, right beside Joshua's face.

He supposes things could be much worse.

To pass the time while Joshua slumbers, Dion tries to keep his mind busy picking apart the past few days. When that proves too painful a line of thought, he considers his future. Where will he go? How will he serve his people? Twinside is in ruins. It would have been even before Ultima's blatant disregard for the city and its people, thanks to Dion's own loss of control. Control of Bahamut, of his mind, of his life. Who knows how many died because of him?

He quickly pushes those thoughts aside. He has spent too much time already stewing over his failures. If the future reminds him too much of the past, then he'll settle for the present.

Aside from the occasional woodland creature wandering by curiously, he and Joshua are left alone. There's the distant sound of farm animals that tells him they aren't terribly far from civilization. Somehow that both comforts and unsettles him. Of course he wishes to believe that anyone who might stumble across them means well, but in the potential case where they don't… Given the sorry state they're both in…

Enough.

A deep breath in. Released slowly until he can feel his entire body sag with it. Then Dion refocuses. A warm breeze blows through the trees. Sunlight shimmers on a lock of soft, blond hair that the wind toys with. Here at the end of their long journey, Joshua rests as though without a worry in the world.

Dion knows, of course, that there are a great many worries that plague the Phoenix during his waking hours. Perhaps it is for that reason that he feels so protective of this fragile moment of peace. Of vulnerability.

He brings his hand up to rest on the other's back. The movement pushes his sleeve up his arm, and from beneath the fabric is a tease of sickening white. The curse has spread. Pleas from days gone return to him unbidden, Terence's wish that he reserve Bahamut's power only for emergencies.

What greater emergency could there be than to face Ultima with the Phoenix and Ifrit? For once, no regret accompanies the sight of the curse growing.

Well… None but one.

Terence.

He sent his most loyal dragoon to Twinside to repay a debt. Twinside, which is now a lifeless crater.

Had either of them - Terence or the young Kihel - survived? Dare he hope? When he had already lost so much? Would he ever again feel the familiar weight of his love laying at his side as Joshua now does?

Head resting back against the tree trunk, he steels himself against the grief. He will not give up hope on his beloved. Terence deserves better.

"You make for a poor pillow, thinking loudly like that…."

Dion startles at the sound of Joshua’s drowsy voice. The hand on the Phoenix’s back splays comfortingly over his shoulder blade. “My apologies. It was not my wish to disturb you… Quite the opposite in fact.”

“You needn’t apologize, Your Highness.” With a soft grunt Joshua maneuvers himself into sitting upright. His arm bounces playfully against Dion’s, though the motion sends him once again leaning part of his weight on the prince. “You served well enough before waking.”

An indignant sound leaves Dion, though one tinged with amusement. “Then all is well. Although, I believe I told you once to simply call me by my name.”

“Call it a force of habit.” Joshua chuckles. This close to each other Dion can see the sparkle of humor in Joshua’s eyes, and hear the sound of liquid rattling in the other’s lungs. He’ll have to be certain Joshua gets proper rest in the coming days.

Another habit that he’ll no doubt excuse, risking his health for others. Though would I be one to speak who is guilty of the very same?

“We shouldn’t linger here,” Joshua continues. “Unless you’re eager to hunt breakfast for us.”

“Hardly. I seem to have lost my lance. But-” Dion cuts himself off, the impulsive and sudden curiosity making him look away from his companion. At some point the subject will need to be broached. But here? Now? In this peaceful moment alone…?

Well, perhaps now would be the ideal time. With no one else around to judge.

“But?” Joshua echoes.

Taking a steadying breath, Dion turns back to face Joshua, studying those brilliant blue eyes while he considers his words. It may be the last chance in quite some time to see them filled with such light and levity. “But before then I would ask you… What happened when you and your brother faced Ultima? I cannot help noticing Ifrit's absence, and I…”

The words go unspoken, but he can see in Joshua’s darkening expression that the implication found its mark.

Silence hangs between them.

“... Forgive me. We needn’t speak of-”

“I don’t know.” Joshua admits, in a whisper that is nearly carried away on the breeze. Sorrow has wiped away the peace that so recently painted his face in its soft glow, casting a shadow in its place. “When we faced Ultima in his domain…” Joshua brings a hand to his chest. Dion’s eyes dip down to the movement, noting the hint of scar tissue beneath his shirt. “We'd been playing directly into his hand. All along its aim was for us to destroy the Mothercrystals, that it might harness the power slumbering within them to eradicate our world and begin anew. Even my attempt to contain him was folly.” His expression grows tense. “In the end that prison was but the tool Ultima used to end my life.”

Ice fills Dion’s veins.

“What?” He breathes the word in sheer disbelief. It can’t be true. Joshua can’t have died, for how would he then sit before his very eyes? For all that the annals sing of the Phoenix’s healing powers, resurrection has never been praised among them. Unless the two Dominants truly had entered the world of the dead and reside there now.

“It was the most indescribable pain. In the end all I could do was grant Clive my Eikon in the hopes that he would use its power to defeat Ultima. And he did. I may not have been conscious to witness the deed, but I know as surely as I know the Phoenix still lends me its blessing that Ultima is gone. But…” Joshua closes his eyes, his voice wavering. “So is Clive. I… I can’t feel him, Dion. He was nowhere to be found when I awoke and I-I can’t… My brother-”

His voice breaks on a sob, and with it tears flood freely from Joshua’s eyes. Dion pulls him close to hold and ignores the cracks forming in his heart to see such anguish tormenting his friend.

Ifrit, Clive… We thank you for your sacrifice. Know that whatever awaits us in this new world you built, I will do everything in my power to protect Joshua in your absence.

~ ⊰✥⊱ ~

Whispers circulate through the hideaway the moment Joshua and Dion set foot within.

"They're back! It's done!"

"They really did it."

"Of course they did, didja ever really doubt Clive?"

"But where is the lad?"

Hurried footsteps echo through the hall. The clunk of boots and the scrape of claws on wood and stone as Jill and Torgal rush to meet them. Jill's eyes meet Joshua's for but a moment. He can't bear to hold her gaze any longer than that, not here in the open. Instead he turns to Dion with a meaningful look. "We'll meet with you in Tarja's clinic shortly."

Dion's lips set in a thin line as he glances between the two of them, then nods. Only when his back is turned does Joshua have the strength to face Jill again.

"Joshua, where is he?" Her voice is quiet, afraid even.

A fresh wave of grief crashes over him and he breathes deeply to brace against it. "Please- If there is somewhere we may speak of this privately…"

Torgal brushes his nose against Joshua's palm with a soft whine.

Haltingly, Jill steps forward to rest her hand on his arm. Without her gloves her skin is cold to the touch, as it had been even before the revelation of her link to Shiva. He’d always found it a pleasant sensation when they were children. Her soothing hand in his was like a balm on the ever present warmth of the Phoenix’s flames within him. "His room. I reckon it will be Gav's soon, but no one should bother us there today."

“After you, then.”

Every pair of eyes in the hideaway falls on them. Expectant. Sympathetic. He can’t blame them, but he also can’t stand the weight of their attention on him atop the weight of his sorrow. Outside of their destination, Lady Jote approaches them silently, perhaps the only one whose eyes carry only the patience of a guardian awaiting her orders. Jill beats him to it - bless her quick thinking.

“Joshua and I require a moment in private. If you wish to wait for him, we’ll be visiting His Highness in the infirmary afterwards.”

“Very well, my lady.” Jote bows and steps past them to go but Joshua stops her by the arm. “... Your Grace?”

He guides her close to him until he can rest his forehead against hers. There’s so much he wishes he had the energy to tell her. All the gratitude he has for her loyalty and care. She may not be a sister to him as Jill is, but he needs her to know that she is nonetheless his family. When they do part - he with misty eyes and she with that same quiet determination she ever holds - he concludes the message has been received. “Make sure Dion stays off his feet. I’m sure Tarja would appreciate it.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” She gives another shallow bow before going.

The sound of the door shutting behind them echoes in his chest as though it were a great bell tolling at his back. Joshua doesn’t remember crossing the space to sit. Doesn’t remember Torgal curling up at his feet, or Jill settling in beside him, or when he started crying. Tears have filled both of their eyes already and he hasn’t even begun to explain what happened at the Origin. When he does find his voice, it seems small to his own ears. He is once again that scared, little boy who lost his entire world.

Brother… Why did it have to be you?

By the time Joshua finishes recounting how he and the prince found their way to safety in the aftermath, his throat is parched and the tears have halted. He holds fast to Jill’s hands like a lifeline, a mutual tether to the present and to the comfort they glean from the other.

“He always said,” Jill speaks softly. “That he would give his life in defense of yours. We both would have.”

“I wish… I wish he needn’t have had to.”

“As do we all.”

Joshua sobs. A miserable sound that constricts his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I couldn’t bring him home.”

Her hand finds purchase on his cheek. A tender touch like ice, and when her thumb brushes away the fresh tears on his lashes the chill is soothing against his heated skin. “Don’t blame yourself for Ultima’s doing… I think we all knew there was a chance none of you would return. And though I-” Her breath hitches, but she presses on. “Though I wish with all my heart that Clive were here now, I am eternally grateful that you came back to us. That everything Clive gave in the end was not for nothing. He would want you to be able to live on in his stead.”

He knows she speaks the truth. It doesn’t make the grief hurt less.

They stay in Clive’s room for much longer than Joshua had initially intended, but isn’t that the way of the heart? When sorrow is this profound it takes its price twicefold. In time, in energy, and the greedy desire to hold onto comfort for as long as possible. Especially when that comfort comes from one who would hold no judgment for his moment of weakness. Who knew him when he was but a sniveling boy. In retrospect, Joshua should feel a little sheepish about how long he spent weeping into Dion’s shoulder that quiet morning outside of Origin. But if the prince was truly put off by such a display of vulnerability he never showed it. Perhaps because His Highness understood the pain of family lost.

When at last Joshua and Jill compose themselves enough to leave the sanctuary of Clive’s room they make for the infirmary to meet with Dion.

Tarja pauses briefly in her ministrations tending to a woman’s bandages to gesture to the far bed. “He’s waiting for you there. That friend of yours might be the only person alive that’s managed to keep any of you Dominants in bed.”

Joshua shares an amused glance with Jill before they move on through the aisle of cots. It’s less busy than he imagined it would be in the infirmary. Small blessings.

Jote is the first to address them with a shallow bow and a tray with tea that she sets on the bedside table. Ordinarily Joshua might wait to drink until after business has been conducted, but all the tears have left him as dry as a Dhalmekian sponge, so he helps himself to a cup. “Thank you.”

Dion sits propped up in bed, dressed down from his formal attire. Blood still faintly stains his under layers even after being washed along the road, but he looks less like a walking corpse and twice as comfortable. Joshua decides, for once, it might be best to err on the side of caution and sits on the bed with the prince.

One last time he explains the events of Origin for Jote’s benefit, keeping strictly to the facts lest his emotions catch a second wind and get the best of him. After, he drinks until his cup is nearly empty. “... Now we must prepare for our future.”

Jill drifted around the space thoughtfully while he spoke. Stopping in front of Joshua, she reaches down a slender finger to tap against the rim of his glass. Frost crawls along the surface of his tea.

“My lady…” Jote begins.

“I don’t understand it.” Jill murmurs, not seeming to pay Jote any mind. “Magic should be gone. It is gone for every Bearer who was willing to test as much while we awaited your arrival. Yet our Eikons still dwell within us.”

Joshua turns to set the cup aside, in the end passing it to Dion who studies the icy contents in silence. Then he reaches up for Jill’s hand. “I’m unsure of it myself. Perhaps our bond to the Eikons was too strong even for Ultima’s demise to cut away. It may be that our powers will dwindle in time. There are only two things of which I can claim any measure of certainty. The first being that we may be the last Dominants Valisthea will ever see. And the second,” Here he takes a firmer hold of her arm, though still gentle, and pushes her sleeve higher.

The curse stands out against her skin like ashen watercolor. Early enough in its stages that she’ll yet live, but- “We must reserve what little power we have left.”

Joshua turns his gaze up to Jill’s face, whose eyes are filled with disappointment in herself, then to Dion’s, who looks away from them both in shame.

“I say this out of more than care for your health, though I do not wish to lose more people I love. We are in unique positions. All of Valisthea will have its eyes on us. If we are to teach it that a brighter future without reliance on magic can be achieved, then we must not sully that message by succumbing to that which we hold the final privileges to.”

A heavy silence hangs in the air.

Dion is the first to break it, setting the frozen cup on the tray and pouring a new one to hand to Joshua. “You make a fair point. Once, we Dominants may have been seen as beacons of hope-”

“Or tools to be used.” Jill adds with muted venom.

Dion dips his head to her. “Soon we’ll be seen as naught but relics. Until that day, we each of us have a duty to fulfill that goes beyond political aims. Would that I had shown restraint sooner, perhaps I would not be in the same position as Lady Jill now.” His tone is wistful, a memory in his eyes that Joshua finds himself curious of. “It will serve as a lesson, for myself and for the people. Even those who had the power of gods were vulnerable to its price.”

“Then we swear an oath, here and now.” Jill slips her hand in Joshua’s properly, and extends her other to Dion. “We call on our Eikons only in times of great crisis. This I swear.”

Joshua holds her hand firm in his own. “This I swear.”

A moment passes of hesitation. Joshua looks to Dion with a question he holds back. Something in the prince’s earthen gaze tells him that his reticence has less to do with an unwillingness to follow through and more to do with that memory Joshua glimpsed before.

Then the moment is over and Dion’s steady hand meets Jill’s. “This I swear.”

A smile graces Jill’s lips. Arms back at her side, she steps around the cot to fetch her own cup to drink from. “Then that’s settled. Our future as Dominants. But I wonder at our future as individuals. Your Highness, I imagine, will return to Sanbreque? Your people will need their prince now more than ever.”

Dion rests his hands in his lap, a pensive sigh leaving him. “They need their emperor more than anything. Though the prospect sits like a stone in my stomach to consider.”

Clive’s voice echoes in Joshua’s memory.

The emperor died by his hand, though his aim was directed at Ultima’s puppet. I don’t blame him for going mad with the guilt of it. And I don’t envy him for what the world will think if news gets out.

Chest tight with sympathy, Joshua reaches out to lay his free hand over Dion’s. “You have my support. We’ll make sure the world knows the truth of what happened in Twinside. And you will make for a fine emperor.”

Their eyes meet and slowly he can see hope fill the prince’s expression. “We will see. What of you two?”

Jill and Joshua look to each other then, both with expectations of an answer the other hesitates to give. Confusion passes over both of their faces and Jill covers her laugh with her hand. “By all means, you first Joshua.”

Pushing down his embarrassment, Joshua does as he’s told. “I intend to rest first and foremost.”

“You? Spend more than a day off of your feet willingly?” Jill teases. “The world really did nearly meet its end.”

Laughter echoes between the four of them; even Jote hides her smile by conspicuously turning her back. Joshua presses on. “Now that the threat of Ultima is gone I can finally set my sights on home. Rosaria has changed much while I was away.”

Bearers carted away to the imperial capital or else slaughtered. Forests he once frolicked in sapped of life. Even without his mother’s wicked influence on the former duchy, Rosaria has suffered greatly.

“You would seek to take the throne?” Dion asks, to which Joshua simply nods. The prince’s eyes close for but a moment in thought before opening with sharp determination. “Then you shall have it. My first act as emperor will be to grant Rosaria its independence from the Empire.”

Joshua nearly drops his teacup in shock. For years he expected an uphill battle to retake his home. Had prepared to recruit loyalists and work in the shadows to gain enough power to stage a revolution. But then, all those plans had existed when Sylvestre still sat firmly on the imperial throne. “I… I don’t know what to say, other than to express my gratitude.”

Dion raises a hand to silence him. “You need not say a word. The Empire’s invasion of Rosaria never sat well within my heart, even as a boy still grasping at the politics of the world. Worse still when I later learned that that witch of a woman who dared claim the title of empress was involved. In this, I simply seek to right one of the many wrongs done by my father. Perhaps one of the only reparations I can enact in short order.”

“All the same,” Joshua breathes. “Thank you.”

Jote steps up to Joshua’s side then, and he tilts his head up to see the smile on her lips. “From all of us.”

“The duchy reborn with the Phoenix once more at its head.” Jill muses. “How fitting. Then that settles it for me.”

“Will you be joining me in Rosaria?” Joshua asks, hopeful to have her at his side.

But Jill shakes her head. “Not right away. Gav, Tarja, all of the Cursebreakers… I intend to keep working with them for some time yet. The Mothercrystals may be gone but Cid’s dream is only halfway there. To make a land where everyone is free to live and die on their own terms. We still have work to do.”

“A noble aim.” Dion dips his head respectfully. “I wish you all well in your endeavor.”

A smirk turns up her lips. “Having the aid of an emperor certainly wouldn’t hurt the cause.”

The prince laughs softly, a glimmer of purpose in his eye. “Unfortunately, my hands will be too full to provide direct aid. Gathering the refugees of Twinside, taking my place in Oriflamme as the capital should always have remained, among a thousand other worries. But know that I will be doing what I can from the throne to make things right.” He pauses with a look that melds humor and frustration. “Though you know how stubborn elders are. The council and the populace won’t make it a swift process.”

“We’ve been working at it for more than half a decade. We have the patience.”

Taking a last sip of his tea, Joshua stands to face Jill. His legs prove less steady than he realized, and he can feel Jote’s hand braced at his back. “I wish we need not part so soon. But know that you will be welcomed home in Rosaria when you deem your task done. I would never turn away my sister.”

Jill’s breath hitches, the sound quickly followed by a watery laugh. “Oh, don’t make me cry again. It’s too soon.”

Joshua laughs with her and closes the distance to wrap his arms around her shoulders. “My sincerest apologies.”

Her breath warms his skin when she whispers. “You’ll make a fine ruler, Your Grace.”

Annoyance at the use of his future title aside, Joshua finds himself filled to the brim with love for the woman in front of him. And though his departure from the hideaway is some time away, he already laments the loss of her company.

Soon we’ll walk the halls together in Rosalith as we did all those years ago. Though it won’t be the same without you, Clive.

Jill excuses herself shortly after, citing business to attend to elsewhere. Leaving the three of them to sit and drink together.

Eventually Dion speaks up again. “There is but one matter more I would discuss. Something… Personal.”

Curiosity piqued, Joshua turns to him and gestures for the prince to continue.

“I do not know how this sort of thing is conducted here.” He admits. “But there is someone I need found and a letter to be delivered to him. A knight I trusted with a matter of personal importance to me. He was to seek out a young girl who I owe my life to, as I do to you Phoenix.”

“Now who's the one not using given names?” Joshua teases, though lightly. He doesn’t want Dion to think he isn’t taking the matter seriously.

Dion gives a weak smile that doesn’t quite light up his face like ones prior. “I do so only out of respect. The knight's name is Terence. Near to my height with umber hair and eyes like a clouded sky. He is… Or maybe was my most loyal dragoon. His mission would have sent him towards Twinside.”

Dread creeps in to fill the hollow in Joshua’s chest.

“... I do not know if he survived the creation of Origin. Or where he would have gone if he has. My only instruction was to see that the girl was looked after.”

To Joshua’s surprise, Jote approaches the prince to kneel before him. “With His Grace’s blessing, I would seek out your knight. There is word that civilians fled Twinside in droves following Bahamut’s attack. Even if I must search for many long days and nights I would not stop until I found signs of Sir Terence.”

With misty eyes, Dion looks to Joshua and the young lord realizes in that moment what perhaps Jote already has. That this man - this Terence - holds a dear place in the prince’s heart. More surprising still is how… Bittersweet the revelation feels. “She would go with my blessing. I would trust no one else with such an important mission.”

“I fear at this rate I will owe you both my life twice over.” Dion jests, his voice thick with emotion.

“Speak no more of debts, Dion.” Joshua curls his hand over the prince’s. “Let us wipe the ledgers clean and have no more of it. Every kindness we share now is that between friends.”

Dion nods his understanding. “Then I shall simply say thank you.”

~ ⊰✥⊱ ~

Terence has lost track of the days since settling into his new routine.

The first month he spent in Freywell had been chaos. As one of the few “visitors” possessing combat experience, he’d offered such expertise guarding the town from threats of a wide variety. Akashic beings at first, though recently the threats have more often been enterprising bandits taking advantage of the refugees’ plight. He would return to his hosts’ home exhausted and starving all to recover his strength and start the cycle anew the next day.

Only when the deluge of attacks dwindled to once every week did he allow himself to take more breaks in the days. And only when the flood of citizens seeking safety died down to a trickle did he allow himself to take entire days off. Staggered through the week, of course.

Kihel had been spending most of that time readjusting to a life where she needn’t peddle wares or beg for alms every hour of the day. The baker’s son was only a year or so older than her and took it upon himself to show her how things worked in Freywell. Now and again Terence would see them while on duty amidst a crowd of children running through the streets. He much prefered the shrieks of laughing children to those of vicious beasts.

Days became weeks became a month. Maybe two now?

Guilt gnaws at him for staying here so long when he ought to return to his fellow dragoons. Sanbreque’s army needs its soldiers. He reasons to himself that her people need him more.

Was this not your direct order, my prince? To see that Kihel is safe and cared for? Who could blame me for following it to the fullest extent?

The sun has begun to set when he makes his way back to the baker’s home. The baker’s wife is outside tending to their chocobo with Kihel at her side, feeding the bird its greens. When the girl sees him coming, she urges the beast to eat greedily before sprinting over and grabbing him by the arm.

“You’re back! You’ve got to come quick, there’s a surprise for you.”

Terence finds himself tugged along by the spirited girl, laughing the whole way towards the house. He bids the baker’s wife a hasty greeting before being ungracefully dragged through the door. “Kihel please- I can walk on my own.”

“But you weren’t walking fast enough.”

“You gave me no chance!” He counters with a chuckle. “Now what’s this surprise?”

Before the girl can reply, another’s voice answers. “A letter.”

Terence looks over to see a woman in modest traveler’s garb sitting at the kitchen table. “And who is it I have to thank for its delivery?”

She rises and gives a low bow, presenting a sealed letter when she straightens. “My name is Jote. I am in service to Lord Joshua Rosfield.”

“Rosfield…?” Terence steps closer to get a better look at the woman. Short, dark hair. Modest attire. The hint of a dagger's sheath at her back. “... I remember you. You're the Phoenix’s attendant.”

Jote bows her head. “I regret that we did not share words when we met before. I was bade by my master, who was entreated by yours, to deliver this should I find you.” She holds out the letter more insistently.

His heart hammers in his chest like a drum.

“Prince Dion sent this?” He whispers.

At his side, Kihel leans up on her toes to get a peek at the envelope. Its seal is a charcoal gray rather than the usual gilded wax used by Sanbrequois scribes. And yet the signature is undeniably Dion’s penmanship.

“Go on then, read it.” Kihel insists. He wonders if she even understands the gravity of this gift.

He wills his hands not to shake when he grabs the letter. Takes measured steps towards the table to sit and carefully break the seal. The rest of the stationary is similarly unfamiliar to him. Penned with what happened to be available perhaps. But he would recognize the prince’s handwriting anywhere.

The opening lines wrest a sob from deep in his soul.

My loyal servant,

I am alive. I drafted this letter twice before realizing I should not leave you with bated breath. I am alive and well as of the date marked below.

At the time of writing I am with allies recovering after the battle above what once was Twinside. Fear not for my safety, as I have feared for yours. I am in the company of the Phoenix and of Shiva, though I beg your forgiveness that I cannot disclose our location here. Should you wish to join me, speak to the woman who delivered this, the Phoenix’s attendant Lady Jote. She will escort you here.

Give Kihel my regards if she is with you.

~His Royal Highness, Dion Lesage

Kihel sits perched on the stool at his side with her head craned to look at him. “Are you alright? Did something bad happen?”

“No,” He reassures her with a weepy smile. “This… This is the greatest news I could ever receive.” Then to Jote. “I could never thank you enough for this. I-I need to see him. Please.”

Jote nods, though her response is cut off by Kihel speaking up again. “But what did it say? Are you leaving already?”

Brother, you’ll be gone for so long! I’ll be bored without you. Why do you want to be a soldier so bad anyway?

An ache of a different sort tugs at his heart then. Terence sets the letter down and runs a soothing hand down the girl’s back. “Not right away. My apologies, little moogle, I let my mind get ahead of me. The letter is from Prince Dion. You remember him, don’t you?”

Her eyes go wide and she nods vigorously, leaning forward to get a better look at the letter. “Of course I do… He has very pretty handwriting.”

Terence chuckles, glancing up at Jote for a moment. They share a smile. “He does, doesn’t he? I’ve always been a little jealous.” That makes the girl giggle. “He wanted me to know that he’s safe, because I was worried about him without me at his side. He also wrote that I should tell you he misses you and wishes you well.”

Kihel smiles and sits back in her seat, but her smile only lasts a moment longer. “I'm not going to see you again, am I?"

His eyes widen, his voice stolen from his lungs. Herein lies the trouble, doesn’t it? The true cause of his hesitation to return to his fellow dragoons, or at least part of it. Without knowing whether Dion lived, Terence had begun to feel that he had little more to live for. Little to call his own but the armor on his back and the sword on his belt. In all the chaos it would be so easy to overlook one knight who hadn’t come home. A casualty of Twinside they might consider it.

Yes, it would have been easy in his grief and loneliness to keep playing house here with a brilliant little girl to care for and a kind family to host them. Even now he would whisk Kihel to the Empire with him.

If only his life - and Dion’s - could allow them the time to care for her as she needs.

“Kihel…” Terence starts, though he realizes quickly that he has no idea what he means to say.

"I'm no fool.” She whispers miserably. “You're a knight and he's a prince and I'm just an urchin. I suppose I just hoped you'd stay around a little longer."

A sigh escapes him and he closes his eyes. The sound of footsteps tells him that Jote has crossed the room to give them privacy. He silently thanks her. “I wish I could bring you with me. Such a bright young girl you are. You deserve better than the roads you’ve had to wander. But you’re right. As a knight my life is in service to the Prince and to our people. I lived in a solitary room on the castle grounds when we were not afield, and even if I found a proper house for us to stay in, I couldn't be there for you as family ought to.

“But,” He continues while reaching up to stroke her cheek. “I will never forget you. I will make sure that you have a home of your own here. And one day I will see you again. I promise you this on my honor as a knight of Sanbreque. And I told you how sacred that is.” He finishes by tapping a finger to the tip of her nose.

It has the desired effect of making her smile, melancholic though it may be. “I’ll still miss you.”

“And I’ll miss you, little moogle.”

~ ⊰✥⊱ ~

Jote’s letter arrived on one of the quiet days at the hideaway.

Terence lives. I found him in Freywell. We will return together in a fortnight. Kihel has been taken in by a kind family.

When Joshua shared her message, Dion found himself overcome with joy. In the privacy of the room he shares with the Phoenix no one else had to witness his tears, or his embrace with Joshua that has left him turning the memory over in his mind each night since.

That moment with their faces drawn close. Dion felt that the world had fallen still, but in truth it was that neither seemed eager to let go. His mind had locked onto a silly thought, that though Joshua’s eyes were the color of brilliant sapphires, a more apt comparison - in his opinion - was that of a scorching cobalt fire.

Then as if released from some spell, they parted. Joshua excused himself to speak with Harpocrates and Dion stood watching him depart, dazed and numb.

In the days since, he’s distracted himself from that memory and his anticipation by aiding in what ways he can around the hideaway. Well, in the ways he can and are permitted by Lady Tarja. Nothing strenuous, but any clerical work or lightweight items which need fetching have been deemed fair game by the healer, who swore she would tie all the restless Dominants to their beds if they went overboard.

Lucky for the prince there’s always much to be done, and plenty who are willing to accept a helping hand.

Vivian often requests his presence when speaking with her contacts so that they may both keep abreast of the political climate. Charon is perhaps too eager to let the prince humble himself carting supplies where they need be. Once or twice Otto directs him to speak with a visitor or check up on another member of the group, though Dion suspects these requests are the man’s attempts to keep him busy on the days when the prince is particularly stuck in his head.

But each night he and Joshua find their ways back to their shared space. It’s a welcome comfort how easily they slip into camaraderie, as though they had spent these eighteen years firmly at the other’s side. They dress down each night in easy silence yet spend the time before sleep steals them away sharing their thoughts or stories from the years lost.

And each night, when he is certain the Phoenix slumbers, Dion wonders to himself what possessed him in that moment when they held each other in their jubilation. Though he fears he knows its name already.

Let it be the euphoria of Terence’s survival misplaced. Nothing more.

The fateful day arrives like any other. He awoke and broke fast with Jill and Joshua, then met with Blackthorne who had finished fashioning him a new lance. Received a verbal warning from Tarja - who just happened to be passing through - that he should be certain of his strength before throwing himself about with his new weapon. Only for the news to arrive in the form of Miss Midadol all but crashing into him on his way through the mess hall.

“A boat’s just come in with Jote onboard. I think it’s your lad!”

His breath leaves him.

Terence.

If not for Mid guiding him along he might have stood frozen there for an age. But as soon as his legs begin to move he presses on towards the lift with the single mindedness of a starving man brought before a feast. Dion very nearly lets himself be so carried away as to drop down from the balcony that he might see his love sooner. After all, the leader of the dragoons is armed once more for such a feat. But propriety restrains him in the end.

Joshua is already present below greeting Jote and Terence. When the lift begins to descend, all three heads turn his way. He catches sight of Tetence and Dion steps as far forward as he can without becoming one with the lift's safety gate, strung along by an invisible tether that has been let slack for far too long.

The lift arrives at its destination and Dion cannot wait another moment. They meet in the middle and though every particle in his body yearns to pull Terence impossibly close, once again propriety tempers the impulse. His hand finds purchase on his love’s shoulder, the tease of a thumb at his neck the only grain of something more intimate he can offer in such an open space.

Heartache colors Terence’s face as it did that day in Ran'dellah, but now there is a light shining beneath it. “I feared you had been lost.”

“I nearly was.” Dion doesn’t admit that for a time he wished he had been. “It was only by the Phoenix’s healing flames that I was saved from the brink.”

Terence turns to face Joshua with a look of awe that Dion has seen before on his love’s face, one often turned towards him in the past. “Lord Rosfield… Words can never fully express how grateful I am to you. I-I could never repay your-”

“Hush, Sir Terence.” Joshua pleas with a shake of his head. A warm smile on his lips. “As I have told your prince, there will be no more talk of debts between us. He is my friend, as I hope in time we may be as well. I would never have been able to live with myself had I not brought him home.”

From behind them, Mid can be heard whispering with Jote. “These men ‘n their debts. It’s as if they never did a thing without expectin’ it to come at a price.”

Her less than clandestine whispers diffuse some of the tension in the air, and Dion himself bites back a laugh.

Terence steps away from Dion to hold out an arm towards Joshua, who falters only a moment before clasping it with his own. “Friends then. As your friend, I thank you.”

“I think this calls for a celebration.” Mid declares with chin turned high. “I’ll spot the first round of drinks, but then you’re on your own. Come along now!”

Their merry procession makes its way upstairs again to be treated to ale and tunes from the orchestrion. Despite her insistence on the miniature fete, Mid takes her drink to go and requests that Jote join her in her workshop. Before they leave, however, Dion catches her eye and she gives him a wink.

Would that she were a lady of the court, she would dance circles around the nobility.

The remaining three men find a table in the far corner to sit at and take advantage of the privacy they’ve been granted. Joshua has already launched into an inquiry as to how long they’ve known each other. All the while Dion’s hand clasps Terence’s beneath the table.

“We met as children,” Terence explains after taking a drink. “House Lesage and House Lapointe have been close throughout the ages, further back than even my grandfather would remember. I spent many a day at the prince’s side playing at his protector even before joining the dragoons.”

“And what a brave knight-to-be you were,” Dion muses. “Why, I believe you gave your life for Margrit and I a hundred times over.”

Joshua chuckles and the prince can spy heat creeping into his love’s cheeks. “I had to, to protect you both from the various monsters your caretaker would play the part of.”

Dion lowers his voice to an affectionate rumble. “And I have always been grateful for it.”

Terence’s breath catches softly in his throat and once more Dion is drawn in by him. But before they meet, Dion’s gaze slides to the side, to Joshua whose eyes have gone wide. The Phoenix catches on quickly, turning his head away with a conspiratorial smile. Dion thinks he spies a bloom of pink on the man’s cheeks to match Terence’s. And if he didn’t know better, he would think there was a downcast cloud over his eyes.

The prince wastes no more time denying his heart. His lips find Terence’s in a kiss both chaste and full of promise. A brief indulgence, after which he whispers for only his lover to hear. “A taste of what’s to come.”

He hears a shiver in Terence’s voice. “My prince.”

They part again and Dion clears his throat softly to signal to Joshua.

To the Phoenix’s credit, he excels at pretending nothing has happened. “Margrit, was she another friend of yours?”

“Terence’s sister,” Dion amends. “The younger of the Lapointe siblings and the one I suspect my father intended for me to one day marry. Unfortunately for him, her - shall we say - proclivities led her into the arms of a beautiful maiden from Altemar.”

“D-Dion,” Terence chokes out with a laugh. Joshua joins in with him and then they’re all lost in the jovial mood.

“She remains a dear friend all the same. And fortunately I found a treasured connection with Terence. We were always at each other’s side. In childhood and in training.”

“And always after, when we could help it.” Terence adds. His grip on Dion’s hand tightens.

Joshua sits forward with his cheek propped in his hand, watching them with a soft smile. “I wonder that we never met before recently if you truly were attached at the hip. Terence, did you ever visit Rosaria before the fall of the duchy?”

“Only the once. Though I wished for more opportunities."

“It was for the summer solstice,” Dion murmurs as he dredges his memory for the occasion. “I recall being glad you could join us.”

Terence smiles and Dion’s heart flutters. Such a small thing and yet the sight of that perfectly ordinary smile fills him with love. He'd spent too many nights fearing he would never see it again. “Rosalith was beautiful. Margrit wanted to slip away and play with some pup she saw in the garden and I had to hold her hand the entire time to keep her still during the ball, else father would be furious. Of course, she still managed to run off halfway through, and right into that poor girl.”

The film of nostalgia that’s been laid over Joshua’s face shifts when he looks to Terence. His brows furrow and then he snaps his fingers. “I remember it! After the dance was over, there was a little girl who nearly knocked Jill to the ground in her haste to leave. She didn’t even apologize after.” He chuckles. “And then… Terence, did you have a bowl cut back then?”

He can’t help himself; Dion bursts out laughing harder than he has in years. Beside him, Terence looks mortified but can’t deny it. "I… It was the fashion in the capital, for a short time."

"A very short time." Dion muses with a low chuckle.

“Oh that’s wonderful,” Joshua says between his own laughter. “I remember a boy taking her aside and apologizing in the girl’s stead. We never spoke a word back then. But maybe we could have been friends sooner, had events played out differently.”

“It seems we have lost time to make up.” Terence says with a sheepish smile.

“And we’ll have enough of it soon.” Dion sits up straighter, reluctant to let go of Terence’s hand but letting it fall away all the same. “Joshua and his attendant will be joining us on the road to Oriflamme.”

Terence looks from Dion to Joshua in mild surprise.

“It pained me to keep you in the dark this long,” Dion continues. “But I trust you understood the need for discretion.”

“Of course, my prince.”

“It is my aim to head to the old capital and take the throne as emperor. At which point a great many plans will need to be put into motion. The intelligence Lady Vivian has shared with me points to a lessened threat on the Dhalmekian front, although neither of us expect it to last without a proper truce - one I'm sure the Republic will make quite an ordeal to haggle on. Our only solace is that no threats can be expected from Waloed, with no easy passage left by land from Ash for whatever survivors there may be. We'll need to consider setting up sentries near the old Dominion borders all the same. To say nothing of the relief efforts that must be put forth to help those affected by the aetherfloods and the Blight.

“And paramount above all this is that Rosaria will be given its independence.” He gestures to Joshua. “Handed into the care of the ruler it should have always had.”

“That…” Terence whispers. “That is ambitious. But if there was ever someone who could manage it, it would be you, my prince.”

Dion claps a hand on his love’s shoulder in appreciation.

Joshua finishes off his drink and sets it down with a resolute thunk. “Sanbreque and Rosaria will be allies as we once were. Rosaria’s independence isn’t news that the Sanbrequois public will take happily, and certainly not for those who were loyal to my mother. The Black Shields as they called themselves may dig their heels in and attempt to resist. What a mockery…”

“Which is why,” Dion continues with a casual air. “When all has been set in motion in Oriflamme, I will in turn join you on your journey to Rosalith. Let Anabella's dogs dare to disobey their emperor to his face. They'll make it all the easier to put them down.”

Now both of his companions gawk at him.

Joshua is the first to recover his tongue. “Leave the capital so quickly? When there could be opposition-”

“My prince, are you sure this is wise-”

But Dion silences them with a hand. “I have considered the risks. I will not be leaving the capital vulnerable for any of the old guard loyalists - or worse - to seize as they see fit. I will be certain to put in place such safeguards as are needed. Those I trust to keep chaos from unfurling.” He looks to Joshua. “However, I may need to borrow a few of the shadowy eyes belonging to your Undying. I would not part you from Lady Jote, but others who would be willing to keep an eye on the council and the court would be greatly appreciated.”

The Phoenix looks prepared to argue further. In the end he nods. “I’ll have Jote send a missive to Tabor. Any who answer the call will know to await us outside the gates of Oriflamme.”

“Excellent. The procession to Rosalith will be a gesture of goodwill between our nations. For both our protection and to show that Sanbreque still stands with its head high, we’ll travel with a well-stocked guard of any troops we can afford to pull from the cities and the front lines, only enough so as not to leave the citizenry unprotected. Once we cross into Rosaria proper, we’ll see how many of your old Shields are willing to fall in with the retinue.”

“The Guardians of the Flame… They'll be overjoyed to join us.”

“It’s brilliant.” Terence notes. “Assuming they’re not too proud to march alongside Sanbrequois soldiers. I wouldn’t blame them if the whispers I’ve heard from Rosaria are true.”

The prince folds his arms over his chest. “I trust that those who spy Joshua among our ranks will see reason.”

“Clive worked with them for a time. He can-” Joshua catches himself, his eyes slowly going faraway.

Head tilted curiously, Terence glances at Dion. The prince merely shakes his head, prompting a frown to tug at Terence’s lips. The knight turns his attention back to Joshua. His hand finds the Phoenix’s, shaking Joshua free from his slip up.

“... Uncle Byron can vouch for us. If nothing else, he can verify that I am who I say I am. Though I’m sure he’ll be just as eager to do everything in his power to ensure the procession goes off without a hitch.”

“Then he will be welcome to it. We could use someone with such…” Dion makes a face, grasping for the kindest way he can phrase the thought. “... Spirit.”

A chuckle leaves Joshua’s lips and Dion finds warmth flaring in his chest again to hear that sweet sound after his friend's slip. “So, we march through Rosaria and hope that things go well. What of after?”

“We’ll be bringing with us supplies enough to gift to the largest settlements we pass through, that they might be bolstered after the troubles they’ve endured. The rest we take to Rosalith for repairs. Thankfully it seems that Titan saw fit not to completely obliterate the castle. But I wager the process of fully restoring the city will be a lengthy one.”

“Truly ambitious.” Terence repeats. The worry has gone from his brow, and similarly from Joshua’s.

“Perhaps.” Dion turns his gaze over the hideaway. He thinks back to Jill’s words, that the gathering of people here and their allies abroad have only just begun the work they set out to do. “Defeating Ultima broke Valisthea free of her shackles. But if we are to steer her people towards a better future, we must act quickly and decisively. To leave no room for hesitation and no chance for doubts to creep in. Already I fear for the time lost recovering here.”

Joshua raises his empty mug, with Terence following suit. “Hear hear. We follow your lead then, Dion.”

~ ⊰✥⊱ ~

After many long months spent on battlefronts and amidst the terrified masses, the moment Terence sets foot in Oriflamme he feels for the first time that he can breathe a sigh of relief.

That sense of relief may be short lived, but it is much needed.

Dion’s desire for swift action is certainly fulfilled. In the aftermath of Twinside’s upheaval, only a few of the original Council of Elders that served under Sylvestre Lesage survived. If Terence were a cruel man he would call them cowards for fleeing their station, but he harbors sympathy for them, knowing too well how close they came to suffering the same tragic fate as so many Sanbrequois and Crystalline Dominion citizens.

Unfortunately, those few who were wise enough to flee are also those most in opposition to Dion’s rise to the throne. Terence used every ounce of restraint to hold back his ire the first time one of the councilmen dared call the prince “Kinslayer”.

Dion showed no such restraint, save to keep his lashing a verbal one.

New members of the council were chosen to replace those who fell at Twinside. Each bent the knee willingly, either too grateful for their promotion to such a high station or too wise not to show their qualms with the soon-to-be emperor. For all intents and purposes, Terence views the situation as a victory. One that fared far better than he had feared.

One step forward. So many more to follow.

Crown Prince Dion’s coronation is nigh. The city is abuzz with anticipation. Terence has been too busy overseeing the ceremony guard to spend more than a few moments with his prince, who is himself busy meeting with his advisors - both those on the council and those in his trusted circle.

An opportunity falls into place to slip away from the din and find his way to the Phoenix’s chambers. Entering into the quiet space, Terence spies Jote first, admiring her reflection in a mirror. She's donned a modest gown of silver and gray brocade with an ornate coat drawn closed over it. When she sees him she bows in greeting.

“Pardon me for the intrusion,” Terence offers. “I wanted to be sure you and Lord Rosfield would be ready soon.”

“His Grace is still dressing, but he shouldn't be much longer.”

He nods, shuffling his feet awkwardly as he considers whether he should stay or return to the chaos outside. “You look beautiful.”

A surprised smile forms on Jote’s lips. She ducks her head and adjusts the collar of her coat. “Thank you, Sir Terence. I’ve never worn anything so… Extravagant.”

Terence mirrors her smile. “You wear it well.” Anything more he might have said fizzles away on his tongue a moment later.

For Joshua emerges from the side room, and by Greagor’s grace does he look every part the archduke he aims to become. Gone are the clothes meant for weeks spent on the road, the tattered scarf, the unassuming silhouette. Now he wears a tunic of snowy white. A dark sash at his waist and similar trousers tucked into boots of fine leather. A collared robe of Rosarian red with wide sleeves that flow to the tips of his gloved fingers. All with intricate gilding that sprawls over the fabric like flickering flames. If he bore a crown, one could confuse the day for the Phoenix’s coronation rather than Bahamut’s.

Joshua holds out his arms in display. “How do I look?”

It takes entirely too much time for Terence to realize how long he’s stood there with his jaw slack. “Stunning,” He manages. “You look absolutely stunning.”

Joshua smiles, and for a moment Terence fears the Phoenix has somehow lit a fire inside his torso. “Let us hope I do not upstage the emperor.”

“Something tells me he would forgive you,” Terrence assures him.

“I’m inclined to agree.” Joshua goes to Jote’s side and gives his attendant a formal bow before holding out his arm. “Shall we away to await the festivities?”

Her hand still clutched at her collar, Jote wears a mix of scandal and affection on her face at the bow. But she slips her arm in his, never one to disobey her lord. “We shall.”

“Give Dion our regards,” Joshua says in parting, leaving Terence to watch them go in silence. A flicker of something in his chest that he has not the time to address.

Focus. The day must proceed flawlessly, and we cannot afford distraction.

The door to Dion’s meeting room is left open with two guards flanking it. They nod in deference to Terence when he approaches. Within, the prince’s back is to him and he speaks with a pair of figures Terence doesn’t recognize but understands the importance of at a glance. A member of the Undying and a gray-bearded scholar who both keep their attentions squarely affixed to Dion. Terence chooses to keep off to the side so as not to interrupt their discussion.

“It is my belief,'' begins the scholar, "that with the halt of the aetherfloods the time is nigh to move forward with this venture. We may yet be able to reclaim the farmlands engulfed by the Blight. But my team would require a stable outpost from which to operate, as well as a personal guard to fend us from the wilderness threats while we work.”

“You will have whatever resources you need for your expedition, Ezekiel. No expense will be spared. I know that such revitalization experiments have yielded disappointing results in the past, making any attempt at an estimate for success difficult without precedent, but for now I must ask: How long do you expect until we can know whether your efforts have made an impact?”

Ezekiel clasps his time-weathered hands before him. “I would ask in turn if His Radiance has ever glimpsed the passage of time in a forest ravaged by flame?”

“I have not.”

“That is understandable, you have been a busy man with naught the time to dawdle in the wilds for more than it takes to win a battle. And it takes years for the forest to regain its vibrant canopy. Each circuit around the sun marked by the steady reclamation of nature. The wildflowers and weeds we in high society spurn for their unwanted tenacity are those swiftest to pitch an attempt at flourishing in the ash-enriched soil. Next would arrive the grasses we take for granted, and only then do the most ambitious species of trees make their attempts.”

The scholar pauses to clear his throat. “Though I am allowing myself to be carried away… Suffice to say, such efforts could never before take root, as it were, for the active siphoning of aether from the land would sap the life from even the most stubborn weed before it could sup on the nutrients left by its predecessors. But if what you say is true about the Mothercrystals having been the source of the Blight - why, I believe we do stand a chance. I wager even now there are spores and seeds making their way into the Blighted lands to start my work before I’ve even begun it!”

Terence can hear the smile in Dion’s voice. “Then we shall hold fast to that hope. Thank you, professor.”

“No, no. Thank you, Your Radiance.” Ezekiel insists. “For it is the highest honor to be trusted for this task. Now, I shall bid you adieu. Perhaps we will speak again after the coronation.”

With a low bow, the scholar departs and his place standing before Dion is taken by the robed figure from the Undying.

“Your Radiance, I am pleased to report your worries about the chamberlain can be laid to rest.”

A relieved sigh escapes the prince. “That is heartening to hear. Nevertheless, keep a watchful eye on him in the future. I’ll be in touch as we proceed towards Rosalith in the coming weeks. Dismissed.”

The figure similarly bows and makes their way from the room.

For the first time since Terence entered the space Dion’s posture relaxes as he turns to face the knight, and Terence experiences a sharp moment of déjà vu.

Dion Lesage is always beautiful. Has always been a marvel for the eyes even as an adolescent still coming into his growing physique. The clothes he wears - be they for the court, the battlefield, or simply the bedroom - are opulent and masterfully crafted. But the sight before Terence now puts every other garment to shame.

Its base is a white, floor length robe seemingly inspired by Dion’s combat attire, now adorned with silvery motifs of Bahamut’s wings. Over which is wrapped a capelet in the rich blue of Sanbreque and a grand mantle of silver metal that brings to mind the dragoons' armor. Silver vambraces with sapphire gems wrap around his forearms, a belt of silver chains and turquoise charms tied around his waist.

Though he does not yet wear the crown, Dion exemplifies the stately dignity of an emperor.

“Your silence worries me, Terence.” Dion’s tone is light and teasing. “Has a coeurl wrested your tongue from your mouth?”

Terence can only whisper. “You look radiant.”

In a rare twist, it is Dion who blushes at the compliment. “I do believe that is the point. But thank you.”

“I confess I feel a bit underdressed in comparison.”

“I wondered if you might. Which is partly why I commissioned this.” Dion steps past Terence to a table where a slim box rests. The lid is lifted and inside sits a wreath of sterling metal vines, leaves, and wyvern tail blossoms. It’s only when Dion takes the wreath in careful hands to hold out for Terence’s inspection that the knight realizes what his intent is.

“My prince, I couldn’t-”

“You will,” Dion says in a kind tone that brooks no argument. His voice lowers to a whisper, mindful of the open doorway. “For today, whether the world knows it or not, I would not be your prince nor your emperor. Neither will I have you be my knight nor my commander. You are my equal, Terence. Let this ever be a reminder of that, no matter what parts we must play for the public.”

Terence swallows back the love welling up within him. Breath hitching but chin held high as Dion sets the wreath upon his head. The metal is cool against his temple and lightweight with its dainty craftsmanship.

“There,” Dion breathes. “A perfect fit.”

A throat clears softly from the entrance. Terence silently curses that the moment must end, but he can’t blame the steward who has arrived to remind them of the time.

Dion’s hand finds Terence’s shoulder and their eyes meet. “Our people await us.”

The courtyard chatter reaches his ears before Terence has even stepped out onto the elevated balcony. The dolorous call of the steward’s announcement echoes against the stone walls and silences the crowd.

“Presenting His Illustrious Highness, Crown Prince Dion of House Lesage!”

Dion steps forth to the center of the platform with Terence only a pace behind. The knight spares a glance to the side at the esteemed guests permitted to join them on the wide balcony: emissaries from the Crystalline Dominion, representatives from the Dhalmekian Republic, and of course Lord Rosfield and Lady Jote. The latter two of which show unrestrained fondness on their faces.

In all honesty, the ceremony is a formality. An excuse for the common folk of the city to celebrate in the evening to follow and an excuse to rob the nobility of any chance at accusing Dion of seizing power without abiding tradition. Priests lead a brief sermon to bless the emperor with Great Greagor’s grace, then a choral performance that half of the gathering joins in with. Terence tunes it out. His eyes are too busy scanning the crowd for his guards and for any threats. None come, thank the goddess.

The steward returns with Dion’s lance he procured during his time with Cid’s band; far from the intricate weapon of Sanbreque make he once wielded. Its obsidian handle is in striking contrast with the steel point and the white of Dion’s robe, but he looks no less noble and no less like the fierce dragoon he is. With head bowed, Dion’s crown is set in its rightful place, and again the steward’s voice rings clear across the courtyard.

“It is my immeasurable honor to present to you this day, Leader of the Knights Dragoon, Champion of Bahamut’s Light, His Illustrious Radiance, Emperor Dion of House Lesage!”

The uproarious cheer that follows sends a shiver across Terence’s skin. Pride swells in his heart til he fears it will burst with the effort.

As the applause dies down to a trickle, Dion raises a hand to draw the crowd’s silence once more. “It is the highest honor I can be granted to serve the people of Sanbreque. With this solemn vow I do swear to return the Empire to its former glory, to serve it as faithfully as my father once did. And to honor his memory by atoning for the sins of our past.”

A murmur goes through the crowd. No one is willing to speak out about their misgivings related to the late emperor or the havoc wreaked in Twinside by the current, but they make their opinion known through the anonymity of numbers. From this close, Terence notes the tension in Dion’s brow but the emperor succeeds in keeping his displeasure from his voice.

“It is also my wish to steer the Empire towards a brighter future. One focused on revitalization of the self rather than conquest of far off lands. On the rectification of past misdeeds rather than the continuation of tyranny. As such, it is my honor to welcome these distinguished individuals from our neighbors on Storm,” Here he gestures for the guests to step forward; the emissaries, the representatives, the future archduke. “To bring an end to the animosity of years past and take the first step on the path towards peace. Lord Rosfield, if you will.”

Joshua crosses the space to stand at the emperor’s side. The murmurs of discomfort shift towards curiosity and disbelief. Terence can even make out a quiet exclamation towards Greagor herself. For the Phoenix lives again, eighteen years since that fateful day at Phoenix Gate.

Dion looks upon Joshua with a smile, and with his head turned just so Terence receives his own fond glance from his love. “My first act as emperor shall be to relinquish control of the province of Rosaria, granting the territory its independence and placing its care once more in the hands of the Rosfield family.”

The crowd’s reaction is, as Terence expected, mixed. Shock, dissent, praise. He dares not entertain the worry of which sentiment is the most vocal.

The emperor once more raises a hand to quell his audience’s uproar. It takes longer than before, but he is patient and waits with an even expression until order returns. “Let this be the first olive branch offered to foster goodwill between our nations and return them to the days of solidarity. That it might serve as proof of our dedication to such a cause for the rest of Valisthea. With the Duchy of Rosaria as our ally once more I truly believe we can achieve it. Long live the Empire! Long live Sanbreque!”

Long live Sanbreque!

~ ⊰✥⊱ ~

It’s been many long years since Dion walked the fields of Rosaria. Not since the early days of its status as an imperial province.

His father never saw fit to dispatch him to the region, even for the few times that the Ironblood crusaders assaulted its western shores. No, Bahamut’s light was a weapon to be aimed at the empire’s greatest foes. Dion had opportunities to make the journey of his own will between campaigns, but guilt kept him from seeing what had become of the former duchy, just as guilt now claws at his heart to see the sorry state of it.

The procession’s route keeps them far from the lands darkened by the Blight, but they are ever present on the horizon. Black mountains and forests to the north, the Deadlands and the Bennumere that house Ifrit and Shiva’s companions away to the south. Even without the ashen scars on the land, Rosaria holds ghosts that haunt the empty and overrun villages they pass, and the bleak faces of the people who still reside in the lively ones.

Which makes it all the sweeter to witness the joy in their voices when they cheer for the return of the Phoenix.

Each town they pass through - given a share of food, supplies, and the good news - carves a streak of sunlight through the darkened duchy. In all the years that Dion has served his own people, none of his actions have come as close to the gratification of this decision.

Never again shall they suffer at your hands, Anabella. For the son you despaired the loss of and the stepson you spurned the existence of are united to undo your wickedness.

As predicted, the sympathetic and the loyal flocked to the royal retinue. Those within the duchy willing to provide aid and their skills pledged to make their way to Rosalith, either with the royal procession or on their own. Lord Byron met them on the road all the way from the hideaway, having borrowed a chocobo and ridden like the wind to do so. Terence joked with Dion that it seemed the lord was more exhausted than his steed. Shortly thereafter they were approached by members of the Guardians of the Flame, who assured Joshua that those who’d stationed themselves across the duchy would fall in step along the way.

By now their numbers are almost fifty strong. Rosalith is still a half week’s travel away, but from where the procession has made camp the capital city’s walls are just barely visible in the distance.

Joshua and one of the Guardians - Dion believes he introduced himself as Sir Wade - stand together by the riverbed looking out on their home. The emperor struggles to make out their words from where he sits outside the tent he is to share with Terence tonight. The pair’s laughter rings clear enough to be heard though, and it would be hard to miss the solemn bow of their heads after.

They’re reminiscing. Best leave them their privacy then.

So Dion turns his attention aside.

A trio of Guardians mingle with imperials by the makeshift kitchen, trading stories where months prior they might have crossed blades. Lord Byron’s boisterous voice carries from where he regales a group of the tradesmen with tales of his daring escapades. The emperor can’t help but wonder how many of the stories are more than half full of embellishment.

A warm hand settles on Dion’s shoulder and he looks up to meet the brilliant eyes of his beloved. “Terence. Feeling saddle sore?”

“Only a bit today, thank the goddess.” The knight squeezes his shoulder before letting go. “Though I’ll be relieved when I can sleep on something more forgiving on my backside than these cots.”

“You and I both. I’m sure His Grace will be happy to provide us all the comfort we desire when we reach the capital.” Dion assures his love, fondness for the Phoenix sneaking into his words.

Joshua and by extension Jote have provided companionship of a sort that the emperor had denied himself - beyond his entanglement with Terence - for so long. A friend who knows his every secret, his every sin, yet never judges him for it. If anything, Joshua has been downright encouraging of Dion and Terence’s love. Feigning the need for the emperor’s private attention at the castle so that the couple might indulge in a few hours alone. Discreetly saying nothing of the affections they share in his presence with no other prying eyes. It’s freeing after years of keeping their bond hidden.

It feels unfair to Joshua, somehow.

“Assuming the Dhalmeks left his castle in decent condition.” Terence interrupts his thoughts. “I had a chat with locals in the last town who’d traveled from closer to the capital for safety; they spoke of the destruction with such bleak memories.”

Dion shakes his head. “Then we shall be certain to-”

A great bellowing cuts through the evening air.

Leaping to his feet, Dion’s head snaps towards the river. Joshua and Sir Wade stand shell-shocked on the bank as an upright, bovine beast charges them from across the stream. The Guardian brandishes the axe on his back and pushes his lord behind him. “It’s a minotaur, get back Your Grace! Men! To arms!”

“Dion!” Terence’s voice calls and the emperor turns with a hand instinctively outstretched to catch the lance his love passes to him. “We need to keep it away from the camp!”

“Get Joshua to safety!” Dion orders before moving into action.

The minotaur fords the river without slowing. It lowers its horned head and faster than anticipated the beast collides with Wade. The Guardian holds his footing if not his ground, boots grinding through the mud, axe scraping against the beast’s horns. Shouts ring out from the camp behind him. Terence darts ahead to reach Joshua and urge him back from the danger. Dion orders a line of defense to meet the creature should it overcome them, then calls on Bahamut’s power on instinct before remembering his vow. His lance meets the dirt in a flash of blinding light and he launches sky high.

Only this much, nothing more. Do forgive me this one lapse in judgment, Joshua.

The force with which he pierces the beast’s bent over back is, at least, his own. He feels the blade sink in tough flesh, feels the spray of blood on his jaw. The minotaur lets out a furious braying and stumbles back away from Wade. Unfortunately, Dion’s lance has sunk too far and is now lodged. When the beast wrenches around trying to reach for him, Dion can only either hold on and risk being grabbed or let himself be flung away. He goes with the latter.

He lands with the grace of a dragoon, now disarmed and forced to reevaluate his strategy. To his dismay, both Terence and Joshua have leapt into the battle, the Phoenix with blade drawn and the knight with lance poised for attack. The minotaur’s attention is locked onto Wade, who is attempting to draw it back towards the river. The Shield gets a solid swing in on the beast’s leg but receives a cuff over the head for his trouble that sends him crashing into the water.

“Sir Wade!” Joshua calls out in worry. He strikes out recklessly at the beast, slicing up its back before moving out of range of its fists.

The minotaur swings its heavy head towards the Phoenix. Rather than be discouraged by the beating it’s taken, it only appears more enraged. Its shaggy paw reaches behind it to grip Dion’s lance and wrench it free with a cry. Bloodied steel swings in a wide arc towards the archduke.

But in that moment Terence acts. Rather than meet the weapon with his own steel, he tackles Joshua out of the lance’s path and they roll to a stop in the grass nearby just as metal whistles past where their heads were.

Dion shakes himself free from his sudden paralysis and barks an order to the nearest soldier to relinquish their spear to him. When he turns back to the fight, however, panic seizes him once more. Wade has barely recovered from his tumble into the river, searching frantically for his axe in the riverbed. Terence is still struggling to get to his feet, Joshua pinned beneath the heavily-armored man. And the minotaur has the emperor’s lance, its blade shining in the setting sunlight, raised up to bring down on the two men before it. Even if the soldiers who had hung back to protect the rest of the procession were to rush the beast, would they make it in time?

Dion refuses to let Joshua fall here. Not after everything the Phoenix sacrificed.

He lines up his aim and propels the spear from his hand, speeding forward on the emperor’s vow to Ifrit, to Clive. It finds its mark in the minotaur’s meaty throat. The cry it gives distorts with the blood gurgling out from the wound.

The lance still falls.

Sinking its crimson-stained blade into the grass, for at the last breath of hope Terence pulls the archduke with him out of harm’s way.

Dion sags with relief. Watches the beast clasp at its pierced neck futilely before crumbling to the ground in a heap.

A cheer goes up from the camp. Someone calls for the physicker to tend to Sir Wade, a few voices begin to theorize over why the minotaur would be bold enough to attack such a large gathering, and one of the soldiers calls for beef stew - which is met with a second round of cheers.

Dion crosses the field to fetch his weapon and wipe the blade clean on the grass. When he turns his gaze on Joshua - with half a mind to scold the Phoenix for needlessly risking his life, well aware he might receive a reprimand of his own for calling upon his Eikon - he finds Joshua and Terence helping each other to stand with breathless laughter. Their eyes are locked for a lingering moment before Joshua steps away.

The tender sight of it steals the wind from Dion’s sails. He expects jealousy to rear its vile head. To pour poison down his throat and feed his temper.

Instead, something else feeds the palpitations Dion has ignored every time he catches Joshua’s brilliant smile. It bleeds together with the rosy memory of their embrace in the hideaway, and the warm contact they shared in the woods outside Origin. It makes the act of denying the truth to himself impossible.

Dion is falling for Joshua.

And it seems Terence may have fallen for Joshua, perhaps even the other way around. To say nothing of what the Phoenix may feel for Bahamut - Dion isn’t ready to entertain the idea that his own feelings might be mutual.

Whatever expression is on Dion's face appears to have put off his companions. Terence’s tone is full of worry. “Your Radiance? Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Dion is quick to assuage their fears. His smile comes easily. “I feared more for your safety, my foolhardy friends.”

The tension breaks and Joshua chuckles. For once Dion lets himself bask in the dancing of his heart the sound stirs up. “Be careful where you throw stones, Dion. Don’t think I did not notice you using Bahamut’s power.”

The emperor winces, smiling through it. “I won’t tell Lady Jill if you won’t. It was an honest mistake. I fear it will take time to retrain my body and mind not to rely too heavily on Bahamut’s light.”

Joshua shakes his head and meets Terence’s eye. “We’ll just have to help hammer the message into his thick skull, won’t we?”

“I’ve been trying for years.” Terence laments in a lighthearted tone. He means well by it, of course, but Dion feels a prick of guilt regardless. “Perhaps we’ll have better luck together.”

“Perhaps.” Joshua glances sidelong at the soldiers inspecting the minotaur’s corpse. A shudder goes through him. “In the meantime, why don’t we join the others? All of that mayhem has worked up my appetite, and it seems we’re in for a heartier meal tonight.”

An hour later finds them gathered around a roaring fire in the growing dark of night, soldiers and servants alike sharing food, laughter, and stories. Sir Wade has been released from the medical tent with only a few bruises to sport, which a handful of his kinsman proceed to turn into the scars of a monster twice the size of the real minotaur in a boastful jest. Byron claps his hand over the man's shoulder and welcomes him to the hall of heroes.

At Dion's side sits his dear companions. Jote and Terence speak together in hushed tones lost over the din of the gathering. Amusement colors their faces. Joshua, on the other hand, spares the emperor a brief - and dare he say mischievous - glance before standing to enter the center of the circle.

"We do owe much gratitude for Sir Wade's bravery." Joshua begins, his voice quieting the crowd's chatter. The archduke turns for a moment to bow to Wade before righting himself and taking a leisurely stroll around the fire. "His quick thinking saved us all much trouble today. Rosaria is blessed to have a Shield like him among her protectors, and to have all of those who remained ever loyal to her. But let us not forget to also honor the man who struck the killing blow."

At this, he comes to a halt before Dion and gestures to him. "To Emperor Dion."

"To Emperor Dion!"

Letting out a quiet chuckle, Dion waves his hand dismissively. "Save your praise, please."

"Nonsense," Joshua insists, his smile only growing. "Now is as good a time as any to sing your praises. In fact, if those present will indulge me and be forgiving of my voice, that is exactly what I intend to do."

Dion's brows raise in surprise. Terence laughs from his place beside him. And given no argument against it, Joshua begins to sing.

"Oh, come hear the tale of Lord Dion the Bold," he starts, a little unsure of himself at first but determined. Dion, already recognizing the familiar opening line, bows his head in embarrassment - though he finds the Phoenix's antics amusing. "Who's tamed wyrms a-thousand, and slain that tenfold."

Joshua raises his hands to urge the other soldiers to join him. They trickle in until half the gathered have spared their voices to the melody.

"One hundred full legions the young dragoon led, and watched as a million foes turned tail and fled!"

Dion can't help but smile at the display. A few of his soldiers stand to put their all into the performance. Lord Byron stands among them, though Dion couldn't say whether his lips move because the man truly knows the words or if it's a show of solidarity. Terence's voice has joined in and when he looks over he can see Jote swaying along to the tempo.

All the while, Joshua eggs the crowd on with a smile like the sun. Lit from behind by the blaze, his bright hair aglow and embers dancing around him, one could mistake the Phoenix for having partially primed.

It's an image that sears itself into his brain. One he turns over that night while in bed with Terence.

They lay together in comfortable silence, neither of the two having had energy to do more than undress and hold each other. Legs tangled, Dion's head against Terence's bare chest, his love's hand carding through his hair. He doesn't know how long they've lain like this. All he knows is that he needs to decide on how to approach the subject on his mind.

Terence's hand goes still against his scalp and the worry that he's missed his opportunity spurs him to speak, lest his love fall asleep. "Terence."

The knight's chest rises with the sharp inhale he takes, clearly fighting back the drowsiness Dion feared. "Mm?"

"Come now, my love. I need you awake a moment more." Dion trails a hand over Terence's skin and scoots up so that their faces are nearer to each other.

"Changed your mind then?" Terence jokes blearily. His touch wanders south down Dion's back, leaving the emperor shivering for a moment with latent desire. But Dion reaches back to halt his progress and that seems to bring Terence more to his senses. "No? Then what is it?"

"It's about Joshua."

A pause.

Terence turns over on the cot so as to face Dion, puzzled. "Are you concerned for his safety? We can increase the guard-"

"No, no." Dion is quick to keep them on track. He brings a hand up to his love's face. Traces the curve of his cheek and revels in how Terence leans into the touch. "What do you think of Joshua?"

Further confusion shines in those beautiful pewter eyes. “What I…? I’m not sure I understand where this is coming from, but I think he is a good man. Honorable. Earnest, perhaps too much for his own good at times. He holds his people’s respect and the desire to lead them well in high regard. I believe he will make for a good ruler.”

“He will.” Of that Dion has no doubts. "And what of your feelings for him?"

Dark brows furrow. Even in the shade of their tent, Dion can see Terence searching the emperor’s face. The arm around his waist goes ever so slightly slack. “... My feelings…? Dion, please speak plainly.”

Propping himself up carefully, Dion takes his love’s chin and presses a soothing kiss to his lips. A bit of the tension in Terence’s posture fades. “As you wish. I suppose it is precisely that which I have struggled to do; to put plain what has taken hold of me. Of my mind and of my heart.

“Terence, before anything I would have you know that nothing has changed between us.” Dion’s tone grows serious. “You have been, are, and always will be my beloved. You are the light I look for in the morning, not the sun. You are my world. There is a place carved into my heart reserved solely for you. Tell me you understand that.”

Worry has crept back into Terence’s eyes, but when he speaks Dion is relieved to hear calm in his voice. “I do. Of course I do, Dion. But…”

Softer now, Dion infers the question. “But what has this to do with Joshua?”

Terence nods.

A quiet sigh seeps out of him. Dion leans forward so that their heads brush together. A weak, bittersweet smile finds its way onto his lips. “Because I have found that there is another space in my heart, one I believe has been reserved by him. And I wonder,” He pauses to catch Terence’s eye. “Whether our hearts mirror in that respect. So I ask again: what do you think of him?”

No answer is immediately forthcoming. Terence, stunned perhaps, can only stare at Dion and brush a gentle hand over his cheek. But he gathers his voice in time, clearing his throat softly. “He is… a beautiful soul.”

“Terence,” Dion finds his smile growing. “You can tell me that he is a beautiful man, I’ve seen the way you look at him. I would be inclined to agree.”

His love laughs too loud for the quiet of the night. Terence covers his smile with his hand. “Dion…”

“You do seem to have a clear preference, do you not? How could the goddess ever expect you to survive being handed two royal, fair-haired men-?”

“I can leave you to sleep alone tonight.”

Now it’s Dion’s turn to break the quiet with his laughter. Unable to resist the urge, he pulls Terence forward into another kiss. They linger together until the humor drains out of them at last, lips languid in their movements. They part again, Terence resting against Dion’s chest in an inversion to where they began. Dion ghosts the tips of his fingers along Terence’s spine.

His love’s voice is tiny in the wake of their revelation. “What do we do now?”

Dion has pondered that himself ever since the campfire. But now, knowing his love’s place in this quandary, he feels a bit more sure of himself. “In my mind we have at least three options. The first is perhaps the least appealing. We do nothing. We hold in these affections and carry them in silence. Let him hold to the illusion that we desire nothing more than his friendship.”

A dissatisfied hum leaves Terence. “You’re right. That is unappealing.”

The quiet rumble of a laugh escapes Dion. His hand finds a place to rest over Terence’s shoulder blade, and his smile slowly wilts. “The second would be lonely. You pursue him. Seek comfort in his arms and-”

“What?” Terence jerks upright. “Dion, you can’t seriously think I would-”

“You would be able to love him freely, as a nobleman rather than-”

“- What madness has possessed you to entertain such a-”

“- Without the burden of being in his service-”

“I will not leave you.” Terence puts an end to it. The passionate fire in his eyes freezes Dion in place. Many a trainee, many a nobleman, many an enemy have been shown such anger from Terence Lapointe. Seldom has it been directed at Dion. He could never live with himself in the wake of it before. The same applies now. Terence’s gaze bores into his and Dion sees his folly. “We are equals. Those were your words, Dion. Your assurance- Your promise. Do not forget it. I… I have bore these long years of deference happily and I would have continued to do so as needed. But that day, I swore to myself I would choose courage and stand squarely beside you, not behind you.

“Whatever euphoria or heartbreak awaits us I would have us face it together. Together or not at all. Do you understand that?” Terence ends with an echo of Dion’s prior words.

Eyes shining, Dion looks up at his love with his chastised heart on full display. Lifts an open palm in offering that Terence takes with a firm grip. “Together. Then in truth we have two options. The first or the third. We hold back or we bare our souls to him.”

Terence’s voice drops to a whisper. “I’ll be willing if you are. But when?”

“On that matter,” Dion admits, a drowsy smile on his face. “I believe we’d do well to sleep on.”

“As you wish, my love.”

~ ⊰✥⊱ ~

Beneath the scars of Kupka’s vengeance and the shadow of his mother’s neglect, Rosalith looks just as Joshua remembers it.

There on the corner sits the bakery he would visit occasionally with Jill and his caretaker to have a midday treat. He remembers Clive carrying him home on his back up that garden path. And it was under the shade of that great tree, now scorched and split in twain, that he would listen to stories their father had to share.

Every Rosarian native in the procession has their share of reminiscing to offer that first night spent on Rosalith’s doorstep.

Joshua excused himself with Jote to wander the quiet streets, assuring his many, many worried peers that he and his attendant would be safe together. They took turns trading landmarks. The seamstress’ boutique he visited once with his mother. The bookseller’s shop she would be treated to once a year. The herbalist’s greenhouse where Joshua spent hours marveling at the plants and where Jote spent months studying the effects of each flower and herb for her training.

We came so close to knowing each other sooner. We could have been just as good friends under kinder circumstances.

The next day is dedicated to surveyance. The carpenters and masons who had volunteered their expertise are conveyed around the city with guards to make sure they aren’t disturbed in their work. Joshua takes a team of his own to observe the damage to the castle.

On the surface, the courtyard and outermost structures are in disarray, but the foundational damage is minimal. Given that Kupka’s vendetta was aimed at Clive rather than the city itself, Joshua isn’t terribly surprised. But he is caught off guard by the gaping hole in the throne room, as is one of the poor souls who ventures in before the archduke and finds the floor crumbling beneath him. They’re forced to spend a fair bit of time fetching the man out - thank the Founder that his hurts aren’t crippling.

So Joshua has the throne room made off limits and takes note of the repairs needed.

The rest of the castle is otherwise still structurally sound, if in need of a touch up. Joshua finds himself a bit reluctant to venture into his old room but he does so at Dion’s gentle insistence. He’s amazed to find it in just the state he left it before Phoenix Gate. The curtains are a bit moth-eaten, his books have collected eighteen years’ worth of dust, but his bed is still perfectly made and his toys are precisely where he left them in his old chest. In the end, he spends almost an hour telling Terence and Dion about the games he would play here with Clive and Jill.

In fact, he spends more and more time with Dion and Terence here in Rosalith than they did in Oriflamme. Perhaps the blame lies in their traded responsibilities. In the Sanbrequois capital, Dion had his hands full with work to the point of spilling over, kept afloat by his steward and his twin councils to delegate to. Even without the burdens of being an emperor, Terence had his share of duties getting the military back into order and took on the care of seeing to the safety of the Twinside refugees - on top of ensuring the emperor’s safety at all times. Whereas Joshua and Jote had little to do but prepare for what lay ahead in the future and offer moments of respite for the two.

But now the archduke - though Joshua has insisted the title won’t belong to him until the city has been fully repaired - must take his turn rebuilding his kingdom. He can’t blame his friends for enjoying their lessened workloads. Truthfully, he appreciates when they take him aside and grant him moments to simply breathe amidst the whirlwind of repairs.

He’s found it harder and harder to pull himself away from their company.

So it’s a relief when Jote is the one to request his presence on the battlements. Unlike the others who beg a moment more, she’ll understand his need to return to his duty - she’ll likely insist upon it before he can.

They stroll side by side and look out over the city. Only a few weeks have passed but already Rosalith feels livelier than when they arrived. Full of hope.

“I want to hold a festival soon.” Joshua mentions after they’ve had time to enjoy the quiet. “When the majority of the work has concluded, that is. Something that can unite the people of Rosalith and bring them a day of levity, to celebrate all the hard work everyone has put in.”

“That sounds like a lovely idea, Your Grace.” He can feel Jote’s gaze on him but his focus rests on a pair of children running through the streets below. “I could begin the preparations at once if you require it.”

“That won’t be necessary. I can handle as much, and it isn’t as though Rosalith will be rebuilt in a day. Though I appreciate your offer.”

“You Grace,” She insists. “There is already much on your shoulders. It would be nothing for me to see to the planning.”

Joshua slows so that he can look at her, giving her a fond smile. “Very well then. I was thinking of a split affair. Something public for the citizens to enjoy during the day and something private here in the castle that night. A chance for us all to take a break.”

Jote bows her head and they resume their stroll together. “I’ll do my best, Your Grace.”

They slip back into easy silence. Joshua always feels at peace with her in his presence. Always protected, always cared for.

She’ll never be my First Shield like you were, Clive. But I hope wherever you are you can take comfort that I am safe in our home.

“Your Grace?” Jote speaks up again, sounding less sure of herself. “If I may be bold for a moment?”

That gives him pause. An easy note of humor leaves his lips. “Of course. You know I always welcome your candidness.”

“Joshua.” She says in a gentle but warning tone. The use of his given name is the real shock that has him stopping in place. “As your friend rather than your servant, I wished to ask… That is, I hope that in all of this bustle that you have been considering your personal desires as well as your royal duties.”

Blinking curiously at her, Joshua echoes her words. “Personal desires?”

Jote looks away for a moment, seeming to consider her response. He follows her gaze and finds that it has settled on Terence down in the courtyard, coordinating the conveyance of building materials into the castle. When she faces him again there’s a glint of something he can’t discern in her eyes, with her lips set in a firm line. “I have stood at your side every step along the path you took to get here. Ten years I’ve spent observing your unflinching dedication to your mission. A life filled with few comforts and fewer companions. We stand now on the triumph of those years. So I would ask… I would ask that you allow yourself those comforts now.”

Joshua is left speechless.

It’s a subject they’ve discussed in the past. When to hold to principle and when to allow themselves an indulgence. The need for frugality early on during their journey bred a principle for modesty even when they could afford excess. The need for anonymity bred a principle for privacy above all. They’re both only human, of course, and so would seek the rare instances of intimacy either of them have had since leaving the round-the-clock care of the Undying. But the fleeting nature of such instances would leave much to be desired in the eye of the common man. Particularly his own experiences.

The real crux of his surprise is how topical it is. Though Jote has ever been astute.

Of course she must have noticed his behavior with the emperor and his knight. Terence is a delight to be around and Dion is downright magnetic in his charms. What Joshua once thought was mere attraction to the then-prince has quickly morphed into infatuation with them both. But it could never be. The emperor of Rosaria’s once-subjugators? His second-in-command and lifelong companion? Setting aside whether it would be welcomed by his people, Dion and Terence are so deeply in love already that Joshua would never dare risk breaking them apart for his own selfish desire.

So every gaze held too long, every touch that lingered more than it should… Joshua made sure to keep just enough distance. He can live with the yearning in his heart if it must be the price of preservation.

Joshua shakes his head. “Jote…”

“Consider it, please.” She steps closer until she has to look up at him. “I would hate to see you grow old and full of regrets.”

He can’t keep the smile from his lips. Leans forward to rest his head against hers. “Thank you for your concern, friend. I’ll take it into consideration.”

Though I make no promises whether I have the courage.

Busy days pass, then busy weeks. The summer solstice is on the horizon when Rosalith once more looks like a proper capital, and so Joshua and Jote reach an agreement to mark it for the festival. Joshua sends announcements for the event across the whole of Rosaria, and sends special correspondence to Jill and the others at the hideaway to invite anyone willing to join in. He knows at least that his sister will make the time, and Joshua is eager to see her again.

The impending festivities feel a touch bittersweet. He knows that their Sanbrequois guests cannot stay indefinitely. Joshua will just have to make the most of the remainder of their time together.

The festival doesn’t quite get off to a perfect start. Joshua awakes that morning in his chamber - or rather, what he still sees as his parents' chamber - to find a curtain of rain beating against his window. He hurries to dress and seek out his uncle and Jote, who had jointly taken on the duties of festival planning as the day drew ever nearer. Byron is quick to assure him that the clouds will break in due time, not to worry his head over it as some ill omen, and sure enough he proves right.

The streets glisten from their shower when Joshua takes to them at midday. Those who found shelter from the weather indoors smile and wave to him from their windows, and before long the crowds filter out to embrace the breaking sunlight.

Music suffuses the air, a song to be heard on almost every corner. Laughter and cheers fill the spaces between. Children flit to and fro with toys and trinkets they’ve won at the games set up in the market district.

Joshua is sidetracked watching a young girl twirl about with a sparkling twig in her hand when the sound of Mid’s voice demands his immediate attention. He turns only a heartbeat before her arms are thrown around him, forcing a grunt and a laugh from his lungs. “Mid! It’s good to see you again.”

“En’t gonna be rid of me that quickly just ‘cause you’re livin’ in a castle now.” Mid links her arm with his and without warning begins to march him down the road. “Speakin’ of, you’ll have to give me the grand tour tonight.”

“You do know I’ll have other guests to entertain?”

“Oh please, I’ll only be stealin’ you away for an hour or three. Now come on, Jill ‘n them’s this way.”

Heart alight, he allows himself to be carried away. As it turns out, Mid and Jill are joined by Gav, Vivian, and Harpocrates, who have each found one activity or another to fill their time. Harpocrates regales a small crowd with an ancient tale of knights and heroics, bowing his head in greeting when Joshua is carted past. Vivian leaves the group of merchants she was chatting with to fall in step with the archduke and her former student.

“I knew you and the emperor would be making waves when you left, but I admit I am surprised at your expediency.”

Joshua chuckles. “Most of the thanks goes to Dion.”

“I’ll be sure to pass along my congratulations to him as well.”

Gav and Jill are together facing off against each other at a game of archery. Neither appear to be doing very well, but they keep up high spirits. When Jill catches sight of them approaching, she drops everything to make her way over. Joshua wraps her in his arms as tight as he thinks she can bear. “You throw quite a party, Joshua.”

He only lets go so that he can get a look at her. She appears no worse for wear, to his relief. “I asked myself what I would have wanted to experience as a child and worked from there. Uncle Byron and Jote are the ones who put in most of the work, though.”

“You're still the host, lad.” Gav steps over and pats him on the arm goodnaturedly. “Your name on the invitation’s what brought all these people here. And we all know a party’s only as good as how many folks show up.”

Mid laughs. “Too right!”

“I beg to differ,” Jill says with a quiet laugh of her own. “Though I see I’m in the minority. I’ll be eager for something a bit more quiet this evening.”

“In the meantime,” Mid says while slipping over to nudge Jill back towards the game. “How ‘bout you ‘n me go a round? I bet I can beat Gav’s streak.”

“A child could beat Gav’s score.” Vivian muses, earning an indignant groan from Gav about picking on the visually disabled. She turns to Joshua and offers her arm. “Shall we go find the emperor? I’m eager to catch up with my pupil.”

Joshua loops his arm with hers, grinning. “We shall.”

From there the day spirals into a gauntlet of food and fun. Joshua excuses himself now and then just to find a quiet place and catch his breath, often accompanied by Jill or Terence. He finds himself so caught up in the revelry that as the sun begins to dip behind the capital’s walls, Byron is the one to track down and collect him.

“Away with me, my boy! We’re needed elsewhere soon.”

The private gathering at the castle is less private than Joshua had hoped. Such was the fate of the evening once Uncle Byron took it upon himself to invite as many noble families as he could call to mind. Merchants from Dhalmekia, lords and ladies from Port Isolde, nobility and more from Sanbreque and the Crystalline Dominion. More of his evening might be spent entertaining strangers rather than his friends, but Joshua bears the price dutifully.

Minstrels play softly through the night, their notes and voices echoing off the vaulted ceiling of the ballroom. A handful of the crowd have joined into a group dance while the rest pair off to gossip or share in the feast prepared.

As through the day, Joshua finds himself bounced from one activity to the next - in this case, from one individual of importance attempting to ingratiate themself to another. Looking back, he’s grateful to have had the time to speak to any of his friends at all during the festival, for he can barely scrape more than a few minutes alone with even Mid, who tries her best to spirit him away into the castle. It’s all he can do to keep the myriad of names, titles, and holdings straight in his mind while sipping at a few glasses of wine throughout the evening.

Are you relieved, Clive, to be far away from this mess? Maybe it would be more bearable with you beside me.

It’s in the middle of the- Founder he’s lost count. Seventh? Joshua believes it’s while the seventh noble from Sanbreque is buttering him up that his saving grace arrives in the form of Terence, giving a low bow and a polite pardon. It’s the first time that he’s seen Terence dressed in more than plain clothes or his armor. A cobalt blue tunic, a sterling gray coat over it, decorated with a silver flower pin on the breast - a wyvern tail, Joshua thinks. He looks quite dashing.

“Please excuse my intrusion. His Radiance requests the archduke’s company.”

Understanding that the emperor’s desire takes clear precedence over their own, the noble bids Joshua well and leaves him to be escorted away by Terence. Joshua lowers his voice. “I cannot thank you enough for intercepting. I owe you a great debt.”

Terence smiles. “I believe we agreed not to speak of debts between us.”

Chuckling, Joshua lets his shoulder brush the knight’s. “That we did.”

Dion awaits them at the far end of the hall. His warm expression smoothes away the strain in Joshua’s posture. He can bear standing around with a pleasant face for at least another hour so long as his friends can keep him from going mad. Dion opens the door out of the ballroom and gestures with a sweeping arm for Joshua to follow him out. “I hope you won’t mind our stealing you away. You looked like you could use the rescue.”

“Please do.” Joshua’s pace quickens to hurry down the hall. His feet move on instinct, as Dion hasn’t mentioned where he wished to go, carrying Joshua towards his chambers. “I believe I may have overestimated how much I could accomplish in a day.”

“We won’t fault you.” Dion says in assurance, though his tone betrays his amusement. “Even a man of your station can possess such shortcomings.”

“Mind yourself, Your Radiance,” Joshua tosses over his shoulder with a sly smile. He can hear Terence stifling a laugh. “You are here at my behest as a guest. If you’re going to spend this time tossing around slander then I have a mind to send you away and enjoy a drink in blissful solitude.”

Dion catches up to him and trails a hand down his arm. Joshua, not expecting the touch, can’t suppress the shiver it leaves him with. “Forgive me, Your Grace. Send me away if you must but spare Terence your ire.”

“I would not dare part you.” Joshua teases. Reluctant though he is, he pulls away to open the door to his chamber and welcome them inside. The space is as different as physically possible from when Joshua arrived. His parents’ bed has been replaced, tables and bookshelves moved around or brought in from his old room, extra lanterns adorn the walls - though at present he only lights the fireplace.

“Make yourselves comfortable. And help yourselves to the bottle of wine there, it’s quite good. I believe my mother must have picked it out years ago.”

Terence shares a glance with Dion, whose expression tightens for just a moment, before replying. “I think I’ll pass. I’ve indulged enough tonight.”

“Suit yourself.” Joshua says breezily and makes his way to the side table where it sits to pour himself a glass. To his surprise, Dion joins him and holds up a glass of his own for Joshua to fill.

They toast in silence and sip at the fragrant wine. It’s stronger than the fare from the party and a touch sweeter on the tongue. Joshua looks to Dion expectantly. The emperor lifts the bottle to inspect its label, his gaze inscrutable. In the low light of the hearth his eyes flicker gold. “For all her many faults, Anabella did have good taste.”

Joshua and Terence both laugh, the former wandering over to where the latter is admiring a painting on the wall. Terence spares him a smile. “In drink and in art, it seems. Unless this is one of your additions?”

“Ah, no. This is one of the few things I left in place.” Joshua raises his eyes to the vibrant portrait of some distant relation. If he weren’t utterly exhausted he might remember her name. Archduchess Henrietta maybe? Some twice great grandmother that none of his immediate family had ever met. “It felt like the only thing…” The only thing not haunted by their memory. “It was too beautiful to put it away. Everything else had to go.”

Terence’s head tips to the side. “Everything?”

Joshua nods.

“To be replaced with fonder memories?” Dion asks, holding up a wooden figurine of an armored chocobo. Seeing the way the archduke’s face flushes, he laughs. “It’s sweet. I rather like the space you’ve cultivated. Even if your choice in furniture is modest.” He trails off to eye the bed; a simple thing Joshua had commissioned as soon as they arrived in Rosalith.

Feeling bold, Joshua scoffs. “It has served me as well as any I’ve used in the past two decades. Besides, I would ask whether you’d be willing to sleep in the same bed your parents fucked in?”

Dion chokes on his wine. Terence’s voice is aghast. “Joshua!”

It is in this moment that Joshua first entertains the idea that he might be, perhaps, just a bit more drunk than he thought.

“Well would you?”

Trying - and failing - to stop his laughter, Terence steps towards Dion who is still coughing. Dion waves him away with a wheezing laugh of his own. “I’m fine, my love… And no. I would not be willing…”

Terence then turns his attention to Joshua, a smile filled with fond exasperation on his face. “I believe it might be best to save that glass for another time.”

“I believe you’re right.” Though Joshua takes a final sip before setting his wine down. “Thank the founder I’m here with you rather than out there. Although I regret I did not have the time to join in the dance.”

He looks over in time to see Terence’s eyes light up. “Ah, it is a shame that. But perhaps I… That is, we could still partake. I believe I can still make out the troubadours' tempo from here, if not the melody.”

He extends his hand towards Joshua and the archduke takes it without hesitation. Terence’s palm is cool against his skin, always warm from the Phoenix’s fire and more so now from the drink. Terence guides him to the center of the room and a moment later it is the sound of Dion’s humming that sets the easy tempo by which they glide about the room.

It is, without question, the most carefree Joshua has felt since he was a child.

He allows Terence to take the lead since the knight seems insistent - and frankly sober enough - to do so. Joshua's robe swishes across the floor with each sweeping turnabout, his skin tingling each time Terence pulls him close with a steady hand at the small of his back.

Joshua loses track of how long they move together. Dion changes songs at least once, from the initial easy tempo to something a bit more lively. The archduke decides that he’d rather like to shake things up. Holds Terence’s hand more firmly. Laughs when he nearly trips over the knight’s foot moving too fast. Urges his partner into a spin despite Terence’s lead. Sees an opportunity for theatrics, throwing his weight into a dip that unfortunately the knight barely sees coming.

Those steady hands grasp at him in a panic to pull him back upright but when they stand chest to chest they breathe in each other’s laughter.

“Forgive me, Terence…” Joshua breathes between his chuckling. Their eyes meet and in his reverie Joshua is captivated by the sight of the firelight dancing over slate blue. At the back of his mind he hears Jote’s advice.

My personal desires…

The words tumble from his lips once more. “Forgive me…”

He leans forward with all his uninhibited courage and presses his lips to Terence’s.

Dion’s voice stalls. He feels Terence stiffening. His heart thumps with such vigor that he fears it can be heard by the room’s other occupants.

Seconds feel as though they’re minutes.

Terence’s hands move, pulling him closer until they stand flush. His lips move over Joshua’s gently and a content sound passes between them, though Joshua knows not who its source is. For one beautiful moment the fear of rejection turns to jubilation.

Then the sound of a glass being set down brings his mind reeling back to its senses.

Eyes flung wide and a gasp leaving him, Joshua pulls away from Terence as though he’s been yanked by a chain tied to his heart. “Damn it! I…” He looks frantically from Terence’s startled face to Dion. The emperor’s expression is one of mere surprise but Joshua knows from experience how well Dion is at guarding his true thoughts. “I’m so sorry- I shouldn’t have-”

“Joshua,” Terence whispers quietly, reaching out to take him by the arm. He can’t bring himself to resist and Joshua curses himself for it.

“It was not my intention to… To… Dion, Terence, please… Please forgive me-” He silences himself when he realizes that Dion has slowly crossed the room to stand beside them. Flinches when he feels the emperor’s gloved hand on his cheek. But rather than fury, rather than jealousy, when Joshua peers up into those earthen eyes he sees warmth.

“May I kiss you?” There’s a note of… Doubt. As though Dion fears the answer to his query.

The question throws Joshua for such a loop that he can only nod, thinking himself asleep and suffering a dream he’ll grieve come morning.

Dion’s lips feel real enough. Sweet as the wine they’ve shared, softer than Terence’s own chapped pair though equally as warm. Terence himself has drawn closer, his hand moving once more to Joshua’s back. With his eyes closed, Joshua can’t be certain yet he knows the knight’s gaze is on him. He feels the brush of Terence’s nose that precedes the press of lips at his cheek. A whine escapes Joshua when Dion’s lips abandon his, traveling south to ravish the curve of his jaw. Terence quickly takes up the duty of stealing Joshua’s breath away, a gentle tongue pleading permission that Joshua is all too eager to give for the knight to explore within.

Minutes feel as though they’re hours.

Too soon Dion pries them apart. A gentle hand tipping Joshua’s chin so that the archduke can look nowhere but at him. It really isn't necessary. Where else would his gaze wander?

“If you are willing,” Dion whispers. “We would show you all the pleasures you are deserving of. We would show you heaven and keep you company for as long as you desire.” His gaze slides to Terence knowingly.

“But only together.” Terence finishes. His thumb brushes the golden fringe from Joshua’s eyes. “That is our only requirement.”

Joshua’s eyes flutter closed at the touch. Once more he wonders if this is all a dream, a pleasant illusion he’ll hold in his drowsy hands when he wakes. “I would not dare part you. Please…”

He can feel the curve of a smile when Dion’s lips press to his brow. Then his presence drifts away. “Terence, help dear Joshua get comfortable while I make sure we aren’t disturbed.”

Terence’s hand slips in his the same moment Joshua hears the click of a lock. The reality of what’s to come washes over Joshua and he follows Terence to bed with heady longing in his eyes.

In the morning, when he can force himself to disentangle from his lovers long enough to throw on his sleep clothes, he answers the call of Jote’s voice at his door and resolves to pay his old friend back for her brilliant advice.

~ ⊰✥⊱ ~

The boy's name was Roger. The baker's son. Terence had nearly forgotten it in the half year since his departure from Freywell.

He recalls the boy’s name almost as soon as he sees the lad in the street, carrying a sack of grain to his family's mill. He feels a touch of regret for spooking the poor thing, calling to him out of the blue like he does. Roger probably wasn't expecting to see an armored knight and a well-dressed royal approaching him. The boy nearly drops the sack in his arms out of fright.

“It’s you!” Roger exclaims. “The knight fellow!”

Stifling a laugh, Terence bows his head to the boy. “Happy to hear you remembered my face, if not my name. It’s good to see you, Roger. Do you know where Kihel is? I would speak with her and the rest of your family.”

“Yeah yeah, she’s in the kitchen with mum. Oh, she’ll be so happy to see ya.”

“As will I, to see her.” Terence kneels down beside Roger. “Why don’t you hurry ahead and deliver that bag, then you can let your family know company’s on the way.”

“Yes, sir.” Roger brings his fists up to his chest in a salute, only to lose his grip on the bag and cry out in horror at his error. “Oh no!”

Terence can’t hold back his laughter that time. Joshua manages to keep too much of his humor from showing in his smile when he helps the boy lift up the heavy bag. “There you are.”

“Thank you, sir.” And with that, Roger scurries off to do as he was told.

Joshua offers a hand down for Terence to lean on when he stands. “What a delightful young man.”

“Indeed.” Terence watches the lad disappear around the side of his family’s home, then a minute later hurry around front to head inside. The house is just there at the end of the lane and yet he feels frozen to the spot. “He took Kihel under his wing in an instant when we arrived here. Introduced her to the other children. They would play together every day and help each other with chores. He’s a good soul.”

Joshua’s gaze settles on him. His arm bumps gently against Terence’s. “Then we should go meet with the parents who raised such a kind child. Should we not?”

A fearful smile turns up his lips for a moment. “What if she says no? I know it will be her choice, and I will respect whatever her wishes are. But I cannot pretend that I would not be disappointed if…”

“If she prefers the family she’s found here?” Joshua finishes for him, voice soft.

Terence nods.

The door to the baker’s house opens once more and out steps the baker’s wife, Sonia. He can just make out her sweet smile from here and she waves to them.

“Then you can take comfort that she is loved. And you will still have us.”

Terence spares a moment more to give Joshua a grateful smile. He hasn't seen Joshua since shortly after the summer solstice, months ago now. He'd only hoped to be able to see him when Dion thought to ask if the archduke could be spared to visit Freywell. If they weren't in the open he would kiss him. Instead, he steels himself to head inside.

Together or not at all. To think that vow now includes a third.

Sonia welcomes them with offers of food and drink which they accept happily.

Kihel stands in the kitchen wiping her hands clean of sticky dough. By the sounds she’s making, she’s growing increasingly frustrated with the effort until she abandons it altogether in favor of running over to greet them. She throws her arms around Terence’s waist - mindful not to muck up his armor, which he appreciates. “You’re back! You’re really back.”

Voice thick with the affection welling up in his chest, Terence holds her close. “Of course I am. I made you a promise, and I always keep my promises. Have you been well?”

She nods, her face buried against his side. “Roger and I have been having fun. We beat some of the other kids at a race the other day. And Sonia bought me a new dress after you left. It’s so pretty. I’ve been learning how to make bread from George, and we take baskets of it to the soldiers sometimes.”

“How thoughtful of you both.” Terence lets go of her with reluctance and gestures to the archduke at his side. “Ah, Kihel, I'd like you to meet my companion. His name is Joshua.”

Joshua gives her a smile. “I’ve heard wonderful things about you from Terence and Dion. It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

Terence expects Kihel to give a little bow or greet Josuha with the same exuberance she showed to him. Instead, she wears a quizzical look while she studies him, until she breaks into an epiphany. “I’ve met you.”

Surprised, Terence looks to Joshua for clarification but finds the man equally confused.

“It was… We were on the road to the Dominion. You were hurt, and you had that crystal on your chest. And the lady who brought the letter for Terence, she was with you.”

“I-” Joshua starts with a chuckle. “Yes, I remember now… You stopped to offer me a salve. I can scarcely believe it. That I met the emperor’s savior by chance before the act.”

Roger’s voice cuts in from where he sits at the table, awaiting the platter of food his mother carries over. “Did she really save the emperor’s life? He’s a Dominant and the emperor. Dominants don’t need saving, they do the saving themselves.”

Terence nearly corrects him, but Kihel beats him to the quick, her temper flaring fiercely and her sticky hands placed on her hips. “I thought you believed me!”

“I-I do! But none of the other kids really-”

“Well they weren’t there that day.” She huffs. “And the emperor sent Terence just to come and find me. Why else would he do that?”

“Maybe he just felt bad leaving you alone-”

“Do you think I’m lying?”

“Not me! The other kids!”

By the goddess… Were we like that, Margrit?

Sonia steps over to the two men, clearly tuning out a common occurrence she’s dealt with before. “Please, come sit and eat. We’ve nothing fancier than water to drink but the bread is still warm and the fish was freshly caught this morning by our neighbor.”

Joshua and Terence share an amused glance before following her to the table.

They’ve sampled a bit of everything on offer by the time the baker himself steps in through the back door. When he catches sight of the knight and the noble at his table he clears his throat and hastily removes the apron he wears. “Guests! Dear, why didn’t ya tell me we had guests?”

“I thought Roger told you.” His wife looks to their son, who shrinks in his seat. “Nevermind, George. They say they’re here with an offer from the emperor.” She lays heavy emphasis on the end of the statement.

The baker’s bushy brows go up so high that Terence fears they’ll join with the hair on his head. “Is that so? Eh, to whom are we speaking? Meaning your friend there, that is. ‘Course I remember you, Terence.”

“Joshua Rosfield.” The archduke introduces himself casually.

“Goddess preserve me- The Lord Rosfield? Archduke of Rosaria?” The baker removes the cap from his head and bows as low as his generous gut will permit. “Forgive us, milord. If I’d known to expect such esteemed company I’d have made up the place nicer.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Joshua assures him.

Satisfied, George makes his way over to sit across from them. “Very well then. What’s this about an offer?”

Terence clears his throat softly. “Emperor Dion wishes to thank your family for the kindness you showed to me and to Kihel when you took us into your home. As such, he offers you a choice in reward for that kindness. There is room in the capital for a family like yours, and if you desire it the emperor would be willing to pay for the expenses of relocation.”

He pauses, watching the news settle over them.

“Would be quite a change,” George muses. Then looks to his wife, scratching his chin. “Bet the business would pick right up in the heart of the empire. But we’d be leavin’ so much behind.”

“All our friends, our family.” She adds quietly.

“Not to mention the history. My great great gran was the first of my family to live here in Freywell, out from Catron way… We’ve been here ever since, not a soul’s ever left the town.”

Terence speaks up then. “You needn’t make the decision tonight, but it would need to be soon. His Grace and I must make our way back to the capital in a few days. That said, I did mention it was a choice of reward. If you decide your tethers to Freywell are too important to you, then His Radiance’s gratitude will be shown in gil. And a fairly hefty sum at that.” He reaches down for a pouch at his waist and sets it on the table, the coin settling with a heavy thump.

Sonia covers her mouth with a hand. “My word…”

George squints his eyes at the pouch. Estimating just how much gil lies within, no doubt. “... You just went around with that tied to yer belt, then? Thought knights were s’posed to be smart…”

Joshua nearly spits out his drink, shoulders shaking with unvoiced laughter. Terence chuckles under his breath. “I assure you, any cutpurse that tried to nick it wouldn’t have gotten far.”

“Sure, sure. Do you mind?” The baker sits up straighter and gestures to the pouch. Terence shakes his head. Taking the pouch in hand, George opens it up and shifts the contents around. “Greagor’s tits… Er, pardon the language, milords. This… We could get another bird with this. Patch that crack in the kiln before it gets worse.”

“Don’t be modest, dear. We could buy another bloody house with coin like that.” Sonia has taken to pacing the room. All the while, the two children have watched with quiet curiosity. They might have a vague understanding of the decision the adults are pondering, but neither of them interject on it.

George nods resolutely while setting the pouch back down. Takes a moment to meet his wife’s eye before turning his attention to Terence. “Tell the emperor we appreciate his offer mightily, but we’ll go with the coin. Our roots are dug in too deep here. Plus with another little one on the way, well…”

Terence smiles. “He’ll understand your reasons.”

Kihel’s voice is quiet but hard to miss in the wake of the decision. “We aren’t going to the capital?”

“No, love.” Sonia steps over to Kihel, brushing gentle fingers through her hair. “But maybe we’ll visit someday, hm?”

“Actually,” Terence says, looking at Kihel and trying desperately not to show how nervous he is. “There is another offer regarding you in particular.”

The girl’s eyes go wide.

“If you wished, the emperor would sponsor your relocation to the capital alone. The ideal situation was, of course, that you journey there with your new family but the offer still stands. It is the emperor’s desire to match you with a tutor that would nurture your understanding of medicine and allow you to pursue it further. And if it came to it, you would have a place there to live with my sister, Margrit. She and her wife moved back to Oriflamme recently and agreed when asked if they were willing to care for you.

“Though of course,” Terence continues, softer now, betraying his fear. “The decision is yours. You could stay here if you-”

“Would I get to see you?” Kihel asks.

Blinking, Terence nods. “Not every day, mind… B-But your studies I believe would be conducted in the castle, and Margrit’s house is near enough that when I have time-”

“I’d like to go.” She smiles, fidgeting in her seat as though she would run out the door now to do just that.

A weight drops from Terence’s heart that lets him breathe fully for the first time since he stepped into the house. “Ah… Good.”

Joshua leans in by Kihel’s ear, whispering loud enough that everyone present can hear. “He was really hoping you would say yes. As was I.”

Kihel giggles, joined in by the others' laughter. Joshua excuses himself so that he can send a letter ahead to let the emperor know of the decisions made today. Kihel scoots closer to Terence now that there’s space beside the knight. Her eyes shine when she looks up at him, and he wagers his own do the same looking down at her.

Well, little moogle, you’d best be prepared to meet your predecessor.

~ ⊰✥⊱ ~

It truly is delightful seeing the way a young girl marvels at the world around her. Perhaps it’s a bit self-absorbed, but Joshua sees much of his younger self in her.

She rides with him on his chocobo during the journey to Oriflamme and spends much of that time admiring the scenery they pass by. Joshua is all too happy to entertain every question and comment she offers up, often thinking back to the days when he would badger his tutors with every query that came to his young mind.

Never let go of that curiosity, little one.

Her wonder only grows when they reach the capital.

She wanders ahead of Joshua and Terence now, pausing periodically by beds of flowers or to gaze up and down the lane, taking in how sprawling the city is. Now and again she’ll wait for them to catch up with her to point out some new marvel she’s found or inquire about parts of the city. And each time he and Terence entertain her whims with patience and good humor.

Joshua hangs back a few paces when Kihel calls for Terence to look in a shop window with her. The knight stoops down to lift her up so that she can see something on a higher display. It’s a heartwarming sight.

He wouldn’t say that Terence has been particularly despondent lately - in truth it's been some months since he last saw his lover - but from the moment Kihel agreed to move to the capital Joshua has noticed the knight’s demeanor brighten considerably. Jote mentioned that Terence had been reluctant to leave the girl behind; now he sees the extent of that reluctance.

“Perhaps we’ll come back another day and buy you one.” Joshua hears Terence say as he draws closer to them. “But we’re almost at our destination. We mustn’t tarry.”

“Alright.” Kihel sighs. She holds Terence’s hand when he lowers her back to the ground. Joshua wishes suddenly that Dion had been able to meet them at the city gates, if only to see such a sweet sight.

The trio approach an opulent residence. A small garden filled with flowers and crawling vines sits beneath the window looking out on the street, and in that windowsill sits a woman, her hair a mass of dark ringlets pulled back on her head, reading from a book she quickly discards upon noticing visitors. She stands from the window and calls further into the house, a moment later throwing the door open to greet them.

“There he is, my dear sweet Terence!” She strides forward and throws her arms around Terence’s shoulders. “Oh, how I’ve missed you. You write to me too seldom, do you know that? Starving your little sister of any and all news regarding your health.”

The woman steps back then to look at Joshua with a pout. “Two months. Two months I spent waiting to hear that he hadn’t suffered some terrible fate after hearing about Twinside… Well, I won’t speak of it now. Terence dear, introduce me to your friends. Though I have a hunch about this darling here.” She gives Kihel a wink, prompting the girl to giggle.

Terence wears a bemused smile and an apologetic look when he turns to Joshua. “This is my sister, Margrit. Margrit, meet Kihel and Joshua Rosfield.”

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.” Joshua steps forward to take Margrit’s hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

Her seafoam eyes ignite with keen curiosity aimed at Joshua. “Ah, Terence… You didn’t tell me you would be bringing a royal to my home. Are you starting a collection?”

Joshua snickers. Poor Terence looks like he wants to laugh but also doesn’t want to give his sister the satisfaction. “Good goddess…”

“Nevermind all that then. It’s an honor to meet you, Your Grace. As it is one to meet you, Lady Kihel.” Margrit takes her bountiful skirt in hand to curtsy to the girl. Then places an open palm at Kihel's back to guide the child inside. “My beloved and I have done our very best to make your new home welcoming. Say the word if there is a single discomfort and it will be done away with posthaste. Andrea! Leave those tarts to cool and come meet our darling ward!”

Terence and Joshua follow them a few paces behind. Kihel looks back at them over her shoulder, smiling and seeming a bit overwhelmed as she’s led on a tour from the parlor throughout the estate.

Quite the energetic young woman.

Terence waves after Kihel, watching her disappear into the next room while being regaled on all the amenities available. “I worry I may have just doomed her.”

Joshua stifles a laugh hidden behind his hand. “She’s a resilient girl. If she can handle wandering the roads, I wager she can handle your sister.”

“I hope so.” Terence glances over at him, taking a step closer. “Margrit seems to like you. That’s a relief.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t that she just wanted to make a good first impression? I am royalty after all.” Joshua teases.

Laughing softly, Terence reaches out to take Joshua’s hands in his own. He chose to forgo his armor today in favor of casual attire so Joshua gets to enjoy the pleasant warmth of his bare, calloused palms. “I know my sister. She would have accompanied that ‘good first impression’ with a touch of venom if she didn’t think you were at least tolerable. The fact that she looked like a panther ready to pounce on an opportunity tells me she wants to keep you around, if only for more fodder to tease me with.”

Joshua leans in closer that he might brush foreheads with his lover. “Then I am glad she approves of me. I suppose I ought to endeavor to go easy on you while we’re here. My job has been stolen from me.”

“Ha! More like it’s been taken back.” Lowering his voice, Terence holds his hands a little tighter. “Have I told you yet how grateful I am that you joined us?”

“You might have once or twice,” Joshua says with a smile. “But I would not tire of hearing it again.”

A quiet laugh. “Well I am. I would have shared this moment with you both, if only circumstances were more forgiving. At least I already know Margrit adores Dion.”

“And he’ll have a chance to see Kihel soon.” Joshua brings a hand up to cradle Terence’s cheek. Dark lashes shade the knight’s eyes when he presses into the touch, only for those eyes to fall closed when Joshua bridges the short distance between their lips.

Founder, he has missed this. Missed Terence and Dion, their company, their comfort, their touch. Too seldom along the road from Freywell have they had more than a moment alone to indulge the yearning that has grown steadily as the months waned through the year. The greatest comfort thus far came from once more sharing a bed with his lover, but with Kihel never far they refrained from anything more untoward than arms wound around the other or chaste kisses when the girl was deep in slumber.

Terence’s lips ghost over his in a whisper. “It feels unfair, having you all to my own these past few weeks.”

A chuckle drifts out from Joshua. “Always so selfless. We will be reunited soon, take heart in that.”

“You know, Terence,” Margrit’s voice sounds from the hallway. Terence startles, still holding onto Joshua but now with eyes panicked from being caught. His sister has her hand on her waist and a sly tilt to her smile. “I was only joking when I asked about you starting a collection earlier. I wasn’t expecting you would take it as a challenge.”

“No, Margrit it isn’t-”

“Isn’t what? Exactly what it looks like? I leave for two minutes to show Kihel her new home and you’re already snogging the archduke.” She laughs. “By the goddess, please tell me you at least had the sense to break things off with Dion before you-”

“Margrit.” Terence snaps. When he continues on there’s a note of guilt in his voice. “Apologies, I just-” A frustrated sigh. “You never give me a chance to get a word in edgewise.”

Head tipped to one side curiously, Margrit’s gaze drifts between them. “... No, allow me to apologize. You’re right of course. So… What is going on then?”

The hand still holding Joshua’s squeezes gently. He meets Terence’s misty gaze and offers his lover an encouraging smile. Terence mirrors it. “Dion and I are still as dear to each other as we have always been. We simply found that there was room in our hearts for another. For Joshua. It’s…” He lets out an uneasy laugh. “It’s a complicated arrangement.”

“When were things ever uncomplicated with you two?” Margrit jokes, stepping further into the room so that she can look up at them. Or more specifically, Joshua. The smile she gives him is too sweet, too cloying to be a comfort. The archduke can’t help feeling that he’s suddenly on trial. “I’ve already threatened His Radiance with a knife in his gut if he were to ever break my dear Terence’s heart. I still would, emperor or not. Do we understand each other?”

Joshua swallows back his nerves, chuckling. “With crystalline clarity, yes.”

“Good.” Now her smile softens into something more palatable. “Because I think I will like you, Lord Rosfield. Now come along. Andrea baked peach tarts that are to die for, I assure you.”

She turns to head out of the parlor. Terence lingers beside Joshua a moment more, their eyes meeting. They share in a bout of quiet, disbelieving laughter, then follow behind her to see the rest of the Lapointe residence.

~ ⊰✥⊱ ~

“Your Radiance, the archduke and Commander Lapointe approach the castle gates.”

Dion turns to regard the messenger, stifling the swell of his heart at the news. “Have them brought here at once and send word for Ezekiel to meet with us.”

“Very well, Your Radiance.”

Clipped footfalls echo on the marble floor as they depart. Dion allows his gaze to linger out the window at the garden for a few minutes longer. How like a child he is to be so eager to see his loves again. But then, who wouldn’t benefit from the youthful vigor brought about by a long-awaited reunion?

It's been too many long months spent in yearning to feel ashamed of this eagerness.

And they will have Kihel with them.

His savior and Terence’s ward. The source of so much of his love’s longing in the months since the knight parted with the girl. Dion has rehearsed what he will say to her often since receiving the news. He’s sure he’ll forget half of his practiced words when he finally sees her, but somehow Dion will manage. As long as she knows the depth of his gratitude.

The door to the study he occupies is pushed open. Dion turns to face the newcomer and slowly smiles when he recognizes the three figures being led in by his steward.

“My friends…” Dion says as he steps away from the window.

Joshua gives a respectful bow and Terence salutes him. Sensing she ought to follow their lead, Kihel gives a curtsy, holding the skirt of her cerulean dress in uncertain hands.

The emperor dismisses his steward with a quiet thanks before approaching them. “A warm welcome to each of you. I hope your journey went well.”

Terence nods. “Only a bit of trouble when a wild chocobo attempted to steal our provisions from camp.”

“Oh my.”

Kihel looks up at Terence then at Dion with a little smile. “Terence had to chase it halfway across the field before it dropped our bag.”

A bemused smile settles on Dion’s lips at the image of the knight forced to retrieve their belongings. Would he have thought to do so on chocobo-back or would he have been so caught up in panic as to make chase on foot, he wonders. “Thank the goddess that was all. I can scarcely describe how wonderful it is to have you three here.” The emperor kneels down to be at eye level with the girl. “Especially you, my dear Kihel. I hear you’ve settled into your new home with Terence’s family. What do you think? Do you like it there?”

She nods quickly, her smile growing. “Andrea is very kind and made treats for us. Margrit says we can go to the market soon to purchase planters for my room. It’s all… It’s all so big. And so much. I get a little dizzy thinking about it all.”

He brings a steadying hand to her shoulder. “I imagine so. Terence? Perhaps it would be wise to warn your sister not to overwhelm her.”

“You’d have an easier time telling the sun not to shine.” Terence says, a thoughtful crease to his brow. “But maybe I could offer to go in Margrit’s stead, just this once. What do you think, little moogle?”

“I’d like that.”

Dion turns his gaze up to Terence knowingly. If there were ever any doubts about the knight’s affection for the young girl, they’re dashed upon hearing that nickname. He’s only ever known Terence to call Margrit by it back when they were children. “If your sister protests you can tell her that it was an order from your emperor.”

Joshua cracks a smile. “You would risk her irritation?”

“Better her irritation than her fury.”

The sound of a throat clearing from the doorway has their attentions turning. Ezekiel stands with his palms clasped together and a pleasant smile on offer. “Forgive me, my lords. I was summoned.”

“Yes, do come in.” Dion gets back to his feet and motions for the girl to face the scholar. “Kihel, this is Master Ezekiel Faron. One of the foremost botanical scholars in the empire. Presently he and his team of researchers are working on experiments to help push back the Blight and reclaim the land it stole.”

Her eyes go wide in reverence.

Ezekiel smiles and gives a shallow bow. “It might not be the most glamorous work, but already we hold high hopes for its success. Now, if I am not mistaken you must be the young girl I have been asked to tutor, are you not?”

Kihel nods, perhaps too overcome with excitement to use her words. Then, as if doubting herself, looks up at Dion anxiously to verify.

“She is.” Dion confirms. “The circumstances of her studies will be unique to say the least, given your duties abroad, but I am certain you will be able to polish her already brilliant mind.”

“I will certainly do my best.” The scholar steps closer and holds out a wrinkled hand to the girl. “Now, my dear, I was just on my way to the royal library before you arrived. Would you care to join me? I believe there are a few tomes you would benefit from taking home with you. With His Radiance’s permission, that is.”

“Borrow whatever you believe you will require.”

Kihel hesitantly takes Ezekiel’s hand. Glances up at Terence, who gives her a reassuring nod. “Go on. We’ll just be here discussing boring adult things.”

She snickers quietly then turns to depart with Ezekiel, listening as he begins to explain how their new tutorship will operate.

Go with Greagor's breath in your sails. You will flourish in life with his tutelage.

Joshua waits until the two are out of earshot to speak up. “‘Boring adult things’, really Terence?”

Dion chuckles and makes his way to the door to close it, mindful to turn the lock. When he looks back to his lovers they’ve drawn close to each other, Terence with a faint flush in his cheeks and Joshua with his eyes on the knight’s lips.

“Pardon my assumption that we would wish to be discreet.”

“Your assumption was correct,” Dion says as he returns to their sides. His hands find their rightful place in the small of Terence and Joshua’s backs. “I commend your tact, my love.”

Terence ducks his head. “Thank you.”

With a soft laugh, Joshua presses closer until his chest is flush with Dion’s and he can slip his arms over the emperor’s shoulders. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end to feel the warmth of Joshua’s breath by his ear. “To hell with tact, I say. Just for a bit, hm?”

Dion catches Terence’s eye and the knight crowds in behind the archduke. Joshua’s breath hitches beautifully even before Dion’s hands settle on his hips. Terence leans in over Joshua’s shoulder to catch the emperor’s lips in a heated kiss. Between them he can feel the knight’s hands traveling up the front of the archduke's torso.

“Would that this moment could last eternal.” Joshua murmurs.

Dion knows there will be those seeking his attention in due time. Supplicants and councilmen and more. Eventually they must part to their own duties. To emperorship, to command of the guard, and in time to ducal responsibilities.

But for now… Yes, for now he thinks he’ll set duty aside and enjoy the love his partners have to give. They've earned it.