Arrival of the Ward
Jul. 11th, 2023 11:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seleniasTitle: Arrival of the Ward
Fandom: FFXVI
Characters/pairing: Dion/Terence
Rating: T
Word Count: 1066
Notes: 1. my god i can't believe Terence has his hands on the nuclear war codes!!!
2. i love that after Joshua and Dion finished their discussion in the audience chamber in-game, it's revealed that he and Terence have already discussed Dion's intentions, and all Dion needs is a simple confirmation of support to go berserker mode on the palace.
3. i spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to write this dynamic with what little is seen of Terence, and i think i conveyed what i wanted. Dion's priority is his nation, Terence's is Dion.
-
Dion’s gauntleted hand went to the back of his head and slid through the fine, combed hairs. The glare from the window made his eyes shutter but Terence didn’t move away.
For a moment, all was well.
The air smelled of stale cologne from earlier occupants and birds hurtled past the window when the clock-tower thundered in the mid-town square; their shadows cast a pall of darkness in the unassuming peace of the imperial palace, relieving Terence’s dry eyes for a few seconds. Garish laughter floated up from a garden luncheon below in the yard. Dion’s face was so close it was obscured, his own lashes flecked with golden light.
With great difficulty, Terence managed words. “You have the proof you need to make a case. I’ll remind you the Eminences despaired when your father married her.”
“They still are.” The cold metal of his fingers were soothing where they rested against the nape of his neck. “But now they address her child.”
“I’m so sorry, Dion.”
“Don’t.” His forehead dragged against his own before his mouth pressed hot air against his cheek. “I got the answers I came for.”
“And a case you’ll be making on behalf of the entire country.”
“In which case, I should be apologizing to you.” Terence waited. Dion clarified: “I’m going to tear Anabella’s throat out with Bahamut’s teeth. I’m going to make a mess. You won’t stop me?”
“From your civic duty? I wouldn’t cross you.”
“Terence,” he hissed and the space warmed between them. “You fool. Tell me if I’m wrong.” Tell me to hold back.
“We’ll move tonight,” Terence said. His fingers curled, gauntlets stiff, full of dust from the road. He kept his palm flush against the green of Dion’s belt. “I’ll pull what men I can. We’ll put a show on for the palace guard and evacuate the grounds and closest levels. Further if the fighting spreads.”
Dion grimaced and brought up his other hand and framed Terence’s face. Through the bandages under his shirt sleeve, Terence could still smell the astringent balm he’d rubbed on that morning. It occurred to him then that this was where the apology stemmed; that he was a servant of the state and they’d both sworn their fealty decades ago and watched all that they could not change crumble away before men weaker than them. Tell me to hold back. His Prince meant to destroy the whole thing. If Phoenix Gate was Anabella Rosfield’s first performance, this comeuppance was heaven sent.
“Alright,” Dion said, gazing at him, voice soft and empty. He swallowed, mouth working. “After I send the Phoenix on his way.”
Terence exhaled through his nose. ”I’m thankful he arrived with the news that he had. It’s brought some clarity, at least.”
“Me as well. I appreciate his warning. But it doesn’t change what I must do.”
Dion pulled back, fingers sliding down to Terence’s shoulders and touching the collar around his neck with careful finality. “I’ll be happy to end this Great Greagor nonsense the echelon spews.”
Then he turned and walked away, shoulders corded and angry under the lines of his shirt. He leaned his upper body over the back of the red sofa and touched his cursed arm with care.
“I haven’t imagined it. My father’s been distancing himself for years because of Anabella’s lies. Were I not Bahamut, she would do her best to see me in chains, like the bearers in Rosalith who she sends her black knights after to hunt for sport. She left her own children to die for the promise of better blood. She’s beyond my mercy.”
“You are not a lone witness, My Prince.”
“But I am, for her confessions. My father however can take responsibility for his own shortcomings. I don’t envy him.”
Terence moved to the great table in the room and smoothed out the runner’s fold, mindful of the vase on the surface. It felt like all the unrest that was carefully concealed from view was spilling out like coins from a bag.
Sudden frustration crawled up his spine to the top of his head and made him reel from its cold and calculated intensity: if he should speak wrong here and let loose the terror that was an incensed eikon with its back against the wall it would be a failure on two accounts of fealty. If his belief was as well-placed as he knew then what Dion needed most was action that could only come from his hand — and Terence could help with that.
“To say nothing of your dragoons — even our oldest men remember her coins. And I hear more and more from them what’s happened in Rosalith — what will happen here if she keeps talking with the augurs.” Terence rounded the table and poured two cups of black tea from the cooling pot and left them at the end of the table. The tray he removed to the polished cart at the door. Outside, meetings adjourned, and the hall began to fill with noise.
Dion was touching the petals of the wyvern tail he’d received from his father and slipped in the vase. “And what of you?” His voice was odd and strained.
“What of me?”
Dion was holding back.
“The darkness that Phoenix spoke of, this Ultima and his intent here…”
Terence straightened, keen. “You’re unchanged,” he said.
“You’re certain.” They locked eyes.
“Without a doubt.”
Dion said nothing for a few minutes. Terence glanced at the door.
“Dion.” He craned his head. “My Prince. Bahamut may be the champion of the empire, but I’ll remind you that Dion Lesage is the champion of its people. And I am one of your most loyal and critical subjects.”
“I know,” Dion said. His small smile was a careful code for grief. “I know you are.”
A knock came softly at the door. Terence looked firmly at him and waited. Dion composed himself, standing tall, and rung the bell on the table.
Dion may have worn no shackles or imperial brand, but his fate was sealed by them nonetheless. Terence sometimes wondered if he would ever outweigh the calling of his station.
“Lord Joshua Rosfield and Lady Jote to see you, Sirs.”
Dion rolled his shoulders back and strode forward and past. The doors opened wide.
“Thank you for waiting,” Dion said, warm and cordial, and Terence followed suit.
Fandom: FFXVI
Characters/pairing: Dion/Terence
Rating: T
Word Count: 1066
Notes: 1. my god i can't believe Terence has his hands on the nuclear war codes!!!
2. i love that after Joshua and Dion finished their discussion in the audience chamber in-game, it's revealed that he and Terence have already discussed Dion's intentions, and all Dion needs is a simple confirmation of support to go berserker mode on the palace.
3. i spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to write this dynamic with what little is seen of Terence, and i think i conveyed what i wanted. Dion's priority is his nation, Terence's is Dion.
-
Dion’s gauntleted hand went to the back of his head and slid through the fine, combed hairs. The glare from the window made his eyes shutter but Terence didn’t move away.
For a moment, all was well.
The air smelled of stale cologne from earlier occupants and birds hurtled past the window when the clock-tower thundered in the mid-town square; their shadows cast a pall of darkness in the unassuming peace of the imperial palace, relieving Terence’s dry eyes for a few seconds. Garish laughter floated up from a garden luncheon below in the yard. Dion’s face was so close it was obscured, his own lashes flecked with golden light.
With great difficulty, Terence managed words. “You have the proof you need to make a case. I’ll remind you the Eminences despaired when your father married her.”
“They still are.” The cold metal of his fingers were soothing where they rested against the nape of his neck. “But now they address her child.”
“I’m so sorry, Dion.”
“Don’t.” His forehead dragged against his own before his mouth pressed hot air against his cheek. “I got the answers I came for.”
“And a case you’ll be making on behalf of the entire country.”
“In which case, I should be apologizing to you.” Terence waited. Dion clarified: “I’m going to tear Anabella’s throat out with Bahamut’s teeth. I’m going to make a mess. You won’t stop me?”
“From your civic duty? I wouldn’t cross you.”
“Terence,” he hissed and the space warmed between them. “You fool. Tell me if I’m wrong.” Tell me to hold back.
“We’ll move tonight,” Terence said. His fingers curled, gauntlets stiff, full of dust from the road. He kept his palm flush against the green of Dion’s belt. “I’ll pull what men I can. We’ll put a show on for the palace guard and evacuate the grounds and closest levels. Further if the fighting spreads.”
Dion grimaced and brought up his other hand and framed Terence’s face. Through the bandages under his shirt sleeve, Terence could still smell the astringent balm he’d rubbed on that morning. It occurred to him then that this was where the apology stemmed; that he was a servant of the state and they’d both sworn their fealty decades ago and watched all that they could not change crumble away before men weaker than them. Tell me to hold back. His Prince meant to destroy the whole thing. If Phoenix Gate was Anabella Rosfield’s first performance, this comeuppance was heaven sent.
“Alright,” Dion said, gazing at him, voice soft and empty. He swallowed, mouth working. “After I send the Phoenix on his way.”
Terence exhaled through his nose. ”I’m thankful he arrived with the news that he had. It’s brought some clarity, at least.”
“Me as well. I appreciate his warning. But it doesn’t change what I must do.”
Dion pulled back, fingers sliding down to Terence’s shoulders and touching the collar around his neck with careful finality. “I’ll be happy to end this Great Greagor nonsense the echelon spews.”
Then he turned and walked away, shoulders corded and angry under the lines of his shirt. He leaned his upper body over the back of the red sofa and touched his cursed arm with care.
“I haven’t imagined it. My father’s been distancing himself for years because of Anabella’s lies. Were I not Bahamut, she would do her best to see me in chains, like the bearers in Rosalith who she sends her black knights after to hunt for sport. She left her own children to die for the promise of better blood. She’s beyond my mercy.”
“You are not a lone witness, My Prince.”
“But I am, for her confessions. My father however can take responsibility for his own shortcomings. I don’t envy him.”
Terence moved to the great table in the room and smoothed out the runner’s fold, mindful of the vase on the surface. It felt like all the unrest that was carefully concealed from view was spilling out like coins from a bag.
Sudden frustration crawled up his spine to the top of his head and made him reel from its cold and calculated intensity: if he should speak wrong here and let loose the terror that was an incensed eikon with its back against the wall it would be a failure on two accounts of fealty. If his belief was as well-placed as he knew then what Dion needed most was action that could only come from his hand — and Terence could help with that.
“To say nothing of your dragoons — even our oldest men remember her coins. And I hear more and more from them what’s happened in Rosalith — what will happen here if she keeps talking with the augurs.” Terence rounded the table and poured two cups of black tea from the cooling pot and left them at the end of the table. The tray he removed to the polished cart at the door. Outside, meetings adjourned, and the hall began to fill with noise.
Dion was touching the petals of the wyvern tail he’d received from his father and slipped in the vase. “And what of you?” His voice was odd and strained.
“What of me?”
Dion was holding back.
“The darkness that Phoenix spoke of, this Ultima and his intent here…”
Terence straightened, keen. “You’re unchanged,” he said.
“You’re certain.” They locked eyes.
“Without a doubt.”
Dion said nothing for a few minutes. Terence glanced at the door.
“Dion.” He craned his head. “My Prince. Bahamut may be the champion of the empire, but I’ll remind you that Dion Lesage is the champion of its people. And I am one of your most loyal and critical subjects.”
“I know,” Dion said. His small smile was a careful code for grief. “I know you are.”
A knock came softly at the door. Terence looked firmly at him and waited. Dion composed himself, standing tall, and rung the bell on the table.
Dion may have worn no shackles or imperial brand, but his fate was sealed by them nonetheless. Terence sometimes wondered if he would ever outweigh the calling of his station.
“Lord Joshua Rosfield and Lady Jote to see you, Sirs.”
Dion rolled his shoulders back and strode forward and past. The doors opened wide.
“Thank you for waiting,” Dion said, warm and cordial, and Terence followed suit.
