Chapter Text
The crack of Bahamut’s wings as he took his first flight over the Holy Capital in more than a decade was so thunderous even the peasants in Northreach could doubtless hear their call. As the silver dragon soared past and above Drake’s Head, his scales glimmering like heaps of gil in the late afternoon sunshine, a chorus of joy rang out in the streets around Terence Marchand and his family: laughter, shrieks, even a small round of applause. He hadn’t seen the citizens of Oriflamme pause for such delight in all his fourteen summers.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” a soft-spoken woman prompted her young daughter, awe apparent in her voice.
The little girl, who couldn’t have been older than five or six, clung to her mother’s pale blue skirt and buried her face. “It’s scary. Papa said to stay away from dragons.”
“Papa was right,” the woman softly assured her, “But this one is different. Bahamut is here to protect us and bring us hope.”
While listening to the exchange Terence spared a thought for his own mother, Clara, lost to illness in the spell between this newborn Bahamut and the last, and his eldest brother, Cassian, who’d died on the end of a Waloeder’s pike not one year gone. He wished desperately that they could both be here to see this. That they could feel the hush of relief that now fell over the city. Their grand protector had risen anew. For the empire of Sanbreque, all would be well.
He startled slightly as his father, Marcus, clapped a large hand down on his shoulder, warm and comforting. Terence tore his eyes from the Eikon above to meet his gaze: clear grey eyes wreathed with age, dark hair streaked with white. Though he looked tired, his father always carried the aura of a knight with him. He was proud and unwavering, prepared for any scenario which might befall those he hoped to protect. Someday, Terence wanted to be just like him.
“Cassian’s death was never for naught,” Marcus said, memory thick in his voice as he stared heavensward. “This is what he gave his life to preserve. As your brothers and I have, and so too shall you.”
Terence experienced a flutter of anxiety at the idea he may one day die in the name of the Empire, but he knew what his father meant. Death was not a necessity; merely a threat which they must willingly stare down, unflinching. His hand rose to ruffle Terence’s hair. He was a soldier’s son, born and bred. His path had been laid out for him from the moment he first began to cry in his mother’s arms. But while some may find that stifling, Terence viewed it as a comfort. His life had meaning and purpose. Many were unable to boast such a thing.
Bahamut, growing acclimated to his wings, began to bob and weave, soaring high one moment only to dive low the next. Twisting and twirling in little flourishes. Even Terence’s brothers Lucius and Vincent seemed impressed by the sight above, and as his elders they were never impressed by anything. For a moment, he even thought he saw a glimmer in Lucius’ eye, but it vanished well before he could be certain. The streets of Oriflamme had come to a standstill, so enthralling was Bahamut’s flight.
“He’s only a year younger than you,” his father said, pulling Terence from his reverie. When Terence tilted his head, not sure what he meant, Marcus clarified, “The Prince. Just thirteen summers. A marvel, that is.”
Terence tried to imagine himself up there, jubilant with the gift of flight. Learning to do what no normal man ever would. How did one even go about mastering a force so powerful as an Eikon? Terence had always privately found it strange that Bearers were frowned upon when Dominants were the more dangerous magic users by far. It must be lonely to share such a grand thing with so few. To have a gift none would ever truly understand.
He watched Bahamut hover at the apex of the mothercrystal for a moment, surveying the kingdom in its entirety. His kingdom. Then he descended, steadily, and out of sight.
“They won’t make him fight yet, will they?” Terence asked, speaking at last.
Vincent, who hadn’t been paying him any mind until then, curled his lips in a wry grin and nudged him in the ribs a bit too hard. Terence winced and frowned. He was only two years older, but he acted like that short span afforded him decades more experience. “What, scared to fight already?”
Terence bristled. Vincent always made a point of saying the thing that would irritate him most. He insisted, “That isn’t it.”
“He won’t fight for a few more years,” Lucius assured him. He was always the more reasonable of the two, more so now that Cassian was gone and he’d become the eldest. He folded his arms and pulled his eyes from the crystal, which shifted and shone like a magnificent, iridescent river. “Even so, he needs to start training now. We will rely on him heavily once he’s come of age. He’s our final line of defense against the other Dominants.”
The spectacle concluded at last, the streets around them had begun to shift again. Merchants returned to their wares and children returned to their games. The once-enraptured crowd dispersed, though the Eikon’s name yet carried in dozens of voices surrounding them. Terence frowned. Being the champion of an entire empire was an unnatural amount of pressure for anyone. He only hoped the prince would be able to bear it.
“Greagor keep him,” his father prayed.
“Greagor keep him,” Terence echoed.
The moment Dion landed in the open fields outside Oriflamme, he was greeted by a round of applause from his mother, his father, and their small contingent of knights. It was deemed his first flight should be a closely-guarded affair and serve as a surprise for the people of the Empire. Though dragons weren’t capable of smiling, his heart sang with the ruckus from the streets below. Seeing his people gathered in clusters around the city, tiny as ants, was a sight that would not soon leave his mind. He was breathless and his legs felt more than a bit unsteady, but beyond all that he was utterly elated. He’d been awaiting this day ever since he’d awoken three years ago. The experience of soaring above even Drake’s Head was as grand and beautiful as he’d ever hoped. The pride writ across his father’s face and the gentle, encouraging smile on his mother’s told him all he needed to know: he’d done well.
“A beautiful display, my son,” Sylvestre said as Dion stepped into his waiting arms for an embrace. His lips alighted upon the crown of Dion’s head. “The Empire has been gifted its champion anew.”
It had been well over a decade since the Eikon of Light last took to the skies, Dion knew. The previous Dominant had been his grandfather, the former Emperor Augustus, who’d passed away just shortly before his birth. After, it had merely been a waiting game: would Sylvestre’s firstborn awaken and become Bahamut for another era? Or would he suffer the same fate as the Archduke of Rosaria, forced to sire a second? The way his father hugged him now was a match only for the day his powers had first awoken; when he’d shattered a teacup at dinner and been unable to sleep for days after, fearful of his new abilities.
Dion felt his mother, Sophia, thread her long, gentle fingers into his hair. In a voice like the soft ringing of bells she cooed, “I’m proud of you, my darling.”
Fully transforming into Bahamut was exhausting; taking flight even moreso. He pulled away from his father to embrace his mother and found the mere action of turning slightly resulted in a wave of dizziness. He was okay, though. He would be expected to complete this transformation on the battlefield all too soon, and succumbing to weakness could prove deadly. Even so…
Greagor’s breath, he was tired.
It was late. The sun had fallen behind Drake’s Head and long shadows had begun to cast over the plains. Dion knew he was clinging to Sophia a bit too long, but he was afraid that if he moved again he might falter.
“Let us return to the palace,” his father said triumphantly. “You deserve a hearty meal and a long rest.”
Food sounded good. A rest, even better. Dion pulled unsteadily away from his mother and forced a smile, steeling himself. He took a single step towards the carriage, then Valisthea shifted on its axis and all he knew was the dark.
He awoke several hours later in his chambers, the only light coming from a warmly flickering candle at his bedside. He remembered his mother gasping and his father carrying him. He remembered being shuffled into the carriage, then taken straight to bed, where he promptly went to sleep. In a chair nearby, Sophia gently dozed in her silk robe and nightgown. She must’ve been worried. Dion’s head was pounding and his limbs ached. With a small grunt of effort he sat up in bed and reached for the goblet and pitcher of water on his night stand. As he poured himself a drink, she stirred.
“Oh Dion,” she fawned, sitting upright and then hurrying to sit beside him on the edge of his mattress. He hurried to quench his thirst and as soon as he set the goblet down his mother’s hands rose to cradle his face. “Are you alright, my love?”
In the dim light of his room, Sophia looked older. More tired. Shadows highlighted the creases which swept below each golden eye. But Dion felt better for her affection.
In an effort not to worry her he said, “Only tired.”
“The physician said you’d only exhausted yourself, but I feared for you all the same,” she explained, stroking his cheek. “You needn’t put on a brave face. It must have been very frightening.”
It was. He’d never fainted in all his life, much less felt so bone weary. But too often these roles were reversed and it was Dion crouched at his mother’s bedside. If only for her, a brave face was absolutely necessary. He smiled as warmly as he could.
“You worry too much, though I’m grateful,” Dion assured her, taking her hand in his own and resting it in his lap. “I will have recovered by morning.”
Sophia shifted her grip so she was cradling his hand instead, refusing to play his game, and she leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his forehead. Her golden hair fell around his face like a curtain, smelling faintly of roses.
“Look at you,” she crooned morosely. Her thumb traced across his knuckles. “Not yet a man and already speaking like one.” She sighed. “I cannot help but worry after you. It is a mother’s right.”
Dion kept smiling, but was surprised to find he felt like crying. He swallowed thickly.
“Then I will cherish it.”
It was less than two weeks later when Terence’s father found him in the yard hitting his brothers’ training dummy with a practice blade. He’d been at it for some time, trying to master the swings he’d watched Vincent do a thousand times over, but as soon as he noticed Marcus’s arrival, he stopped, smiled, and wiped the sweat from his brow. It was a humid summer day. His father was dressed in his palace guard uniform and looked quite pleased. On a normal afternoon he wouldn’t be home for hours yet.
“Hello Father,” Terence said, a bit wary now that he’d recognized the oddity.
“Hard at work I see,” Marcus noted warmly. Terence nodded, feeling a little shy. “Why don’t you take a break and walk with me?”
He stuck the sword in the ground beside the straw dummy and wiped his forehead clean once again. He couldn’t be in trouble. His father seemed far too at ease for that to be the case. So what was it? As they began to make their way up the unpaved road leading from their home on the outskirts of the capital towards the city proper, his father began to speak.
“You recall my mentioning His Highness the prince, do you not?”
Prince Dion, Dominant of Bahamut. Terence remembered. He nodded. A fat grasshopper leapt across the path before vanishing into the brush once again.
“Well, it seems His Radiance the Emperor feels his son might benefit from a companion his own age,” Marcus explained. Terence understood in an instant where this was going, but felt no small amount of apprehension at the prospect. What had a prince and the son of a knight in common? Their worlds were as different as a hunting hound and a wild hare. Terence feared he’d only be looked down upon for his common upbringing, like too many nobles in the city were wont to do. His father seemed to notice his reluctance. “Always thinking,” he chided gently and patted Terence on the back. “I think you might benefit just as much as Prince Dion from having someone to spend your time with. The Emperor fears his son is lonely. I confess I often fear the same.”
Terence felt a bit guilty at the admission. It was true he often spent time alone and was naturally quiet besides, but that didn’t mean he was lonely. He simply preferred his own company over that of his endless brood of brothers. He hadn’t meant to worry his father. Following Cassian’s death, he was burdened enough.
“You needn’t worry after me, Father,” Terence assured him. In the hopes of alleviating some tension he added a bit wryly, “How could I possibly be lonely when Vincent makes a point of troubling me every chance he gets?”
Marcus’s lips did curl at that, which he catalogued as a sufficient victory. “Be that as it may, the prince’s want of a companion remains. Were you to say yes, you would officially be charged a squire and have certain duties to fulfill each week. But foremost among those would be providing steadfast companionship as you both grow into knighthood.” The allure of becoming a squire was tempting, Terence had to admit, but he still wasn’t certain. It must have shown, because his father offered him a patient smile. “I would not force you, of course. The choice is your own.”
Their walk had taken them to a patch of shade beneath the boughs of an ancient oak, from which a simple swing had hung as long as he could remember. When he was younger, he would extend his legs and try to go high enough he felt like flying, sometimes pleading with one of his elder brothers to help him achieve the height he needed. It was as close to dragonflight as he’d ever experience. He frowned.
“What if His Highness doesn’t like me?” he dared to ask, feeling foolish.
Marcus’s greaves rattled as he shifted silently in the shade, considering how to respond. At last he said, “The prince is an exceptionally kind and well-mannered boy, albeit incredibly studious. I find it hard to imagine he might dislike you.” When Terence remained unconvinced, he added, “But should that happen, I have every certainty His Radiance will not hold it against you. You will remain a squire and simply be reassigned.”
Squirehood was the first step toward knighthood, and would be granted a year early, should he accept. Most weren’t allowed to become squires until they were fifteen, at least; once Vincent caught wind he would be livid. But more importantly, his father and Lucius would be proud. How could he possibly refuse? Bravery was important in a knight. He could handle hurt feelings, should things come to that. Steeling himself, he took the plunge.
“I will do it,” he said, with a resolute nod.
His father’s face lit up in delight and he dragged him into a one-armed embrace, ruffling his hair with his free hand. “I’d hoped you would.”
Emperor Sylvestre Lesage’s audience chamber was the grandest room Terence had ever set foot inside. Columns of black marble accented with gold lined the lengthy space, which was decorated in red and white. Several windows lined the eastern wall and sunlight poured through them in abundance. At the head of the room, a small dais rested before an enormous mural depicting the history of the Lesage lineage and all its most notable moments. Three empty chairs upholstered in green and gold brocade awaited the arrival of the Imperial family.
Terence shuffled his weight from one foot to the other and tried his best to stand still, his head bowed. He was so nervous he hadn’t been able to stomach his breakfast. The pomp and circumstance of the moment wasn’t helping matters. The prince hadn’t even arrived yet, but already he felt unworthy. Four of the emperor’s closest guardsmen watched them carefully.
Suddenly the door to the right of the dais swung open and the emperor himself stepped through, dressed in robes of white and silver. Terence and his father immediately crossed their arms over their chests and bowed, waiting until he and the rest of the royal family had taken a seat before daring to lift their heads. When at last they did, his eyes immediately wandered to the youth seated to the emperor’s right, dressed in a simple tunic (albeit of particularly fine make) and riding trousers.
Terence had never thought of a boy as beautiful before, but Prince Dion most certainly was. On anyone else, golden hair and golden eyes might make for an overwhelming effect, but on such a serious face it only served to make him seem all the more regal. His skin had seemingly avoided the pockmarks and freckles which were scattered across Terence’s own, all the more numerous for the strain of puberty. He was a bit slender and gangly-limbed, but all boys were at their age. He wore a pair of earrings bearing his family’s crest, but no other baubles seemed to adorn his form. In every sense of the word, he was princely: poised, refined, elegant. Once again, Terence felt terribly inferior.
“Sir Marcus Marchand,” the emperor said. “I bid you and your son welcome.”
“Your Radiance,” Marcus greeted. To the emperor’s left, a frail-looking woman with long golden hair smiled serenely, dressed in a beautiful blue gown of velvet and brocade. Empress Sophia, Terence could only assume, though he had never seen her in person. She wore a spindly white wyvern tail in her hair, nestled among beautiful golden waves.
“May I introduce you to the youngest of my sons: Terence,” he continued, voice full of pride. Terence resisted the urge to awkwardly gesture with his hands, and instead only smiled politely. The emperor’s eyes traveled over his form like he was appraising produce at the markets. “He wishes to follow in my footsteps and become a knight of Sanbreque. He would be honored to serve as His Highness’s squire, should it please you.”
Terence’s eyes met Dion’s and they shared another smile. He turned his gaze on the emperor and bowed. “It is an honor, Your Radiance, Your Highnesses.”
Dion’s golden eyes stared back. He did not seem displeased. If anything, he looked impressed. Terence wanted to steal a look at his father, but he was uncertain if doing so may be rude.
“A polite and noble boy,” the emperor seemed pleased. “Very good.” The emperor then addressed Terence directly, sending a chill up his spine. He’d expected to merely remain quiet for the rest of the interaction, allowing his father to do the talking. He twisted the head of his scepter, idly spinning it against the floor as he spoke. “Tell me a bit about yourself.”
Terence swallowed thickly, feeling terrified and altogether incapable of saying anything worth listening to. He confessed, “I fear Your Radiance knows all there is to tell from speaking with my father. I am but the humble son of a soldier.”
The emperor gave him a placating look, trying to draw a less humble response. “Your father tells me—”
“Do you know how to ride a chocobo?” Dion piped up suddenly, surprising everyone.
Terence blinked, worried the emperor may reprimand him for speaking out of turn. But he did not. Dion waited patiently for his answer.
Feeling a wash of shame, Terence confessed, “I do not, Your Highness. I have not often traveled where my legs cannot carry me.”
“Would you like to learn?” Dion asked, seeming, against all odds, pleased by this outcome.
Empress Sophia chuckled softly, a wonderful sound, and Terence became a little more at ease. “The prince does so adore his chocobos. If you’ve a willingness, I’ve little doubt he’ll have you trotting all the way to Northreach by the end of the week.”
Terence had to admit, he’d always admired the giant birds and their riders as they passed through city, or trotted along the outskirts. The idea of learning to ride, himself, was an unmatched thrill. He replied, trying to sound appropriately humble despite his excitement, “Should it please His Highness I would love to learn.”
Dion hopped up out of his seat and hurried forward to stand a meter or so ahead of Terence, smiling so kindly Terence felt a bit bad for ever thinking he would be anything other than perfectly respectful. He extended a hand, which Terence blinked at for a moment before extending his own. Dion clapped their arms together and shook, then beamed.
“A squire of my very own!” Dion marveled, but seemed to sense the humor in the statement. “I’m not even a knight myself yet.”
“But you will be, one day soon,” the emperor reminded him, an unmatched warmth in his voice. “Should the two of you find friendship with one another, nothing would please me more.”
Though the entire idea of arranging a friendship remained a bit odd, Terence felt more at ease having learned the prince wasn’t sniveling or a snob. Rather, he seemed to be the sort of boy he might befriend all on his own. A different kind of excitement coiled in his gut. He’d never had many true friends.
“Then we’d do well to get a head start,” Dion urged, sharing a conspiring look with Terence. He turned and bowed to the emperor. “Father, may we be excused to visit the stables?”
Terence threw a look at his own father, then, no longer able to resist, and found Marcus beaming with delight. Relief washed over him in an instant. The stables? He’d never been close enough to pet a chocobo. He certainly hadn’t expected this turn of events so soon.
“Of course,” the emperor said, then addressed Terence once again. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Terence. I hope we will be able to converse more in the days to come.”
Terence bowed deeply, suddenly feeling terribly grateful. “And you, Your Radiance. Thank you for this opportunity.”
“Thank you, Terence,” the empress echoed.
“Your Highness,” Terence bowed to her.
“Follow me, then,” Dion instructed, waving a hand to usher Terence towards the door he’d entered the audience chamber through earlier, “and we’ll see if we can’t find you a bird.”
As Terence trailed behind the blonde boy down the lengthy hall, he couldn’t help but marvel at his luck. Perhaps his time with the prince wouldn’t be so bad after all, he thought, waving politely to his father. Mayhaps he’d even enjoy it.