Torgal had been here before.
The place Joshua and the other man had led him to was hot, loud, confusing, and smelled too much like everything all at once, but Torgal had been there before. He walked near Joshua to keep him safe.
He followed Joshua around the place, stopping when he stopped and waiting patiently for him to move again. Joshua walked around a lot and spoke with many strangers.
Joshua had lowered himself to the ground to rest when Torgal caught it.
Just barely there. Faint. Home. Clive.
Where. Where. Where?
There. He moved, and people scrambled out of his way. Back, to the entrance of the place.
From there. No, not from the small one, but from something she held. That belonged to Clive. Torgal took it from her and scented the air once more. She traveled from there. Torgal would find Clive and return this to him.
This would work. Torgal would find Clive. It would work. It must.
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The light of the sun was harsh as it beat down on the market of Boklad, the heat made worse by the stagnant afternoon air.
"Torgal?" Joshua called, trying to find any sign of the hound. Torgal had been right beside him, had he not? Where could he have gone, and why would he have left Joshua's side? "Torgal!" He shouted again. Would he have left to return to the beach?
Joshua knew he should not panic – Torgal was more than capable of keeping himself safe. Joshua fancied himself quite capable, as well, even without his magic. However, there was a brief moment in which Joshua was confronted with the terrifying prospect of losing Torgal so soon after losing his brother and a pit of dread opened in his stomach.
He walked around the market searching for Torgal for several minutes and had just resigned himself to locating Dion to tell him that their search had unfortunately expanded to two subjects when a commotion caught his attention.
Near the entrance to the market, a woman helped a young girl off the ground. The young girl eventually waved off the woman's help with a small smile.
Had the girl fainted from the heat, perhaps? Or tripped? Joshua wondered whether the girl could have been startled and fallen – startled, perhaps, by a hound? There was something familiar about the girl, though Joshua could not glean what it was…
Joshua approached, hoping.
The girl was pale and looked out of sorts. She glanced around as though expecting someone to attack her.
"Are you alright?" Joshua asked.
"…yes. Thank you, milord," the girl replied warily, inclining her brunette head, "And may the mothers guide you." She brushed some of the dust from her skirt and moved as though she were about to leave.
"Begging your pardon," Joshua hedged, "but I am searching for my hound. Gray and white, about this tall," he held his hand level at his waist to demonstrate Torgal's considerable size. "I was wondering if, perchance, you've seen him?"
Her eyes widened. "That dog knocked me over!" The girl blurted out. "And stole the—my armlet!"
That was certainly alarming.
"He stole something of yours?" Joshua asked incredulously. That did not sound like Torgal at all – the hound was usually very polite and well-behaved. He did not typically run away, either, though Joshua supposed these were not typical circumstances for the poor fellow.
"Alright, it wasn't my armlet, but—" the girl looked around and lowered her voice, "it belongs to a man I've been looking after. He's ill and has been asleep since we found him. We couldn't figure where he was from and the armlet looked unique, so T—my father bade me ask the blacksmith if he recognized the work."
Torgal would have only one reason to steal something like that. Joshua nearly stopped breathing. Could it have been…?
"Did it look anything like this?" Joshua extended his left arm to show off his gleaming silver armband. The sunlight bounced off of the intricate vines and threw small rainbows through the bright red heartstone.
The girl's face lit up. "Exactly like that! You know where it's from, then?"
Torgal had knocked this girl over, taken Clive's armband from her, and run off.
"I believe the man you've been caring for is my brother," Joshua said quickly instead of answering. "Please, will you bring me to him?"
The girl's features twisted in uncertainty. "I…I don't believe that would be wise, milord."
"You offered me aid, once, when I was ill," Joshua recalled, finally, "on the road to Twinside."
"That was you!" The girl exclaimed, recognition brightening her eyes. "I thought you seemed familiar! You look so much better, now!"
"I am better, now. Mostly thanks to my brother, Clive. His armband and mine are unique – the only two of their like in all of Valisthea. Please," Joshua begged.
The girl seemed to consider his plea for a moment before her gaze caught on something just over Joshua's shoulder. Joshua turned to see Dion.
Dion stood stock-still with his eyes wide and his mouth agape. The man appeared as unbalanced as though he had seen a phantom.
"Milord?" The girl asked in disbelief.
"Kihel?" The Prince choked out.
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Torgal's leap and their subsequent fall to the floor had knocked all of the air from Clive's lungs at once, yet Clive felt only glad for their collision.
Once Clive regained his breath and realized that what had hit him was, indeed, Torgal, he found the hound's formidable weight very familiar and comforting. Despite all his grief, Clive could not stop a shocked laugh even as his vision clouded with tears; he had truly believed he would never see his dear friend again, and here he was!
"It seems you've found me again, boy," Clive said a little tremulously. "It's good to see you after everything that's happened." He ran his hands – free of the curse, that still seemed miraculous to him – through Torgal's thick fur.
Torgal whined and pressed his nose as close as he could to Clive's throat. His tail wagged with such velocity that it jostled both of them. Unable to contain himself, Torgal licked at Clive's face. He also yipped sharply and loudly very near Clive's ear, though the man figured he deserved that.
"At least it wasn't over a decade, this time," Clive consoled weakly. "Thank you, Torgal. There will never be a finer hound." Torgal yipped again and Clive winced at the pain in his ear.
"And to think I believed I would find you being savaged by a wild beast," the Sanbrequois man said as he appeared in the doorway. He was on guard, stance solid, expression wary. "Animals with such abilities typically thirst for blood."
Clive noted the lance at the ready in his hands. Ah, so he was a dragoon, then – or had been one, before the empire had dissolved into chaos.
"The only wild beast here is Torgal's appetite," Clive replied in good humor and watched the man relax slightly. "I do apologize for the damage he's caused to your home; I'll gladly pay any repairs necessary."
Clive imagined the three of them made quite a sight – an unarmored dragoon bearing a lance, an outlaw undercover laying on the floor, and a wolf who had destroyed at least two doors and dealt damage otherwise unknown to the rest of the house.
The man allowed his lance to come to rest at his side and shook his head, "That will not be needed as we were planning to leave—"
"Sir Terence!"
The faint voice of a young girl from outside, colored with some urgency.
The man – Sir Terence, Clive assumed, glad to put a name to the face – straightened up and gripped his lance more tightly. The worry returned to his countenance immediately.
"Excuse me," Sir Terence said quickly and pointed to Clive with his unoccupied hand, "Wait here."
The dragoon disappeared from the doorway and Clive focused his attention back to the wolf laying on top of him.
"You wouldn't let me up, anyway, would you?" Clive asked the hound. Torgal needed a bath, Clive thought, finding sand clinging to the hound's fur in places.
Torgal huffed, licked Clive's face again, and pushed his cold, wet nose against Clive's ear. The refusal to move was clear.
"Understandable."
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Kihel, Joshua, and Dion moved with some urgency to Kihel's home when Dion finally managed to convince her that Joshua was neither thief making to rob her, nor killer seeking to do her harm. It had taken some effort – Dion found speaking quite difficult as the relief from learning that Terence had survived, as well, threatened to choke him.
The home Kihel led them to just a few minutes outside of the Boklad market was modest, though a measure better than Kihel's home in the slums outside of Twinside had been. When the structure was in sight, Kihel broke into a run upon seeing that where once a front door had been remained only a few bits of wood clinging to a frame.
"Sir Terence!" Kihel cried, and Dion's heart ached for how afraid she sounded.
Before the trio made it to the front entrance of the home, who should step into the brilliant afternoon sun but Terence brandishing his lance. Kihel met him there and the two exchanged some hushed words before Kihel turned and took up Joshua's hand to lead him into the house.
And Dion was left with Terence, who offered a traditional Sanbrequois salute and set his lance aside immediately after. Terence, whose hair was still lovely and dark, whose eyes were still brilliant hazel.
"My Prince…" Terence breathed out.
His voice shaking, Dion replied, "Terence."
Dion's second-in-command took a few shaking steps toward the Prince and stopped.
Terence extended an arm and asked, "May I…?"
Dion closed the remaining distance between them and wound his arms as tightly around Terence as he dared. Terence was solid and warm, as usual. He had survived the catastrophe of Twinside and he lived. They both lived.
"Of course," Dion replied, slightly muffled into Terence's shoulder, "Always."
"My Prince," Terence began, "forgive me, but…what happened? The last anyone saw of you was at the sacking of Ran'dellah."
"I have much to tell you, as I am sure you have much to tell me," Dion said. He pulled away from the embrace to look upon Terence more fully. "But before I can go on, you must know – it is not only the Blessing of the Crystals and the Bearers' magic which have faded; Bahamut is gone, along with the might he bestowed upon me."
"Gone?" Terence asked in confusion, his eyebrows pulling together.
Dion nodded. "I wield his power no longer. I am simply a man, now. I can command the Knights Dragoon no longer," Dion explained with no small measure of shame.
There was a pause in which Terence appeared to consider Dion's words.
"You speak as though Bahamut is my prince – as though Bahamut was the man I followed into battle," Terence replied seriously. "I do not answer to Bahamut; I answer to His Imperial Highness, Prince Dion Lesage."
"What strength was bestowed upon me has faded," Dion insisted, sure that Terence had simply failed to understand. "What favor it earned me has departed, as well."
"Bahamut…" Terence considered, "Warden of Light, whose strength poisoned you each day and threatened to tear you from me; whose glorious wings would see you to martyrdom sooner than to a throne. Forgive me, Your Highness, if I blaspheme when I bid 'good riddance' to Greagor's mightiest weapon."
Blasphemy it indeed was not – not after what Dion had learned of Ultima's plans for the Eikons and the aether which gave them form. And Dion would never regret the newfound good health which accompanied the absence.
And yet.
"Without it, I am…" Dion protested.
Unworthy, Dion wanted to say. Unworthy of his station, unworthy of his title, unworthy of it all. Unworthy of what affection Terence held for him.
"Without it, I am simply me," Dion settled on, finally.
A small, startled smile bloomed on Terence's mouth. The dragoon's hands settled on Dion's shoulders, and Dion thought he may collapse from the weight of his lieutenant's regard.
"I can think of nothing more lovely for you to be," Terence said.
Dion stared at Terence, searching desperately – but Terence's eyes were light, only light.
"Terence…" Did Dion dare hope it to be so? "…you still…?"
Warm, calloused hands gently cupped Dion's face as though he were liable to shatter at the slightest pressure.
"Of course," Terence murmured, terribly, heart-achingly fond, "Always."
Terence bent his head to press his lips to Dion's own, Dion's fingers threaded into Terence's hair, and the world felt like it had righted itself.
((((((((((((((((()))))))))))))))))))
"We should give them a moment," Kihel murmured as she and Joshua moved past the pair staring at each other in shock outside the entryway. "And I can take you to see him in the meanwhile."
"Thank you, Kihel," Joshua said.
Please, Joshua wished again, please let it be Clive. Please do not allow our search to have been in vain. I fear the pain will be too great.
"I must warn you," Kihel said as they rounded a corner, "he hasn't woken in his right mind, yet. He had a fever for quite some time, and—" Kihel broke off suddenly, and Joshua understood why when he saw it.
There were shards of wood all over the floor, scorch marks along the walls – it appeared as though someone had conjured a thunderstorm in the hallway. It had likely been Torgal's doing, as Joshua knew the wreckage outside had been, but on the chance that it had not been…
Joshua pulled Kihel behind himself without making a sound and drew the sword from his hip. If there was a threat here, he would not allow it to harm her. He took a steadying breath and made his way to the destroyed door halfway down the hall.
It was Torgal that he noticed, first. Huge, gray and white, strong constitution, tongue lolling from his mouth as he panted in the closest approximation of a smile a dog could manage. Torgal's wagging tail only increased in speed when he saw Joshua in the doorway.
It was Clive that Joshua noticed, next. Pinned beneath Torgal and craning his neck to see what was happening. Skin still a healthy tan, hair still dark and unruly, eyes still clear blue. Alive, just as Joshua had wished.
Clive looked upon Joshua as though he could not believe his eyes.
"J-Joshua…?" Clive asked. "How…?"
The grip of the sword slipped from Joshua's hand and the blade went clattering to the wooden floorboards with a sharp, metallic ringing.
"Clive!" Joshua exclaimed. What tension, unease, and grief had stalked his heart since he had awoken on the beach drained from him.
Torgal graciously moved so that Joshua could grip his brother's shoulders and embrace him. Clive held him with a force that nearly left him breathless. Joshua suddenly recalled Clive cradling him in Origin and a lump rose in his throat.
"I," Clive gasped in shock, "am—am I dreaming?"
"This is no dream," Joshua assured, "else I am dreaming it, too."
"You're here."
"I'm here."
"You're alive."
"So are you."
Clive pulled back slightly and raked his eyes over every inch of Joshua that he could see. "You—but you—Ultima killed you, Joshua, I couldn't…You died. I tried—I tried, with the Phoenix. It didn't work. Even with Ultima's power, it didn't work."
Joshua shuddered to think of his brother alone in that horrible place with Joshua's bloodied corpse and the power of a god at his fingertips granting nothing but agonizing failure. Considered, again, the pain of his brother being forced to watch him die and unable to do anything. Had the roles been reversed and Joshua been in Clive's place, Joshua thought he may have gone mad.
He pulled the neck of his tunic down slightly to display the lack of a wound – the lack of even a scar. "I know nothing but that I am alive and in good health."
Clive simply stared at Joshua - at his face, into his eyes, as though he may forget what Joshua looked like and was desperate to memorize him.
"Thank the Founder," Clive finally breathed in relief, his voice hitching in the middle, and reeled Joshua back in for another hug.
After a time, Torgal grunted and wormed his way between them. The three of them sat there on the floor together, alive. Reunited. Miraculous.
Thank you, Joshua thought, knowing not to whom he should attribute his gratitude for Clive's survival but feeling as though he should do so, anyway. Thank you.
"My brother…" Joshua exhaled. He still found it hard to believe. He buried his face in Clive's shoulder. Clive's grip tightened.
Fate had not been able to take Joshua's brother from him and their hard work to thwart Ultima's plans had not been in vain. No longer were they bereft of time, no longer did the chains of unimaginable terror and divine intervention surround them.
The future was theirs to do with as they pleased.