A/N: lmao hi hello
**BETA-READ BY the magnificent AkaiSafire who is god-tier and without whom this work wouldn't be even HALF as coherent as it is now. may she never shatter a phone screen, and may her beverages always be optimal drinking temperature!
love you
enjoy
oxy
~XxX~
The bird landed heavily on her arm and its talons bit into the dark leather.
With the message still echoing in her mind and the stolas on its way once more, she turned to Gerulf with a frown.
"Nothing in the Free Cities," Benedikta said.
"Nor from within the borders of the Crystalline Dominion," Gerulf reported.
Benedikta frowned but squared her shoulders and violently removed the sand from her clothing with a gust of sharp wind. She shielded her eyes from the sun with one hand and gazed out at the dusty horizon.
"Order the men to pull back. Refocus their efforts on Dhalmekia. If we find nothing, we shall move west from here," Benedikta ordered.
The Rift was proving to be more of a difficulty for gathering intelligence than Benedikta had originally thought. Though, she mused thoughtfully as she gazed upon Titan's Crossing, it was not without its useful chokepoints.
~XxXxX~
Truly, these were not the circumstances under which Cidolfus Telamon had expected to meet the Dominant of Bahamut.
He'd imagined something a great deal more civil, with the formalities expected by those of their respective stations. He'd imagined a grand dinner in a grand hall somewhere with guards posted all around. Not that it would've made much difference – guards wouldn't be able to stay the hand of a truly incensed Dominant – but it would've felt more controlled.
And even if Cid's first idea about their meeting didn't come to fruition, he'd imagined a vast, grassy battlefield somewhere. He'd imagined raining levin down upon Imperial soldiers and meeting Bahamut in the skies in battle.
That, at least, would've made more sense.
Alas.
Bahamut roared and the glassy walls of Drake's Head trembled for it. Agonizing, blinding light burst from the dragon's maw. On reflex, one of Ramuh's massive hands shot out and pushed Clive Rosfield out of the way of the oncoming beam.
He didn't have the time to see if the lad was alright, for Bahamut was quickly upon him.
The Warden of Light was merciless, as Cid had expected, and refused to allow him remotely near the Mothercrystal's heart. Bahamut was all slashing claws and beating wings - a hurricane set upon those who dared intrude in Sanbreque's holiest place.
Cid flashed from place to place on the crackle of lightning. He evaded Bahamut's reach narrowly each time. More than once, the dragon's talons brushed Ramuh's beard. Cid had no time to even think about reaching the Mothercrystal, but at least he was keeping up with his opponent's frenzied strikes.
But damn Ramuh and his bloody great tangled beard! Cid's arm prickled with the pain of overuse and it raced up his elbow and all the way to his shoulder. And he was distracted—
—enough that Bahamut knocked him from the air and to the stone walkway. It cracked on impact.
He desperately grasped for aether to fuel another flash but gathering it was taking far too long - what is taking so long – the crystal was putting off enough aether for Cid to prime ten times over - Bahamut's maw was too close, his wings were too close—!
Suddenly, there was light.
Cid thought Bahamut had gotten the shot off, at first, but soon realized the light had come from elsewhere.
Fire. It had been fire.
To the left—the horns, the claws, the massive barbed tail. It roared. The Second Eikon of Fire rose to join the fray.
The appearance of the Eikon had startled Bahamut badly enough that the dragon's grip on Ramuh faltered, and Cid finally dissolved from the stone and materialized closer to the Mothercrystal.
The newcomer's limbs sparked and threw embers across the chamber in all directions. It left formidable, blackened footprints across the white stone and its claws raked through as though the material were soft clay.
Cid's luck seemed to be turning – the new Eikon's gaze was fixed on Bahamut, and it seemed keen to ignore Ramuh's movements until the dragon was dealt with.
The two scaled juggernauts were locked in close combat when Cid turned his back on them and refocused on the Mothercrystal.
The Mothercrystal's heart glowed radiant blue and shed aether so thick Cid imagined he might choke on it had he not been a Dominant. For a core of a glass mountain, the heart seemed almost diminutive in size.
Lightning in violent and threatening arcs sprung from Ramuh's hands. Cid breathed, pulled aether, pushed it back into the air and—
In a bright, crystalline shattering, the heart broke into thousands of pieces. The column which had grown from the core began dissolving progressively up towards the chamber's ceiling.
Shrieking, though Cid knew not from where. He turned just in time to see Bahamut's clawed foot caught by the other Eikon's hand. Fire lit the air once more and Bahamut roared in agony. A great ball of flame engulfed both monsters in its circumference.
When at last the afterimage of the fire faded from Cid's vision, he found himself staring at Bahamut pinning the other Eikon to a staircase and seemingly preparing one of his magical attacks. A halo of white-blue light surrounded them both, and the aether in the air stretched taught and thin.
And Cid considered.
He had the lad and Bahamut in his sights – he wouldn't be able to aim for only one of them. But perhaps that wasn't necessarily a bad thing; two birds, one Judgement Bolt, and all that…Sure, he had given Clive his word about minimal involvement, but that was before Cid's suspicions had been completely confirmed. Circumstances had changed. No avoiding it, now.
The gnarled staff raised heavenward.
Ramuh was all amusement and no malice.
(You dare utilize my power for such a betrayal?)
Of course Cid dared. He always fucking dared. He didn't ask to be Ramuh's host, so he would use the most ancient and mighty power for any purpose he damn well pleased, including knocking his new partner in crime on his ass.
(Very well.)
The two Eikons were struck with the light of Judgement, and thunder urged the collapse of the crystal mountain faster. Bahamut's form faded in a flare of holy power, and the form of the other Eikon followed suit soon after. Both men lay unconscious on the stone bridge, and Cid felt at ease enough to give in to the exhaustion and dismiss the torrent of aether he had summoned.
Ramuh's warning set Cid on edge just as the aether of the Eikonic body began to recede:
(Caution.)
Before Cid could even stop coughing (there was some blood this time, and wasn't that alarming?) Clive Rosfield lurched to his feet as though drawn up by invisible strings. The boy took several staggering steps forward until he stood before the prone body of Dion Lesage.
Rosaria's First Shield was expressionless and his eyes were vacant as he held out a hand above the Imperial Prince and – lacking truly any other explanation for what occurred at that moment, because what the fuck – stole the power of Bahamut.
The strange transfer of power ceased and Clive's head jerked about, searching for something in the room. Cid felt with some certainty that his power would be next for consumption.
If he didn't smash the pommel of his sword into Clive's temple and knock the lad on his back, that was.
"The Phoenix's Blessing, he said," Cid mocked as he pulled Clive's arms behind his back and started winding a length of rope around them, "Just the Phoenix's Blessing and that's all. Not hiding anything important, no sir."
Cid had suspected it, certainly; he was far too perceptive and had gone to far too much trouble to not have suspected it. Clive losing his cool in front of his mother's prison cell was more confirmation than anything else. Still, it was almost insulting that Clive had denied his suspicions so carelessly. The Phoenix's Blessing – what a joke.
He looked around the sanctum that had once held Drake's Head. Soon, the place would be swarming with Imperials seeking to understand why the Mothercrystal had disintegrated, and Cid could not be there when that happened.
With some effort, he heaved Clive's limp mass off the floor and started his way out of the sanctum without a backwards glance at the Dominant of Bahamut. The Imperials would certainly decide what to do with their Prince when they found him unconscious where once stood the heart of the Mothercrystal. Cid had neither the time nor the energy to handle the fate of Dion Lesage.
He already had Mythos to deal with, after all.
~xXx~
The ruined fortress of Phoenix Gate appeared as dismal to Joshua's eye as it ever did; toppled cracked and crumbled stone edifices had destroyed courtyards, walkways, and walls alike. In the daylight the disaster was as clear as it had been when he had seen it ten years before, and the memory of foreign fire was still plain. Some fresh growth poked through the gaps between pieces of what once had been ancient battlements, and moss curled up and around the stone that had been selected as Clive's memorial.
"Soon, Brother," Joshua murmured. He knelt before the stone and brushed some dirt from it. The memorial would be relocated as soon as the war was over and the risk of attack was diminished—Joshua believed Hawk's Cry Cliff would be a most appropriate place. "Soon all of this will be over, and you shall be avenged."
Moving the site of the memorial would be a simple matter of locating the best spot and erecting a new marker. There was no body to exhume; they had never found one, not even in all the searches made. Clive's was not the only corpse missing, either, as the bodies of Sirs Wade and Tyler had never been recovered.
Joshua recalled the collapsed turret with Wade and Tyler trapped on the other side, footsteps which shook the night air, and the terrifying keening of a great beast. Joshua had had a wild, frightening thought in the weeks that followed the Night of the Flames that he'd quickly dismissed from his waking mind; after all, an Eikon would not eat people.
The nightmares of a child, however, did not often adhere to logic or reason. It was more than once that Joshua awoke in tears, having failed to reach far enough in his sleep to save Clive from the fiery maw of a monster.
Joshua stood and shook the half-remembered terror from his mind.
"Soon," he said again with a nod and a gentle pat to the cold stone.
He rejoined his father and Lord Murdoch in short order. The small contingent of Shields who had joined them on the journey stood prepared to guard the Gate.
Elwin looked upon him with mild concern. "Are you certain, Joshua? It is likely that the Undying could discover more information, themselves, if given more time…"
"Thank you for your worry, Father, but it is unnecessary. If anything within the Apodytery can answer our questions, I will obtain those answers and return with all haste."
"Very well," Elwin replied, and as soon as the pathway to the door was clear he gestured that Joshua should enter at his leisure. "Take great care, my son," Elwin said and squeezed Joshua's shoulder. He, Lord Murdoch, and the entire contingent of Shields pivoted and prepared to stand guard.
The Gate glowed beneath Joshua's hand and the grand door recessed into the ceiling in complex, dizzying spirals.
The ancient place appeared just as it had the first time Joshua had entered a decade before, though he had grown a measure taller in the interim and his stride was assured instead of tentative.
As it had been when Joshua first visited the Gate to ask for his ancestors' guidance in advance of the war with Sanbreque, the presence of the Phoenix seemed to grow ever larger as he moved through the corridors. He traversed lift after lift, room after room, and the Phoenix's warm wings stirred the air about him.
At last, Joshua stood before the mysterious, mostly obscured mural. The image had vexed him for years. What was covered by the blackened patina, and why?
He'd relayed as best he could what he'd seen to the Undying to help with their research, but so much still remained hidden.
Who was the winged figure in the middle of the mural?
It was similar to the memories he had of the Second Eikon of Fire, similar to the rumors that had spread across Valisthea in the wake of the destruction on the Night of the Flames. Bipedal with horns, claws, and a tail. But there were no wings in his memory, no wings in any of the stories. Certainly there had been no wings to speak of on the beast, else Joshua shuddered to think of how much more destruction it could have wrought.
So who was it?
Standing before it, Joshua decided he only truly had one question. And he decided to ask it, though he knew voicing it would turn his stomach once more.
"Is this…Ultima?" He asked aloud.
Silence within the huge chamber was oppressive. It felt as though the Phoenix was pensively contemplating a response to Joshua's query.
The answer came with the shuffling of a thousand pairs of wings fluttering as though preparing to take flight. Whispers from all corners of the room. The Phoenix spoke with hundreds of voices in perfect unison.
Yes.
No.
And Joshua's mind was set to racing.
Yes and no? What could that possibly mean? How could both answers be true at the same time? So the figure was Ultima, but it also was not Ultima.
And who was Ultima, to have garnered such revulsion from both the Phoenix and Shiva when its name was uncovered?
"What is Ultima?" Joshua asked, instead.
Whispers and shouts and hissing rose gooseflesh on Joshua's arms and he shivered and coughed a little against the seizing in his throat.
Ultima
Ultima
Ultima
The Almighty.
Disgust. Horror. Danger. Awe.
It wasn't an answer, not at all, but Joshua knew with certainty that he had exhausted the responses he would receive within the Apodytery.
The chamber still echoed with mutterings and wing-shuffling-stirring-fluttering when Joshua turned his back on the mural and took his leave. The Phoenix drew close to him once more, great talons clasping his shoulders and broad wings spreading behind him; a formidable shield between the Dominant and the strange image.
Exiting the Gate felt like waking from a dream, and Joshua startled slightly when his father called his name.
"Are you alright?" Elwin clasped Joshua's shoulders and stared him in the eye.
Joshua shook himself. "I'll be fine." He turned to the Lord Commander. "Lord Murdoch, prepare the men to return to the capital."
"Yes, Your Grace," Murdoch replied and moved to address the Shields who had attended the journey.
Joshua stepped into the bright afternoon sunlight and set about checking the saddle on his chocobo.
"Joshua, what happened in the Apodytery?" Elwin pressed. "Did you discover anything?"
"I learned nothing conclusive," Joshua said morosely. "Whatever knowledge I believed entering would grant; I was mistaken. All this excursion has done is leave us where we started. We return to Rosalith with all speed. I shall explain there."
He cast his eyes back to the hall of the Gate and a grimace dragged at his face.
Whatever Ultima was, whatever the image represented, none of it was good.
~XxXxX~
Rodney hated Phoenix Gate with a passion unmatched, though he thought this distaste was more than warranted, given the history of the fortress. He awaited the return of the Archduke from the Apodytery beyond the Gate along with the remaining Shields and Elwin Rosfield silently, and the quiet grief of the place seeped through the ground and into his bones.
So many times Rodney had accompanied Elwin to the Gate. They would stand guard outside and await the safe return of Elwin's father from the depths of the Apodytery. The ride to and from Phoenix Gate was almost always fun, almost always peaceful – it was astonishing how easily one evening could color all other memories of his time spent there.
There had been no condemnation, which had been the most unnerving thing about it. There had been no public outcry for justice, no charges of dereliction of duty or negligence, no accusations of favoritism. No grudge, no anger, no punishment.
No effort made to bring Rodney Murdoch to justice for his role in the death of Clive Rosfield.
Elwin bore him no ill will, nor did Joshua. Rodney maintained his station, his title, and his lands. When Joshua ascended the ducal throne, he retained Rodney as Lord Commander.
And the guilt ate at him every moment of every hour of every day for the ten years since Clive's passing.
Founder, Rodney had guarded Clive's cradle. When Elwin was trembling with the apprehension of new fatherhood and Anabella was exhausted but still pleased beyond measure that her son was strong and healthy, Rodney kept his quiet vigil just steps away. Nothing would touch him in Rosalith Castle, of course – nothing and no-one could make it that far – and yet in the peaceful sleeping hours Rodney felt akin to a pillar supporting the weight of the heavens, daring the stars themselves to fall and disturb the slumber of the new prince.
He had been there when Anabella's joy soured and she shunned the boy all of Rosalith adored.
Rodney had tried to be happy for Elwin and Anabella when Joshua came into the world, though a kernel of resentment grew with every longing look Clive made at his mother and her new son. Had it not been a crime for him to do so, Rodney should have liked to take Anabella by the shoulders, shake her, and shout some sense into her. Clive was not less worthy of love just because he wasn't the Phoenix – he was of her flesh and blood, he was her son! But Rodney had also seen Elwin address the issue more than once, and if Anabella could so easily rebuke the criticisms of her own husband, what hope did Rodney have of getting through to her?
It was all Rodney could do to take the elder Rosfield child under his tutelage and train him to be a Shield, and still it seemed as though no amount of coaching could rebuild what Anabella had managed to break. Yet the boy had still grown to be fierce, loyal, noble.
And Rodney had left him to die surrounded by the enemy – abandoned by those supposed to protect and nurture him for favor of his younger brother. Again.
The irony was not lost on Rodney.
And though he stood safely in the present, his heart quickened as though the ghosts of the past stalked him. A decade of tension, a decade of war, a decade of grief.
For all the tortuous mourning and strain set about Rodney like a shroud, though, he knew Elwin's burden had weighed leagues heavier. And, unlike Rodney, Elwin's charge as Archduke had been the protection of the whole of Rosaria. What few moments of true grief Elwin had allowed himself had never been enough - could never be enough, with the demands placed upon him.
Grief untended had festered and mutated. At times, Rodney could scarcely see the father who had stood for hours marveling over his sons' tiny fingers and toes, their bright eyes; all that was left of Elwin Rosfield was desolate rage and embittered cunning. And truly, who could blame him?
Betrayal and loss made easy monsters of beggars, farmers, fishermen, and nobility alike - why should the archduke be any different? Though if he were honest, Rodney was glad of the ten years since the fall of Phoenix Gate for the time had dulled his dear friend's fury as marble might dull a blade. The earliest days, weeks, and moons…Rodney almost trembled to remember such a time.
X
YEAR OF THE REALM 860
Of all aspects of war, Lord Commander Rodney Murdoch believed that the sheer amount of discussion was the most bizarre. Injury, death, and deprivation were to be expected; such was the nature of armed battle. The tense words spoken between leaders, however, proved novel each time Rodney suffered through such negotiations.
He had never been quite so angry when attending meetings of that variety as he was when the delegation from Sanbreque arrived at Elwin's war camp.
Certainly, Rodney had never seen Elwin quite so angry before, either.
The Archduke sat stiffly in the largest tent in the camp. His jaw was clenched and his hands were curled into fists; Elwin was a picture of bitter exhaustion, and his grief had long since churned into fury.
Hugo Kupka sat idly by the archduke's side as both deterrent and witness to the proceedings. He held a cigar between two massive fingers and appeared unbothered, as though he had not semi-primed just hours before in order to form the land bridge necessary for the Sanbrequois delegation to cross the Rift.
The Sanbrequois delegation which was late to this most important of meetings.
Rodney balked at the disrespect as the time wore on.
When at last the Emperor of Sanbreque arrived with his retinue, Rodney thought he had never before been so glad that Elwin was not born the Phoenix; if he had the ability, Rodney believed Elwin should have liked to set Sylvestre alight with his gaze alone.
The Emperor cast a distrustful glance at Kupka but took a seat regardless. He was joined by the young Imperial Prince Dion Lesage, Commander Howell of the Holy Order of the Knights Dragoon, and several attendants.
Rodney attempted to focus on his own breathing. These were the men who commanded the attack at Phoenix Gate; these were the men who had killed Clive…
Still, the Emperor and his accompaniment were allowed seats within the tent and, after some formalities, Sylvestre opened the discussion.
"You have reclaimed Drake's Breath," Sylvestre acknowledged.
"We have, yes."
"At great cost to the people of Ironholm, if the talk through the realm is true."
"It is true, yes," Elwin said simply, "Creag Loisgte has fallen."
"Some may call what the Phoenix did at Ironholm collateral damage - a result of an effort to reclaim the Mothercrystal and forestall Ironblood resistance. Others have been citing the event as an unnecessary massacre. You have engaged the Eikon Titan to cut Rosaria and parts of Dhalmekia off from the remainder of Storm in some seclusion effort," Sylvestre said with a gesture at Kupka, who only smirked. Sylvestre leaned back in his seat as though confident in his moral superiority. "How would you answer these allegations?"
The sheer audacity. Rodney's hands clenched into fists.
"You must be confused regarding the purpose of this meeting; allow me to inform you." Elwin gestured to the parchment Sylvestre had failed to examine upon entry into the tent. "As a direct result of aggressions against the ducal line, its ancestral grounds, and those sworn into its service, I, Elwin of House Rosfield, Archduke of the Grand Duchy of Rosaria, do hereby declare war upon the Holy Empire of Sanbreque in this Year of the Realm 860."
To Rodney's eye, Sylvestre did not appear to take the declaration all that seriously.
"War, Elwin?" The Emperor raised a brow, "I understand you have suffered great loss and you must still be searching for someone upon whom to lay blame for the disaster at Phoenix Gate. You must know the truth already - I believe I received news that you have named your wife Anabella an enemy of the state."
"I have, yes," Elwin replied calmly. He appeared unmoved.
"It so happens that Anabella Rosfield is currently secure in the dungeons beneath Whitewyrm Castle. Our interrogations produced the knowledge that she fled to Oriflamme after her mission to have you murdered at Phoenix Gate went awry. If it is a place to lay blame that you seek, that woman is a better choice than any other," the Emperor lied. "If you so desire, I shall have her transferred to your custody within the week and all this talk of 'war' can be forgotten."
Sylvestre Lesage smiled unpleasantly, and it turned Rodney's stomach.
"Rodney," Elwin said. He gestured with his right hand. "Explain to the emperor what you and the First Shield faced while you were defending Phoenix Gate. Please present your evidence, as well."
Rodney stepped forward. "While His Grace and the Crown Prince made to escape the fortress for their safety, the First Shield," Clive, it was Clive, gods above it had been Clive, "and I went to rout any remaining adversaries we could find. What did we find? Imperial astrologers, legionnaires, the captain of an Imperial company, and—" Rodney set a badly-scorched metal helmet down on the table, "—an Imperial Dragoon."
It was unmistakably Imperial in its design and fabrication. It had, in fact, been specifically crafted to fit and serve the Knight of the Blinding Dawn. The Emperor paled slightly.
Elwin just nodded. "Your forces were there that night, Sylvestre. Whether my wife is returned to Rosaria is of no matter to me. The halls of mine ancestors have been desecrated by men in service to your throne. Many of my most loyal have been murdered by soldiers bearing your colors, your steel."
"Be reasonable, Elwin. This is not a conflict you wish to enter into," Sylvestre said.
"I believe myself quite a reasonable man, indeed," Elwin replied. "And as such, I will not send assassins to your castle in the middle of the night. I will not rain fire upon the innocents in your fair cities."
Rodney's hands flexed at his sides. Creag Loisgte in the daylight had been a horror the like of which he did not believe he could ever bear to witness again. The expression on Joshua's face had been chilling, but Elwin's even more so.
The Archduke of Rosaria continued: "I will not even demand the life of your son in recompense for my own."
Elwin rose from his chair, heavy chainmail clinking and bright red robes settling about his imposing form, and Kupka rose with him in support. He addressed Sylvestre Lesage with a single-minded focus that even Rodney found intimidating. His eyes were dark.
"I am a reasonable man, Sylvestre; I will have formal war. I will break your treacherous empire, and then I will break you. And I invite you to raise any army you believe could match my rage."
X
Rodney grimaced and shifted a little, wincing when the leather of his uniform creaked and the plate metal scraped - too loud in the vigil held outside the Gate.
The Gate opened suddenly, and the sovereign of the Grand Duchy of Rosaria returned to the party he had left behind. The man appeared much more flustered than he had been when he entered; golden hair messy and blue eyes wild. Joshua was disturbed, and his father moved to discover why.
Rodney kept to himself for all that he could to give the two of them privacy, but it did not last.
"Lord Murdoch," Archduke Joshua Rosfield addressed him suddenly, and Rodney snapped to attention, "prepare the men to return to the capital."
Rodney nodded. "Yes, Your Grace."
The orders Rodney delivered were short and concise. The company of Shields scrambled to obey them with the same precision Rodney had come to expect of them. In the hurried preparations for the return journey, Rodney breathed.
Back to Rosalith, back to the castle, back to Hanna. Away from Phoenix Gate, in any case, and away from the tragedy of the evening that had changed everything and everyone.
The Lord Commander mounted his steed and settled into the saddle with a sigh. Mayhap he could speak with Gerald about meeting his family for dinner one evening in the coming weeks - he believed seeing young Oscar would do him some good.
~XxXxX~
ǝɹɐ noʎ ǝɹǝɥ┴
After the bliss of blank sleep, the waking world felt especially cruel.
Clive was welcomed back to consciousness by a chocobo's soft crooning, the squeaking of wooden wheels, and someone poorly singing an obnoxious riding song.
Clive could only catch a few words before the verse devolved into a mushy, out of tune mumble:
"Up-on the backs of feather'd steeds they fly…"
First to Clive's notice was the supreme pain shooting through his head. The second item of concern, once he regained enough of his senses to attempt moving, was that his hands had been bound. Lastly, he found himself laying supine in the back of a chocobo-drawn cart.
For all that it was engaging in terrible singing, the voice was familiar.
"Cid?" Clive asked aloud and then coughed until he spat something ashy gray onto the cart's floor.
"Ah, you're awake," Cid replied. The cart stopped moving and the man meandered around the back of it. He held a lit cigarette between his fingers and held a loose, easy posture. "You're just full of surprises."
"Why am I bound?" Clive asked, and the chain of the fetters jangled loudly when he tried to yank them apart.
"Call it 'realism,'" Cid grinned, and Clive made a wordless noise of indignation at his earlier phrasing being turned back on him. Cid shrugged. "Maybe a little payback."
"Where are we?"
"What do you know about Valisthean religions?" Cid asked instead of replying.
Clive glared and received an expectant look in return. He sighed. "No more than any noble child, I suppose. My path was one of the sword, not the pen."
"Peculiar religions in Waloed," Cid volunteered, "some such about a vessel for the Almighty heralding the rebirth of the world."
"It's unfamiliar to me."
"Even got a name for 'im," Cid continued as if Clive had not spoken at all, "'Mythos.'"
"Never heard of it," Clive said even as hissing and growling tumbled through his ears. Heat crept through his left arm until it encountered the crystal fetters and dispersed into the air.
He frowned. The Eikon knew something, then.
"I'm sure you haven't," Cid said easily. "So much of the old way is lost." He grinned and returned to the front of the cart, which began to move again in short order.
Clive jerked against the fetters again. "Where are we, Cid?"
The Dominant of Ramuh was not forthcoming, so Clive looked to the surroundings.
Overhead, sunlight filtered through the thick branches of towering trees. Ferns and bushes crowded the damp, overgrown path through the forest. It was difficult to tell from beneath so much foliage, but if it was late afternoon as Clive suspected it to be, they had traveled south and east from Oriflamme by a considerable measure.
"Where are you taking me?" Clive asked, straining more against his bonds and wincing when the metal dug into his skin.
"Not to worry, lad," Cid said. "I'll put you right where you need to be."
Cid whistled a bit and spurred the chocobo faster.
"Time to go home."
~XxX~
A/N: yes, the riding tune is the chocobo theme. and yes, i shamelessly plagiarized myself from "The In-Between." the full lyrics i came up with are:
Up-on the backs of feather'd steeds they fly
Make good time both day and night
They ride onward to the fight!
most likely the last update until after my qualifying exam, but when have i ever correctly estimated when something would be updated?
see you when i see you o7