tripleflames

[tripleflames]

The moment that door opens, 'tis as if something else takes over his body. He feels his legs move, can faintly hear Clive in the distance calling out, but he can't stop, cannot react. Moreso, a part of him, gripped by such a sudden and strong desire to see, to know, doesn't want to. There's an ominous hiss, a sibilant voice at the back of his mind asking him to continue, find me, free me and Theodore cannot but answer its call, his physical senses dulled and unresponsive, his ears rushing like he is submerged 'neath water.

Come to me.

His hand touches stone and it seemingly comes alive 'neath his palm, warm and trembling, pulsing with a deep blue light. He no longer hears Clive call his name, no longer feels aught except for a sensation of angry, fiery triumph, a bone-deep sense of hurt and anger that fills him up entire. It burns, almost, it chokes him. His ears start ringing with it, his entire body coiled against that rush. For but a brief flash of a second it is as if the water around him moves, rising from the depth of the cavern and forming itself into the long, sinuous shape of a huge serpent, it's eyes fixed 'pon him, large enough to eat him whole if it so wished.

Eikon, a small, panicked part of him screams. Move.

And then━

Leviathan?

Theo's eyes snap away from the serpent to meet Clive's own, a vague sense of surprise at seeing them aflame. His friend's name is on his tongue, his fingers twitching against the stone as if to pull away: It's all the opening the serpent needs to strike.

A cry rips from his lips as pain explodes behind his eyes and inside his skull, his feet stumbling backwards as the blue light from the stone moves to engulf him, lighting up his body like an eerie candle. Primal rage pulses within him anew, tearing at his lungs, his bones, his heart, his very soul until Theodore feels like he is to fly apart if he doesn't give in; so give in he does. His hand flies from the stone to clutch at his head, his voice, hoarse from shouting, morphing to a deeper growl. Water rises, rises around his feet, the cold liquid like a frigid balm.

The last image Theo sees ere he is submerged is Clive's━ no, Ifrit's pained hues.

And then Leviathan emerges, free at last, its blessing upon Theodore complete━ the bearer's form now but a fully primed vessel for its eikonic powers; uncontrolled and fueled with grief, with anger, with hatred, a sense of haunted betrayal knit deep into its bones and sunken beneath its scales like the piercing of many infernal lances once used to subdue it, to bind it━ its eyes a deep, feral golden hue.

Ifrit, it snarls, jaws opening to show rows of razor sharp teeth━ no hesitation whatsoever as it plunges down with the intent to sink them deep into Ifrit's vessel's flesh.

Clive turns his attention back to Theo, eyes widened in surprise at his words. "You, too?" He asks and the wariness he feels triples in insistency. He still utters a thanks when Theo pulls him to his feet, still rattled from the fall and the fact that none of the other Eikons' powers seem to be available to him right noiw. Ifrit growls low in the back of his mind, but it's not because of anger or even fear.

He almost seems... rueful?

They stand close for a moment after Theo helps him up, Clive too preoccupied with the oppressing but somehow familiar atmosphere around them and Ifrit squirming at the edge of his consciousness to let go of Theo's hand just yet.

"It's the same for me, this place... It feels familiar, but I don't think--" Before he can finish his sentence however, Theo pulls back and he realizes that he held on to him for longer than he likely should have. The apology dies on his tongue when he watches Theo walk away from him as if in a trance.

Water drips somewhere in the distance, clearly an echo of some kind, suggesting the cave to be much larger than they can make out with the little bit of light they have, and yet, it reaches his ears as if it was right next to him, too. It's disorienting and Clive shakes his head.

Voices ring out in the distance, barely above a whisper, but agitated, hissing. Clive's head jerks around to make out their origin. He turns, his hand reaches for the handle of his sword, body readying for a fight. He feels Ifrit curl and coil beneath his skin, itching to take over. He fights him down. What is happeing?

You betrayed me?!

An ache shoots through him and he raises a hand to his temple as a sharp pain pulses there.

No!

Ifrit growls, an odd sense of deja vu grips Clive by the throat and makes it hard to breathe. Anguish, regret, hopelessness not his own sink their claws into his chest.

I trusted you.

I didn't know, please, you have to believe me. His mouth forms the words without him meaning to and it's not his voice that surfaces either. His eyes burn golden for a moment before he at last regains control.

A scream, piercing and furious, and yet so full of emotional pain that it threatens to bring tears to his own eyes rings in his ears. It nearly has his knees buckle.

And then...Silence.

"--What?" His own voice is breathless and rough. After an initial moment of dumbfounded confusion he turns back around and finds Theo standing near an old altar, a shrine? He thinks he sees a figure strung up across a magicked seal, something burried in its chest. But then he blinks and it is gone, replaced by a stone portal. Theo doesn't appear to have heard anything Clive just did, doesn't seem to have seen what may lie beyond the portal either.

They need to leave.

Clive rushes after him. An almost frantic sense of anticipation rings through his consciousness. But it's not his own, it's Ifrit's, and it is distracting enough that it makes him stumble on uneven flooring. "Theo wait!" Clive reaches for him, but to no avail. The stone lights up beneath Theo's fingertips and when Clive's hand closes around his wrist to pull him back his own hand brushes against the stone and just as with Theo it lights up, even brighter than before.

The entire cave begins to illuminate with the symbols they found carved into the stone before them, and just as Clive assessed the cave is indeed far bigger than they initially thought. It seems to stretch on forever into every which way and all of it is flooded with water aside from the stony pedestral on which they stand. Something reverberates in the deep, something ancient, something furious.

"Theo, we need to go." Clive tugs at Theo's arm, already moving, where to he doesn't know, anywhere but here. Yet, it is as if Theo is rooted in place and even with all his strength put into it Clive cannot hope to move him. "Theo!" He turns back around and finds the other man's eyes closed, one hand once again pressed to the stone below. Clive stares, then lets go to step around Theo, half infront of him, grasping his shoulders, shaking him. "Theo!"

The rumbling around them doesn't cease. Ifrit's influence grows ever stronger, too, warning him to be careful, to keep his guard up, but also he seems near hopeful, wanting for something Clive cannot hope to understand.

"Theo!" He calls him by his name again and this time Theo opens his eyes to look at him. They're alight with an eery glow, his features sharp and determined, his skin flickers, his hair gains strands of glowing and somehow, even this is familiar.

Once again, the voice speaking is not is own, but this time he recognizes it, if only for the heat of fire that seems to fill him with it, scorching his throat, burning him from the inside out as it growls in disbelief:

"Leviathan?"

#𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. theodore #secondflame #𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞. main #heehee

[tripleflames]

Jill bows her head down, grey hues staring at her knees, her tightly knotted hands, willing the nervous flutter in her belly to go away at the disapproval in the Duchess's tone. The thought of blaming the maids crosses her mind briefly, but is discarded just as quick. She should have forced herself to eat more that morn, rather than let her nerves best her. Jill just hopes Anabella does not see the tremble in her fingers, nor the tension to her shoulders as she inches a little further towards the window and away from the coldness of those eyes. " I apologize, my Lady. "

At least it seems she'll not be punished to wait until they reach their destination where Jill will have to greet all kinds of strangers and act the perfect Lady. Stillwind is a name that sounds passing familiar to her, a region Clive has brought up at times whenever they spent time together and he informed her of the news he has learned at his father's knee while training to become a knight.

And of course in her history lessons on Rosalith with the Lord Duke himself, together with Joshua and Clive, she also faintly recalls the name of Cawthorne. " They are some of House Rosfield's closest allies and an important asset in keeping our lands free from the Goblins and Orcs that tend to dwell the Marshlands, " She recites, forehead furrowed in concentration as she casts around for her memory of those lessons. " Cawthorne Hall is run by Lady and Lord Cawthorne and their two sons. They... also have a daughter who is not yet of age. "

She finally looks up, as if searching Anabella's features for any hint of having gotten it wrong, tentative and a little skittish. " I do not recall much else. "

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐎 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐒, 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐆𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄. At the noise, her brow furrowed, and Anabella watched the young girl with a mixture of displeasure and surprise—had her orders not been clear? She gathered her skirts and crossed her knee over the other to make herself more comfortable on her side of the carriage. " Have the servants forgotten to bring you your breakfast this morning? " Her head canted to the side, while she spoke, and a tinge of disappointment coloured her words. This was not a question to be answered. In fact, she did not give Jill enough time to reply, before the duchess continued: " I have told you to prepare for our travel. "

Taking their ward to Phoenix Gate was shameful enough as it was, for the message could not ring any clearer: Anabella had failed to produce a daughter, who would one day inherit Phoenix Gate from her when her time came to return to their ancestors in the Apodytery. Her lady-mother would scold her grown daughter for dragging a half-starved ward with her to the sacred grounds of their family. Sacrilege. That's what it is, is it not, Anabella thought to herself while shaking her head about the situation and her own thoughts.

She should not worry—not occupy herself with the disapproval of her family, who answered to her now. And yet, Anabella could not accept her pride to be damaged by such a trivial matter. " We will take a break at Stillwind. Lady Cawthorne waits for us to have luncheon with her before we head to Phoenix Gate. You have to wait until we meet her. " It won't take long, she added in her mind and watched rows of trees and the first patches of wetland pass by.

" Has Elwin told you about House Cawthorne? "

#𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. jill warrick #𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞. main #creatrix mea #i almost wrote hawthorne instead of cawthorne

[tripleflames]

" 𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐝, 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲 " Byron claps Clive on the shoulder after pulling away, mirth and good humour shining in his eyes. To be quite honest, Byron does not believe he'll ever get tired of the pure and absolute joy he yet feels simply knowing his nephew is alive and well. That all those years of grieving, of searching, of doing all he could to ensure there would still be a home for his family to return to just in case, had not been in vein. He can scarce believe it still, at times.

Can scarce forgive himself, too, for having given up on believing in the end. Not just with Clive, but with Joshua too. For not trying harder to look for them. How much pain could he have spared them both, if he had? Ah, not a subject to dwell on now, when their reunion should be filled with happiness. " And any ale can be improved with the quality of the company you share it with! "

As their order is provided, they're largely left alone, these times of reminiscing already a familiar pattern to the people who stayed here. After Clive, Byron would likely search out Otto or Gav, find out where else his funds may be needed. For now, though, he's in no hurry, his smile only widening.

" Ah, you can hardly blame people for caring, especially if the rumours are of the positive variety. " He leans in, almost conspirational, " One of which being that I may or may not start calling myself a grand-uncle in nine or less moons time━━━ "

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Another laugh falls gentle. Unhurried, drawing upon the lightest breath, shoulders pull back and slacken. How long has it been since his guard faltered, surrendered to the company of kin ? Oh, to be cradled again by residual comforts, vestiges of simpler times, kindnesses lost long ago. It's a smile which persists yet lightens just so, a polite flicker of joy while equally resisting the strain of cheeks. The day would carry long ; countless bouts of mirth would be permitted to tarry, inspired by an uncle's loudness and a nephew's foolishness to encourage it.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❛  Ah ⸻ the ale is nowhere near the quality you're used to, but it's the hospitality that matters.  ❜

A gesture to the bar, unmanned as the bartenders had taken their attentions elsewhere, providing some privacy to the two. They'd reminisce, resume exchanges of time and memory. Sweet. Nostalgic. Soulful. A foil to the bitter amber seeking to drown faculties ( well, likely Byron's. It's a formality above all else, considering Clive's aversion ) depending on how much was consumed.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❛  I wouldn't know where to start, but do tell me of these rumours. I'm curious, now. Either word travels faster than I realize, or people simply love their precious gossip.  ❜

#𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. byron rosfield #adureus #𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞. main

[tripleflames]

Mythos. Clive immediately feels himself stiffen, something like apprehension flashing in his eyes, his own shock at hearing that term again from none other than his mother mirroring her own. " You are not the first to utter that name, " He speaks carefully, swallowing down the instinctive urge to ask for more, to question how she came to know, whether she was aware of that being they'd met while destroying the Mothercrystal. Ultima. Cid seemed to have known it too, but Cid is━

He shakes off the thought, not ready to dig into the grief of losing yet someone else who'd believed in him the way she never had. She, who even know deigned to question him about keeping it a secret. As if he would have, when all he'd ever wanted as a boy was to be loved by his own mother. He sheaths his sword, the flames still licking at his hands and body dimming and the fire in his eyes receding as the Eikon retreated. " Not for certain until recently, " The reply comes out curt, leaving out everything but the bare bones of the truth. He doesn't owe her more explanation that that; he's sure she's more than capable of reaching her own conclusions now regarding what happened during the night of the flames━ the rumors circulating of the existence of a second Eikon of fire causing the senseless destruction of Phoenix Gate.

Still, there is something in her gaze, a flicker of pain mayhap, a hint of concern he's not seen since he was but a young child that holds him in place, his heart beating faster. He's well aware of what she considered the truth. That she'd thought him a bastard, unworthy of bearing the Rosfield name because the Phoenix had rejected him.

Does she think differently of him now? Does she still hold some kind of love for him, deep down? Would she accept him at last?

Would it make a difference? Should it?

" Mother, I━ " Clive shifts his gaze towards her again, uncertain of what to say, what to do, his heart and mind conflicted with anger, hurt, yearning and that kernel of foolish hope he never quite managed to get rid of. But before he can even think to formulate his words, they're interrupted by the sound of a crash, a structure collapsing behind, more akashic likely not far. His expression shutters, his gaze cool and shadowed once more. " Yes. Let us be about it. "

They're not far from the city walls now, he knows. The turmoil of his thoughts aside, this is no place to have any kind of conversation.

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃'𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐃. He was all his father's son, so strong and bold and daring. Not a shred of her own person seemed to linger in this child, who was now a man. After Joshua's birth and the confirmation of his sickly nature, the nobility had shamed her and had called her broken and cursed -- Clive surely was the product of a steamy affair between Elwin and his unknown mistress. Meanwhile, Anabella's own son was scarcely more than a flickering flame, chosen by the Phoenix out of pity.

And how could he be strong? No strong blood would emerge from weak one.

Therefore, Clive could not be her son, Anabella had thought when looking at him back then. The Phoenix always reincarnated in the firstborn child. For centuries, it had been so, and she had always wondered why she had been cursed. What she had done wrong. Surely he had to be a bastard -- otherwise he would not have lived. This was not her fault. No. It could not, she had done everything right.

But now she knew why the Phoenix had rejected her and her son. He had already been claimed by something else. No doubt, he was her son and the realisation made the woman nearly stumble forward to assist him in a rekindled instinct of motherhood, yet she caught herself at the last moment.

" You are Mythos, " she muttered beneath her breath once he stood in front of her and her youngest. Her voice quivered as she spoke and after a moment of consideration and a glance at Olivier, Anabella shook her head. Yes, they were safe and sound. But what of him? Was he unharmed? She thought of asking, but another question slipped over her lips: " How long have you known? "

And how long had he kept the secret from her? Not that it mattered, if she thought about it. Who would have believed him or even her if they claimed him to be the flame that would set the world ablaze and birth a new one from its ashes?

After all, it was all purely fiction, not more real than those fantastical knights and strong kings from the ballads she had read in her youth. She took Olivier's hand and squeezed it gently, though the boy's gaze only rested on Clive with strange, almost otherworldly curiosity. His dead and empty eyes, lacking the speck of light, watched the man and his every move as if studying him ever so carefully. He did not squeeze her hand back, alarming the mother and make her look at him in concern.

" He must be quite shocked by the experience. We must be away quickly, do you hear? "

#𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. clive rosfield #creatrix mea #𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞. main

[tripleflames]

The firm hug and his father's nigh pleading words immediately take the wind out of his sails and his frustration and anger dissipate into a deep sense of shame at his father's upset. Of course he shouldn't have questioned him. Though he may not quite understand why his mother seems to disdain him so, what he has done to make her think him a failure, he's sure there must be some reason for it. If not even the Archduke can give an answer, or change the result, he'll just have to resign himself to it and do the best he can regardless.

What else can he do, but try and become the shield his brother deserves? " I'm sorry, father, " he says in a small voice, his smaller hands tentatively curling against his father's chest ere he practically melts into the touch when his father doesn't immediately pull back but pulls him closer instead. How long ago has it been since he's been held quite like this? He tries to bite down on the tears that threaten to flow, knows he's too old now to start bawling like a babe in his father's arms; but that doesn't make the ache in his chest any less deep for it.

He shudders, swallows, repeats the earlier sentiment. " I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you upset. We━ we can visit Joshua later, when he's better. " As much as he would like to see him now, bring him some tarts from the kitchen in an attempt to cheer him up, knowing how much his brother loathes the loneliness of his confinement, Clive stops forcing the issue. " Can we━ still visit the kitchens? "

How can Anabella be so cruel to their firstborn? How can she be so uncaring to the hurt writ plain as day upon Clive's young face, despite the boy's initial attempts to hide it? Maybe it is due to his wife's callousness that Elwin feels the sorrow that much more keenly -- and as he watches the boy's body language and listens to his desperation-steeped pleas, the father realizes just how dire their situation has become.

Of course Clive knows the truth; how can be possibly not, when the Duchess makes her disdain for him clear with every look, every gesture, every unkind word directed towards him, be it behind his back or to his face? The whole of Rosalith, from the nobles at court to the Bearers carrying out their duties amidst the city, even the soldiers under his command -- they too know. They whisper to one-another about it, some sneering while others look on with pity, and just as Elwin couldn't protect his wife from the vicious rumors about Clive's failure to awaken as Phoenix's Dominant back then, neither can he protect Clive in the now from their gossip regarding Anabella's sentiments towards him.

As his eldest son pins him with that resolute, challenging gaze, the Archduke finds himself unable to speak, too stunned by the onslaught of questions that he has no answers to.

Well -- most of them he has no answers to, that is. And the other questions dredge up his most private fears of losing Joshua to illness in the same manner that he had lost his father, and of his wife driving a sharp wedge straight through the heart of the close bond that their two boys share, to the detriment of both children.

"Clive, I --" The anxiety creeps up into his throat, smothering his voice, and his mind urges him to retreat, even as he remains rooted to the spot where he's kneeling. Without thinking, both hands plant firmly upon Clive's shoulders. For the rest of this moment, he completely shoves aside all reservations borne of his position as the reigning Archduke and as a military commander, to instead face the child -- no, the young man rather, as his father.

In one abrupt, fluid motion, he tugs him towards his chest, and his arms wrap both tightly and protectively around him in a hug. "That is enough." Now it's his turn to plead, voice uncharacteristically small for the man's usually confident demeanor, and it is thick with grief and guilt over his beloved boy's suffering. And yet in spite of the fact that Clive is seeking confirmation of what he has already well figured out, Elwin still can't bring himself to say it, because it is not a burden that any child should have to bear from their mother. "That's enough..."

#𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. clive rosfield #phoenix flamed #𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞. main #sorry this took forever lol

[tripleflames]

#𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞. clive rosfield #my beloved

[tripleflames]

Little else matters to him in that moment than to make sure Eloise is alive, that she truly is here and this is not all just a ruse or a ploy to keep him docile. There's no space to think about what happened to Boklad, about the fact he was brought to Waloed by the King himself, nor even about who or what he's become━ he stumbles onward without grace and decorum into the room Odin pointed him to and with a shuddering gasp of relief almost collapses to his knees next to the bed his sister lays in, clearly still asleep and recovering.

Red-rimmed hues fix on her features, taking in his sister's face, the soft rise and fall of her chest, the rosy hue to her cheeks, the way her lips are slightly parted on each breath, looking healthy enough and unmistakably alive. Her hand is limp in his own when he takes it, no reaction to his gentle squeeze, but it feels cool and dry, no signs of sweat or fevers. Theo swallows thickly, his heart beating painfully hard in his chest as he contemplates just how fortunate he is, they both are, that the King of Waloed actually listened to his request to bring her along. He vaguely remembers asking. Pleading even. He cares little for the reasons why Barnabas even agreed, knowing he could've just as easily left her behind and told him a lie, but he is in his debt for this regardless.

He looks up when the Dominant in question speaks up from the doorway, green hues dull and tired but far more alert than before. He flinches at the confirmation that this had been his doing. With his fear soothed and the fogginess of unconsciousness slowly receding, more and more memories are gradually coming back. It still feels unreal, too insane to be true, his mind not quite ready to accept what his heart already knows to be true, because he can feel that curl of power deep within. The sensation of something answering when he reaches for it, it's presence soothing and frightening in equal measure.

Theodore has never been a man to shy away from a harsh truth. Life has taught him early enough that people are cruel and that the only ones he can rely on are Eloise and himself. He knows this: He is a bearer. His parents did not want him. His sister is the only reason he is alive and unmarked and she gave up his future to keep him safe and so he owes her everything. He has never really learned how to want anything for himself and as a result of his life, he is not one to wish for fame, for power or even for the limelight at all. He is better off that way.

He has never been a man to shy away from a harsh truth, but in light of all the above, the truth that he might be a Dominant is a hard one to accept indeed.

" You're saying it is all my━ that my sister... Boklad's destruction... all the people that died... that it was my doing? " He knows the reply ere he even looks into Odin's eyes, but even though it hurts, his heart squeezing impossibly tight within his chest, his throat aching as guilt rises from deep within, he refuses to look away from Barnabas' intense gaze. " Because I━ primed? I━ "

He does avert his gaze then, if only to collect his thoughts, trying his best not to fall into panic and guilt. It won't help anyway, what's done is done and though just like with Eloise he will never be able to atone for it, he doesn't wish to wallow in it either. Instead he wants to━

He wants to━ " How? I have never heard of anyone my... my age... There must have been a mistake. "

The king freezes at the sudden, yet gentle touch of the other Dominant and as such only one hand moves to settle against the young man's shoulder when he presses himself close. Barnabas can't say when he was last embraced like this, simply for the sake of it. It goes as far as him having to suppress a shiver when fingers wind into his hair. Brief as it is, he can still feel the young man trembling from physical and emotional exhaustion, and yet his hold is firm.

Barnabas senses a faint rumbling, an ebb and flow of aether curling around him, similar to the faint rolling of waves at Waloed's shores, as if he is standing at shore and the tide tries to pull him into it's depths, water lapping at his feet. Interestingly, he feels compelled to let it, just to see whether Leviathan would manage to pull him under, would make him succumb and let his depths claim him. But there is nothing violent here, his grip isn't tight to the point of pain and he doubts the Dominant himself is even fully aware of extent of his still pulsing powers while Leviathan works to get his Dominant back on his feet as soon as possible.

He senses not only his but also Leviathan's presence fade with his proximity, the brush of the serpent's overwhelming aether against his own has him draw in a sharp breath and even when the other man withdraws it is as if his warmth lingers in his hair, against his scalp, the skin of his neck, his shoulders. His unexpected tenderness leaves him feeling nothing short of bereft of it as the other man withdraws.

Barnabas blinks and tilts his head as he watches the young Dominant stumble towards the door leading to the hallway. He's so frail, so fragile, so breakable like this. Nothing about the man's demeanor or his movements would suggest the power brimming beneath the surface. Nothing betrays the depth of the powers Barnabas has already seen but still, there is a flicker of something deep within him, a deep yearning to experience more of both, more of that power and to his shame, more of that gentle touch he thought long extinguished, long overcome. It only lay dormant it seems, much like the Eikon that stoked it. He has a feeling that what he has seen in Boklad is but a drop of Leviathan's true capabilities. What lurks beneath the surface? What depths would he discover if he just dared to delve into them?

With an odd gust of wind the door falls shut behind the young Dominant and Barnabas is pulled back from his staring. The twist of power from Leviathan disappears and Barnabas' mind dulls into familiar apathy when Ultima's presence settles more prominently into the back of it. it has been a while since he last felt his master's presence so strongly, so oppressively. If he didn't know better he'd take the way his neck prickles as apprehension on his master's part.

The king rises to his feet. He cannot allow another Dominant to walk around his castle unchecked. Not when he still has to find a way to control him, to utilize him, forge him into the weapon he knows he can be. Given what he knows of him it should be easy, but Leviathan is different than he expected, different from those he surrounded himself with before.

For now, he decides he can only observe, give the young man time to grasp what he is before lending a hand in unshackling the powers within him. He follows the other to the room where is sister is tucked into another bed, finds one of her hands now firmly clasped between the other man's own, his form hunched over by the bed.

Barnabas lingers in the doorway, his gaze strays from rounded shoulders to the sleep-slackened features of the woman. She doesn't look as pale as before. Her cheeks have regained a rosy color, her breathing is quiet and goes easy on each inhale and exhale.

"You nearly drowned her, but she will wake in time." He drawls. It is but a waiting game at this point. "Few can withstand the full might of a Dominant and live to tell the tale—" He pauses, his gaze moving back to the young man. "But then again, few Dominants have the power to undo the damage they have done." An impressive feat still. Most Eikons, Odin included, only bear the means of destruction. The only one he knows of that differs from this pattern of devastation is the Phoenix, but if Leviathan is able of similar things he may turn out to be a truly invaluable asset.

#𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. theodore #darksteelreign #𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞. soldier of waloed au

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Cheryl Strayed, Tiny Beautiful Things

#𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. clive rosfield #𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. theodore #𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. jill warrick #𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. byron rosfield #𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. dion lesage

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#𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞. clive rosfield

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Jill tries very hard not to flinch at the admission, the edge of her smile turning just a little more brittle than before. What can she truly say to that? It's not an unfamiliar dream or sentiment, after all, and one she has heard many a time over the course of her life even before finding out she was Shiva's dominant. Back when she was a naive girl, taken from her home to live in Rosalith, she'd wished for it too. Hoped that mayhap something would manifest that could help her escape and see her parents again.

In the end, that dream had only proven to be a nightmare. Used and abused, forced to do terrible things to serve the Iron Kingdom, her powers oft felt more a curse than a blessing which Jill wished she could cut out instead. I'm not incredible at all, she wishes to say. If only you knew all my sins, you'd see a monster instead. Just as useless and helpless as anyone else.

But she bites her tongue and resigns to listen instead, knowing those feelings have no place here, when everyone is still grieving over the loss of their home and fearing the potential loss of their leader and friend as well.

She reaches for his hand, gently twining their fingers together and gives it a reassuring squeeze, hoping her voice sounds not too hoarse. " I'd offer you all my powers in return for just a little of your faith and resolve, Gav, " Jill offers after a lengthy pause, her tone low, her icy hues fixed 'pon her knees. " But while I can't change the roles we play, I can still assure we'd be nowhere without you. If not for your intel regarding the underground passages, I doubt we would have gotten back on time for there to be any hope for Cid. "

And while the loss of the Hideaway certainly is a blow, she knows it can be rebuilt and that the losses suffered will not be in vain.

Gav bit the inside of his lip, to hold himself together as the wave of emotion from Jill's first sentiment rolled in his chest. He'd seen something similar in other ways, read it between the lines of praise - but there was something to be said for hearing the words directly.

The tense of his jaw only relaxed when she continued, lips parting just a bit while his stare remained fixed on the grass around his boots. The idea of Cid forgiving him, even refuting that it was his fault at all, seemed like wishful thinking when Gav's own self-blame roared so loud. He wasn't so blinded as to absolve Kupka of any of this, but... it was his job to be the scout, to be the first line of defense in keeping them safe. And he hadn't noticed the bastard who'd led Kupka right to them, until it was too late. Even so, Gav held that wishful thought close to his heart.

Glancing over again to agree, he saw the steel in Jill's expression, and a faint smile flickered across his face. "...Sometimes I wish I was a Dominant." Gav caught himself a beat after the words left his mouth, and he hurried to add, "Er, y-you can tell me if I'm talkin' out my arse, it's just..." One hand lifted, brushing past his braids to rub at the back of his neck, while his gaze lowered once more. "You're all incredible. You, Cid, Clive... even heard decent stuff about that Prince Dion. And I know I'm left behind 'cause you've got good hearts, and you trust me, but..." A short pause for a deep breath and a soft sigh, hand dropping to drape atop one leg. "Sometimes I feel so useless. I can't protect everyone from a fucker like Kupka. I can't save Cid from... that." Gav could barely get the word out of his tautened throat, much less any description of the wound. "I have to see you all off, and wait, and just bloody hope you, you come back." He swallowed hard, trying to blink the blur from his vision, and turned his head to hide the warm drop escaping his good eye.

#𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. jill warrick #𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞. main #sharpnosedscout

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If Clive had expected a little more push back to his admittedly impulsive offer, he does not show it and instead moves to kneel at her side, gloved hands tentatively reaching for the wounded arm like he's still somehow giving her an opening to retreat. Her gaze remains stubbornly averted, only the barest hint of a flinch the moment the tips of his fingers graze her skin showing she's still paying attention. Clive doesn't try to engage her in conversation. He doubts it would pass well━ and if pressed, he wouldn't quite know what to say or ask anyway, despite the variety of questions that pop up inside his mind.

How did you end up here? How did you get this wound? How long have you been living in these woods? Is there anyone keeping you company at all?

" This might sting a little, " It's the first thing he says since pulling a cloth and ointment from his bag, meaning to at least clean the wound ere he draws 'pon the Phoenix' blessing to seal it shut. He's not his brother, the magick far weaker than Joshua's skill ever was; the last thing he wishes is for infection to take roost 'neath the skin.

His brow is furrowed in concentration, yet his touch remains gentle. " Are you hurt anywhere else? "

Oh, of all the people to see her like this, of course it had to be him. Was it not enough that he's bested her and her sisters nearly thrice over? Did he not revel in the tempest that now stirs within him? Was there no satisfaction in seeing her brought down so slovenly low? 

No, of course he held none of the pettiness that she might covet. And she didn't think he or his were tracking her down to keep an eye on her. Even as she stares him down, this boy who towers over her, she sees nothing but genuine sincerity that she has not encountered in a majority of her days. Ever the bleeding heart, this one. It's a quality that turns her stomach for a moment. That ever present olive branch held aloft for whoever wishes to reach for it. Though perpetually wary, Benedikta narrows her gaze upon him, sizing up his intent yet finds naught but actual sympathy. It brings a faint 'hmph' to hum behind her lips.

❝ I could say you can spare me your pity, yet I know your persistence knows little bounds. ❞  A knowing look then with a click of her tongue she casts her gaze away from him.  Her jaw sets so tightly it hurts though it cannot sting more than what comes next. 

         ❝ Fine. Do what you must. ❞

#benediikta #im like months late so if u want something new #do let me know #𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. clive rosfield #𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞. main

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psa on posting speed;

i am a slow roleplayer. not only do i get distracted easily, i get overwhelmed easily. sometimes i can’t talk and do drafts at the same time so i am sorry if i ignore your message. i am deliberate and methodical with every word choice. i like to spend my time on my writing and getting to that emotional level within myself to evoke a proper response with each reply. i’m not good at whipping out thread after thread. i never have been. i’m sorry if that’s the way you roleplay and i don’t match up, but i like to think the quality of the writing makes up for my lack of speed. thank you so much!

#i've been especially slow lately bc of my lil break #so yeah always always take your time #dont care if it takes months chances are i'm gonna wanna continue it regardless #out of character.

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" Then how about we spare it over a drink! "

Because if there is one thing anyone could say of Byron Rosfield, it is that whether rain or shine, war or peacetime, whether the days ahead loom dark or bright, he will never shirk the opportunity of sharing in a drink or a good meal. And truly, what else can a man still find joy in these days, with so much uncertainty and pain and loss, if not in the small things in life? It matters not if he is growing older and, even if only in the privacy of his own thoughts, wearier and ever more concerned for those he cares for, in this much he'll stay consistent throughout.

And, of course, he'd rather cut off his own foot ere he made Clive worry of something as unimportant as his state of mind. The boy's got enough on his own, after all.

" Why don't you tell me all the trouble you've been up to while I was back home? I'm sure there's been some, if the rumours come to my ears are any indication━━━ " / @adureus continued from x

#uncle asks to spill some tea #𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. byron rosfield #𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞. main #adureus

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" Clive, my boy! " Regardless of the fact that his nephew has now very much outgrown his youth ( having grown taller than even Elwin ), it does little to hinder Byron from swiftly crossing the distance, picking Clive up a tight and boisterous bear hug, complete with a hearty slap to the back. " Well met! I was afraid I might miss you. " / from ur fave uncle.

❛   Uncle ⸻   ❜

Voice joined by muted joy, a chuckle rolls gruff and a touch meek. Still rowdy, still rambunctious, still jolly ⸻ Uncle Byron is celebrated for his larger-than-life personality and unrivalled wit. It's a level of mirth he wishes to emulate, one coming so naturally despite their setbacks, despite the cards they are dealt. In these moments, he permits wild energies to influence his own, offer him some semblance of normalcy, harken back to days so simple and restorative to the soul. Aye, he is an ear receptive to any and all concerns which Clive may cross, a crutch when in need, and one of the few strong ties to kin which remained.

❛   For you, I have time to spare.   ❜

#HELLO I LOVE THEIR DYNAMIC SO MUCH #i'm always so excite to explore this so i'm yeeting my starter straight after pouring my love all over this <3 #adureus #keepsake.

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FINAL FANTASY XVI (2023) ✴ CLIVE ROSFIELD dev. square enix

#𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞. clive rosfield

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FINAL FANTASY XVI (2023) ✴ CLIVE & AMBROSIA dev. square enix

#𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞. clive rosfield #and his birb #the best birb

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meme call, pls like if i can send you a meme to start some interactions as i'm a bit too busy to make starters right now : (

#i have sent out to whoever liked #accepting mooore