Final Fantasy XVI fic, Chasing the Forgotten 3 (Of Faces Shown and Hidden)
title: Chasing the Forgotten
author: caledon (the_tower_room)
pairing: Dion/Joshua
rating: E
summary: Having been born the Phoenix meant Joshua was destined to be by Bahamut’s side as his consort.
He didn’t know what he was expecting, but certainly not the situation he found himself in.
Omegaverse AU.
words: 4594
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XVI belongs to Square Enix.
Chapter 3: Of Faces Shown and Hidden
The Night After the Wedding
With a start, Dion woke, blinking bleary eyes. The air felt charged. Heated. The change from the coolness of the room disturbed him from sleep.
Bahamut had him turn his head towards the window. There, perched languidly on the sill, was a figure bathed beneath the Moon and Metia’s combined glow. Dion’s heart began to beat rapidly in his chest, and a war between guilt and shame ensued on whichever would fill him the strongest, both surging to a crescendo as he felt caught red-handed with the concubine sound asleep beside him. Rising quickly, heedless of his nightclothes in disarray, he grabbed the robe laid haphazardly on the back of a chair, and moved toward the figure at the window watching him with a bright electric blue gaze.
Streams of incandescent oranges and reds glowed like veins across the Consort’s skin, even strands of his hair were set aglow. Wearing only a thin dressing gown of the highest grade of silk, the outline of his body clear through the light of the moon, a bare pale leg in clear display between the front parting of the gown, dangling lazily beneath the window.
The Consort’s voice was distorted and ancient as he spoke, “Are you so repulsed by me, husband? You’ve so readily left when our marriage bed has yet to grow cold.” The gaze pointedly peered over Dion’s shoulder to the concubine sleeping peacefully on the bed.
“Phoenix,” breathed Dion, longing laced in the word, eyes roaming over the shimmering figure.
“Ah, so you still recognize me.”
Dion found himself suddenly prostrating on the ground, body pushed down by Bahamut. “We…no, I beg for your forgiveness, beloved-”
A foot nudged his head down until his forehead touched the floor, making him yelp in surprise.
“Dare you call me ‘beloved’ when I’ve caught you in another’s bed?!” the Phoenix spat, his foot unrelenting in its force. “And ask for my forgiveness, at that. You have the gall, I’ll grant.”
“It is my fault. I have erred. I have invoked an oath in Bahamut’s name-”
Phoenix hissed, stomping on Dion’s head, uncontrollable rage inflamed him as he took to the skies, semi-primed form morphing into the vermilion firebird.
Dion rose, head throbbing as he felt a trickle of blood running down from the wound in his forehead, but he ignored it, hopping over the windowsill to give chase to the irate Eikon. He felt Bahamut take over as he soared, and he felt powerless and unable to fight it. The dragon pushed him deep down until the stars faded and he was left in darkness, forced into deep sleep.
Bahamut caught up to Phoenix easily with his larger wings, trying to seize the firebird with his claws. He was met with a barrage of fireballs and scratching talons, but he ignored them, focused only on catching his love to try to explain what had transpired.
In the city down below, errant night owls and the inebriated who were still up at the late hour were treated to quite the sight of Eikons in flight, and reckoned it to be nothing more than the mating dance of their newly wedded emperor and consort.
They flew higher up beyond the clouds, and the firebird’s attacks were incessant. Phoenix was predisposed to air out his rage, and Bahamut simply let him, taking every hit that was sent to him. Each burst of flame, each scrape of talon and beak, he accepted them until the Phoenix eventually tired. Finally managing to cradle him against his body, they floated down; Bahamut landing on his back on the stretch of no man’s land between the beach and the Royal Meadows.
Folding his massive wings around the firebird in an embrace, he spoke, “I will set things right by you, my beloved. On this, you have my everlasting word.”
“Hmph,” huffed the Phoenix petulantly, though making himself more comfortable on the scales and spikes poking at his plumage. “Why did you not stop him in the beginning?”
“This shell of mine can be incredibly determined when he means to. We’ve lived without you too long-”
“And so you blame me for his mistake?!”
“No! Never! He’s just a pitiful fool with his human heart.”
“Hmph. And how do you plan to ‘set things right’?”
“Long have we watched these humans commit their follies. And that lover of my shell is no different. A push, and he had already succumbed. His mistake had already borne fruit. We can only leave the rest to fate. I pray for your patience, my beloved. Our time will come.”
“I’ve waited too long already, and you’ll have me wait some more? Your human shell may have gotten his audacity from you, Bahamut.” Phoenix metamorphosed back to his semi-prime state and rose from where he straddled Bahamut. The dragon followed along, also semi-primed, hungering for the firebird and yet tentative, for his husband was still in a mood.
Phoenix flipped errant ginger curls over his shoulder as he began to march back towards Oriflamme, a sneer pulling at his lips as he brushed off Bahamut’s hand that was trying to grab his. Sibilant, he uttered, “Follow me not. Touch me not.” Then turned immediately and repeatedly jabbed at Bahamut’s chest with his pointer finger. “I’ll not allow your scent rancid with your lover-”
“-He’s not mine-” protested the dragon.
“-to sully me further,” continued the firebird with a scoff. “Until this mess has been fixed and the oath has been resolved…” Phoenix turned once more and resumed his way back.
“It will! I promise you.”
Phoenix stopped again and glowered at the much contrite dragon emperor. “After, we shall see. I might be disinclined to take you back by then.”
Bahamut watched, incredulous, as Phoenix swung around once more back to Oriflamme. Determination grew in his golden gaze. And I’ll win you back by whatever means necessary, vowed he.
Three Days After the Wedding
Duchess Anabella Rosfield paced on the shiny marble tiles of Joshua’s receiving room, hackles raised at the discovery that not once had Emperor Bahamut returned to her son’s bed since their wedding night.
All morning she’d been fuming in a huff. “This is not to be borne!” yelled she, before turning to the newly titled Consort Phoenix. “You must secure His Radiance, my darling boy. You cannot let some harlot claim your rightful place.”
Joshua let out a sigh, knowing he was in for possibly hours of listening to her tirade. He figured it was worthwhile for him to suffer her airing out her grievances now as otherwise it would be his father, brother, sister-in-law, and uncle who would have to endure the brunt of it on their way back to Rosalith, and that would prove to be a rather long dreadful journey for them.
Indecipherable mutterings came next, her hand a-flutter at their usual airy gestures. “Damnation to House Branford…who do they think they are…seducing the emperor…who are they compared to us…of lowly inferior birth… we’ll not allow them to have their way…”
And then a conniving light blazed through icy blue eyes, bright as though the greatest idea in the world had gleamed into her mind, and her pinky landed upon her lips as she conspiratorially imparted to Joshua, “I know of a potion so potent it causes infertility. We shall send it to that concubine so that he may not be able to bear the Dragon Seed.”
Joshua bit his lip, face squeezing into a wince. “Mother, the Shining Concubine is a male beta. He is already incapable of bearing heirs for the emperor.”
A loud hiss of frustration issued between Anabella’s teeth at her scheme being immediately thwarted.
Joshua continued, his brows furrowed and head tilted to the side as though listening, “The Phoenix would like to convey that no such schemes are necessary.”
Anabella’s pace ceased, an eyebrow raised, attention diverted to the incarnation of the eternal firebird. “What mean you by that?”
Joshua shook his head, blinking bright blue eyes. “He said nothing else. Only let fate work as it should. That is an order from the Eikon.”
The Duchess clicked her tongue, still miffed at the present circumstances. But she dared not disobey lest she be incinerated on the spot. Taking a deep breath, she curtsied before the Consort. “As the Phoenix commands.”
Joshua inclined his head in acknowledgment, relieved that her annoyance had been stayed, even for a little while.
On the seventh day after the wedding, Emperor Bahamut and Consort Phoenix stood before the Rosarian delegates to bid them farewell on their journey back to Rosalith.
Dion Lesage observed the group hug between Archduke Elwin with his sons, a pang ringing in his heart at the sight of a father’s warmth encasing his children close to his chest. With the playful ruffle of a hand in Consort Phoenix’s perfectly coiffed hair, Dion could see just how cherished he was by his family, with elder brother Clive gently bumping foreheads with Joshua. Sister-in-law Jill had her turn with a tight teary embrace. Their uncle Byron sauntered in his boisterous way, grabbing Joshua and twirling him in the air, before Anabella’s presence silenced everyone, and she kissed the air by her son’s cheeks before sending Dion a narrow-eyed sneer.
Dion smelled the tears before he saw them, fat droplets in arbitrary tracks down Joshua’s freckled cheeks as he watched his family climb onto their respective chocobos and carriages, parading away back to their homeland with everyone except mother looking back and waving incessantly all the while. It kept flowing even after the last trace of their guard could no longer be seen, and Dion could only squeeze his hands into fists and dig his feet into the ground to stop himself from going to Joshua’s side and offer him even a quantum of solace.
He'd rescinded that right with the oath he’d taken. All he could do was stand by and stay out of reach.
And oh how it was killing him inside.
The wound on his forehead had faded, but Dion could still feel the ghost of it, fingers tracing over now-unmarred skin. It was not surprising that the Phoenix had been incredibly displeased; but the oath was something Dion himself could not fight against, no matter how magnetized he found himself towards his Consort. Since Joshua arrived, Dion’s gaze had been drawn to him, and always inside him was the longing for the warmth that simply exuded from his very being, that sense of home, of belonging, that Dion had been yearning for all of his life. And he had torn himself, along with Bahamut, from that.
At this late hour, only a few candles lit the emperor’s study. Scrolls and missives were piled on the grand marble desk, organized by the level of urgency required of his attention, but Dion had tired of paying them heed. Stood he by the window gazing at Metia and the Moon, golden-brown eyes descending to the roofs of titian-glazed tiles of the Consort Phoenix’s courtyard. The candleflames fluttered as though the air had been displaced by movement, and he sensed a figure behind him, kneeling on the ground.
The dark-hooded figure’s voice was soft, almost as the breeze itself, as it inquired, “You’ve called for us, Your Radiance? How might we serve you?”
After drawing a long sigh, answered Dion just as softly, “I wish to have someone surveilled. Report to me everything you find, no matter how trivial it may seem.”
“As you command. Who might you wish surveilled, Your Radiance?”
Dion paused for a moment before replying, “The Consort Phoenix.”
“…” There was a small intake of air, but no response came.
“I wish to know what he does, where he goes. Anything.”
The figure was trained to obey everything Bahamut asked of them, and with no hesitation, replied, “We hear and we obey as you command, Your Radiance.”
“Dismissed,” said Dion. The figure scurried off and he was once more alone.
He was a heel for doing so, but there was a desperate need in Dion - spurred most enthusiastically by Bahamut - in wanting to know what his Consort was up to. Since he couldn’t get close enough to learn for himself, he could only rely on second-hand knowledge brought to him by the Elucidated. When he received news that Joshua’s head maidservant Jote had been investigating the palace for ways to sneak out, he had them surreptitiously direct her to the path that Dion would usually use himself, curious as to why she’d been commanded by the Consort thus.
Days later, Dion was made aware by the Elucidated that the path had been used by Joshua himself. The foremost automatic thought that had gone through his mind was that his husband was off to conduct an extramarital affair, but the huff of outrage from Bahamut strayed him from this errant thought, relieved when he learned that the Consort seemed to merely be sightseeing, enjoying museums and theatre and parks, just exploring the city of Oriflamme.
Outside the palace, the Consort had taken up the identity of Margrace, and Bahamut’s memory was piqued. Margrace had been a previous incarnation of Phoenix from times past, and that he had been one to enjoy dressing up in women’s clothing. Unable to help himself, Dion would set out in his own disguise and follow him, at first simply watching from afar. But there would be times when the urge was simply too strong to resist that he had approached his husband under different guises, meeting only rebuffs to his attempts at courting.
Always Dion would wonder, would imagine: what it would be like if they were side by side, getting to know the city together, getting to know each other in this current incarnation of their lives. What would it be like to live together in the small house Joshua bought, just being themselves without the role of emperor and consort between them. If Dion was free. If he hadn’t made that vow. If Joshua came into his life before Terence.
But Dion couldn’t let himself dream that dream. Especially not after he read the reports about Joshua’s purchases and commissions of certain phallic toys.
Just the fact that Dion couldn’t even aid the omega during his heats and that Joshua had to resort to using such implements…Something else penetrating him the way Dion should have; all those juices flowing with him not able to taste them; all those sighs and moans and screams with him unable to hear, to savour… Now, that was agony.
Eventually, five years of simply watching had become unendurable - it was a wonder he and the dragon lasted so long - that Bahamut came forward with a suggestion: a better, more effective disguise. Very unlike the ones Dion had been using all this time. No wigs, no prosthetic noses, no fake facial hair.
Dion’s brows furrowed. Would the oath allow that? he wondered.
If you’re not as yourself, yes, answered Bahamut. You did well in specifying yourself in the oath.
The frowned deepened. What would make this time different from all the other times?
You will not be who you are. But I will be as myself as I once was.
Across the street Dion watched as Joshua exited the bookshop with the newest edition of Moss the Chronicler’s tome in his hands, an excited smile he couldn’t quite curb threatening to stretch his lips as he hugged it to his chest. A sharp pang of longing squeezed at Dion. To be able to converse with him, to truly be part of his world, his life… The emperor figured it was at least worth a try.
So be it, decided Dion.
So be it, repeated Bahamut.
Five Years After the Wedding
Since the night after he and Dion had that argument that resulted in the emperor staying transformed as Bahamut, it felt as though the world itself had caught Terence in a chokehold. That in insisting on loving Dion, he had doomed himself.
This was what Terence had been afraid of all those years ago: that the pull of Dion's destiny was too strong the universe itself was trying to bring everything back to the path they had strayed from. Always were Bahamut and Phoenix together. It was in the history books, immortalized in paintings, carved in sculpture, chronicled in the palace's gallery of past rulers. When either Eikon would arrive unto the world, the other would soon follow. That had always been the way. In all the stories of them together, there had never been anyone who came between them. Until now. With Terence.
Years had passed, and more and more it felt as though a chasm had grown between him and the emperor. It gaped wider each day, and each bridge he tried to build simply deteriorated with the force of a universe righting itself. Everything since that night seemed to have gone wrong for him. Mistake after mistake had piled up. And he had been trying to make up for it in any way he could. Like now.
The early evening was tranquil at the pavilion surrounded by a small lake, the setting sun spreading shades of carmine and coral across the sky. The clink of utensils on plates was the only sound until the Shining Concubine spoke, “Your Radiance, a toast?” He held up a small cup of wine in his hands, expectant expression on his face.
With a start, the emperor was pulled from the gorgeous view of the sunset’s reflection on the water. He perfunctorily followed along, grabbing his own drink and tapping it against Terence’s before bringing it up to his lips for a sip.
“Is it to your liking, Your Radiance?”
“Mm. It is fine.”
“Oh? I heard it’s carefully picked from the finest grapes from Lostwing’s harvest. The bottle so rare and expensive that it’s fortunate I was able to source it for dinner today.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, I-”
“Papa!” interrupted a child’s voice along with the sound of running feet on the wooden bridge that led to the pavilion.
A collective stricken look fell between the Concubine and his attendants, and his head maidservant Leviana quickly bowed to the two, muttering, “Beg mercy for the intrusion!” Terence with a tense look on his face quickly gave a wave of consent, and Leviana swiftly made her way to the bridge to stop the running child. Her voice when she spoke was hurried and indecipherable from Dion’s position, but the child’s voice was loud, demanding that she wanted to see her papa. The emperor’s gaze fell to the concubine, who sat pale and with breath held, eyes unwilling to meet the golden-brown orbs.
For a brief moment, Bahamut peeked from Dion’s eyes and pulled Dion’s mouth into a smirk, before receding back into the recesses of Dion’s mind.
The child was Leviana’s daughter named Kihel, just about to turn six this year. The Concubine’s head maidservant had been permitted to stay in his courtyard during her pregnancy and the postpartum after, resuming her duties when her child was old enough to be left in the care of lower-ranked nursemaids in the palace. It wasn’t an isolated custom; many palace servants had been given such permission of staying in the palace, but usually they would not be within the greater courtyards of their superiors but in the servants’ sector.
By virtue of proximity, Dion had been aware of the child’s existence all these years, but always was she kept at the periphery as though she was an illicit secret.
It was implicit in the terms of the oath that Dion himself may not, by his own hands, directly harm or cause demise upon the subject to circumvent it. Neither was he allowed to initiate the subject’s end. He had promised to stay by Terence’s side as long as he lived, and whether or not Terence had transgressed against Dion was not a factor in the oath, and was not grounds enough for the oath to be dissolved-as its chains around Dion’s heart could attest, still ever present. The betrayal hurt when he first discovered it. Festered inside him for this was the person he had chosen for himself, forgoing all else in accepting the hand that had been held out to him. By oath he had been required to stay, and he could only keep silent about it. Trapped, as he had always been.
The emperor’s gaze wandered once more to the setting sun, felt a rumble from Bahamut in his mind: It is time to leave ere we be late.
Yes, thought Dion, then pulled the serviette that laid on his lap and placed it on the table. “I must away. I have an appointment.”
Startled from his stupor, Terence gasped and finally looked at Dion. “Your Radiance?”
“Good night, Shining Concubine.” Emperor Bahamut rose and left, followed by his attendants.
“But-I-please…” Any further words died in Terence’s throat and he could only helplessly watch as the emperor passed by the maidservant and daughter on his way out of the courtyard, both quickly bowing as he walked by. Terence could only close his eyes and pray that this would be perceived as nothing as it had always been.
The tiny arms that wrapped around the Concubine’s shoulders and the gaggle of chatting voice did not bring him comfort as it usually did.
There had been times in the last little while when Emperor Bahamut had been forthcoming with his attentions. Joshua couldn’t help having his hackles raised, having gotten used to being ignored by his spouse all these years. The strangeness of it had been rather vexing, and the Phoenix had been mum on anything related to Bahamut or Dion.
In the late spring was the yearly hunt traditionally hosted by the Emperor of Sanbreque. By a strange twist of fate there was a shortage of tents reserved for royalty, and for the first time since the wedding night did Emperor Bahamut and Consort Phoenix shared the same space alone together.
The tent only housed a lone bed, and even the single dining chair did not look comfortable to sleep on. So the only recourse was to share the bed, to Joshua’s consternation.
Turning to the emperor, he was open in his vexation and uncaring that his voice was commanding of the ruler. “You will lay your halberd between us and you will not cross it upon your honour.”
Emperor Bahamut, in contrast, was calm and held an excited light in his golden-brown eyes. “Is that your way of preventing me from exercising my right? Am I not your husband?”
Crossing his arms over his chest, replied Joshua, “Indeed you are, my lord. In name.”
At this, the emperor closed his eyes tight in a grimace.
The Consort continued, “And I shall not trespass on what another has claimed. If you must force yourself on me, so be it. And I will hold no greater love for you as you have none for me in so doing.”
In pain did Emperor Bahamut utter, “Does the Consort truly hold me in so high a contempt?”
“On the contrary, I know you not well enough to feel as much. I know only of what the bards sing of you.”
The emperor looked up, and with a resolved light in his eyes, replied, “Then I shall endeavour to rectify your knowledge of me.”
Joshua scoffed at that. “If it pleases you,” answered the Consort carelessly with an imperious wave of a hand. Then indicated to the bed, “Your halberd, if you please.”
As their accord, the weapon was put in place. And neither slept well in those three days of the hunt.
Sighing, Joshua rose from his bath and began to dry himself off. He couldn’t be thinking of him now. The emperor had already made his choice years ago, and Joshua had accepted it and moved on with his life however he could. And tonight, dinner and theatre spent with a friend was what he was looking forward to. He made his way to his dressing room to begin preparations.
After fastening the busk at the front of his corset, Margrace straightened his camisole underneath until the lace border peered over the top just so, lining his bust nicely he couldn’t help but admire the result. A pair of dainty knickers covered his crotch, and he pulled at the suspender dangling at the bottom of the corset to clip it to his lacy stocking, doing the same to his other leg. Underpinnings were set, he nodded in approval at his reflection before moving to where Jote waited with his boots. Joshua stepped into them, and Jote clipped the buckles in place before assisting him to the first layer of his skirts laid on the floor. He stepped through and Jote lifted the underskirt to fasten at his waist, and then grabbed the overskirt and pulled it over his head, likewise securing it at his waist. His overdress came next, a long-sleeved piece with an attached skirt split open in the centre, with the bodice laced up at the front by a long ribbon. A capelet went over his shoulders, providing a modicum of modesty over the décolletage. Despite the layers, the skirts were of lightweight netting, chiffon, and lace, so he wasn’t weighed down at all.
Deciding on a dark purple wig today, his look was completed with a hat that matched his outfit.
Peering out the window, the sky had darkened to indigo, the Moon and Metia just starting to become visible among the peering stars. In front of his house waited a carriage and a pacing figure, top hat covering the face from view. Joshua felt the Phoenix behind his eyes, a trill of appreciation echoing in his mind as the firebird admired the fit of the bespoke suit that accentuated broad shoulders and trim waist. There was an impatient chirp, and Joshua rolled his eyes, leaving his changing room to make his way to the front door.
Jote opened it for him, and the pacing figure at the sidewalk halted in his tracks. The man lifted the top hat in salute, revealing silver hair with a few strands fading to gold at the tips, eyes an azure blue, strong nose, full lips, and a chiseled jaw. The prominent Adam’s apple could barely be withheld by the collar of his suit. A pleased smile was on his lips as he held out his hand.
“Lord Lamont,” greeted Joshua as he placed his hand upon the one proffered to him, which the man took and raised to his lips. The touch sent a shiver down the omega’s spine. “I hope I have not kept you waiting.”
A sinful-sounding baritone voice answered him, “Nay. It was I who came early. I was afraid I would miss our appointment.”
Not for the first time, Joshua was beheld with the question of how strangely familiar this face, this figure, seemed to him when they’d only met some months past. It was as though it was a face that had once lived in the Phoenix’s long memory. Like a ghost brought back to life. Which would explain why the Phoenix had been most welcome, and rather pushy, in having Joshua become acquainted with the man.
“Shall we?” asked Joshua.
Still holding his hand, Lamont led him to the carriage, assisting him inside. “I am, as ever, at your leisure, Lord Margrace.”
A/N:Did Anabella just the do the Dr Evil pinky on the lips gesture? Yes. Yes, she did (I was rewatching some of her scenes and saw her hand gestures and then Dr Evil popped into my mind, so I had to have her do it too, especially since the idea she brought forward was very Dr Evil-esque in its uselessness lol).
Lamont - who could he be?
Thanks for reading :)
Sep/2023
=========================
previous chapter | next chapter
author: caledon (the_tower_room)
pairing: Dion/Joshua
rating: E
summary: Having been born the Phoenix meant Joshua was destined to be by Bahamut’s side as his consort.
He didn’t know what he was expecting, but certainly not the situation he found himself in.
Omegaverse AU.
words: 4594
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XVI belongs to Square Enix.
Chapter 3: Of Faces Shown and Hidden
The Night After the Wedding
With a start, Dion woke, blinking bleary eyes. The air felt charged. Heated. The change from the coolness of the room disturbed him from sleep.
Bahamut had him turn his head towards the window. There, perched languidly on the sill, was a figure bathed beneath the Moon and Metia’s combined glow. Dion’s heart began to beat rapidly in his chest, and a war between guilt and shame ensued on whichever would fill him the strongest, both surging to a crescendo as he felt caught red-handed with the concubine sound asleep beside him. Rising quickly, heedless of his nightclothes in disarray, he grabbed the robe laid haphazardly on the back of a chair, and moved toward the figure at the window watching him with a bright electric blue gaze.
Streams of incandescent oranges and reds glowed like veins across the Consort’s skin, even strands of his hair were set aglow. Wearing only a thin dressing gown of the highest grade of silk, the outline of his body clear through the light of the moon, a bare pale leg in clear display between the front parting of the gown, dangling lazily beneath the window.
The Consort’s voice was distorted and ancient as he spoke, “Are you so repulsed by me, husband? You’ve so readily left when our marriage bed has yet to grow cold.” The gaze pointedly peered over Dion’s shoulder to the concubine sleeping peacefully on the bed.
“Phoenix,” breathed Dion, longing laced in the word, eyes roaming over the shimmering figure.
“Ah, so you still recognize me.”
Dion found himself suddenly prostrating on the ground, body pushed down by Bahamut. “We…no, I beg for your forgiveness, beloved-”
A foot nudged his head down until his forehead touched the floor, making him yelp in surprise.
“Dare you call me ‘beloved’ when I’ve caught you in another’s bed?!” the Phoenix spat, his foot unrelenting in its force. “And ask for my forgiveness, at that. You have the gall, I’ll grant.”
“It is my fault. I have erred. I have invoked an oath in Bahamut’s name-”
Phoenix hissed, stomping on Dion’s head, uncontrollable rage inflamed him as he took to the skies, semi-primed form morphing into the vermilion firebird.
Dion rose, head throbbing as he felt a trickle of blood running down from the wound in his forehead, but he ignored it, hopping over the windowsill to give chase to the irate Eikon. He felt Bahamut take over as he soared, and he felt powerless and unable to fight it. The dragon pushed him deep down until the stars faded and he was left in darkness, forced into deep sleep.
Bahamut caught up to Phoenix easily with his larger wings, trying to seize the firebird with his claws. He was met with a barrage of fireballs and scratching talons, but he ignored them, focused only on catching his love to try to explain what had transpired.
In the city down below, errant night owls and the inebriated who were still up at the late hour were treated to quite the sight of Eikons in flight, and reckoned it to be nothing more than the mating dance of their newly wedded emperor and consort.
They flew higher up beyond the clouds, and the firebird’s attacks were incessant. Phoenix was predisposed to air out his rage, and Bahamut simply let him, taking every hit that was sent to him. Each burst of flame, each scrape of talon and beak, he accepted them until the Phoenix eventually tired. Finally managing to cradle him against his body, they floated down; Bahamut landing on his back on the stretch of no man’s land between the beach and the Royal Meadows.
Folding his massive wings around the firebird in an embrace, he spoke, “I will set things right by you, my beloved. On this, you have my everlasting word.”
“Hmph,” huffed the Phoenix petulantly, though making himself more comfortable on the scales and spikes poking at his plumage. “Why did you not stop him in the beginning?”
“This shell of mine can be incredibly determined when he means to. We’ve lived without you too long-”
“And so you blame me for his mistake?!”
“No! Never! He’s just a pitiful fool with his human heart.”
“Hmph. And how do you plan to ‘set things right’?”
“Long have we watched these humans commit their follies. And that lover of my shell is no different. A push, and he had already succumbed. His mistake had already borne fruit. We can only leave the rest to fate. I pray for your patience, my beloved. Our time will come.”
“I’ve waited too long already, and you’ll have me wait some more? Your human shell may have gotten his audacity from you, Bahamut.” Phoenix metamorphosed back to his semi-prime state and rose from where he straddled Bahamut. The dragon followed along, also semi-primed, hungering for the firebird and yet tentative, for his husband was still in a mood.
Phoenix flipped errant ginger curls over his shoulder as he began to march back towards Oriflamme, a sneer pulling at his lips as he brushed off Bahamut’s hand that was trying to grab his. Sibilant, he uttered, “Follow me not. Touch me not.” Then turned immediately and repeatedly jabbed at Bahamut’s chest with his pointer finger. “I’ll not allow your scent rancid with your lover-”
“-He’s not mine-” protested the dragon.
“-to sully me further,” continued the firebird with a scoff. “Until this mess has been fixed and the oath has been resolved…” Phoenix turned once more and resumed his way back.
“It will! I promise you.”
Phoenix stopped again and glowered at the much contrite dragon emperor. “After, we shall see. I might be disinclined to take you back by then.”
Bahamut watched, incredulous, as Phoenix swung around once more back to Oriflamme. Determination grew in his golden gaze. And I’ll win you back by whatever means necessary, vowed he.
Three Days After the Wedding
Duchess Anabella Rosfield paced on the shiny marble tiles of Joshua’s receiving room, hackles raised at the discovery that not once had Emperor Bahamut returned to her son’s bed since their wedding night.
All morning she’d been fuming in a huff. “This is not to be borne!” yelled she, before turning to the newly titled Consort Phoenix. “You must secure His Radiance, my darling boy. You cannot let some harlot claim your rightful place.”
Joshua let out a sigh, knowing he was in for possibly hours of listening to her tirade. He figured it was worthwhile for him to suffer her airing out her grievances now as otherwise it would be his father, brother, sister-in-law, and uncle who would have to endure the brunt of it on their way back to Rosalith, and that would prove to be a rather long dreadful journey for them.
Indecipherable mutterings came next, her hand a-flutter at their usual airy gestures. “Damnation to House Branford…who do they think they are…seducing the emperor…who are they compared to us…of lowly inferior birth… we’ll not allow them to have their way…”
And then a conniving light blazed through icy blue eyes, bright as though the greatest idea in the world had gleamed into her mind, and her pinky landed upon her lips as she conspiratorially imparted to Joshua, “I know of a potion so potent it causes infertility. We shall send it to that concubine so that he may not be able to bear the Dragon Seed.”
Joshua bit his lip, face squeezing into a wince. “Mother, the Shining Concubine is a male beta. He is already incapable of bearing heirs for the emperor.”
A loud hiss of frustration issued between Anabella’s teeth at her scheme being immediately thwarted.
Joshua continued, his brows furrowed and head tilted to the side as though listening, “The Phoenix would like to convey that no such schemes are necessary.”
Anabella’s pace ceased, an eyebrow raised, attention diverted to the incarnation of the eternal firebird. “What mean you by that?”
Joshua shook his head, blinking bright blue eyes. “He said nothing else. Only let fate work as it should. That is an order from the Eikon.”
The Duchess clicked her tongue, still miffed at the present circumstances. But she dared not disobey lest she be incinerated on the spot. Taking a deep breath, she curtsied before the Consort. “As the Phoenix commands.”
Joshua inclined his head in acknowledgment, relieved that her annoyance had been stayed, even for a little while.
On the seventh day after the wedding, Emperor Bahamut and Consort Phoenix stood before the Rosarian delegates to bid them farewell on their journey back to Rosalith.
Dion Lesage observed the group hug between Archduke Elwin with his sons, a pang ringing in his heart at the sight of a father’s warmth encasing his children close to his chest. With the playful ruffle of a hand in Consort Phoenix’s perfectly coiffed hair, Dion could see just how cherished he was by his family, with elder brother Clive gently bumping foreheads with Joshua. Sister-in-law Jill had her turn with a tight teary embrace. Their uncle Byron sauntered in his boisterous way, grabbing Joshua and twirling him in the air, before Anabella’s presence silenced everyone, and she kissed the air by her son’s cheeks before sending Dion a narrow-eyed sneer.
Dion smelled the tears before he saw them, fat droplets in arbitrary tracks down Joshua’s freckled cheeks as he watched his family climb onto their respective chocobos and carriages, parading away back to their homeland with everyone except mother looking back and waving incessantly all the while. It kept flowing even after the last trace of their guard could no longer be seen, and Dion could only squeeze his hands into fists and dig his feet into the ground to stop himself from going to Joshua’s side and offer him even a quantum of solace.
He'd rescinded that right with the oath he’d taken. All he could do was stand by and stay out of reach.
And oh how it was killing him inside.
The wound on his forehead had faded, but Dion could still feel the ghost of it, fingers tracing over now-unmarred skin. It was not surprising that the Phoenix had been incredibly displeased; but the oath was something Dion himself could not fight against, no matter how magnetized he found himself towards his Consort. Since Joshua arrived, Dion’s gaze had been drawn to him, and always inside him was the longing for the warmth that simply exuded from his very being, that sense of home, of belonging, that Dion had been yearning for all of his life. And he had torn himself, along with Bahamut, from that.
At this late hour, only a few candles lit the emperor’s study. Scrolls and missives were piled on the grand marble desk, organized by the level of urgency required of his attention, but Dion had tired of paying them heed. Stood he by the window gazing at Metia and the Moon, golden-brown eyes descending to the roofs of titian-glazed tiles of the Consort Phoenix’s courtyard. The candleflames fluttered as though the air had been displaced by movement, and he sensed a figure behind him, kneeling on the ground.
The dark-hooded figure’s voice was soft, almost as the breeze itself, as it inquired, “You’ve called for us, Your Radiance? How might we serve you?”
After drawing a long sigh, answered Dion just as softly, “I wish to have someone surveilled. Report to me everything you find, no matter how trivial it may seem.”
“As you command. Who might you wish surveilled, Your Radiance?”
Dion paused for a moment before replying, “The Consort Phoenix.”
“…” There was a small intake of air, but no response came.
“I wish to know what he does, where he goes. Anything.”
The figure was trained to obey everything Bahamut asked of them, and with no hesitation, replied, “We hear and we obey as you command, Your Radiance.”
“Dismissed,” said Dion. The figure scurried off and he was once more alone.
He was a heel for doing so, but there was a desperate need in Dion - spurred most enthusiastically by Bahamut - in wanting to know what his Consort was up to. Since he couldn’t get close enough to learn for himself, he could only rely on second-hand knowledge brought to him by the Elucidated. When he received news that Joshua’s head maidservant Jote had been investigating the palace for ways to sneak out, he had them surreptitiously direct her to the path that Dion would usually use himself, curious as to why she’d been commanded by the Consort thus.
Days later, Dion was made aware by the Elucidated that the path had been used by Joshua himself. The foremost automatic thought that had gone through his mind was that his husband was off to conduct an extramarital affair, but the huff of outrage from Bahamut strayed him from this errant thought, relieved when he learned that the Consort seemed to merely be sightseeing, enjoying museums and theatre and parks, just exploring the city of Oriflamme.
Outside the palace, the Consort had taken up the identity of Margrace, and Bahamut’s memory was piqued. Margrace had been a previous incarnation of Phoenix from times past, and that he had been one to enjoy dressing up in women’s clothing. Unable to help himself, Dion would set out in his own disguise and follow him, at first simply watching from afar. But there would be times when the urge was simply too strong to resist that he had approached his husband under different guises, meeting only rebuffs to his attempts at courting.
Always Dion would wonder, would imagine: what it would be like if they were side by side, getting to know the city together, getting to know each other in this current incarnation of their lives. What would it be like to live together in the small house Joshua bought, just being themselves without the role of emperor and consort between them. If Dion was free. If he hadn’t made that vow. If Joshua came into his life before Terence.
But Dion couldn’t let himself dream that dream. Especially not after he read the reports about Joshua’s purchases and commissions of certain phallic toys.
Just the fact that Dion couldn’t even aid the omega during his heats and that Joshua had to resort to using such implements…Something else penetrating him the way Dion should have; all those juices flowing with him not able to taste them; all those sighs and moans and screams with him unable to hear, to savour… Now, that was agony.
Eventually, five years of simply watching had become unendurable - it was a wonder he and the dragon lasted so long - that Bahamut came forward with a suggestion: a better, more effective disguise. Very unlike the ones Dion had been using all this time. No wigs, no prosthetic noses, no fake facial hair.
Dion’s brows furrowed. Would the oath allow that? he wondered.
If you’re not as yourself, yes, answered Bahamut. You did well in specifying yourself in the oath.
The frowned deepened. What would make this time different from all the other times?
You will not be who you are. But I will be as myself as I once was.
Across the street Dion watched as Joshua exited the bookshop with the newest edition of Moss the Chronicler’s tome in his hands, an excited smile he couldn’t quite curb threatening to stretch his lips as he hugged it to his chest. A sharp pang of longing squeezed at Dion. To be able to converse with him, to truly be part of his world, his life… The emperor figured it was at least worth a try.
So be it, decided Dion.
So be it, repeated Bahamut.
Five Years After the Wedding
Since the night after he and Dion had that argument that resulted in the emperor staying transformed as Bahamut, it felt as though the world itself had caught Terence in a chokehold. That in insisting on loving Dion, he had doomed himself.
This was what Terence had been afraid of all those years ago: that the pull of Dion's destiny was too strong the universe itself was trying to bring everything back to the path they had strayed from. Always were Bahamut and Phoenix together. It was in the history books, immortalized in paintings, carved in sculpture, chronicled in the palace's gallery of past rulers. When either Eikon would arrive unto the world, the other would soon follow. That had always been the way. In all the stories of them together, there had never been anyone who came between them. Until now. With Terence.
Years had passed, and more and more it felt as though a chasm had grown between him and the emperor. It gaped wider each day, and each bridge he tried to build simply deteriorated with the force of a universe righting itself. Everything since that night seemed to have gone wrong for him. Mistake after mistake had piled up. And he had been trying to make up for it in any way he could. Like now.
The early evening was tranquil at the pavilion surrounded by a small lake, the setting sun spreading shades of carmine and coral across the sky. The clink of utensils on plates was the only sound until the Shining Concubine spoke, “Your Radiance, a toast?” He held up a small cup of wine in his hands, expectant expression on his face.
With a start, the emperor was pulled from the gorgeous view of the sunset’s reflection on the water. He perfunctorily followed along, grabbing his own drink and tapping it against Terence’s before bringing it up to his lips for a sip.
“Is it to your liking, Your Radiance?”
“Mm. It is fine.”
“Oh? I heard it’s carefully picked from the finest grapes from Lostwing’s harvest. The bottle so rare and expensive that it’s fortunate I was able to source it for dinner today.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, I-”
“Papa!” interrupted a child’s voice along with the sound of running feet on the wooden bridge that led to the pavilion.
A collective stricken look fell between the Concubine and his attendants, and his head maidservant Leviana quickly bowed to the two, muttering, “Beg mercy for the intrusion!” Terence with a tense look on his face quickly gave a wave of consent, and Leviana swiftly made her way to the bridge to stop the running child. Her voice when she spoke was hurried and indecipherable from Dion’s position, but the child’s voice was loud, demanding that she wanted to see her papa. The emperor’s gaze fell to the concubine, who sat pale and with breath held, eyes unwilling to meet the golden-brown orbs.
For a brief moment, Bahamut peeked from Dion’s eyes and pulled Dion’s mouth into a smirk, before receding back into the recesses of Dion’s mind.
The child was Leviana’s daughter named Kihel, just about to turn six this year. The Concubine’s head maidservant had been permitted to stay in his courtyard during her pregnancy and the postpartum after, resuming her duties when her child was old enough to be left in the care of lower-ranked nursemaids in the palace. It wasn’t an isolated custom; many palace servants had been given such permission of staying in the palace, but usually they would not be within the greater courtyards of their superiors but in the servants’ sector.
By virtue of proximity, Dion had been aware of the child’s existence all these years, but always was she kept at the periphery as though she was an illicit secret.
It was implicit in the terms of the oath that Dion himself may not, by his own hands, directly harm or cause demise upon the subject to circumvent it. Neither was he allowed to initiate the subject’s end. He had promised to stay by Terence’s side as long as he lived, and whether or not Terence had transgressed against Dion was not a factor in the oath, and was not grounds enough for the oath to be dissolved-as its chains around Dion’s heart could attest, still ever present. The betrayal hurt when he first discovered it. Festered inside him for this was the person he had chosen for himself, forgoing all else in accepting the hand that had been held out to him. By oath he had been required to stay, and he could only keep silent about it. Trapped, as he had always been.
The emperor’s gaze wandered once more to the setting sun, felt a rumble from Bahamut in his mind: It is time to leave ere we be late.
Yes, thought Dion, then pulled the serviette that laid on his lap and placed it on the table. “I must away. I have an appointment.”
Startled from his stupor, Terence gasped and finally looked at Dion. “Your Radiance?”
“Good night, Shining Concubine.” Emperor Bahamut rose and left, followed by his attendants.
“But-I-please…” Any further words died in Terence’s throat and he could only helplessly watch as the emperor passed by the maidservant and daughter on his way out of the courtyard, both quickly bowing as he walked by. Terence could only close his eyes and pray that this would be perceived as nothing as it had always been.
The tiny arms that wrapped around the Concubine’s shoulders and the gaggle of chatting voice did not bring him comfort as it usually did.
There had been times in the last little while when Emperor Bahamut had been forthcoming with his attentions. Joshua couldn’t help having his hackles raised, having gotten used to being ignored by his spouse all these years. The strangeness of it had been rather vexing, and the Phoenix had been mum on anything related to Bahamut or Dion.
In the late spring was the yearly hunt traditionally hosted by the Emperor of Sanbreque. By a strange twist of fate there was a shortage of tents reserved for royalty, and for the first time since the wedding night did Emperor Bahamut and Consort Phoenix shared the same space alone together.
The tent only housed a lone bed, and even the single dining chair did not look comfortable to sleep on. So the only recourse was to share the bed, to Joshua’s consternation.
Turning to the emperor, he was open in his vexation and uncaring that his voice was commanding of the ruler. “You will lay your halberd between us and you will not cross it upon your honour.”
Emperor Bahamut, in contrast, was calm and held an excited light in his golden-brown eyes. “Is that your way of preventing me from exercising my right? Am I not your husband?”
Crossing his arms over his chest, replied Joshua, “Indeed you are, my lord. In name.”
At this, the emperor closed his eyes tight in a grimace.
The Consort continued, “And I shall not trespass on what another has claimed. If you must force yourself on me, so be it. And I will hold no greater love for you as you have none for me in so doing.”
In pain did Emperor Bahamut utter, “Does the Consort truly hold me in so high a contempt?”
“On the contrary, I know you not well enough to feel as much. I know only of what the bards sing of you.”
The emperor looked up, and with a resolved light in his eyes, replied, “Then I shall endeavour to rectify your knowledge of me.”
Joshua scoffed at that. “If it pleases you,” answered the Consort carelessly with an imperious wave of a hand. Then indicated to the bed, “Your halberd, if you please.”
As their accord, the weapon was put in place. And neither slept well in those three days of the hunt.
Sighing, Joshua rose from his bath and began to dry himself off. He couldn’t be thinking of him now. The emperor had already made his choice years ago, and Joshua had accepted it and moved on with his life however he could. And tonight, dinner and theatre spent with a friend was what he was looking forward to. He made his way to his dressing room to begin preparations.
After fastening the busk at the front of his corset, Margrace straightened his camisole underneath until the lace border peered over the top just so, lining his bust nicely he couldn’t help but admire the result. A pair of dainty knickers covered his crotch, and he pulled at the suspender dangling at the bottom of the corset to clip it to his lacy stocking, doing the same to his other leg. Underpinnings were set, he nodded in approval at his reflection before moving to where Jote waited with his boots. Joshua stepped into them, and Jote clipped the buckles in place before assisting him to the first layer of his skirts laid on the floor. He stepped through and Jote lifted the underskirt to fasten at his waist, and then grabbed the overskirt and pulled it over his head, likewise securing it at his waist. His overdress came next, a long-sleeved piece with an attached skirt split open in the centre, with the bodice laced up at the front by a long ribbon. A capelet went over his shoulders, providing a modicum of modesty over the décolletage. Despite the layers, the skirts were of lightweight netting, chiffon, and lace, so he wasn’t weighed down at all.
Deciding on a dark purple wig today, his look was completed with a hat that matched his outfit.
Peering out the window, the sky had darkened to indigo, the Moon and Metia just starting to become visible among the peering stars. In front of his house waited a carriage and a pacing figure, top hat covering the face from view. Joshua felt the Phoenix behind his eyes, a trill of appreciation echoing in his mind as the firebird admired the fit of the bespoke suit that accentuated broad shoulders and trim waist. There was an impatient chirp, and Joshua rolled his eyes, leaving his changing room to make his way to the front door.
Jote opened it for him, and the pacing figure at the sidewalk halted in his tracks. The man lifted the top hat in salute, revealing silver hair with a few strands fading to gold at the tips, eyes an azure blue, strong nose, full lips, and a chiseled jaw. The prominent Adam’s apple could barely be withheld by the collar of his suit. A pleased smile was on his lips as he held out his hand.
“Lord Lamont,” greeted Joshua as he placed his hand upon the one proffered to him, which the man took and raised to his lips. The touch sent a shiver down the omega’s spine. “I hope I have not kept you waiting.”
A sinful-sounding baritone voice answered him, “Nay. It was I who came early. I was afraid I would miss our appointment.”
Not for the first time, Joshua was beheld with the question of how strangely familiar this face, this figure, seemed to him when they’d only met some months past. It was as though it was a face that had once lived in the Phoenix’s long memory. Like a ghost brought back to life. Which would explain why the Phoenix had been most welcome, and rather pushy, in having Joshua become acquainted with the man.
“Shall we?” asked Joshua.
Still holding his hand, Lamont led him to the carriage, assisting him inside. “I am, as ever, at your leisure, Lord Margrace.”
A/N:Did Anabella just the do the Dr Evil pinky on the lips gesture? Yes. Yes, she did (I was rewatching some of her scenes and saw her hand gestures and then Dr Evil popped into my mind, so I had to have her do it too, especially since the idea she brought forward was very Dr Evil-esque in its uselessness lol).
Lamont - who could he be?
Thanks for reading :)
Sep/2023
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