The rest of it

Dragons have infinite patience, and the great wyrms with lifespans stretching centuries savored their task. They made Alberic endure day after day without sleep, forced him to hold burning coals until his flesh sizzled, then beat him if he made any sound of protest. They bore him on flights from dizzying height dangled upside-down in their claws, and soared higher still to the point where he could barely breathe at the first sign of fear. Worst of all were the magical tortures, usually implemented by the most cunning of the wyrms, Nidhogg and Vrtra, layering complex illusions on Alberic's sleep-deprived mind, making his worst nightmares seem true until reality and illusion blended seamlessly in his brain. Another method of torture that they used was to whisper into his mind so that the magical voices of the wyrms hissed in his brain even when the other tortures had eased.

It only took ten days, and yet, the moment of Alberic's surrender seemed a lifetime in the making. Alberic laid in his pit during a moment of respite, fingering Roccin's testimony. "Surrender to Bahamut," he whispered, his cracked, parched lips barely able to form the words. The voices in his head laughed derisively. There was no other option, was there? He couldn't even die, now. He wasn't worthy of that release. They would toy with him until they grew bored, because he was less than scum to them. His life was nothing--no, not even that. He was something disgusting that shouldn't even live, and only lived now because he was too much of a coward to accept the death his idiocy and vanity had earned him.

Ouryu reached into the pit and pulled Alberic from it, pausing as he saw the look in the limp figure's barely-open, glazed eyes. He lifted his great muzzle. "He is ready."

*** *** ***

Alberic was permitted sleep and water; without it, he would not survive the anointment ceremony, he was told. As chance and perhaps design had it, it was midnight on a Lightsday when they brought him out of the pit one last time. All of the dragons were arrayed on their perches, their eyes gleaming from the darkness, soft sparks billowing forth from their breath. Bahamut waited on the central platform; the Wyrm-King had etched a large magic circle on the bare rock before him, then splashed the entire circle with thick black blood. Alberic staggered weakly over to Bahamut and fell at his feet. A massive claw reached down, seizing Alberic by the head and wrenching it up to look up at the Wyrm-King's bulk.

The intrusion came without warning. Bahamut's mind, overwhelming and irresistable, pushed painfully into Alberic's, wrenching it open, and merging their consciousnesses. The magic circle flared around them with the intensity of the magic; Alberic's back arched, his entire body going taut and rigid, his muscles starting out from his frame as pain exploded from every nerve; his vision swam in multiples, tears streaming down his face, but the intrusion was merciless and widened, deepened more, as Bahamut ruthlessly forced the connection. Intense nausea clenched at Alberic's belly, and he dry-heaved, sobbing openly, but Bahamut simply dropped his body carelessly to the stone floor, face-down.

Power flooded through the connection, and Alberic twitched faintly on the ground, seeing through two pairs of eyes simultaneously. The human mind was irrevocably yoked to the immeasureable one of the Wyrm-King, and eons whirled through their brains; the dragons hummed in excited approval. "Bind him down," Alberic dimly heard Bahamut order, and he felt Ouryu on one side and Fafnir on the other pin down his arms on either side. Bahamut ripped off the dragon-hide that was clothing Alberic, and Alberic raised his head, craning it around to see what Bahamut was doing. The Wyrm-King was superheating his claws with a soft breath of blue flame, and terror twisted Alberic's heart. "You are a dragon now, Alberic I Tavnazia," Bahamut said forcefully, setting his claws to Alberic's back. "You must have wings."

The pain of Bahamut's hot claws tearing into his flesh was almost as much as the mental violation from moments before, and Alberic's screams rent the sky. Although the Wyrm-King's claws were massive, they traced a surprisingly delicate, intricate design into Alberic's back, leaving deep, thick grooves in his flesh in the shape of stylized dragon wings, spread across Alberic's shoulder blades and down to the small of his back. The wyrms pinning down Alberic's arms did not permit him to move, and all he could do was writhe faintly into the bloody stone floor. The dragons answered his screams, screeching and roaring their acknowledgement of the hideous ritual, and at last Bahamut raised his claw, his tongue snaking out to lick his talons clean of blood. Alberic could barely raise his head, so the wyrms set him back on his feet, turning him so that all could see the badly bleeding scars.

Bahamut's will then controlled him, and Alberic raised his head, his eyes blazing crimson red, and when he spoke, it was in a voice nearly as great as his Master's. "Hear me, children of Bahamut!" he cried. "I am Alberic I Tavnazia! I am the Prophet of Bahamut!" He raised his hands to the sky, heedless of the pain, one with the Wyrm-King. "From this day forth, you must obey me as you do him, for I live only to do his work!"

The dragons as one reared and spread their wings, large and small, and bugled their acceptance of their former slave as their new Master, until the whole of Cape Riverne rang with their call.

Over the next months after the end of the convocation0, Bahamut taught Alberic how to control his new power. Although Alberic now shared in the Wyrm-King's abilities, almost as if he was indeed part-dragon, the Wyrm-King was always the one in control. With a thought, Bahamut informed Alberic, no matter where on Vana'diel Alberic was, he could be controlled or even killed with a single thought by the Wyrm-King, and his Master often chose to torture him through the mind-link simply to remind him of his subservient position. They shared one another's thoughts, to the point where Alberic felt he was not sure where he began and Bahamut ended; Bahamut was openly contemptuous of any emotions or memories that he felt were weak. The only times when Alberic had any freedom at all were when he was seeing into the future. At those times, the dragons all relied on Alberic to interpret and translate the weltered visions which their minds were unable to understand.

For Alberic's part, a sense of strange calm emerged from his anointment as Bahamut's Prophet, and his surrender to that inexorable will. He was dragon-souled now, and flights over Tavnazia filled him with fierce joy rather than terror; the pride and, yes, arrogance that had filled his mind with dreams of escape had been crushed utterly. His life, even as Bahamut's Prophet, was a mere eyeblink to the dragons, and he was permitted to exist because he was useful, but he was also utterly replaceable. There was nothing about him worth noting or keeping; all of his human frailty and weakness was disgusting, for had he not chosen slavery over death, and sold what little worth or honor he had? Bound to Bahamut's soul as he was, Alberic was often nauseated by himself, his sthomach turning at the abhorrent half-dragon, half-man that he had become, and the sheer depths of his cowardice.

And so, six months passed with Alberic learning the craft of the Seer, the ways of prophecy, and then Bahamut ordered him to go forth into the world and carry out the will of the Wyrm-King. For the future was not certain, and Bahamut wished to use the precious few months of his Prophet's lifespan to influence events to his liking, so that the dreadful Apocalypse would never occur.

*** *** ***

Alberic started awake on a warm bed with silken sheets. He was somehow back in the Safehold, in his old rooms. He had no disorienting moment of "Was it all a dream?"; the Wyrm-King's intrusive presence and the soft murmur of the wyrms' voices in his mind allowed no such comforting illusions. He slid out of bed, as alert as if this were still Monarch Linn, and froze as he caught sight of himself in a mirror across the room.

Six months, along with the ordeal he had experienced, had altered his body almost beyond recognition. His form was lean and rangy now with no softness to the lines of his muscles, browned by long hours under the sun. He had grown another inch or two as well, now a formidable height even for an Elvaan male, and his shoulders seemed almost as broad as an axe handle; his hair had grown down the nape of his long neck nearly to his shoulders, and was now an unkempt, wolfish mane that hung in his eyes, rather than the smooth, neatly brushed style of before. His face bore the features of the indulged young Tavnazian lord, but all of the innocence and arrogance and gentleness had been burned away; he was almost shocked by the wild look in his blue eyes, the coldness and savagery imprinted on his face now. He grinned then, a feral expression devoid of boyhood mischief--his friends would barely know him, now.

He pulled on clothes, shuddering faintly at the feel of linen brushing the thick, rough scar tissue on his back. Although the thick claw-marks that Bahamut had engraved into him had healed and hardened into scars, they were blackened from Alberic's use of powers, as if the design had been burned into his flesh rather than cut. The voices in his head murmured caution and contempt--this place was filled with the weak, fit only to be prey. Alberic did not need to do a reading to know how his homecoming would go. He rummaged through his thingsd, now dusty from disuse, for an adventurer's traveling pack, and filled it with clothes and what useful items and money he could find. As an afterthought, he dug around in his pillowcase for his signet ring, and slipped it back on. "A worthless trinket of a worthless rank for a worthless man," he murmured, then burst out into a peal of laughter.

When he stepped outside, he was surprised to see Livronauge keeping vigil in a chair outside of his rooms. The boy leapt to his feet at Alberic's appearance. "Alby!" he cried excitedly. "I'd heard you'd been found--it seemed too good to be true! You're back--you're alive!" He hugged Alberic fervently. "I never gave up hope, never!"

Alberic found himself smiling tolerantly and patting the boy's shoulder; the expression felt odd on his face, as if it had been ages since he smiled. "In a way, I DID die, Livvy. I don't remember how I came to be found, though."

Livronauge's hands paused on Alberic's lower back, having brushed against one of Alberic's scars. His face clouded, and he looked up at Alberic, his mouth opening to question, but Alberic simply detached Livvy's arms from around his waist. Livvy glanced down. "You showed up yesterday afternoon, wearing only a rotting dragon skin and raving about Bahamut.... We almost didn't recognize you. Prishe had to use magic on you to get you to calm down."

Alberic's shoulders tightened a bit at Prishe's name--she would probably be able to tell how he was changed--but he was distracted by a flare of color above the boy's head. He glanced up at it, and was assailed by a welter of impressions and images: various of Livronauge's futures, as well as a few from his near past. He snapped back to the here-and-now, dimly aware that a few minutes had elapsed since he had started staring off into space, and fumbled for an explanation. Livronauge's face was worried, even a bit scared. Alberic couldn't hold back a nervous laugh. "Erm, sorry kiddo--"

"Alberic!" Esterimond and Cirece were approaching him, Cirece's arm tucked into the protective crook of Esterimond's elbow. Alberic noticed that Esterimond hardly looked happy to see him, while Cirece gazed at him with open horror at his changed attitude. "Where have you been?" Esterimond demanded brusquely. "The entire Safehold has been in an uproar since you vanished--why didn't you manage to tell us you were alive?!"

Alberic turned to them, his eyes flicking above their heads for a long moment. "So, you and Testy Esty, eh Cirece?" he noted, out loud in an absent tone of voice. "It's okay, but you could've waited a bit longer than a week to crawl into his bed, you know. By the way, you're two months along with child now--you're not going to be able to hide it from the elders much longer. Farinale has one of his on the way soon too, though--he's been seeing her and Ellinel on the side. Wow, Esty, I had no idea you were so popular with the ladies, especially since your dad drank away your family's whole fortune and is going to die, leaving you all penniless, in about a year." He glanced back at their faces, Cirece's white with horror and shock, Esterimond's with cold fury.

"You think you're so high and mighty just because you're the heir--" Esterimond started hotly.

"Actually, I'm high and mighty because I'm better than you, Esty," Alberic corrected him in a lazy drawl, patting Esterimond's cheek. "I've always been better than you, dear boy, and given I'm a piece of shit in general, that's saying something. If you hadn't spent our whole childhood grinding your teeth in envy of others, you'd have noticed it."

"Alberic?" Ulmia approached him hesitantly, shrinking back from Esterimond's naked rage and Cirece's posture of abject humiliation. "P-Prishe and Granpere would like to see you at once, in Granpere's quarters...."

"Alright," Alberic agreed affably. As he turned to leave, he added, "Oh by the way, Esty? You owe me another 50 gil. I brought back that dragon's head with me. It's right here--inside mine." He tapped his skull, grinning at the looks of disgust, fear, and anger from his once-friends, and strolled off down the hall.

How lovely it was, to be able to say anything he wanted and not really care what others thought of him! Esterimond's long-hidden envy and resentment of him wasn't a huge surprise, but Cirece's betrayal was a bit more of a shock. Oh, well. No woman deserved to be saddled with someone like him, with so little life given to him and so many problems in his own head. He highly doubted he'd ever have friends again, either. People were weak, deceitful creatures anyway--none moreso than himself--so why bother? It was better they all loathe him now. Their boyhood companion was long dead now, absorbed into the horrific person of the Prophet of Bahamut.

Alberic swept into Despechaire's quarters and promptly helped himself to a chair. The elder turned to look at Alberic sternly, then paused, noticeably taken aback by the changes in Alberic's demeanor. "Lord Alberic, where have you been these six months?"

"Living with the dragons," Alberic replied cheerfully. "They've chosen me to be their Prophet. I can see past and future now, and I serve the Wyrm-King, Bahamut, mightiest of the terrestrial avatars."

Despechaire reeled back, his expression filled with shocked outrage. "This is no time for jokes, Lord Alberic!"

"He's not joking." Prishe stepped out from the shadows, tossing her long lavender hair, her face as serious as Alberic had ever seen it. Their eyes met--and for the first time, Alberic could sense the immense power that lay within the small Elvaan girl. Here, he saw, was one that could defeat perhaps even the Wyrm-King. Unbidden, his eyes slid away from hers, up over her head. What kind of future could the Abhorrent One possible have?

"What the hell ARE you now?" Prishe demanded, her eyes flashing. "You LOOK like Alberic, but you sound more like some damned dragon!" Alberic knew she wasn't referring to the sound of his voice.

"I am the Prophet of Bahamut," he said in a soft voice. "The Wyrm-King found me dying on a cliff, and offered to save me, if I swore to serve him. I was a coward, so I swore. He raped my mind, melding mine to his, and pours his power into me through the connection, so that I can read the future for him." Alberic took a deep breath, looking at Prishe. "He says the Apocalypse is coming."

Prishe gazed back at him steadily, only the faint furrow to her brow showing any concern at his words. "And I guess this damned dragon controls you now, huh?" Alberic was never more conscious than at that moment of how he and Prishe were complete opposites in every way, and he had to lower his eyes in shame. "If that's the case," she continued, a rare hint of compassion in her voice, "it'd be best for everyone if you left. You'd be a danger to us if you stayed--and people wouldn't understand."

Despechaire, over his shock, cleared his throat and slowly nodded. "For once--I am in agreement with Prishe. It is... for the good of the Safehold, Alberic, that you leave."

Although he had realized the inevitability of this decision the moment he had caught sight of himself in the mirror, Alberic still felt a tightness in his throat and chest at their words, and a prickling in his eyes. Briskly, he rose to his feet and nodded to each of them. "Great, it's settled then. I'll rely on your discretion in return, Despechaire and Prishe, to keep rumors from flying. No need for the whole Safehold to know, it'd only alarm them. Lord Bahamut will leave you alone if you leave him alone, I can vouch for that." He nodded again in a businesslike way. "Apparently the life expectancy of this role ain't so hot, so as soon as there's another of the Tavnazian bloodline, whether my issue or another, I'll gladly renounce my title to them."

With that, he swept a deep, courtly bow to the both of them. "I take my leave. Elder Despechaire, thanks for putting up with my bratty ass as long as you did. Prishe, you are as fair-minded as you are beautiful, which is to say a lot." He grinned impudently at her look of shocked pique and winked, before strolling out of the door.

Apparently word of his changed behavior had already traveled around the Safehold, for Alberic saw no one in his path on the way out, though many doorways were filled with staring and whispering clusters of people. He flipped off a few of the more obvious ones and jauntily strode through the Safehold, through corridors he had played in during his childhood and past dark corners he'd hidden within whenever he wanted to be alone. The voices in his head whispered that that was someone else's childhood, someone else's memories. Maybe that was so. Alberic wasn't sure anymore.

The guards by the exit to Lufaise Meadows eyed him, then looked away; whether they had been ordered by Prishe to let him pass, or simply heard the rumors of his erratic conduct and wanted nothing more to do with him, he couldn't be sure. But right as he was about to leave, Alberic was surprised to see Livronauge run up to him, panting and red-faced.

"Alby! You can't be thinking about going outside again, are you? You almost died last time!"

Alberic smiled gently and tousled Livvy's hair affectionately. "I've gotta go, kiddo. Both Prishe and Elder Despechaire asked me to leave the Safehold."

"Leave?" Livronauge was aghast. "B-but... when will you be back...?"

"Probably never."

"Nooooo!" Livvy shook his head violently, balling up his fists. "You'll die! You'll die, won't you? Or is that what they want--you to die just because you're a bit different now?!"

Alberic couldn't help but laugh softly at that. "I'm a LOT different now, Livvy--and I can see things other people can't, things people don't want anyone else to see. People are scared of powers they don't understand. Look at how the Elders treat Prishe. They think she's disgusting, the Abhorrent One, just because she's got different powers--even though she's used those powers to save us all, and protects the Safehold with them."

Livvy nodded thoughtfully, his eyes filled with tears. "I don't feel that way about her, though..."

Alberic smiled. "Yeah, you and the other younger guys are different. And maybe one day, things here'll be different for both Prishe and I, when you're in charge."

That brought a faint grin to Livvy's face. "Alby... those things you said about Esty and Cirece... about their future... is that true?" he asked hesitantly. "I mean--is that how everything is going to turn out? It seems so sad for them...."

Alberic nodded, his tone thoughtful. "Well, Livvy... there's not just one destiny for everyone. Cirece knows about Esty's other girls now... maybe she can convince him to settle down with just her, and they can get married, raise their kid together, and work hard to restore the lost family fortune. You never know. No one's fated to be unhappy, Livvy. As long as you're still alive, there's hope--and maybe even after that, too, in the next life."

Livronauge smiled at Alberic's words, and for a moment, a multitude of bright futures sparkled in his eyes. "Yeah, you're right, Alby!" Solemnly, he clasped Alberic's hand. "So this isn't goodbye, then. You'll be back--I know it." Then, with one last wave, Livvy disappeared back into the Safehold.

Alberic stepped out of the Safehold into Lufaise Meadows, snickering softly to himself. Despite his best efforts, Livvy had turned out just like him, after all. He blinked up at the sun, letting his eyes adjust to the bright light, and sent out a thought to his Master; the whole wide world was open to him now, for Lord Bahamut had business to be done everywhere. And this was a new age--not one of armies or kings or Marquises, but of adventurers, men and women who could carve their own lives whole from the fabric of destiny. A light frisson of pain through the mental link reminded Alberic that he was not free--but he WAS alive. And he intended to stay that way for as long as he could.

A dragon descended from the sky, screeching at Alberic, and he climbed quickly onto its back. "Bastok seems like a great place to start," he told it. "No one will care where I come from, there." Then with a surging leap and the struggling sweep of leathery wings, the pair were airborne, soaring away from Tavnazia in the limitless space between cloud and heaven.