Work Text:
heavy footsteps
The
vacation period for Titus Drautos coincided, inevitably, with the
return of General
Glauca
to Niflheim. His superiors had decided to send him to Tenebrae to make
sure that
the
troops, and especially the civilians, respected the Imperial orders
imposed two years
earlier.
Knowing that things were getting a little out of hand lately, they had
decided to
send
the only man capable of expanding terror with his mere presence. And
who if not him.
He
would have laughed if his mood was not already soured. Titus felt the
ship slow down,
preparing
to land. He held his breath, closing his eyes under his helmet, ready
to meet the
green
landscape of Tenebrae. He had left Insomnia less than 48 hours ago,
leaving the
command
to a rash young gun lover for the next two weeks.
No,
there was absolutely nothing to laugh about.
He
would enjoy a good bottle of wine, or even two, if on his return he
would not find
rows
of reports to sign and no casualties due to avoidable mishaps within
the ranks of his
recruits
in the newborn Kingsglaive. Then, perhaps, he would look for company.
When
the tailgate opened, his eyes were greeted by a sunny day. He
couldn’t help but
admit
that Tenebrae was beautiful at this time of the morning. Titus breathed
in the fresh
air
that only Tenebrea could seemingly offer him, the circuits from the
ship that were
activated
with every movement, crackling unnaturally in the morning stillness.
Memories
slowly began to surface in his mind as he walked towards the palace.
The
Empire
called it “the taking of Tenebrae”, a strategic
attack that occurred two years earlier
with
an aim to ambush and kill the King of Lucis, who was there to seek
healing for his
son.
But things did not run as smoothly as one imagines.
Titus
stopped in a clearing, the armor throbbing slowly with each breath,
looking over the
green
and fertile soil that surrounded him. There was so much green but, in
his eyes, it was
still
stained with blood. He closed them and the memory of the flames
appeared before
him.
He still hadn’t been able to completely get it out of his
mind at night. After the most
stressful
days of work, nightmares kept him company startling him awake drenched
in
cold
sweat.
Niflheim
had decided to support him with the addition of simple soldiers and
magitek
prototypes
for a field test, they had said. Titus remembered how, in the midst of
battle,
he
saw one of these soldiers out of the corner of his eye use a
flamethrower against the
Prince
of Tenebrae. The screams of the Queen still rang in his ears as she
used her body
as
a human shield to protect her son, as any mother would have. Her face
having slowly
disfigured,
melting from the heat of the fire. Her expression having mirrored the
thoughts
of
her slow death.
He
remembered stopping, just as the King of Lucis fell among the corpses
of his attendants,
and
how Titus then turned to end the queen’s agony. He had acted
out of mercy, the blade
of
his sword piercing the woman offering her a quick and painless death,
her clear eyes
staring
at him as life seeped out of them. Titus can still remember in the
vortex of fire and
blood
that the feathers on the woman’s cloak looked like wings. His
helmet hid the look
of
sadness directed to the young Prince kneeling behind the late Queen and
the shock that
would
accompany him throughout his life.
It
was not supposed to go like this, nobody was to die besides the King.
And, damn the
Gods,
the latter had managed to survive. If only he had concentrated on the
goal, leaving
out
the humanity that flowed in his veins and in his soul...
The
man opened his eyes, moving again to reach the gardens adjacent to the
palace. He
was
not in the mood to listen to soldiers speak of haughty nonsense of
their day to day life.
He
had personally organized the list of soldiers and people who would
settle in Tenebrae
--
valid men with good principles, loyal to duty and with family. He had
chosen them
carefully
three days after his recovery from the attack by the King’s
ancestral blades. And
yet,
the monotony of life led even the most tenacious of men to let go of
their most darkest
obsessions.
Titus
walked slowly, his firm steps echoed on the stone path, and the
pulsation of his
armor
acted as a constant reminder in his chest. Other difficult memories
crept into his
mind
as the birds on the bushes stopped singing only to fly away upon his
appearance.
His
gaze absently followed the flapping of their free wings, nostalgia
reflected in his eyes.
Surrounded
by the green of the woods he thought of the pine forest adjacent to his
native
village,
of the sound of the waves breaking on the rocks where men fished, of
life before
this
nightmare. Perhaps in retrospect, Cavaugh was not so dissimilar to
Tenebrae, both
abandoned
to fend for themselves by a fake King protected by his wall. Screams
falling
on
deaf ears in the face of the people’s desperation at their
current danger. The day of the
attack
on his village it rained, just as it rained on the day he allied
himself with the Empire.
They
had promised him the freedom of his lands.
His
armor pulsed bright red as his hand tightened around the hilt of his
sword. Handling
the
weapon under his clawed glove brought him great relief. However, hatred
coursed
through
him overpowering his senses.
Titus
was experiment number 12 of that fucker Verstael Besithia. The number
had been
tattooed
on his shoulder like an animal to the slaughter. Tied naked to a bed
that barely
contained
his size, he remembered the eyes of that mad scientist who seemed to
enjoy
every
needle punctured into his body.
It
took 7 days to complete the experiment.
He
remembered the smell of burning when they opened a piece of his chest
to insert
what
would later become his personal demon. Demon blood mixed with mithril
molten
metal.
The excruciating pain that led him to scream despite being under local
anesthesia,
accompanied
by the demonic metal that crawled within his veins to compact under his
skin.
Titus
had never given up, never regretted that choice.
It
took months to get used to his new hell. Months in which the wound on
his chest healed
and
then again torn open with each call from Glauca. His body had tried to
rebel against
that
intrusion even when the pain almost drove him to the brink of insanity
on the hottest
of
nights.
However,
no fire could compete with the screams of his fellow villagers as the
soldiers
shot
them like stray dogs abandoned by Lucis to this terrible fate. The King
of Lucis could
have
saved them, he should have saved them. They were his people after all.
Instead he
sentenced
them to extermination.
Hate
never left him. Hatred made him fight against his human nature. He had
accepted that
demon,
had given him a name.
"General
Glauca ...”
Titus
came to his senses chasing those memories away from his heart. He
turned his head
to
the left, already knowing who that voice belonged to.
Her...
The
Princess of Tenebrae.
That
little girl who had slowly become a woman, but who had never had the
gaze of a
child.
Titus
struggled to accept that look. A look that said she had accepted her
destiny, whatever
the
gods chose. But, the Gods do not listen, they are greedy and curious
observers of the
torments
of mortals. And surely they wouldn’t choose something happy
for this girl.
Time
seemed to stand still...
The
Princess should have hated him because by all accounts he was the one
who had
mercilessly
killed her mother. It was he who had made her a prisoner in her own
house,
and
unbeknownst to her, saving her from the clutches of soldiers who would
have gladly
stolen
her innocence. Titus was the one who had trained her brother to protect
what was
left
of his home: his sister. It was what he periodically underlined in his
briefings -- that
anyone
who approached the Tenebraen royal palace would respond to him
personally.
Lunafreya
didn’t deserve this hell.
He
allowed himself to look at her maturing face and the way her blond
strands covered
the
thin straps of her simple white dress. They fell softly onto what
seemed like uncovered
slender
shoulders while her bare legs were delicately strapped into comfortable
white
sandals.
Her tapered arms clutched at a bouquet of flowers making a lovely
image, but still
he
couldn’t escape that expression on her face.
That
look ...
Titus
could not stand it.
The
look he had been met with the first time two years earlier, when she
turned towards
him
after voluntarily releasing the hand of the man who could have saved
her. She had
preferred
to save her home and family despite the soldiers surrounding them with
weapons.
Titus
had held the girl’s determined gaze. He took notice of her
young face absent of tears.
He
had even admired her way of walking amongst soldiers who had forcibly
clipped her
wings.
Taking all of this into account, his pride could only be described as
that of a father
and
in the most hidden and human side of him, he considered Luna as the
brave little girl
he
had to protect.
He
would never admit this to anyone, not even himself.
That
girl did not deserve all this, that courage and that determination
locked up in a white
crystal
cage adorned with fake approval, but Titus could do nothing but defend
her in the
only
way he knew how.
By
sending severe orders and instilling terror.
It
was then that the wind rose, shaking the scarlet tails of his cape and
waving the girl’s
skirt.
Lunafreya gently raised a hand, holding out a sylleblossom flower to
him.
And
inside Glauca’s armor, another piece of Titus
Drautos’ heart fell apart.
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This is my fic inserted in the DrautosZine "A Captain's Tale".
Inspired by CrimsonSun's artwork.