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Joshua was always a little nervous when he was in Dion's room, which he finally agreed to after much persuasion. Of course, technically it was now their shared room, as for some reason the Rosarian spent more time there than in his own, but even the sparsely furnished rooms of the Hideaway reflected the personalities of their occupants, and the dragoon's room was no exception. It might not have luxurious furniture, portraits, or a multitude of personal books, but all the personal belongings—papers, towels, weapons maintenance tools, and sometimes a simple jug on the table that served as a vase for the flowers the children periodically gave him—were all laid out in specific places, convenient only for Dion, and Joshua even thought the room had a special scent.
And it was pleasant to know that during their entire fighting at Origin, and then their long recovery in the infirmary under Tarja's attentive care, the room hadn't changed. Before leaving, Dion, despite his gloomy mood, left everything as if he could return to the Hideaway at any moment. And he—they all—had succeeded. Returning alive to where they were awaited, to the place that had become their home. And even though the future was uncertain, they would be able to walk into it together.
For now, Joshua was back in Dion's room, in their bed, unable to tear his gaze away from the sleeping dragoon. Before their journey to Origin, even Dion's dreams had been restless and his face was always furrowed, but now he was completely relaxed, and this filled Joshua's heart with such love that he couldn't help but smile. He wanted to run his finger over his soft cheeks and full, slightly parted lips, but that would wake the prince, something he absolutely did not want to do.
Joshua carefully slipped out from under the blanket, trying not to disturb Dion's sleep, and couldn't resist stretching. Even though the magic should have faded after the Origin, he, as if the flame of the Phoenix still lingered within him, had recovered significantly faster than Clive and Dion, who had only been able to train only to a limited extent up until now. Joshua slowly walked to the window and carefully opened it, letting in the cool morning air.
They weren't yet sure if it was traces of fading magic or something else, but those who currently considered themselves "former" Dominants felt as if their Eikons were in deep slumber, yet their powers hadn't been depleted during this entire time. It was curious, and Joshua was already looking forward to his future, much more free-flowing explorations (as traveling incognito often made searching for information quite difficult). After all, they didn't fully understand how the ether would truly behave when it wasn't being sucked out of all living things by the Mothercrystals, and it wasn't impossible to learn how to transform it rather than burn it... After all, energy never disappears, but rather passes from form to form. Perhaps, along with saving the world, they were fighting for the disappearance of magic, which had been considered a resource all this time, but what if they could simply learn to change the form of the ether? And that would make magic accessible to almost everyone, preventing a repeat of the Bearers' practice. Of course, if the Eikons remained this way, they would be used in wars again (Joshua might be a romantic at times, but he knew such conflicts could never be eradicated), but for their nations, like the Dominants, they were a symbol, a source of pride, and an embodiment of hope. It seemed they had discussed something similar with Clive, Jill, and Dion when the question of whether to return to their thrones arose. They had decided to postpone the final decision for now, but Dion apparently wanted to return and lead his people further, and the Rosarian was ready to support him no matter what.
Joshua braced his hands on the table by the window and, without noticing, knocked over a stack of papers, which, driven by the wind, instantly scattered across the room.
"Damn!" He cursed silently and rushed to gather the sheets of paper, hoping they weren't arranged in a specific order. Otherwise, he'd have to read what was written on them, and it could be something personal, like a diary. But even trying not to look, Joshua wasn't blind, and his gaze kept catching random lines where, as it turned out, Dion had jotted down moments of his life. But in style, it wasn't a diary: the text didn't resemble the condensation of thoughts, but rather a coherent work of fiction.
"Joshua?" a hoarse voice rang out. The Rosarian winced and nearly dropped the collected papers back onto the floor. Looking up, he saw that Dion had woken up and, propped up on his elbows, was looking at him sleepily.
"Oh... Dion, I'm sorry, I didn't..." Joshua nodded at the papers in his hands. "I opened the window and it all fell apart. I was only trying to collect them, I didn't mean to read them, but..."
"Ah," the prince's gaze cleared. "You mean the memoirs?"
Joshua froze.
"The memoirs?"
"Yes," Dion sat up on the bed, resting his elbow on the pillow and patting the spot next to him. Joshua paused, then sat up too.
"I shouldn't have done that," he said. "I'm sorry."
"You don't need to apologize," the prince laughed softly, and Joshua noticed a faint blush on his cheeks. "Of course, I'm embarrassed, but not because you read them, but because I planned to show them to you when I had a finished draft, not just sketches."
Joshua gasped in surprise.
"After all, you're well versed in literature," Dion continued. "And I would be honored if you agreed to help me make my writing more fluid and understandable."
The Rosarian remained silent, thoughtfully running his hand over the stack of papers.
"Dion?"
"Hm?"
"And when did you start them?"
Dion looked away.
"Shortly before Origin. So I can't say I managed to finish even a small part of them."
"I see," Joshua muttered. He leaned his shoulder against Dion's and felt him wrap his arm around him.
They were silent for a few minutes, enjoying each other's warmth.
"You know," Joshua spoke again, raising his face to the prince. "It turns out you forgave yourself back then."
Dion frowned in confusion as he smiled softly, tapping his knuckles on the papers.
"People going to their deaths don't start writing memoirs," the Rosarian said. "Because memoirs are published, and you, clearly knowing you wouldn't finish them before Origin, came with me and Clive, planning to return and finish them," he carefully handed the papers to Dion. "And that's the greatest happiness for me. That you want to live again, Dion."
The prince took the memoirs and set them aside, then cupped Joshua's face in his hands and kissed him gently, softly and tenderly. Pulling back, he ran his thumbs over Joshua's cheeks.
"I don't know what I was thinking then," Dion admitted. "But I knew for certain that I wanted my story to be more than just a tale of my exploits in the imperial chronicles. That I wanted you to be with me until the end... and no matter when that end came."
Joshua felt a burning sensation in his eyes, and when his vision suddenly blurred, he realized he was crying. Dion wiped away his tears with his fingers and hugged him tightly.
"Nothing will change my sin," he whispered into Joshua's hair. "But thanks to you, I want to seek redemption not in death, but in life. So," he kissed the top of Joshua's head. "Thank you again, Joshua. For everything."
Joshua felt his throat tighten and nodded silently, looking at the scribbled pages behind the dragoon.
This is proof of his determination to live and tell others that in this life there was not only Dion the Bold, the Dominant of Bahamut, but also simply Dion Lesage, with his weaknesses and mistakes, and the people who stood by him. And that even in the depths of despair, he was able to find a light that gave him hope again.