#interactions.barnabas

a continuation for this one

Barnabas can feel that Theodore is still weakened by the repercussions of his captivity, no matter how quickly Leviathan's powers, at last unbound again, work to heal him to full strength, soothing burned and bruised flesh, marred by abuse of both magical and physical nature. The king all but carries his weight on his own now, despite the young man stubbornly trying to keep himself upright by sheer strength of will alone. His steps are uncertain, his legs trembling and the tremors that go through his entire form are not from anger, nor frustration, no matter how much Barnabas can feel those emotions radiate from Leviathan's temper coiling within.

No, the shivering, the set of Theodore's jaw, the wobbling of his lips when he forces his gaze to look firmly ahead, not meeting the king's eyes, it all speaks volumes of the weakness he doesn't allow himself to feel. He'd rather collapse, would rather destroy himself than admit to the defeat and the pain he's so clearly feeling.

And it's his fault.

Barnabas realizes it with sudden clarity. He'd instilled within the young Dominant a need to excel, a need to overcome pain and grief and weakness to become what his master needs, because that is what was expected of him, too. Another tool to be used at the right time, another weapon forged into obedience, added to the arsenal. But even the strongest steel will burst and break with enough pressure, and while the Eikon coils and hisses deep inside, Barnabas, for once, sees the man, the mortal, the wrongfully injured and rightfully frightened, Theodore, who tries so very hard to adhere to the teachings of a king who has long since forfeit any right to his humanity.

He sees himself in him so clearly now. Recognizes the pain of being broken down and forced to pick the pieces up himself, because it is the same as what he has endured so long ago.

Thus, Barnabas stops them as they pass his chambers. Their previous destination —Theodore's own chambers further down the hall— now abandoned. He hears the subdued noise of pain and despair despite the fact Theodore bites down on it hard enough the king sees a muscle jump in his cheek. He reads it in his posture, too, the fear that, once stopped, he'd not be able to keep walking.

But the momentum is extinguished by the king regardless. He catches his wrist when Theodore attempts to pull away, perhaps in defiance, perhaps because he feels the king might abandon him here to fend for himself and he hopes to find at least some strength still to keep moving by himself.

But Barnabas doesn't mean to cause him more pain, or make this into another lesson in perseverance. And most of all he doesn't mean to add loneliness to the aches, not when it was his failure that forced Theodore into this state. Theodore's will to continue on is commendable and under different circumstances his ability to withstand all that was forced upon him would have instilled Barnabas with pride, but this is not what he wants. Not for him. It is true that Barnabas has forged himself this way, under pain and with denial of the self. But despite decades spent in apathy he finds he does not want this for Theodore. Instead, he wants to soothe him, wants to assure him, to preserve that same humanity he himself has lost so long ago and spare him the agony of becoming what he is.

Theodore still avoids meeting his eyes until the king reaches his hand up to force him to. He sees Leviathan in them, the Eikon's might pulled around Theodore's self like a barrier, his eyes bright with electric blue. He's strong, so much stronger than the day they first met, but for the first time since then Barnabas doesn't want him to be.

He fits his hand to Theodore's cheek and feels his chest expand on an easier breath when the Eikon's presence briefly flickers to make way to soft green, before the starkness of the blue returns full force.

"You have done your part." He says to soothe the great serpent. "Now let me do mine." He watches as the Eikon's temper furrows the vessel's brow and threatens to pull his lips into a snarl. The king's expression softens. "I will now keep him safe where I have failed to do so before." He promises Leviathan, his voice firm, his tone sincere.

It takes another long moment, but eventually Barnabas strokes a calloused thumb over Theodore's cheekbone and sees some of the tension bleed from his shoulders. His own hands are no longer raw from when he broke the wretched collar that edged the slowly fading wounds into Theodore's neck. The king's own Eikonic powers made it so his wounds are faded to little more than tender skin, but he can see the lasting effect on Theodore's neck still, prolonged exposure likely making the wounds harder to heal, or maybe his aether is truly so far depleted there is nothing left to do beyond mere self-preservation. It explains Leviathan's lingering presence, angry and snarling like a cornered animal, but even Eikonic powers have their limits, and keeping the Dominant safe goes beyond the matter of their marred flesh. There were other wounds, those of the mind, inflicted by isolation and torture, and the fear of being left for dead. They would take time to mend.

But the king has nothing but time.

He coaxes Theodore into following him to the bathroom, so that soon clothes and pieces of armor can be abandoned and a bath run to welcome them home. Theodore leans heavily against a piece of furniture as the king undoes each buckle and fastening to uncover his lover's skin. The extent of Theodore's injuries is revealed then. Colorful bruising paints his body, cuts and burns already slowly healing, but speaking of violence endured that Barnabas so wishes to have spared him. It is his guilt to bear and his failure to atone for, and it is what he intends to do now.

Once done with Theodore's he sheds his own layers of clothing and soon steps into Theodore's space again to run calloused hands along trembling shoulders. Theodore is cold to the touch, his muscles tense with defiance, his expression speaking of unwavering resolve to keep himself standing.

Barnabas smiles despite the deep ache of sympathy he feels clawing at his heart, overcome by his adoration for the other. He leans in to press his lips to Theodore's, fingertips alighting on either side of his face as he fits the warmth of his body to the chill of his lover's.

"Break for me." He whispers as he withdraws, watching Theodore's eyes widen at the soft-spoken plea, then turn brighter with the beginnings of tears of exhaustion. Barnabas wipes the first tear away when it falls from fluttering lids, then he catches Theodore when at last his body folds into his own. There is no shame in this, no weakness in enduring all he has only to break now, away from the world and in his lover's arms, and Barnabas will make him believe it, too. He pulls him up, hooks an arm beneath the angle of his knees and around his shoulders to lift him effortlessly into his hold. He presses his lips to Theodore's temple as he walks them toward the warmth of the bath awaiting them.

"Just so." He soothes when Theodore's arms tighten around him, threatening to steal his breath and crush his ribs. He hears his breath hiccup out of him, despair at last breaking to the surface when they're enveloped by warmth. He feels the sting of blunt nails digging deep into the flesh of his back. It's nothing compared to what he knows his lover must have endured. And even so, Barnabas means to bear it all. A hand makes its way into matted hair, gently caressing along the roots as he holds his lover close.

Barnabas fixes Theodore with an unblinking stare. The question an unexpected disruption of the silence that had settled around them. But instead of answering immediately, he waits to see what he'll do, if he'll falter under his gaze like he used to do, or if at last Leviathan's Dominant has grown into himself as much as he has into his powers.

The king watched him do so with great fascination, watched him reforge himself from a mere man into a true vessel for the mighty Leviathan. But there is an uncertainty within him still which Barnabas doesn't quite understand. Not after spending months offering guidance, training, counsel. Theodore had taken to his lessons well, after initial resistance of his true nature, of course, but that was to be expected after being plucked from the life he knew, no matter how insignificant it may have been at the time.

But Theodore stands taller now, moves with a confidence he didn't possess before coming to Waloed. He has become so much more than what he was. Yet, the king can feel it radiate off of Theodore whenever they're close enough to touch: the lingering uncertainty, a new kind of confusion. And in turn Barnabas finds himself wondering where it stems from, what Theodore thinks. How he thinks.

...How he feels?

It's something he's never taken an interest in before, or at the very least not in a good long while, the way people feel, and why they might do so. But he is able to read them well enough, recognizes anger, frustration, pain, sadness, joy, lust, want, need— all the little intricacies of human nature. And he's seen all of it in Theodore before, sometimes interwoven with each other. The last few of those things were occurrences even Barnabas can admit to thinking of fondly. The young Dominant makes for a rather beautiful and invigorating bedfellow after all.

But he's seen the shift in their dynamic, too. Isn't blind to the way Theodore hesitates around him now, not because of fear, but something else. The way he pulls away from him immediately — not before, nor during their little trysts — but after, when it is just so clear that he wants to stay, wants to be held. But rather than demand it, he leaves, he hides, and he refuses to make sense.

Thus, the question has a dark eyebrow raise, lips part ever so slightly as the king regards him. There is not a flinch to Theodore's person when Barnabas steps close enough that the green of his eyes fills his vision, but then he sees the young man's gaze flick off to the side, he sees him take a step back from him in a way he hasn't done in some time.

Why?

Don't you know how I feel?

When faced with the prospect of a Dominant’s wrath being unleashed upon them, any other person would likely have submitted long ago. Especially if that Dominant wields the entirety of Leviathan’s might with merely a flick of his hand. The king of Waloed however revels in the challenge it poses and therefore provokes the young man until he either exhausts the Dominant’s body to the point of fainting, or losing control. The latter while ultimately making him stronger, also makes him expulse more aether, and it usually ends with Barnabas simply forcing him to submit by draining him of said aether by dodging or parrying the volatile attacks thrown his way.

So, all things considered, the outcome is usually the same, what differs is how quickly they arrive at that point.

At least, that is what happened every time up until today. They’ve long abandoned the idea of sparring on castle grounds since Theodore gained a more intricate grasp on his powers and Barnabas now has them cross blades near the shore, far enough from other people that he doesn’t have to caution Theodore into being mindful about not drowning his subjects. It also means that they’re far closer to the element Theodore draws his strength from and the steady glow of blue in his eyes as he wields the water like an extension of himself is more than enough proof that this is exactly where he is strongest.

Barnabas can practically taste his aether in the air around them and it in turn baits him into using more of his own might. His lips pull into a smile as Theodore makes a sudden move and within the blink of an eye Barnabas finds himself face to face with the younger Dominant, their blades crossed in a contest of will.

Barnabas holds fast, one arm still firmly placed behind his back, his sword arm lazily parries the next few swings of Theodore’s sword, turning his body to the side when a whip of water wielded by the other threatens to cut him. He uses the moment of unguarded recklessness and checks his opponent with a shove of his shoulder. Theodore stumbles backward.

“Too slow.” The king taunts. “Again.” He commands immediately after. He watches the color of his opponent’s eyes flicker from blue to yellow. He has learned over their time together that Leviathan doesn’t appreciate being berated, and that it doesn’t take much to provoke the Eikon’s annoyance. It’s an easy exploit to force a victory for him. However, Barnabas’ smile widens when he sees Theodore wrestle the Eikon’s might back under control. A sense of elation overcomes him when he witnesses his opponent’s aether swell, and senses him rise to a semi-primed form. The brigthness of his eyes intensifies, aether lights up his hair and lines of it pulse across his skin.

It’s a beautiful thing to witness someone come into his powers like this. In his revelry the king becomes reckless. He lets the younger Dominant gain on him, allows him into his space, just to be able to feel the increased strength when their blades cross once more. Taken with the glow of Theodore’s eyes, the determination within his gaze as he bears down on his sword and steps closer the king for once does not pay attention to anything else.

It’s why the next strike of the water made form takes him by surprise and knocks him back. Followed by the rough strike of Theodore’s blade just grazing his chest, tearing his tunic and shirt. His footing is uneven as the king is forced closer to the ocean. The waves lap at his feet. Then, the water snakes around his throat to force him down to his knees, legs digging into the white sand of the beach, the cold of the water begins to soak his pant legs. Water bears down on him like a vise, cutting off the air to his lungs. The king can’t speak his approval, but he does grin up at his opponent stood above him. The thrill it brings him to see Theodore like this enough to drown out the sharp sting of pain of the cut across his chest and the panic his mortal form threatens to fall into as the edges of his vision begin to turn dark and blurry.

The king waits for the embrace of unconsciousness, not bothering to wrap himself in Odin’s mantel to turn this into a proper battle. He is proud to declare Theodore the winner of their spar. Even though his current state does not allow for any words whatsoever. That is, until Theodore sinks down onto one knee, bringing them back to eye level, shallow water splashes around them. The hold around the king’s throat is relinquished all at once, but he doesn’t have time to gasp for the air his lungs so desperately crave at this point.Instead, he finds himself pushed onto his back, his lips trapped in a forceful, nigh painful kiss. A clash of teeth and tongue rivaling the spar that just concluded. Swords are abandoned, clothes torn. And it doesn’t take long before Barnabas tastes blood and feels the sting of a split lip. He isn’t afforded the time to enjoy this either, for just as he tilts his head and brings up his hands to dig into Theodore’s hair the younger man pulls away and moves along his throat down to his chest.

It’s then that the king clutches the dark strands harshly, the sting of the superficial cut exacerbated by the tongue lapping across his chest, tasting his blood. The king throws back his head as one of Theodore’s hands finds its way between his legs as he keeps licking the blood of the fresh wound from the king’s chest. Barnabas feels a rush of aether sink into him and the next breath he heaves is one of relief when the pain from the cut subsides.

When he turns his head to investigate, he finds his bare chest unblemished aside from the old scar across his pectoral. He looks on in stunned silence for a moment before surprise is overcome by blatant needwhen Theodore looks up at him, Eikonic blue replaced by natural green, his pupils blown wide with want in turn. He pulls Theodore back up and into another bruising kiss. Heartbeat pounding in his ears, breaths heavy between them

The wonder, nay, the disbelief in Theodore's voice cuts the king in a way he doesn't expect, nor fully understand. The young Dominant is in far worse a shape than he thought as well, restrained and bruised, his face bloodied from a hit to the face no doubt courtesy of his captors, arms shackled spread out to the wall on either side, the signature of his aether far weaker than it should be. So weak that it took the king far too long to find him. In fact, at some point it had been faint enough Barnabas was overcome by a rage like no other thinking someone had dared to extinguish the vibrant light of Theodore's life force.

But no, when Odin's might came to him while priming in a fury that saw an entire swathe of land leveled by Zantetsuken's might, Barnabas faintly felt Leviathan reach back from across the distance. From then on it was only a matter of hunting those down who'd dare attempt and take Theodore from him.

The king doesn't care for their motivs, doesn't care for the intel Waloed's taciticians provide him with, or the counsel of his advisors either. What does it matter if the territory laid to waste is under the protection of the Empire, or that the group who'd taken Theodore and sought to rid Valisthea of the Dominants altogether was but a small fraction of the population there? Everyone else swept up in Odin's might is collateral.

They don't matter.

He'd invade Sanbreque and kill Bahamut and the Emperor himself if this was what it took to get Theodore back. And should this, at last, cause Waloed and the Empire into an all out war, then so be it. Even the near suffocating grip of his master on his psyche is not enough to have Barnabas reconsider his actions. The splitting headache and knee-buckling weakness he is suffering now because his master is inacting a punishment is nothing compared to the ache in his heart at seeing Theodore broken down and suffering.

Zantetsuken disappears into a flourish of shadows as the king kneels before him, cradling his lover's face into both hands and tilting his head up when the young man tries to avert his eyes in shame. "There is no force on this star strong enough to keep me away from you." He vows, his eyes alight with a rare glow of his Eikon's power simmering hotly within him, the only thing containing his wrath being the fact he is able to touch Theodore and feel his warmth under his palms.

It's then that he notices the band of dark metal around Theodore's neck, it seems to sear his skin, the flesh looking burned and raw where it chaves against it, Leviathan's powers only barely able to keep up with having the skin heal. There are carvings in the band of metal, reminiscent of those in the ruins of the Fallen. Barnabas has seen them in reality and dream alike, in visions provided to him by his master. They invoke ancient magic, clearly powerful enough to keep a Dominant contained, to keep his aether subdued and the Eikon trapped within the vessel. Barnabas can sense it now, how Leviathan coils and snarls beneath the surface, Theodore's eyes glowing faintly blue and then yellow before returning to their natural greenish hue. Barnabas sees his jaw set, sees his muscles flex, his aether moving under his skin, coloring his veins and the hair on his head in glowing light before flickering out again. He's still attempting to prime.

"Shhh..." He soothes him, one hand reaching back to tangle in hair damp with sweat. "I'm here now, save your strength."

Barnabas reaches to undo the collar then, fully prepared for the agonizing pain that comes with grabbing it. He feels it etch itself into his skin, the sensation stark and close to what Barnabas imagines it would feel like to catch a piece of steel only just pulled from the forge. But it's nothing compared to the flames of Ifrit, nor does it measure up to the fury still burning within him at having Theodore suffer this.

He grits his teeth through the pain, shadows bleed down his arms as Odin's powers cause the collar to first crack, then crumble under his grip as he rips it off Theodore's neck. It sizzles against his flesh even as the king drops it to the ground. The shackles holding Theodore up suffer the same fate soon after, but they're not magical as the collar had been. Barnabas catches Theodore before he can slump to the ground, and briefly runs his burned palms down his back and through his hair once more, not minding the sting that comes with it.

A breath shivers out of him, torn between unending rage and absolute devastation. There is something else, too, something deep and devoted only to the man at last in his arms again. Barnabas holds him tighter, presses his face into the other's hair and channels Odin's powers once more to engulf them both in shadows.

"Forgive my being late."

She has been crying for a long time now.

He could hear the little babe wail faintly from across the hall for the better part of the evening. Not loud enough to be a proper disturbance and with brief intermissions of silence inbetween, but still a constant sound of distress that has him wonder if he should go and address the issue himself, yet deciding against it time and time again. She is not his concern, he thinks, not his responsibility, and least of all someone he should care about. Nothing matters except his masters wishes.

She is still crying when he leaves whatever missives lay on his desk for the next day. He's tired, weary, bored most of all. He figures he could go and eat, or sleep. Were he here, Cidolfus would likely pester him to do the former at least once today, or perhaps he wouldn't, not with how things have been as of late.

It doesn't matter.

While he makes his way across the hall his steps, as always, lead him past Cidolfus' chambers. He turns his head when he finds the door ajar, a bit of light pooling at his feet, but it is not Cid he sees standing there. Not as surprising as one moght think, seeing as the Lord Commander headed out on a mission the night before and would likely not return before the early morning.

Dark eyes find those of a young woman walking up and down the room, holding a bundle against her chest, gently bouncing the small child within. Midadol. The king thinks, Mid, Cidolfus calls her. Barnabas hasn't seen much of her since Cidolfus brought her here a few weeks ago, since Cid introduced her to him.

Barnabas kept his distance from her afterwards, seeing no reason to darken Cid's doorway with his presence when things grow ever more tense between them as of late. He had not even held her when Cid asked him to. The child is of no interest to him. She's no Dominant. No asset to his master's plans. Although, he supposes she is another reason added for Cid's imminent desertion. Any day now.

Barnabas knows he'll leave soon. He has seen the signs and he knows his master plans for this. Plans to rid Waloed of her Lord Commander for a reason beyond the king's current understanding. He doesn't dare dwell too long on it, doesn't dare consider the way he feels about it either. It doesn't matter.

With Cidolfus out on a mission it makes sense to see the servant woman here. The king doesn't recognize her, but that is true for nearly all his subjects. She must be tasked to keep an eye on Midadol while Cidolfus is away, and yet the child is still crying, despite her best efforts to soothe her.

The king draws closer, pushing the door open. He raises a hand to silence the servant ere she can speak, not wanting to waste any time with her excuses. She immediately closes her mouth again, looking at him wide-eyed and afraid. They always do.

"What ails her?" He asks, indicating the little bundle the woman holds in her arms, not bothering to look up at the servant's face again just yet.

He doesn't see her expression change to reflect proper helplessness as he looks down at the distressed babe. The woman coos at her and shushes her a few more times before answering. "I do not know, your majesty. She's had a fever all day, and it finally broke an hour ago, yet she does not want to settle down." Barnabas in turn watches the babe cry, her red cheeks stained with tears, her mouth open to let out hoarse yet highpitched noises.

He hesitates, although his own face betrays nothing of the sort, his expression contemplative, yet unreadable. "Give her here," he says at last, offering out one hand.

He senses the reluctance in the woman long before he looks up to meet her eyes again with an unyielding gaze. It is admirable that her first instinct is to defy him, protect the little one from him and his darkness. Something old and painful twists inside him at that thought. The care and protectiveness that reminds him so starkly of his own mother stirring an age old sorrow that cuts even through the heavy veil of apathy that has befallen him of late.

But when he looks up she falters and moves immediately to carefully offer out the little girl still wailing as if in pain. He catches the scent of linen as the woman steps closer, a faint hint of spices, perhaps she works in the kitchen. Barnabas wouldn't know. It seems somewhat likely, for all the time Cid spends either eating or trying to convince him to do the same, that a woman he'd trust with his chosen daughter would be found working there.

She steps back immediately after he cradles the babe in his arms. "Leave us," he orders and she curtsies and with one last look over her shoulder rushes to do just that.

The king's attention has already settled on the girl again. She's still crying, although be it a little quieter, confused perhaps by the sudden change in rhythm with which she is carried across the floor, the king's pace equally slow, but the weight of his steps wholly different than that of the frantic servant.

He cannot quite fathom why Midadol would be soothed by his presence. There are few that don't fear him, few that would not choose to cower before him. Yet, he doesn't think what the babe is feeling amounts to fear at all. It is but a deep longing for her father.

"You miss him, little one, do you not?" He asks her, knowing full well she is not able to answer him. Barnabas smiles down at her as she blinks her eyes open at him only to quickly begin crying anew. He shushes her anew, still walking slow circles around the room. "I will, too, after he leaves." He tells her. It is a truth spoken from deep within him, one he has accepted as he has many others, but this one still feels the heaviest of them all. "But worry not. He will come back for you first, and then he will take you far away from here." Held to his chest and shoulder the little girl is now sniffling, no longer sobbing violently, but still unhappy, still crying.

It is not until after Midadol's sobs have faded into small hiccups that the king realizes he's been humming a tune under his breath. A melody he has not heard in ages. He falls silent suddenly, taken aback by his own unconscious decision to hum this song. It is one his mother used to sing for him when he was still but a boy. It's been so long since he's thought of it, so long since his mind conjured up a proper memory of her at all.

He feels the song fading into the back of his mind and he startles, startles the little girl, too. She starts crying once more, and the king has to wrestle his own selfcontrol back into place in order to try and get her to quiet down again.

He grasps at the notes of the tune in his mind, pulling it back from the haze of his consciousness where it threatens to dissipate into nothingness. But he does find it again at last, finds the words to it in the language of his homeland too, and relief unlike any other floods him.

He starts the song again, from the beginning this time, the words more mumbled than they are sung, they come back to him bit by bit, verse by verse. It's almost soothing him in the same way that it does the babe to speak the old tongue. The familiarity of it so all-encompassing and warm it nearly takes him out at the knees. He keeps his tune throughout the entirety of the song, faltering on occassion, his memory failing him, but he picks back up time and time again, his voice low and rumbling as it curls around a language this little girl has never heard before.

At last Midadol's crying eases entirely, the tension leaving her face and tiny body as she settles in his arms and into sleep. Barnabas cradles her against his chest, looking down at her lashes, her cheeks where moisture still clings. She's so small, so fragile. He sees why Cidolfus would want to keep her from harm. In all their time together Barnabas has understood one thing about him very quickly: Cidolfus would always be drawn to people unable to save themselves and do all he could to try and do it for them instead. Barnabas has seen it before with Benedikta, and now with Midadol as well. He figures in a way with himself, too.