[Joshua has been preparing for this his entire life. Since before he really understood what it meant, he knew that he would be the Archduke someday. When he was found to have inherited the Phoenix's power, his path was decided for him, and he's followed it, as he was meant to. Hiding every doubt, every misgiving, every wish that he could have something, anything else.
Rosaria needs an Archduke, and it needs the Phoenix. It needs a ruler who doesn't show weakness, and Joshua was already starting out in a difficult position there - everyone knows he has a poor constitution, that he falls ill easily and will never be a fierce warrior like his father was. Since that's the case, it was all the more important that he not be seen to waver in any other way. So he didn't when Anabella betrayed their family, when Elwin lost his life, when Rosaria was nearly conquered. And in the years since, he's done all he can to become the sort of person who is worthy of the throne.
When he had his doubts, his fears, he locked them away. And when he couldn't lock them away, he whispered them to Clive, the only person he knew would never look down on him.
But Joshua is an adult now, finally of age to take the title that's been waiting for him since he was born. There is much he wants to do, much Rosaria needs from him, but the first is this: a peace treaty with Sanbreque. It's possible, he thinks, to turn their precarious cease fire into something real. It won't be easy, but he has to try. But it means leaving Rosalith Castle - something he's rarely done since that night at Phoenix Gate.
In truth, he's less frightened than excited. Joshua wants to see the countryside, the towns, the people who are now his responsibility. It's not freedom, really, but even so he's been looking forward to it. And Clive will be with him, so he has little doubt that he'll be safe. Even now, after everything, Joshua trusts his brother implicitly. As they exit the gates, Joshua glances back only for a moment before straightening, trying his best to appear like the Archduke he's supposed to be.
He can't help that his gaze wanders a little, though, looking for Clive. Excited he might be, but the nerves are there too, and having Clive near will help steady Joshua. It always does.]
[ Ten years since Phoenix Gate. Ten years since the Rosfield brothers experienced their first prime, and ten years since the Twins have known two Dominants of fire. A decade after the fact, and Clive still remembers the details of that night with diamond clarity: how he'd lost control, how he'd only managed not to destroy everything thanks to the intervention of the Undying, and how he'd begged Joshua afterwards to kill him for the transgressions he'd made as Ifrit.
Ten years. Clive is still alive, only by the grace of his brother's forgiveness; Clive is still First Shield, only by the grace of his brother's insistence. Naturally, there were those who pushed back against his brother's decision― "you risk your safety by appointing someone so volatile as your guard"― but the reality was that a small, vulnerable nation like Rosalith benefited from its possession of two Dominants. Left to fend for itself in the vacuum that the coup had created, the Duchy had needed both a sword and a shield. And Clive has been all too willing to atone by assuming the role of both.
Ten years. All of it, for Joshua. To protect him, to brace him if he stumbles. To see him clearly, when all the world prefers not to. To be by his side through all his trials and see to it that he's not alone in any of them, upcoming peace talks with Sanbreque included.
Past the gates of Rosalith Castle they go, across familiar grounds and onto the dirt road that they'll be following for the first leg of their journey. When Clive catches Joshua's focus wandering, he takes it as his cue to approach, Ambrosia in tow. ]
―Your Grace, [ is how he addresses Joshua in the moment, mindful of their retinue (a small group: two additional guards and a field medic, who are mostly there for appearance's sake). ] I ask that you not hesitate to call on me should any part of the journey prove taxing to you.
[ Translation: "say something if you ever need anything". A part of him longs for the days when he could hold his brother's hand and escort him with impunity. ]
[Many might blame Joshua's attachment to his brother on the loss of their parents, assuming that a young boy left to grow up alone would naturally gravitate to his older brother. But that would mean ignoring those years before Phoenix Gate, when Joshua idolized his brother, when he truly believed that Clive was the bravest and strongest protector he could ever hope for. He knew it was true then, and he knows it's true now.
He is aware, of course, of eyes on them at nearly all times. He's very aware that leaning on Clive in public too much will make him look like a weak ruler, a figurehead, even if it isn't true. Now that the world knows Clive as Ifrit, Joshua knows there have been whispers, rumors about both of them. That Joshua is a pawn, ruled by his brother, given the Archduke's title to distract from the truth. And the inverse: that Joshua has merely been waiting to take his throne so that he may unleash Ifrit's power on the countries that have threatened Rosaria.
Neither is true. Clive has knelt at Joshua's feet, pledged himself, treated him more like the rightful ruler than nearly anyone. And Joshua has no wish to conquer anything, much less to force Clive to fight for him. He wants peace, he wants a chance to help Rosaria flourish.
But what is true is how dear Clive is to him. Perhaps everyone is correct, perhaps he would have grown out of it if their lives had taken a different path, but there's no way of knowing. What Joshua knows is that Clive has always protected him, has always been a strong shoulder and an attentive ear, has comforted him when he had nightmares and drawn a smile from him when he could not keep tears at bay. So he must be careful not to show too much favor when the world can see - but he cannot help favoring Clive regardless, even if only in his heart.]
I shall. [Though he knows Clive is speaking of more important things, Joshua's request is a bit more frivolous.] Could you ride next to me, and tell me what we pass?
[This close to Rosalith, Joshua is familiar with the lay of the land - but the farther they go, the longer it's been since he had a chance to see it.]
[ No matter what the rabble say about the Rosfields, the fact remains that one is rarely mentioned in a sentence without the other. Ifrit, Phoenix's keeper― Phoenix, Ifrit's master. Twin Flames, who have upheld a struggling nation despite their collectively young ages.
Clive doesn't mind the whispers. But he minds that it must wear on Joshua, and he minds the pressure always bearing down on his brother. The eyes, the expectations. Despite what Clive has done over the years to lessen the influence of noble families who'd more often than not taken their now-exiled mother's side in arguments, it's proven impossible to purge them entirely; any nation, big or small, contains dissenters. What Clive hopes from this mission is that it will bring them one step closer to a future in which the scrutiny lessens, and Joshua's worth will be proven tenfold through his success.
Besides. He's heard good things about Prince Dion, soon-to-be-Emperor. Bahamut, gallant and honor-driven. Joshua's age, if sources prove correct.
(Also, if sources prove correct, with a preference for male lovers. A good union, foul voices have murmured, and Clive―
―has given thought to it, in ways that shame him deeply. Has considered the possibility of Joshua in Prince Dion's arms, and felt his heart recoil so violently that it made him retch.)
None of that makes it known in Clive's demeanor, naturally. He smiles when asked to point out landmarks during their travels, given that the others only have a view of the back of his head. ]
Of course. [ He swallows the bile simmering in the back of his throat. ] ―I'll also have to fill you in on Prince Dion's recent movements, if you've not already been informed.
That’s right. Perhaps Dion will be at the negotiating table.
[It would make sense. Not only the heir to Sanbreque’s throne, but their sole Dominant as well. While Sanbreque’s armies have always far outnumbered Rosaria’s, they can only field Bahamut, while Rosaria claims the Phoenix and Ifrit both. It has been enough to stave off a real war, but it hasn’t prevented small sorties here and there - nor does it keep the roads safe from bandits, which Joshua suspects are supported partially by Sanbreque as well. Of course, it’s just as possible that Dion won’t be there. Sanbreque is a large country, with other conflicts along its border, and Dion and his dragoons are their most effective force.
They could have been friends, once. Two young royals, both heirs, both Dominants, the same age. They could share things that few others might understand, and though Joshua only ever met Dion one time, he admired the other boy - already training to be a dragoon, brave and with a noble manner. But whatever friendship they might have cultivated disintegrated after Anabella’s betrayal. Joshua only knows him now through the intelligence reports he receives and the rumors he hears.
He doesn’t know what Clive is thinking, of course. Though Joshua has heard those rumors as well, no one’s yet suggested to his face that he ought to try to turn Dion’s head, and he certainly wouldn’t think of it himself. He only wishes - a little wistfully - that they could have been friends.]
You would like him, I think. He’s quite skilled, I’ve heard, and he was kind to me when we were children.
[He’d thought so at the time, too. Joshua, young and so enamored of his older brother, had admired the qualities Dion shared with Clive - had wished that Clive might come along too, and make a friend. Their mother would never have allowed it, but in Joshua’s childish mind, he’d wished for it dearly. He thought everyone should love Clive as he did, and it was a constant sadness that the world did not conform to his wishes.
They can’t expect an ally in Dion now, of course. He’s Sanbreque’s through and through. But Joshua thinks he might deal with them more honestly than some would.]
[ Dion, honorifics omitted. And maybe it should have been that way, if the politics of their current world didn't require this constant tug-of-war over the Mothercrystals and their blessings. Had things been different for all of them, there would have been less anxiety surrounding Joshua and his trip to Oriflamme; it may even have been two friends reuniting after years apart, and rekindling a connection that was meant to happen between two extraordinary people so isolated from the general populace because of their respective stations.
It's what Joshua deserves. Something more than the bars of his gilded cage, surrounded by the same faces saying the same things, day in and day out. Happiness, away from the duties of court life. Safety, in the arms of someone who isn't his brother.
Why, then, does it make Clive's heart ache to think of it? The answer has become more and more self-evident with age, corrosive and corrupt. So much so that he feels some base jealousy to hear Joshua call the prince of Sanbreque by his name.
Horrible. Clive seals that simmering feeling shut in a mental box; it only manifests as a tightening of his grip around Ambrosia's reins. ]
...Yes. I've heard that he's a personage possessed of rare qualities. Rarer still, given that he's Sanbrequian.
[ A private little joke between them; they're not allowed to needle neighboring nations in the presence of diplomats, so they can only do so in the comfort of each other's company. Clive winks at Joshua, a subtle thing, as punctuation. ]
I'll... see to it that you're given some time alone with him. It'll be good for you, I think.
[He smiles at Clive, just a little quirk of the lips, acknowledging his joke. Sanbreque has given them both enough headaches - enough late nights, enough long meetings. Joshua doesn't care if it's at Dion's expense. For all that he admired Dion, for all that they could have been friends, who knows what has become of him now?
Joshua hopes for the best, of course, but he must always prepare for the worst.]
I'd like to try to speak to him about how things are with his father, and with -
[He can't quite call her mother. It doesn't feel right, not anymore. But after what she's done to Rosaria, Joshua needs to know what she's doing in Sanbreque. He's not sure Dion will tell him, but he doesn't have another reliable source of information. He has to try, at least.
He's not thinking about anything else, really. Not rekindling a friendship, certainly not anything more. Just learning what he can in order to keep his home safe - to keep them both safe.]
Well, how things are in the capital.
[A pause, as he considers this. Joshua watches the countryside as he thinks. He was raised for this, but he always feels like he's falling short, like he'll never be quite what his country needs. At least Clive is here, shoring up his weak spots - someone he can trust, someone he can lean on. Joshua has always thought that he would make a better leader: kind and strong, devoted but fierce. Anyone would follow him.]
But you should come with me. I'm not sure it's safe to be alone with anyone from Sanbreque. Not even Dion.
[There's no clear line of succession if Joshua dies. He doesn't know if Clive would be allowed to take the throne, though he hopes so - but if not Clive, then who? It's not so much that he fears for his life, it's more that he fears what happen if such a thing does come to pass. Would Rosaria fall? What would happen to Clive? He can't stand the thought of any of it, and so he must be careful, must stay safe.
And he's never safer than when Clive is by his side.]
[ It's wretched, how his heart celebrates the requesting of his presence. It's only that Joshua would feel more secure having his Lord Commander and First Shield by his side in foreign territory, nothing more― and yet, the thought that Joshua would rather feels like water to a dry throat. That he's permitted, still, to keep Joshua safe is a miracle in and of itself.
His fingers loosen and curl around Ambrosia's reins again. Clever girl that she is, the chocobo senses just a sliver of her master's trepidation, and cranes back to nuzzle his head with a large beak. The gesture makes Clive smile, and he reciprocates with a slow stroke between her soft feathers; enough of an interim for him to gather himself. ]
Whatever would make Your Grace feel more secure.
[ Least of all because Joshua has the weight of a nation on his shoulders (though that very much does factor in). More than anything, Clive just wants to see his brother happy. His sun, his light. ]
―Speaking of. [ They're moving across Rosarian territory towards Orabelle Downs, where they'll rest for the night near the vineyards. The path there is well-trodden and relatively clear of monsters, but the marshlands they have to cut across are still treacherous and unpredictable; anything that wishes them ill will be sure to converge there, hidden behind tall grass or stationed in structures long abandoned. Monsters and humans alike. ] We'll be entering the wetlands soon, so stay close to me.
[ That comes out more as "Clive being overprotective of his brother" and less like "Lord Commander requesting something of his liege". ]
Thrilled as you might be to spy a large turtle during our journey, I assure you that they're a pain to beat.
[ Exaggerating. Clive has bullied countless Adamantoises in his time. ]
[Joshua doesn't pout - he was never too prone to that even as a child, and he's long since grown out of it, aware that there are nearly always eyes on him and that he must comport himself as an Archduke - but he does sigh a little. He really would have been quite thrilled to see such a creature. Even more thrilled to see Clive fight one, for all that he knows it's a silly, selfish thought.
As a child, he used to sneak away often to watch Clive train, never caring about the trouble he'd be in for it. It was a delight to watch his brother fight, to see how skilled he was. Joshua doesn't really get to do that anymore, and secretly, he misses it quite a bit. He wasn't even able to prevail upon Clive to teach him how to fight, much to his disappointment. He doesn't have the right build to fight the way his brother does, nor the amount of time that would be needed to cultivate it.
He's had to content himself with a lighter blade, and with what lessons could be fit in around everything else he's had to learn - and of course, only when he's healthy enough. It rather put to rest his childhood dreams of being a dashing warrior like Clive. The only balm is that Clive is - well. His.
His knight, his Shield. His Lord Commander.
Even if he won't get to see him fight monsters. Ideally, anyway.]
Oh, very well. We'll let the turtles be this time.
[He knows Clive is right, anyway. Joshua can't be careless with his own safety, and he can't put Clive in danger for a foolish whim. He tugs his own chocobo a bit closer to Ambrosia.]
I may require a few tales of your previous encounters, however.
[ Morning comes, as it ever does. Time cares nothing for cataclysmic changes happening to two young men with blood ties: the sun charts its usual course over the sky, and bids Clive and Joshua to get out of bed, to dress, and to become Archduke and Lord Commander once more.
So they do. Clive wears his armor again, literally and figuratively, and kisses Joshua exactly once before he strides briskly out of their borrowed bedroom to work out logistics for the rest of their journey; he touches Joshua only in times of necessity－ a palm to the small of his back as he lifts himself up onto his chocobo, the same hand offered when it comes time to dismount at the gates of Oriflamme－ and refers to him by title instead of name, Your Grace with his head bowed and his eyes lowered. He remains unchanged in the eyes of others, the perfect vassal in front of his lord, no hint of the prior day's injuries remaining in his attitude or his posture.
It's easier to lie, when it's routine instead of deception. Clive thinks of nothing but Joshua throughout the day, but that, too, is less a disruption and more an allowance of things he'd held long-repressed. Nothing has changed, really－ only consummated, and the reality of that still feels like a dream more often than not.
What isn't a dream: Joshua and Clive are accepted into the Capital with fanfare. The Empire's welcoming delegation is a two-row reception spanning several blocks along the road to Whitewyrm Castle, with women and children offering Joshua wyvern tails in full bloom, asking for a glance or a touch from the Archduke of Rosaria with rapt curiosity and awe.
Clive tries not to let the whole affair disagree with him. The Night of Flames is never too far away from the fore of his mind, and the sight of Sanbrequian armor still sets his teeth on edge. He remains ravenlike near Joshua, a stormcloud to his brother's incandescence, all the way until they pass through the castle gates and into the grounds, where they're greeted by a cadre of young dragoons helmed by Dion Lesage himself.
The crown prince is radiant. Handsome, bold. He waves aside Joshua's attempts to call him by anything but Dion, and offers personal guidance to the room Joshua will be staying in for the next foreseeable nights; he dismisses his escorts, asking them, with impeccable confidence, whether they truly believe that anyone in the Empire will be able to do harm to two Dominants walking side by side.
Two Dominants. Not three. Clive has been swiftly uninvited, and it's obvious why: the Holy Empire still holds Ifrit at arm's length. It's the Phoenix they want to woo, and Clive, as Joshua's brother, will be made to heel if he doesn't wish for diplomatic disaster.
Still, he shoots Joshua a glance. He will only be dismissed by Joshua himself, and never anyone else. ]
[Joshua plays his role as well as he can, though it feels far more difficult now. Still, he knows that they must continue as if nothing has changed, and so he is careful not to show any more favor to Clive than he ever has (which, luckily for him, has always been quite a bit). He doesn't let his eyes linger on his brother overlong, doesn't lean into those brief touches.
But there is a lot of time spent riding, with little to do but watch the scenery and think about the night before. Not in too much detail - Joshua doesn't especially want to make the ride uncomfortable for himself - but even so, he turns the memories over in his mind. It was real, it really happened. It feels impossible, but it was real. He woke up in Clive's arms.
It occupies his thoughts well enough that the ride feels like it passes quickly, and then Joshua must truly play his role. He must smile and accept flowers and well-wishes, and that part is easy - he cannot hold the commonfolk of Sanbreque responsible for what their lords and masters have done. It's the rest that's harder. He remembers that night too, remembers how close they came to losing everything. And he knows too that in the time since, Sanbreque has pressed at their borders, raided their villages, kept them in a precarious state of near-war.
But he can't act as though he's angry, or even upset. He must appear to be delighted to be here, happy to speak to men who would have profited off his death. It's a relief, at least, to be greeted by Dion. Joshua can't truly think of him as an enemy - though he fights for Sanbreque as valiantly as a prince ought, he was far too young to have had anything to do with the events at Phoenix Gate, and as far as Joshua knows his dragoons have never encroached upon Rosarian territory. They would, if the war became real, but until then they are needed on other fronts.
Dion could have been a friend once, and Joshua thinks fondly of him because of it. He is friendly still, as much as one in their positions can be, and Joshua welcomes it. He knows Dion isn't truly his ally - he is the prince of Sanbreque, with his nation's wellbeing as his first priority. But perhaps they can relate to one another. Joshua has to begin somewhere.
But his gaze flickers to Clive. Joshua does not think he's in any danger from Dion, but the idea of being without Clive is uncomfortable even so. Simply having him nearby gives Joshua a little strength, a bit of badly-needed courage. But he knows as well that Sanbreque fears Clive, fears Ifrit, in a way that they don't fear the Phoenix. Bringing him was necessary, Joshua would not have come without him, but it was a calculated move as well, and Joshua did it knowing that it would make some things more difficult, other things less.
He can't begin the visit by insulting Dion, and insisting that Clive accompany them would be that. It would imply that Joshua does not trust Dion or Sanbreque with his safety. (Which is true, really, and surely everyone involved knows that, just as everyone involved will pretend that it's not.) So he must agree, and send Clive away, though it's the last thing he wants to do.]
I trust that my brother has a room near mine? [He meets Clive's glance, and if there's a hint of apology in his look, surely anyone would understand why.] Perhaps one of your dragoons can show him the way there, after he gets our men settled.
[ Clive is starkly aware of the fact that this is the first time Joshua has stepped foot so deep into what would have been, only a few years ago, openly antagonistic territory. The reality is that, a decade back, Rosaria lost its reigning Archduke and relied on the strength of a fifteen year old and his ten year old brother to keep it from total collapse. Children, holding the weight of an entire nation. Clive is sure that the astrologers in Oriflamme must have delighted in the duchy's misfortune―
―and the same astrologers stand vigil a few yards away, smug in their finery, looking the Rosfields up and down with naked interest. One of them pipes up when Joshua mentions the matter of the brothers' accommodations, and offers, with condescending deference:
"Your Grace has no need for a shield, sheltered as you are by the Empire's Warden of Light." Referring to Dion, of course. A glance towards the prince in question, and Clive is surprised to see his beautiful nose wrinkle in distaste at the clergyman's counsel; it's clear that there is at least one individual in Sanbreque who disdains its internal rot.
Still, the man continues. "We thought Lord Rosfield might enjoy a place closer to the quarters of our Holy Order. Our knights have expressed much interest in the possibility of crossing training blades with Rosaria's finest."
Clive would snort, if propriety didn't prevent him. The suggestion is such a thinly-veiled demand for Clive to be monitored closely by the Sanbrequian army that it verges on comical, and it would be a grievous insult to Joshua if not for the fact that Rosaria stands to lose far more from this mission collapsing than Sanbreque does.
Dion's shapely lips draw into a tight line, but it's evident that any suggestion made by the astrologers is a suggestion made in lieu of his ailing father― thus, Dion must also be in a uniquely awkward position of being unable to push back.
It falls to Clive, then, to bend the knee. He presses a palm against his chest, then bows his head in Joshua's direction, indicating his acquiescence. ]
...By your leave, Your Grace. If ever you need me, I'll not be far.
[ A promise. What Dion said about him and Joshua also holds true for Clive: a thousand-strong army couldn't keep Clive from Joshua. ]
Edited (will i ever write a tag that isn't littered with 500 typos? no) 2025-10-02 12:40 (UTC)
[Joshua doesn't like that. It doesn't sit right with him at all - it's a powerplay, an obvious one, but also one that it's difficult for him to push back against. It's such a small thing, it shouldn't really matter where Clive's room is, but Clive ought to be treated with respect - nearly as much respect as Joshua. He is a Rosfield, and the Lord Commander.
But they need these negotiations to go well. Sanbreque doesn't want outright war, but if it does come, they have a larger army by far. That doesn't necessarily mean they would win, and certainly not without casualties - not against two eikons - but it means they're coming to this with a stronger position. While they can't outright disrespect Joshua or Rosaria, he expects there will be more small insults like these.
He's less worried about his safety, and more irritated by the insult to Clive. Though Joshua is no great warrior, he can fight, and he won't hesitate to prime if he thinks his life is in danger. Surely the Sanbrequians know better than to invite a conflict that may well end in their precious castle burning down - but then, who's to say what they're thinking? Joshua simply has to assume that this is nothing more than a petty insult, and act accordingly.]
Very well. If you see fit to train with the knights, I am certain they would appreciate your skilled instruction.
[And if Clive ends up thrashing them, well, he was invited, for all to hear.
What's more frustrating, for Joshua, is the increased difficulty in being alone with Clive. Not just for the reasons he can't admit (although those do come to mind), but because Clive is the one person he can fully trust. It helps to have someone he can talk to, especially in a situation like this - where he'll need to be very careful with what he says to everyone else, all the time. And in truth, he worries about Clive's safety, too. He knows no one here trusts him, and that they fear Ifrit. What might they do, out of fear?
But he also wants to avoid the impression that Clive controls him. They both do, he thinks. This will help with that, even if he's not at all happy with it. And Clive will surely be able to find his room later - he hopes.]
You must tell me about it later. [And he inclines his head to Dion, carefully.] Please, show me the way.
[ It's agony, watching Joshua leave. Retribution, perhaps, for all the times they've done this in reverse, with Clive turning and going while Joshua waits in Rosalith, stifled by ink and parchment and pre-arranged dinners. He watches and watches until Joshua turns the corner with Dion, and watches a little longer, as if he expects his brother to turn the corner again and run towards him the way he did when he was a small boy.
They're the both of them too old for things like that. Clive finally turns when the silence becomes too much to maintain, and lets a young dragoon－ Terence, he calls himself－ lead him towards Whitewyrm's barracks and training grounds.
For the next few hours, he tears through his competition like paper. Politely, of course. Never so much that it verges on boasting, but never so little that it verges on insulting. He's dripping sweat by the time it's time for dinner, and a few soldiers who have warmed to Rosaria's Lord Commander show him where to wash up and get himself ready for the banquet.
Meanwhile, in Joshua's neck of the woods, Dion is a perfect gentleman. Gallant and gracious, though he wisely keeps any complaints he might have about his father's choice in counsel to himself. (Still a child of Sanbreque, beholden to his own set of rules and restrictions.) He escorts Joshua to his room, then to the library, and then to a section of the castle that overlooks the grounds, where he both laughs and sighs about Clive giving his subordinates the thrashing of their lives.
"Your brother fights like three Behemoths," he remarks. "―That's a compliment, of course."
Dion remains pleasant company until they have to separate to get ready for the night's proceedings ("there's no dress code; you needn't wear white"), and it's finally, finally at the ballroom that Clive is treated to even a glimpse of Joshua again.
Unlike the other guests at the dinner, Clive is still dressed in form-fitting leather instead of silks: raven-dark and fortified. He's shed his armor (as it would have been impolite to come outfitted in metal and steel), but his hair is still the same organized chaos that it always is; he feels stares from all around the room, but ignores them in favor of approaching Joshua, the slightest hint of relief rising to the surface of his expression. ]
You look beautiful, [ he says, under his breath so that only Joshua can hear. ]
[He likes Dion. He did when they were young, too, the only time they've met before. They talked easily back then, and it feels easy now, as much as anything can here. Of course Joshua still has to be careful - though he doesn't think Dion is inclined to the sort of political machinations many are, that doesn't mean he can slip up in any way.
Still, it's nice to talk to someone who treats him like an equal. He really only gets that with Clive, when they're alone, when there's no one who can see Clive treat Joshua like his brother instead of his lord. He and Dion are not so close, and in fact Joshua's rank is a bit higher than his, but they're of an age and were both raised to rule. They have a lot in common.
Dion is pleasant company, and Joshua is carefully attentive in return. He doesn't have any illusions about gaining Dion's loyalty - but if he can secure Dion's respect, at least, and perhaps friendship, then they'll have at least one ally in this treacherous court. The heir, no less. So Joshua smiles, and exclaims in pleasure over the library (this reaction not at all false - he could spend the whole visit in there, if only he were a scholar instead of an Archduke), and asks Dion light questions about Sanbreque, about his dragoons, about how his life has been in the past years. Careful to avoid any topic that might touch on the tension between their nations, equally careful to avoid getting too personal.
He also, with an effort, manages to keep from gushing openly about Clive. He only smiles, and thanks Dion for the compliment, saying, "He is Rosaria's greatest protector." No one could doubt Clive's skill, he thinks, and they are right to fear him. It's good to have a reminder of what they might face if these negotiations go poorly.
But Clive is never far from his thoughts. To see him, even from afar, is a relief. He's perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but here in this nest of vipers Joshua still finds himself worrying. So he looks forward to dinner, where they will at least be in the same room for the duration of the meal, and when he enters his eyes go immediately to his brother. Not just him - plenty of others look at Clive, and though some may be wary, others are appreciative. Joshua can't blame them. He also can't warn them off.
Joshua has dressed for the occasion, in Rosarian red that stands out among the lighter colors Sanbrequians prefer. The red silk is accented with black, cut closer to his slender form beneath the red, matching Clive's own dark leathers. Just enough of a match to make it clear they are a set - as if anyone could forget. The Rosfield brothers, two young Dominants who have held Rosaria despite all the forces arrayed against them.
He smiles at Clive. It's a relief to see him, to have him there, but he knows that they have to be careful. Too many eyes are upon them, he absolutely can't slip up. Not even if Clive looks - well. Incredible.]
Shh, don't make me blush. [Also soft, with a half-teasing curve to his smile.] Did they treat you well?
[ And truly, in most if not all situations, Clive understands why the Phoenix waited for Joshua: he's resplendent in red, the very personification of the grace and beauty of life-giving flames. It's impossible for Clive to have eyes for anyone else, when Joshua exists and radiates the sort of power and poise that makes his throat go dry; for a perfect moment, the clamor and chatter of the world around them recedes, and Clive absorbs the curve of Joshua's smile, the cadence of his soft words.
On the heels of his confession the night prior, it's hard for him to think about anything but the fact that he loves Joshua. Still, he's being asked a question, so he obliges. ]
As well as they'd allow themselves to. [ A huff, dry. ] It was no different from the usual, and I did nothing that would shame you.
[ Which is the most important thing. Clive is a soldier, not a diplomat; his only worry is doing anything that might tarnish Joshua's standing in the Sanbrequian court, be it with his words or with his blade.
Briefly, he wishes he could take Joshua's hand. Hold it, in witness of all of these nobles, and press his lips to Joshua's knuckles. ]
And you? I expect the crown prince didn't do anything untoward.
[ Dion seems a good sort, despite Clive's misgivings about him before. Mostly, the petty part of him feels only slightly irritated that Joshua spent the day next to another man, though it's tempered by the knowledge that Dion Lesage seems to be the only tolerable person in the entire castle. ]
[He says it quietly, but immediately, with certainty in his words. That wasn't even a possibility in his mind, and Joshua doesn't want Clive to think it could be. Just look at him - by far the most gorgeous thing in this ballroom, after spending his day showing the best warriors in Sanbreque that he is far greater than they could hope to be. There's not a world in which Joshua could be ashamed of him.]
Dion was very kind. He showed me the library here - it's truly incredible.
[Joshua is speaking softly still, but not so much so that it looks like they're whispering to each other. He's very aware of the eyes on them, and he doesn't want it to seem as though they're sharing secrets - not in front of half the Sanbrequian court. But since they could be overheard, he has to pick his words carefully. He wants to tell Clive that he thinks Dion may be able to sympathize with them, that he doesn't seem to share the animosity of some here, but he can't be so obvious about it.
What he wants, really, is to be alone with Clive. To tell him what happened, and hear about his day as well. And more than that. How difficult it is now, knowing that his feelings are returned, to be unable to touch his brother. Unable to do anything but look at him, so handsome Joshua can feel his heart clench, and not reach out.]
You impressed him, as I knew you would.
[He begins to lead Clive towards the tables. Joshua, as a visiting ruler, will be sitting with the highest ranking of the court, stuck in polite diplomacy for the course of the meal. He doesn't look forward to it. He think it's likely Clive won't be allowed to sit next to him, but he doesn't intend to comply in advance - he will bring his brother along with him as far as he can.]
[Joshua obeys Clive's direction, and rests. A long day of travel, time spend constantly on guard and careful of everything he says and does, and then - well, the nighttime was the best part, by far, but it still all left him weary. Though he falls asleep missing Clive (a familiar feeling, grown even more intense), he still sleeps deeply and wakes more or less rested.
Wakes to another trying day. Though he's prepared for it, that doesn't make it much less tiring.
Shortly after breakfast (taken in his room, at least, a little chance to prepare for the day), Dion comes to collect him for the planned tour of Oriflamme. Despite Joshua's suggestion, Clive is not invited along - not a surprise to either of them, really, but disappointing nonetheless. The tour is interesting, at least, Dion supplying enough interesting historical tidbits to keep Joshua happy. He knows, though, that's partially meant to intimidate him. Oriflamme is larger and richer than Rosalith, just as Sanbreque is larger and richer than Rosaria.
He won't let it shake him, though. He and Clive have kept Rosaria safe all this time, and that isn't going to change.
He does get a chance to speak to Dion alone as they view some quite lovely gardens, and though Dion is surprised by his suggestion, after a moment he seems quite amused as well.
After their display last night, I can see why you might wish the attention was taken off you a bit, he says, but I fear your brother may have my head.
It's said lightheartedly, but for a moment Joshua is afraid that Dion might know something. It isn't that - just a jest, born from the obvious care Clive shows for him, the role he plays as a protector. Still, all the more reason to make others think Joshua's affections lie elsewhere. He eases Dion's worry (which was not entirely a jest, in fact), and they spend the rest of the tour standing just a bit too close, smiling at one another just a bit too long.
It feels strange. To Joshua, it feels so clearly like playacting, with no emotion behind it. If Clive was the one taking his arm to help him through a doorway (that he really doesn't need help with at all), his heart would flutter a little. If Clive was the one leaning in to whisper something in his ear (just a comment about the architecture of the building they're looking at, but Dion lingers long enough to make it seem like something more intimate), a flush would rise to his cheeks. It seems so obviously false, but he sees the guards that accompany them notice, catches a whisper or two. It's a start.
He doesn't actually get to see Clive until they return from the tour. It's not so very long - just the night, and then a few hours - but it feels like an eternity. All the more so because Joshua's next few hours will be spent cloistered with the emperor and his advisors, working out a peace treaty. Hopefully. And Clive cannot attend that, either - one Dominant nearly alone with the Emperor of Sanbreque is already almost too much, but they cannot deny the Archduke must be there.
To be in his company for a little while, though, helps. Joshua brightens when he sees Clive, and though Dion is still at his side, all he sees is his brother.]
I hope you haven't been too bored, left here on your own.
[ Clive doesn't have to wonder if the attempts to keep him away from Joshua are deliberate: they are, obviously. They part, and he retires to his modest room near the Dragoons' barracks― where there's mercifully no one to shepherd out of his bed― and he spends a restless night missing Joshua's warmth tucked against his front.
There's no invitation, of course, for him to accompany the princes on their tour when he wakes. There's no explanation of the day's schedule, even. He doesn't blame the pageboys― who lower their eyes and speak nervously to him when they come to attend to him― for their ignorance, but he notes the insult of being kept in the dark to pour over later, when he isn't liable to start an incident before the ink dries on the peace treaty they're meant to be signing.
No matter. Clive gravitates to the stables after breakfast, and spends the majority of the morning with the chocobos instead of the Sanbrequians. The birds are far kinder company, and honest besides: he has them literally eating out of the palm of his hand by the time someone comes to fetch him for a light afternoon meal. He almost considers taking lunch with them, instead of whoever the court has deemed necessary for him to meet.
A fortuitous turn of fate, then, that the 'whoever' happens to be Joshua. (Though there's a moment where Clive curses internally for not changing out of his morning clothes; he must stink of chocobo.) He quells the petty pang of something wicked that threatens to twist his heart when he sees the close nestle of his brother's body against Dion Lesage's, and greets Joshua with the customary deference that a Shield would show to his Lord. Head bowed, hand to heart. ]
Your Grace. [ Impolite, perhaps, to address Joshua first and foremost when the Emperor-to-be of the country they're visiting is Right There. But Joshua is Clive's world, so Dion will have to come second. ] ...Your Highness.
[ After what he deems is the right amount of time with his head down, he lifts his gaze again and settles them on Joshua, trying to make his appraisal as subtle as he can. ]
I thank you for your consideration, Your Grace, but I kept myself busy. [ (There's a chocobo feather stuck to the back of his cape.) ] Was your outing enjoyable?
[ He tries not to sound too pointed about it, given Dion's current position where Clive would prefer to be: by Joshua's side. ]
[He smiles at Clive, happier now that he's there - some part of him relaxing, the way it doesn't around anyone else.
Joshua can guess what Clive did to keep busy. He doesn't smell that strongly - but there's a hint of the chocobo stables to him. Joshua doesn't mind it. When he was young, sometimes he'd sneak down to feed Ambrosia the carrots he'd hidden from dinner. Once, he'd fallen asleep there, and there was an uproar in the castle until he was found. Clive had been the one to find him, of course, and somehow he'd ended up being scolded too - even though he'd done nothing wrong.]
It was. Oriflamme is a beautiful city, with a remarkable history. And Dion was an excellent guide.
[Which is true, and Dion receives the compliment with a gracious smile, but Joshua still wishes he could have seen the city with Clive. That they could have explored together, preferably alone - but even accompanied would have been nice, if it was done at Clive's side.]
I'm pleased you were able to have lunch with us.
[A pointed comment of his own, not directed at Clive - instead Joshua making the tiniest bit of his displeasure known. He knows why they've been careful to keep the Rosfield brothers separate: a power play to show that they can, an attempt to make Joshua uncomfortable, and of course the result of their fear of Clive. But just because he understands doesn't mean he's happy with it.
They'll get the treaty signed. That's the most important thing. But Joshua also doesn't want Sanbreque to feel that they can insult Rosaria freely. Even if he has to be careful, even if he has to do the political thing, he's getting tired of Clive being taken from him. Again and again.
Dion notices Joshua's annoyance, at least, and suggests politely: Perhaps on the morrow you might both join me for an inspection of my Dragoons. Not, perhaps, the most thrilling of sights to see, but one that no one can deny the Lord Commander of Rosaria ought to be allowed to attend.
At least, Joshua chooses to take it in that spirit, instead of as an attempt to intimidate them with the might of Sanbreque's most elite fighting force. Besides, Clive's already impressed them, so what is there to be intimidated by?]
That could be a pleasant way to spend the morning.
[More time with Dion would help the rumors, and if Clive is there as well, Joshua won't feel so... lonely.]
[ It could very well be a matter of pride or arrogance that spurs Dion to push back against what Clive assumes are his father's orders to keep the Rosfields separated, but Clive wants to hope that it's a matter, instead, of the prince's intelligence and his kindness. He has to hope, given the fact that the prince in question is currently tucked by Joshua's side, and will be the center of rumors surrounding matters of Joshua's heart.
He has to hope, because Clive would rip Dion Lesage to shreds if he ever played Joshua false.
None of that shows, obviously, in Clive's demeanor. He defers to them both when a maidservant comes to guide them to where they'll be taking lunch, and doesn't flinch when they pass by a group of giggling noblewomen (girls, really) who animatedly whisper something about how the princes are so beautifully matched― "fire and light", they chirp.
Dutifully, he stands two paces behind Joshua, and tries not to let his eyes linger too long on his brother's profile, or on his hands. Tries to keep his mind from wandering to idle fantasies about tugging Joshua by the forearm and corralling him against yet another floor-to-ceiling portrait of Bahamut in wing. Tries not to think about kissing Joshua in witness of the entire court, with his fingers tangled in all that beautiful blond hair.
He somehow makes it to the dining room with his pokerface intact... or so he thinks, until Dion, who glances over his shoulder at Clive, raises his brow and takes a step away from him, one palm raised in playful bemusement.
"Steady, Ifrit. The food will be here soon― no need to scowl."
[Even when they're playing their proper roles, with distance between them, hardly speaking - even then, just having Clive close is a balm for Joshua. It isn't that he didn't feel safe with Dion. Joshua's other guards weren't far then, and he truly does think Dion can be trusted. He also isn't exactly defenseless himself. He doesn't need Clive nearby to feel safe.
It's more that with Clive nearby he knows he doesn't need to worry. He is safe, certainly, but so is Clive. Clive has spent his life fighting for Rosaria, and Joshua has always worried for him. It must be done, so he cannot protest, but when they're apart there's always some quiet fear that Clive won't return. Obviously, Sanbreque is not (currently) a battlefield, but even so, Joshua is happier when he has Clive near.
He turns at Dion's comment, though, and catches just the end of Clive's scowl. He doesn't know what was on Clive's mind, but Joshua has always found Clive's tendency towards dark expressions to be awfully endearing. Perhaps it's because he's never had any fear of Clive - has always simply expected his love. That didn't change after Phoenix Gate, and Joshua knows it never will. Clive's scowls are as dear to him as the rest of his brother.
So he smiles at Clive. He wants to reach out, wishes so much that he could take Clive's hand and walk at his side. He can't, but he isn't going to pretend he isn't fond of Clive. The world must surely know how he favors his First Shield.]
Come sit next to me. I've forced Dion to talk about history all day, I'm sure he'll be relieved to talk to you about less dull subjects.
[Both commanders and excellent warriors, Joshua imagines they could have quite a bit to talk about. Not that he can't participate in such a conversation. He's learned what he could of war - Rosaria has been plagued with constant skirmishes, but should a true war break out, Joshua would also need to take the field, just as their father used to.
But he doesn't have Clive's experience. It doesn't come so easily to him, and he's rarely had need to use any of his knowledge. It's Clive who's taken the brunt of all of it, no matter how Joshua might wish to spare him.
As they take their seats, maidservants arrive with the food, a beautifully arranged plate for each of them. The dining room is lavishly decorated, but not large - ideal for a small, intimate gathering. A relief, after the night before, though Joshua expects the same sort of thing for dinner. He'll enjoy this while he can.]
[ Joshua isn't helpless, and Clive doesn't need to hover. Still, the Archduke and his Shield being a united front sends a message of Rosarian solidarity and strength. It should be no surprise that the Rosfields would want to remain close when permitted each other's company, though Dion isn't really the one they have to posture in front of. The crown prince has no problem welcoming Clive to his table, and relinquishes the seat next to Joshua with something resembling mild relief.
"We could speak more candidly about each other, if it wouldn't offend. I fear I've been much occupied with the Republic's movements, and know little about Rosaria as a result."
Friendly, light. There's truth to the statement, as well: despite all the times he's been sent to the frontlines, Clive has had precious little encounters with Sanbreque's Dragoons, and none led by Dion himself. Understandable, really, given that a clash between two Dominants would have meant all-out war― even Sylvestre and his fork-tongued mother weren't foolish enough to provoke such an obvious act of aggression using Bahamut.
Clive, as is customary, deferentially waits for Joshua to start eating before he touches his own plate. He takes a sip of water, bolstered by his brother's presence next to him, and relaxes into the conversation just a sliver. The world makes more sense with Joshua near him, he finds. ]
What would you know? Though I can't promise that either one of us will answer, depending on the question.
[ A bit overfamiliar, perhaps. If there were other nobles in the room, they may even have found the tone audacious; Dion, however, is a good sport about it, and laughs after swallowing his mouthful of greens.
"I'll choose my words wisely, then. How does one earn a blessing from the Phoenix? Is it granted to kin, or is there a selection?"
Clive glances towards Joshua, gauging his reaction. A part of him wants to reach under the table and take his brother's hand, but that would be wholly inappropriate. ]
[Joshua doesn't see any reason to keep that a secret - it's fairly well-known within Rosaria, after all, and what could the Sanbrequians do with the knowledge?]
When it comes time for a First Shield to be chosen, there is a tournament. The victor wins the place, and along with it, the blessing of the Phoenix.
[He looks at Clive, not even attempting to hide his pride in his brother. He was so delighted back then - absolutely certain that Clive would win, but still a bit terrified that something would go wrong, that Clive might get hurt, or worse, lose. And then Joshua would have had to take someone else as his First Shield, pretend he was happy for them, pretend he could ever possibly trust them more than he trusted Clive.
But Clive had won, as Joshua had hoped, had believed. And he'd been so nervous, but so pleased.]
Only the First Shield ever holds the blessing, and Clive will ever be my First Shield.
[It's a piece of the Phoenix's power, after all. No small thing, to be handed out to anyone who might ask. Clive has his own flames now, has no need of the Phoenix, but even so Joshua would never take his blessing back. To know it burns in Clive's heart, even when they're far from each other, is a comfort on the loneliest of nights.]
Even at fifteen, he was a most impressive warrior. [Joshua is delighted to get a chance to brag about his brother, and he does so with not an inkling of shame.] You have nothing similar here, do you?
[Joshua has never heard of another Dominant sharing their power in such a way. He doesn't know if it's truly unique to the Phoenix, or if it's just that Rosaria is the only country to discover the trick of it.
He eats, but he's picking at his food a bit - Sanbrequian cuisine is richer than Joshua is used to, and annoyingly, his stomach can still be a bit delicate at times. Better to take it slow.]
[ Earning his place as Joshua's Shield had been a trial and a half. Even now, Clive isn't sure if he would have managed it if Rodney Murdoch had been in the running for the position, but fortune had it that the man in question was already occupied as their father's Shield and Commander. Clive can still remember it, his swordarm numb by the time he'd squared against his last opponent in the tourney, his palms bloody under his gloves by the time he earned his final victory.
He had never felt prouder. What would he have become, if not Joshua's Shield? Another soldier in the barracks? No, he's sure their mother would have sent him off somewhere― far away, to Kanver or perhaps even to Waloed. He might never have seen Joshua again.
A palm presses against his chest, where the Phoenix settles over his heart. Ifrit rumbles happily, asking for more fire, more of the Firebird under Clive's skin, while Dion continues the conversation from across the table.
"At fifteen! No mean feat. As expected of the man who put so many of my Dragoons on their backs." Exasperated, but oddly fond. As if Dion now has something to prove, and gladly so. "But you would be correct in assuming that no such tradition exists in Sanbreque. We guard our wyvern most jealously, and I wouldn't know how to bestow such a blessing even if it were required of me."
Huh. Clive takes another sip of water, and glances towards Joshua. ]
The Phoenix is unique, I suppose.
[ Soft, but proud. His brother is, as ever, like no other. ]
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Rosaria needs an Archduke, and it needs the Phoenix. It needs a ruler who doesn't show weakness, and Joshua was already starting out in a difficult position there - everyone knows he has a poor constitution, that he falls ill easily and will never be a fierce warrior like his father was. Since that's the case, it was all the more important that he not be seen to waver in any other way. So he didn't when Anabella betrayed their family, when Elwin lost his life, when Rosaria was nearly conquered. And in the years since, he's done all he can to become the sort of person who is worthy of the throne.
When he had his doubts, his fears, he locked them away. And when he couldn't lock them away, he whispered them to Clive, the only person he knew would never look down on him.
But Joshua is an adult now, finally of age to take the title that's been waiting for him since he was born. There is much he wants to do, much Rosaria needs from him, but the first is this: a peace treaty with Sanbreque. It's possible, he thinks, to turn their precarious cease fire into something real. It won't be easy, but he has to try. But it means leaving Rosalith Castle - something he's rarely done since that night at Phoenix Gate.
In truth, he's less frightened than excited. Joshua wants to see the countryside, the towns, the people who are now his responsibility. It's not freedom, really, but even so he's been looking forward to it. And Clive will be with him, so he has little doubt that he'll be safe. Even now, after everything, Joshua trusts his brother implicitly. As they exit the gates, Joshua glances back only for a moment before straightening, trying his best to appear like the Archduke he's supposed to be.
He can't help that his gaze wanders a little, though, looking for Clive. Excited he might be, but the nerves are there too, and having Clive near will help steady Joshua. It always does.]
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Ten years. Clive is still alive, only by the grace of his brother's forgiveness; Clive is still First Shield, only by the grace of his brother's insistence. Naturally, there were those who pushed back against his brother's decision― "you risk your safety by appointing someone so volatile as your guard"― but the reality was that a small, vulnerable nation like Rosalith benefited from its possession of two Dominants. Left to fend for itself in the vacuum that the coup had created, the Duchy had needed both a sword and a shield. And Clive has been all too willing to atone by assuming the role of both.
Ten years. All of it, for Joshua. To protect him, to brace him if he stumbles. To see him clearly, when all the world prefers not to. To be by his side through all his trials and see to it that he's not alone in any of them, upcoming peace talks with Sanbreque included.
Past the gates of Rosalith Castle they go, across familiar grounds and onto the dirt road that they'll be following for the first leg of their journey. When Clive catches Joshua's focus wandering, he takes it as his cue to approach, Ambrosia in tow. ]
―Your Grace, [ is how he addresses Joshua in the moment, mindful of their retinue (a small group: two additional guards and a field medic, who are mostly there for appearance's sake). ] I ask that you not hesitate to call on me should any part of the journey prove taxing to you.
[ Translation: "say something if you ever need anything". A part of him longs for the days when he could hold his brother's hand and escort him with impunity. ]
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He is aware, of course, of eyes on them at nearly all times. He's very aware that leaning on Clive in public too much will make him look like a weak ruler, a figurehead, even if it isn't true. Now that the world knows Clive as Ifrit, Joshua knows there have been whispers, rumors about both of them. That Joshua is a pawn, ruled by his brother, given the Archduke's title to distract from the truth. And the inverse: that Joshua has merely been waiting to take his throne so that he may unleash Ifrit's power on the countries that have threatened Rosaria.
Neither is true. Clive has knelt at Joshua's feet, pledged himself, treated him more like the rightful ruler than nearly anyone. And Joshua has no wish to conquer anything, much less to force Clive to fight for him. He wants peace, he wants a chance to help Rosaria flourish.
But what is true is how dear Clive is to him. Perhaps everyone is correct, perhaps he would have grown out of it if their lives had taken a different path, but there's no way of knowing. What Joshua knows is that Clive has always protected him, has always been a strong shoulder and an attentive ear, has comforted him when he had nightmares and drawn a smile from him when he could not keep tears at bay. So he must be careful not to show too much favor when the world can see - but he cannot help favoring Clive regardless, even if only in his heart.]
I shall. [Though he knows Clive is speaking of more important things, Joshua's request is a bit more frivolous.] Could you ride next to me, and tell me what we pass?
[This close to Rosalith, Joshua is familiar with the lay of the land - but the farther they go, the longer it's been since he had a chance to see it.]
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Clive doesn't mind the whispers. But he minds that it must wear on Joshua, and he minds the pressure always bearing down on his brother. The eyes, the expectations. Despite what Clive has done over the years to lessen the influence of noble families who'd more often than not taken their now-exiled mother's side in arguments, it's proven impossible to purge them entirely; any nation, big or small, contains dissenters. What Clive hopes from this mission is that it will bring them one step closer to a future in which the scrutiny lessens, and Joshua's worth will be proven tenfold through his success.
Besides. He's heard good things about Prince Dion, soon-to-be-Emperor. Bahamut, gallant and honor-driven. Joshua's age, if sources prove correct.
(Also, if sources prove correct, with a preference for male lovers. A good union, foul voices have murmured, and Clive―
―has given thought to it, in ways that shame him deeply. Has considered the possibility of Joshua in Prince Dion's arms, and felt his heart recoil so violently that it made him retch.)
None of that makes it known in Clive's demeanor, naturally. He smiles when asked to point out landmarks during their travels, given that the others only have a view of the back of his head. ]
Of course. [ He swallows the bile simmering in the back of his throat. ] ―I'll also have to fill you in on Prince Dion's recent movements, if you've not already been informed.
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[It would make sense. Not only the heir to Sanbreque’s throne, but their sole Dominant as well. While Sanbreque’s armies have always far outnumbered Rosaria’s, they can only field Bahamut, while Rosaria claims the Phoenix and Ifrit both. It has been enough to stave off a real war, but it hasn’t prevented small sorties here and there - nor does it keep the roads safe from bandits, which Joshua suspects are supported partially by Sanbreque as well. Of course, it’s just as possible that Dion won’t be there. Sanbreque is a large country, with other conflicts along its border, and Dion and his dragoons are their most effective force.
They could have been friends, once. Two young royals, both heirs, both Dominants, the same age. They could share things that few others might understand, and though Joshua only ever met Dion one time, he admired the other boy - already training to be a dragoon, brave and with a noble manner. But whatever friendship they might have cultivated disintegrated after Anabella’s betrayal. Joshua only knows him now through the intelligence reports he receives and the rumors he hears.
He doesn’t know what Clive is thinking, of course. Though Joshua has heard those rumors as well, no one’s yet suggested to his face that he ought to try to turn Dion’s head, and he certainly wouldn’t think of it himself. He only wishes - a little wistfully - that they could have been friends.]
You would like him, I think. He’s quite skilled, I’ve heard, and he was kind to me when we were children.
[He’d thought so at the time, too. Joshua, young and so enamored of his older brother, had admired the qualities Dion shared with Clive - had wished that Clive might come along too, and make a friend. Their mother would never have allowed it, but in Joshua’s childish mind, he’d wished for it dearly. He thought everyone should love Clive as he did, and it was a constant sadness that the world did not conform to his wishes.
They can’t expect an ally in Dion now, of course. He’s Sanbreque’s through and through. But Joshua thinks he might deal with them more honestly than some would.]
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It's what Joshua deserves. Something more than the bars of his gilded cage, surrounded by the same faces saying the same things, day in and day out. Happiness, away from the duties of court life. Safety, in the arms of someone who isn't his brother.
Why, then, does it make Clive's heart ache to think of it? The answer has become more and more self-evident with age, corrosive and corrupt. So much so that he feels some base jealousy to hear Joshua call the prince of Sanbreque by his name.
Horrible. Clive seals that simmering feeling shut in a mental box; it only manifests as a tightening of his grip around Ambrosia's reins. ]
...Yes. I've heard that he's a personage possessed of rare qualities. Rarer still, given that he's Sanbrequian.
[ A private little joke between them; they're not allowed to needle neighboring nations in the presence of diplomats, so they can only do so in the comfort of each other's company. Clive winks at Joshua, a subtle thing, as punctuation. ]
I'll... see to it that you're given some time alone with him. It'll be good for you, I think.
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Joshua hopes for the best, of course, but he must always prepare for the worst.]
I'd like to try to speak to him about how things are with his father, and with -
[He can't quite call her mother. It doesn't feel right, not anymore. But after what she's done to Rosaria, Joshua needs to know what she's doing in Sanbreque. He's not sure Dion will tell him, but he doesn't have another reliable source of information. He has to try, at least.
He's not thinking about anything else, really. Not rekindling a friendship, certainly not anything more. Just learning what he can in order to keep his home safe - to keep them both safe.]
Well, how things are in the capital.
[A pause, as he considers this. Joshua watches the countryside as he thinks. He was raised for this, but he always feels like he's falling short, like he'll never be quite what his country needs. At least Clive is here, shoring up his weak spots - someone he can trust, someone he can lean on. Joshua has always thought that he would make a better leader: kind and strong, devoted but fierce. Anyone would follow him.]
But you should come with me. I'm not sure it's safe to be alone with anyone from Sanbreque. Not even Dion.
[There's no clear line of succession if Joshua dies. He doesn't know if Clive would be allowed to take the throne, though he hopes so - but if not Clive, then who? It's not so much that he fears for his life, it's more that he fears what happen if such a thing does come to pass. Would Rosaria fall? What would happen to Clive? He can't stand the thought of any of it, and so he must be careful, must stay safe.
And he's never safer than when Clive is by his side.]
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His fingers loosen and curl around Ambrosia's reins again. Clever girl that she is, the chocobo senses just a sliver of her master's trepidation, and cranes back to nuzzle his head with a large beak. The gesture makes Clive smile, and he reciprocates with a slow stroke between her soft feathers; enough of an interim for him to gather himself. ]
Whatever would make Your Grace feel more secure.
[ Least of all because Joshua has the weight of a nation on his shoulders (though that very much does factor in). More than anything, Clive just wants to see his brother happy. His sun, his light. ]
―Speaking of. [ They're moving across Rosarian territory towards Orabelle Downs, where they'll rest for the night near the vineyards. The path there is well-trodden and relatively clear of monsters, but the marshlands they have to cut across are still treacherous and unpredictable; anything that wishes them ill will be sure to converge there, hidden behind tall grass or stationed in structures long abandoned. Monsters and humans alike. ] We'll be entering the wetlands soon, so stay close to me.
[ That comes out more as "Clive being overprotective of his brother" and less like "Lord Commander requesting something of his liege". ]
Thrilled as you might be to spy a large turtle during our journey, I assure you that they're a pain to beat.
[ Exaggerating. Clive has bullied countless Adamantoises in his time. ]
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As a child, he used to sneak away often to watch Clive train, never caring about the trouble he'd be in for it. It was a delight to watch his brother fight, to see how skilled he was. Joshua doesn't really get to do that anymore, and secretly, he misses it quite a bit. He wasn't even able to prevail upon Clive to teach him how to fight, much to his disappointment. He doesn't have the right build to fight the way his brother does, nor the amount of time that would be needed to cultivate it.
He's had to content himself with a lighter blade, and with what lessons could be fit in around everything else he's had to learn - and of course, only when he's healthy enough. It rather put to rest his childhood dreams of being a dashing warrior like Clive. The only balm is that Clive is - well. His.
His knight, his Shield. His Lord Commander.
Even if he won't get to see him fight monsters. Ideally, anyway.]
Oh, very well. We'll let the turtles be this time.
[He knows Clive is right, anyway. Joshua can't be careless with his own safety, and he can't put Clive in danger for a foolish whim. He tugs his own chocobo a bit closer to Ambrosia.]
I may require a few tales of your previous encounters, however.
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So they do. Clive wears his armor again, literally and figuratively, and kisses Joshua exactly once before he strides briskly out of their borrowed bedroom to work out logistics for the rest of their journey; he touches Joshua only in times of necessity－ a palm to the small of his back as he lifts himself up onto his chocobo, the same hand offered when it comes time to dismount at the gates of Oriflamme－ and refers to him by title instead of name, Your Grace with his head bowed and his eyes lowered. He remains unchanged in the eyes of others, the perfect vassal in front of his lord, no hint of the prior day's injuries remaining in his attitude or his posture.
It's easier to lie, when it's routine instead of deception. Clive thinks of nothing but Joshua throughout the day, but that, too, is less a disruption and more an allowance of things he'd held long-repressed. Nothing has changed, really－ only consummated, and the reality of that still feels like a dream more often than not.
What isn't a dream: Joshua and Clive are accepted into the Capital with fanfare. The Empire's welcoming delegation is a two-row reception spanning several blocks along the road to Whitewyrm Castle, with women and children offering Joshua wyvern tails in full bloom, asking for a glance or a touch from the Archduke of Rosaria with rapt curiosity and awe.
Clive tries not to let the whole affair disagree with him. The Night of Flames is never too far away from the fore of his mind, and the sight of Sanbrequian armor still sets his teeth on edge. He remains ravenlike near Joshua, a stormcloud to his brother's incandescence, all the way until they pass through the castle gates and into the grounds, where they're greeted by a cadre of young dragoons helmed by Dion Lesage himself.
The crown prince is radiant. Handsome, bold. He waves aside Joshua's attempts to call him by anything but Dion, and offers personal guidance to the room Joshua will be staying in for the next foreseeable nights; he dismisses his escorts, asking them, with impeccable confidence, whether they truly believe that anyone in the Empire will be able to do harm to two Dominants walking side by side.
Two Dominants. Not three. Clive has been swiftly uninvited, and it's obvious why: the Holy Empire still holds Ifrit at arm's length. It's the Phoenix they want to woo, and Clive, as Joshua's brother, will be made to heel if he doesn't wish for diplomatic disaster.
Still, he shoots Joshua a glance. He will only be dismissed by Joshua himself, and never anyone else. ]
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But there is a lot of time spent riding, with little to do but watch the scenery and think about the night before. Not in too much detail - Joshua doesn't especially want to make the ride uncomfortable for himself - but even so, he turns the memories over in his mind. It was real, it really happened. It feels impossible, but it was real. He woke up in Clive's arms.
It occupies his thoughts well enough that the ride feels like it passes quickly, and then Joshua must truly play his role. He must smile and accept flowers and well-wishes, and that part is easy - he cannot hold the commonfolk of Sanbreque responsible for what their lords and masters have done. It's the rest that's harder. He remembers that night too, remembers how close they came to losing everything. And he knows too that in the time since, Sanbreque has pressed at their borders, raided their villages, kept them in a precarious state of near-war.
But he can't act as though he's angry, or even upset. He must appear to be delighted to be here, happy to speak to men who would have profited off his death. It's a relief, at least, to be greeted by Dion. Joshua can't truly think of him as an enemy - though he fights for Sanbreque as valiantly as a prince ought, he was far too young to have had anything to do with the events at Phoenix Gate, and as far as Joshua knows his dragoons have never encroached upon Rosarian territory. They would, if the war became real, but until then they are needed on other fronts.
Dion could have been a friend once, and Joshua thinks fondly of him because of it. He is friendly still, as much as one in their positions can be, and Joshua welcomes it. He knows Dion isn't truly his ally - he is the prince of Sanbreque, with his nation's wellbeing as his first priority. But perhaps they can relate to one another. Joshua has to begin somewhere.
But his gaze flickers to Clive. Joshua does not think he's in any danger from Dion, but the idea of being without Clive is uncomfortable even so. Simply having him nearby gives Joshua a little strength, a bit of badly-needed courage. But he knows as well that Sanbreque fears Clive, fears Ifrit, in a way that they don't fear the Phoenix. Bringing him was necessary, Joshua would not have come without him, but it was a calculated move as well, and Joshua did it knowing that it would make some things more difficult, other things less.
He can't begin the visit by insulting Dion, and insisting that Clive accompany them would be that. It would imply that Joshua does not trust Dion or Sanbreque with his safety. (Which is true, really, and surely everyone involved knows that, just as everyone involved will pretend that it's not.) So he must agree, and send Clive away, though it's the last thing he wants to do.]
I trust that my brother has a room near mine? [He meets Clive's glance, and if there's a hint of apology in his look, surely anyone would understand why.] Perhaps one of your dragoons can show him the way there, after he gets our men settled.
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―and the same astrologers stand vigil a few yards away, smug in their finery, looking the Rosfields up and down with naked interest. One of them pipes up when Joshua mentions the matter of the brothers' accommodations, and offers, with condescending deference:
"Your Grace has no need for a shield, sheltered as you are by the Empire's Warden of Light." Referring to Dion, of course. A glance towards the prince in question, and Clive is surprised to see his beautiful nose wrinkle in distaste at the clergyman's counsel; it's clear that there is at least one individual in Sanbreque who disdains its internal rot.
Still, the man continues. "We thought Lord Rosfield might enjoy a place closer to the quarters of our Holy Order. Our knights have expressed much interest in the possibility of crossing training blades with Rosaria's finest."
Clive would snort, if propriety didn't prevent him. The suggestion is such a thinly-veiled demand for Clive to be monitored closely by the Sanbrequian army that it verges on comical, and it would be a grievous insult to Joshua if not for the fact that Rosaria stands to lose far more from this mission collapsing than Sanbreque does.
Dion's shapely lips draw into a tight line, but it's evident that any suggestion made by the astrologers is a suggestion made in lieu of his ailing father― thus, Dion must also be in a uniquely awkward position of being unable to push back.
It falls to Clive, then, to bend the knee. He presses a palm against his chest, then bows his head in Joshua's direction, indicating his acquiescence. ]
...By your leave, Your Grace. If ever you need me, I'll not be far.
[ A promise. What Dion said about him and Joshua also holds true for Clive: a thousand-strong army couldn't keep Clive from Joshua. ]
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But they need these negotiations to go well. Sanbreque doesn't want outright war, but if it does come, they have a larger army by far. That doesn't necessarily mean they would win, and certainly not without casualties - not against two eikons - but it means they're coming to this with a stronger position. While they can't outright disrespect Joshua or Rosaria, he expects there will be more small insults like these.
He's less worried about his safety, and more irritated by the insult to Clive. Though Joshua is no great warrior, he can fight, and he won't hesitate to prime if he thinks his life is in danger. Surely the Sanbrequians know better than to invite a conflict that may well end in their precious castle burning down - but then, who's to say what they're thinking? Joshua simply has to assume that this is nothing more than a petty insult, and act accordingly.]
Very well. If you see fit to train with the knights, I am certain they would appreciate your skilled instruction.
[And if Clive ends up thrashing them, well, he was invited, for all to hear.
What's more frustrating, for Joshua, is the increased difficulty in being alone with Clive. Not just for the reasons he can't admit (although those do come to mind), but because Clive is the one person he can fully trust. It helps to have someone he can talk to, especially in a situation like this - where he'll need to be very careful with what he says to everyone else, all the time. And in truth, he worries about Clive's safety, too. He knows no one here trusts him, and that they fear Ifrit. What might they do, out of fear?
But he also wants to avoid the impression that Clive controls him. They both do, he thinks. This will help with that, even if he's not at all happy with it. And Clive will surely be able to find his room later - he hopes.]
You must tell me about it later. [And he inclines his head to Dion, carefully.] Please, show me the way.
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They're the both of them too old for things like that. Clive finally turns when the silence becomes too much to maintain, and lets a young dragoon－ Terence, he calls himself－ lead him towards Whitewyrm's barracks and training grounds.
For the next few hours, he tears through his competition like paper. Politely, of course. Never so much that it verges on boasting, but never so little that it verges on insulting. He's dripping sweat by the time it's time for dinner, and a few soldiers who have warmed to Rosaria's Lord Commander show him where to wash up and get himself ready for the banquet.
Meanwhile, in Joshua's neck of the woods, Dion is a perfect gentleman. Gallant and gracious, though he wisely keeps any complaints he might have about his father's choice in counsel to himself. (Still a child of Sanbreque, beholden to his own set of rules and restrictions.) He escorts Joshua to his room, then to the library, and then to a section of the castle that overlooks the grounds, where he both laughs and sighs about Clive giving his subordinates the thrashing of their lives.
"Your brother fights like three Behemoths," he remarks. "―That's a compliment, of course."
Dion remains pleasant company until they have to separate to get ready for the night's proceedings ("there's no dress code; you needn't wear white"), and it's finally, finally at the ballroom that Clive is treated to even a glimpse of Joshua again.
Unlike the other guests at the dinner, Clive is still dressed in form-fitting leather instead of silks: raven-dark and fortified. He's shed his armor (as it would have been impolite to come outfitted in metal and steel), but his hair is still the same organized chaos that it always is; he feels stares from all around the room, but ignores them in favor of approaching Joshua, the slightest hint of relief rising to the surface of his expression. ]
You look beautiful, [ he says, under his breath so that only Joshua can hear. ]
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Still, it's nice to talk to someone who treats him like an equal. He really only gets that with Clive, when they're alone, when there's no one who can see Clive treat Joshua like his brother instead of his lord. He and Dion are not so close, and in fact Joshua's rank is a bit higher than his, but they're of an age and were both raised to rule. They have a lot in common.
Dion is pleasant company, and Joshua is carefully attentive in return. He doesn't have any illusions about gaining Dion's loyalty - but if he can secure Dion's respect, at least, and perhaps friendship, then they'll have at least one ally in this treacherous court. The heir, no less. So Joshua smiles, and exclaims in pleasure over the library (this reaction not at all false - he could spend the whole visit in there, if only he were a scholar instead of an Archduke), and asks Dion light questions about Sanbreque, about his dragoons, about how his life has been in the past years. Careful to avoid any topic that might touch on the tension between their nations, equally careful to avoid getting too personal.
He also, with an effort, manages to keep from gushing openly about Clive. He only smiles, and thanks Dion for the compliment, saying, "He is Rosaria's greatest protector." No one could doubt Clive's skill, he thinks, and they are right to fear him. It's good to have a reminder of what they might face if these negotiations go poorly.
But Clive is never far from his thoughts. To see him, even from afar, is a relief. He's perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but here in this nest of vipers Joshua still finds himself worrying. So he looks forward to dinner, where they will at least be in the same room for the duration of the meal, and when he enters his eyes go immediately to his brother. Not just him - plenty of others look at Clive, and though some may be wary, others are appreciative. Joshua can't blame them. He also can't warn them off.
Joshua has dressed for the occasion, in Rosarian red that stands out among the lighter colors Sanbrequians prefer. The red silk is accented with black, cut closer to his slender form beneath the red, matching Clive's own dark leathers. Just enough of a match to make it clear they are a set - as if anyone could forget. The Rosfield brothers, two young Dominants who have held Rosaria despite all the forces arrayed against them.
He smiles at Clive. It's a relief to see him, to have him there, but he knows that they have to be careful. Too many eyes are upon them, he absolutely can't slip up. Not even if Clive looks - well. Incredible.]
Shh, don't make me blush. [Also soft, with a half-teasing curve to his smile.] Did they treat you well?
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On the heels of his confession the night prior, it's hard for him to think about anything but the fact that he loves Joshua. Still, he's being asked a question, so he obliges. ]
As well as they'd allow themselves to. [ A huff, dry. ] It was no different from the usual, and I did nothing that would shame you.
[ Which is the most important thing. Clive is a soldier, not a diplomat; his only worry is doing anything that might tarnish Joshua's standing in the Sanbrequian court, be it with his words or with his blade.
Briefly, he wishes he could take Joshua's hand. Hold it, in witness of all of these nobles, and press his lips to Joshua's knuckles. ]
And you? I expect the crown prince didn't do anything untoward.
[ Dion seems a good sort, despite Clive's misgivings about him before. Mostly, the petty part of him feels only slightly irritated that Joshua spent the day next to another man, though it's tempered by the knowledge that Dion Lesage seems to be the only tolerable person in the entire castle. ]
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[He says it quietly, but immediately, with certainty in his words. That wasn't even a possibility in his mind, and Joshua doesn't want Clive to think it could be. Just look at him - by far the most gorgeous thing in this ballroom, after spending his day showing the best warriors in Sanbreque that he is far greater than they could hope to be. There's not a world in which Joshua could be ashamed of him.]
Dion was very kind. He showed me the library here - it's truly incredible.
[Joshua is speaking softly still, but not so much so that it looks like they're whispering to each other. He's very aware of the eyes on them, and he doesn't want it to seem as though they're sharing secrets - not in front of half the Sanbrequian court. But since they could be overheard, he has to pick his words carefully. He wants to tell Clive that he thinks Dion may be able to sympathize with them, that he doesn't seem to share the animosity of some here, but he can't be so obvious about it.
What he wants, really, is to be alone with Clive. To tell him what happened, and hear about his day as well. And more than that. How difficult it is now, knowing that his feelings are returned, to be unable to touch his brother. Unable to do anything but look at him, so handsome Joshua can feel his heart clench, and not reach out.]
You impressed him, as I knew you would.
[He begins to lead Clive towards the tables. Joshua, as a visiting ruler, will be sitting with the highest ranking of the court, stuck in polite diplomacy for the course of the meal. He doesn't look forward to it. He think it's likely Clive won't be allowed to sit next to him, but he doesn't intend to comply in advance - he will bring his brother along with him as far as he can.]
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Wakes to another trying day. Though he's prepared for it, that doesn't make it much less tiring.
Shortly after breakfast (taken in his room, at least, a little chance to prepare for the day), Dion comes to collect him for the planned tour of Oriflamme. Despite Joshua's suggestion, Clive is not invited along - not a surprise to either of them, really, but disappointing nonetheless. The tour is interesting, at least, Dion supplying enough interesting historical tidbits to keep Joshua happy. He knows, though, that's partially meant to intimidate him. Oriflamme is larger and richer than Rosalith, just as Sanbreque is larger and richer than Rosaria.
He won't let it shake him, though. He and Clive have kept Rosaria safe all this time, and that isn't going to change.
He does get a chance to speak to Dion alone as they view some quite lovely gardens, and though Dion is surprised by his suggestion, after a moment he seems quite amused as well.
After their display last night, I can see why you might wish the attention was taken off you a bit, he says, but I fear your brother may have my head.
It's said lightheartedly, but for a moment Joshua is afraid that Dion might know something. It isn't that - just a jest, born from the obvious care Clive shows for him, the role he plays as a protector. Still, all the more reason to make others think Joshua's affections lie elsewhere. He eases Dion's worry (which was not entirely a jest, in fact), and they spend the rest of the tour standing just a bit too close, smiling at one another just a bit too long.
It feels strange. To Joshua, it feels so clearly like playacting, with no emotion behind it. If Clive was the one taking his arm to help him through a doorway (that he really doesn't need help with at all), his heart would flutter a little. If Clive was the one leaning in to whisper something in his ear (just a comment about the architecture of the building they're looking at, but Dion lingers long enough to make it seem like something more intimate), a flush would rise to his cheeks. It seems so obviously false, but he sees the guards that accompany them notice, catches a whisper or two. It's a start.
He doesn't actually get to see Clive until they return from the tour. It's not so very long - just the night, and then a few hours - but it feels like an eternity. All the more so because Joshua's next few hours will be spent cloistered with the emperor and his advisors, working out a peace treaty. Hopefully. And Clive cannot attend that, either - one Dominant nearly alone with the Emperor of Sanbreque is already almost too much, but they cannot deny the Archduke must be there.
To be in his company for a little while, though, helps. Joshua brightens when he sees Clive, and though Dion is still at his side, all he sees is his brother.]
I hope you haven't been too bored, left here on your own.
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There's no invitation, of course, for him to accompany the princes on their tour when he wakes. There's no explanation of the day's schedule, even. He doesn't blame the pageboys― who lower their eyes and speak nervously to him when they come to attend to him― for their ignorance, but he notes the insult of being kept in the dark to pour over later, when he isn't liable to start an incident before the ink dries on the peace treaty they're meant to be signing.
No matter. Clive gravitates to the stables after breakfast, and spends the majority of the morning with the chocobos instead of the Sanbrequians. The birds are far kinder company, and honest besides: he has them literally eating out of the palm of his hand by the time someone comes to fetch him for a light afternoon meal. He almost considers taking lunch with them, instead of whoever the court has deemed necessary for him to meet.
A fortuitous turn of fate, then, that the 'whoever' happens to be Joshua. (Though there's a moment where Clive curses internally for not changing out of his morning clothes; he must stink of chocobo.) He quells the petty pang of something wicked that threatens to twist his heart when he sees the close nestle of his brother's body against Dion Lesage's, and greets Joshua with the customary deference that a Shield would show to his Lord. Head bowed, hand to heart. ]
Your Grace. [ Impolite, perhaps, to address Joshua first and foremost when the Emperor-to-be of the country they're visiting is Right There. But Joshua is Clive's world, so Dion will have to come second. ] ...Your Highness.
[ After what he deems is the right amount of time with his head down, he lifts his gaze again and settles them on Joshua, trying to make his appraisal as subtle as he can. ]
I thank you for your consideration, Your Grace, but I kept myself busy. [ (There's a chocobo feather stuck to the back of his cape.) ] Was your outing enjoyable?
[ He tries not to sound too pointed about it, given Dion's current position where Clive would prefer to be: by Joshua's side. ]
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Joshua can guess what Clive did to keep busy. He doesn't smell that strongly - but there's a hint of the chocobo stables to him. Joshua doesn't mind it. When he was young, sometimes he'd sneak down to feed Ambrosia the carrots he'd hidden from dinner. Once, he'd fallen asleep there, and there was an uproar in the castle until he was found. Clive had been the one to find him, of course, and somehow he'd ended up being scolded too - even though he'd done nothing wrong.]
It was. Oriflamme is a beautiful city, with a remarkable history. And Dion was an excellent guide.
[Which is true, and Dion receives the compliment with a gracious smile, but Joshua still wishes he could have seen the city with Clive. That they could have explored together, preferably alone - but even accompanied would have been nice, if it was done at Clive's side.]
I'm pleased you were able to have lunch with us.
[A pointed comment of his own, not directed at Clive - instead Joshua making the tiniest bit of his displeasure known. He knows why they've been careful to keep the Rosfield brothers separate: a power play to show that they can, an attempt to make Joshua uncomfortable, and of course the result of their fear of Clive. But just because he understands doesn't mean he's happy with it.
They'll get the treaty signed. That's the most important thing. But Joshua also doesn't want Sanbreque to feel that they can insult Rosaria freely. Even if he has to be careful, even if he has to do the political thing, he's getting tired of Clive being taken from him. Again and again.
Dion notices Joshua's annoyance, at least, and suggests politely: Perhaps on the morrow you might both join me for an inspection of my Dragoons. Not, perhaps, the most thrilling of sights to see, but one that no one can deny the Lord Commander of Rosaria ought to be allowed to attend.
At least, Joshua chooses to take it in that spirit, instead of as an attempt to intimidate them with the might of Sanbreque's most elite fighting force. Besides, Clive's already impressed them, so what is there to be intimidated by?]
That could be a pleasant way to spend the morning.
[More time with Dion would help the rumors, and if Clive is there as well, Joshua won't feel so... lonely.]
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He has to hope, because Clive would rip Dion Lesage to shreds if he ever played Joshua false.
None of that shows, obviously, in Clive's demeanor. He defers to them both when a maidservant comes to guide them to where they'll be taking lunch, and doesn't flinch when they pass by a group of giggling noblewomen (girls, really) who animatedly whisper something about how the princes are so beautifully matched― "fire and light", they chirp.
Dutifully, he stands two paces behind Joshua, and tries not to let his eyes linger too long on his brother's profile, or on his hands. Tries to keep his mind from wandering to idle fantasies about tugging Joshua by the forearm and corralling him against yet another floor-to-ceiling portrait of Bahamut in wing. Tries not to think about kissing Joshua in witness of the entire court, with his fingers tangled in all that beautiful blond hair.
He somehow makes it to the dining room with his pokerface intact... or so he thinks, until Dion, who glances over his shoulder at Clive, raises his brow and takes a step away from him, one palm raised in playful bemusement.
"Steady, Ifrit. The food will be here soon― no need to scowl."
Ah. He must have been scowling, then. ]
...My apologies. I must be tired from the travel.
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It's more that with Clive nearby he knows he doesn't need to worry. He is safe, certainly, but so is Clive. Clive has spent his life fighting for Rosaria, and Joshua has always worried for him. It must be done, so he cannot protest, but when they're apart there's always some quiet fear that Clive won't return. Obviously, Sanbreque is not (currently) a battlefield, but even so, Joshua is happier when he has Clive near.
He turns at Dion's comment, though, and catches just the end of Clive's scowl. He doesn't know what was on Clive's mind, but Joshua has always found Clive's tendency towards dark expressions to be awfully endearing. Perhaps it's because he's never had any fear of Clive - has always simply expected his love. That didn't change after Phoenix Gate, and Joshua knows it never will. Clive's scowls are as dear to him as the rest of his brother.
So he smiles at Clive. He wants to reach out, wishes so much that he could take Clive's hand and walk at his side. He can't, but he isn't going to pretend he isn't fond of Clive. The world must surely know how he favors his First Shield.]
Come sit next to me. I've forced Dion to talk about history all day, I'm sure he'll be relieved to talk to you about less dull subjects.
[Both commanders and excellent warriors, Joshua imagines they could have quite a bit to talk about. Not that he can't participate in such a conversation. He's learned what he could of war - Rosaria has been plagued with constant skirmishes, but should a true war break out, Joshua would also need to take the field, just as their father used to.
But he doesn't have Clive's experience. It doesn't come so easily to him, and he's rarely had need to use any of his knowledge. It's Clive who's taken the brunt of all of it, no matter how Joshua might wish to spare him.
As they take their seats, maidservants arrive with the food, a beautifully arranged plate for each of them. The dining room is lavishly decorated, but not large - ideal for a small, intimate gathering. A relief, after the night before, though Joshua expects the same sort of thing for dinner. He'll enjoy this while he can.]
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"We could speak more candidly about each other, if it wouldn't offend. I fear I've been much occupied with the Republic's movements, and know little about Rosaria as a result."
Friendly, light. There's truth to the statement, as well: despite all the times he's been sent to the frontlines, Clive has had precious little encounters with Sanbreque's Dragoons, and none led by Dion himself. Understandable, really, given that a clash between two Dominants would have meant all-out war― even Sylvestre and his fork-tongued mother weren't foolish enough to provoke such an obvious act of aggression using Bahamut.
Clive, as is customary, deferentially waits for Joshua to start eating before he touches his own plate. He takes a sip of water, bolstered by his brother's presence next to him, and relaxes into the conversation just a sliver. The world makes more sense with Joshua near him, he finds. ]
What would you know? Though I can't promise that either one of us will answer, depending on the question.
[ A bit overfamiliar, perhaps. If there were other nobles in the room, they may even have found the tone audacious; Dion, however, is a good sport about it, and laughs after swallowing his mouthful of greens.
"I'll choose my words wisely, then. How does one earn a blessing from the Phoenix? Is it granted to kin, or is there a selection?"
Clive glances towards Joshua, gauging his reaction. A part of him wants to reach under the table and take his brother's hand, but that would be wholly inappropriate. ]
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When it comes time for a First Shield to be chosen, there is a tournament. The victor wins the place, and along with it, the blessing of the Phoenix.
[He looks at Clive, not even attempting to hide his pride in his brother. He was so delighted back then - absolutely certain that Clive would win, but still a bit terrified that something would go wrong, that Clive might get hurt, or worse, lose. And then Joshua would have had to take someone else as his First Shield, pretend he was happy for them, pretend he could ever possibly trust them more than he trusted Clive.
But Clive had won, as Joshua had hoped, had believed. And he'd been so nervous, but so pleased.]
Only the First Shield ever holds the blessing, and Clive will ever be my First Shield.
[It's a piece of the Phoenix's power, after all. No small thing, to be handed out to anyone who might ask. Clive has his own flames now, has no need of the Phoenix, but even so Joshua would never take his blessing back. To know it burns in Clive's heart, even when they're far from each other, is a comfort on the loneliest of nights.]
Even at fifteen, he was a most impressive warrior. [Joshua is delighted to get a chance to brag about his brother, and he does so with not an inkling of shame.] You have nothing similar here, do you?
[Joshua has never heard of another Dominant sharing their power in such a way. He doesn't know if it's truly unique to the Phoenix, or if it's just that Rosaria is the only country to discover the trick of it.
He eats, but he's picking at his food a bit - Sanbrequian cuisine is richer than Joshua is used to, and annoyingly, his stomach can still be a bit delicate at times. Better to take it slow.]
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He had never felt prouder. What would he have become, if not Joshua's Shield? Another soldier in the barracks? No, he's sure their mother would have sent him off somewhere― far away, to Kanver or perhaps even to Waloed. He might never have seen Joshua again.
A palm presses against his chest, where the Phoenix settles over his heart. Ifrit rumbles happily, asking for more fire, more of the Firebird under Clive's skin, while Dion continues the conversation from across the table.
"At fifteen! No mean feat. As expected of the man who put so many of my Dragoons on their backs." Exasperated, but oddly fond. As if Dion now has something to prove, and gladly so. "But you would be correct in assuming that no such tradition exists in Sanbreque. We guard our wyvern most jealously, and I wouldn't know how to bestow such a blessing even if it were required of me."
Huh. Clive takes another sip of water, and glances towards Joshua. ]
The Phoenix is unique, I suppose.
[ Soft, but proud. His brother is, as ever, like no other. ]
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DRAGS MY CORPSE OUT OF HOLIDAY HELL...!!!
omg welcome back! I'm glad you survived
cursed november-december... it will never take me alive
༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ sending energy ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ
i owe you my LIFE!!!!
♥♥♥!
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