[ We'll let the turtles be. Truth be told, Clive finds his brother very capable in combat, even if his stamina fails him more often than not. In short bursts, however, he doubts that many of the royal guards could best Joshua in a duel; he's lithe, graceful, and has an instinct for how to avoid danger. A dancer, to Clive's brawler.
But Clive would rather Joshua not fight at all unless absolutely necessary, and he definitely wants to avoid a situation in which Joshua would have to prime, semi or no. Over the years, he's found that the Eikon's curse doesn't affect himself the way it affects Joshua― despite all the times he's let Ifrit out of his cage, the worst Clive has suffered for it is a full-body soreness the next day. No creeping threat of turning to stone, no seizing of the heart. It's reinforced the idea that he was born to fight on Joshua's behalf, to be the sword that won't shatter in his brother's hands.
Which makes it easy for Clive to pull a few stories out of his pocket to tell Joshua as they travel. He starts one― "well, there was the time I accidentally slid off a ledge and fell right on top of a coeurl"― and follows it up with another, each of them blisteringly true, and without boasting or embellishment. He's always liked the way his brother lights up at a good story, and so, towards the tail end of his latest story, Clive reminds himself to buy a few books for Joshua when they reach Oriflamme.
The first leg of their journey goes by without incident. Easy conversation, unchallenging roads. It's when they get closer to the border of Sanbreque that Clive senses something stirring in the thickets ahead of them, which prompts him to stop Ambrosia and hop off of her back, sword drawn. ]
―Bandits, [ he guesses. ] Stay here, Joshua. I'll take care of it.
[ In his urgency, he forgets to call Joshua by his title; at the end of the day, what Clive holds dear is his brother, and not the Archduke of Rosaria. ]
[Clive is a good storyteller, and Joshua can't help but hang on to every word. He wishes sometimes that he could accompany Clive on his adventures, but it has to remain a wish - he knows that. And he knows that Clive does all of it for Rosaria, to keep their home safe. To keep him safe. If it hadn't been for Clive, Joshua knows they would never have been able to stand against Sanbreque or the Iron Kingdom. He is a hero, even if he might never think of himself that way.
It makes the time pass quickly and pleasantly. Though they aren't alone, there are fewer eyes on them here than in Rosalith, which means Joshua can relax a little. But perhaps he relaxes a bit too much - until Clive dismounts, he doesn't even notice the looming threat.
He doesn't correct Clive, though he does notice the slip. Notices, and tucks it away in his heart. He treasures the moments when he can be just Joshua to Clive. It sounds sweeter from his lips than anyone's.
It's a fleeting thought, one he can't linger on. He dismounts as well, wanting to be free to fight if it comes to that, though he does hang back as Clive instructed.]
Be careful.
[He's not concerned, exactly - he fully believes in Clive's skill - but as much as he likes to see Clive fight, Joshua can't stand to see him hurt. He gestures for the two guards to accompany Clive, not wanting him to have to handle this alone. Even if it's just bandits, who will likely flee the moment they realize who they're facing, Joshua doesn't want Clive to be too much at risk.
He knows he shouldn't feel that way. This is Clive's role, one that he embraces, one that he's very good at. Joshua should only be pleased that he's so dedicated, not worried over his safety. But he can't help it. He'll never be able to see Clive as just a subject.]
[ What Clive expects is a quick and easy fight, if that. Some bandits are ambitious enough to try intimidating soldiers wearing Rosarian colors, but flee the moment they realize that they're speaking to a Rosfield― desperate as they are, most of them are smart enough not to risk it all for coin they won't get.
No pleasantries, on Clive's part. ] Show yourself, [ he calls into the dim, walking a straight path towards tall grass and the cover of a shroud of trees. ] I won't ask twice.
[ Routine, he thinks. Not even worth using the blessing of the Phoenix to fend off, most likely. Invictus gleams in the fading light, held by Clive's side―
―and quickly arcs up to block a sudden attack by a creature far bigger than any roadside bandit ought to be. Caught off-guard, Clive grits his teeth against the onslaught and feels his balance shift; his arm momentarily goes numb, and he curses under his breath when his assailant― an orc? but why would a Waloeder beastman be all the way in Rosarian territory?― swings one thick leg up and kicks Clive flat against the nearest tree.
Bones creak under his armor. Anger and shame make Clive see red; careless, his mind hisses. He should have been prepared for anything. ]
―Protect Joshua! [ He calls out to the two guards, who are clearly as stunned to see an orc in Rosarian wetlands as Clive is. They regroup when spoken to, and hastily make to surround Joshua while Clive stands off against the hulking creature.
Creatures, plural. One warrior, and one spellcaster. Nothing Clive hasn't handled before, but his enemies have gotten a head start: Clive can feel pain shooting through his arm and up his side after every swing and parry, dulling his speed and prolonging what should have been a quick battle. He makes short work of the mage, but the remaining beastman warrior closes in on him, giving Clive more trouble than he'd wanted. ]
[He wants to go to Clive immediately, wants to fight at his side. It's torture to hold back - but he tells himself that he must. He isn't just Clive's brother, desperately wanting to help him in a difficult situation. He's the Archduke, and the Phoenix, and that means his life somehow matters more.
It will never sit entirely well with Joshua, that truth. He has a softer heart than he ought to, and fundamentally doesn't believe there is anything about him that matters more than anyone else. But that's not the world they live in, a world where he could have a quiet life, where he could do whatever he pleased. This world is harsher, and he holds a position that means he has to be very careful what he does and when.
Though when it comes to mean something like this - Clive in danger, unable to help him - it doesn't seem worth it. Even the guards, though they're merely doing as they ought, frustrate Joshua. They should be helping Clive, fighting at his side in the way Joshua can't. Instead he must stay back, must simply watch, and be alert for any other enemies.
He does manage it, nearly. But Joshua has been watching Clive fight for too long not to see the way he labors, the brief hesitation as he works through pain.]
He's injured.
[It's not an order, not even an observation - it's a sharp warning to the men guarding him, a brief caution so that they aren't so startled when he steps forward, when he summons the Phoenix's power. Just for a moment, just long enough to hurl fire at the creature - to distract it, if nothing else. To give Clive an opening.
Joshua wants to unsheathe his sword, to rush forward. He doesn't, but his hand is on the hilt of his sword as the guards surround him again, obeying their commander, putting themselves between their lord and the evident danger. He barely notices, all his attention on Clive.]
[ Flame, unmistakable. Joshua's burst of magic slams against the orc's back, sending it reeling sideways― it roars in anger, turning its dull eyes on the party of three standing yards away, almost as if considering switching targets.
It's the opening Clive needs. He braces his feet on uneven marsh, willing himself to keep his balance in all this mud, then kicks forward and swings his blade, aiming for the creature's outstretched neck. He feels the tip of his blade catch against hard skin, dig inwards, then slash sideways; a clean cut across the throat is what finally brings the orc down, its blood staining dirty bogwater.
Clive pants, coughs, and lingers where he stands to make sure that that was the last of it. When he senses no other hostiles, he breathes through his teeth in a hoarse, harsh hiss, and sheaths Invictus to return to Joshua's side.
His head is bowed low. ] ―Your Grace. I've cleared your path. [ Shame and anger still claw up the back of his throat. ] Forgive me. I was unsightly.
[ This is their first mission, and the newly-appointed Lord Commander can't be made to look weak. It reflects poorly on Joshua, and Clive won't forgive himself if he does anything to jeopardize Joshua's station. ]
[Hand falling from the hilt of his sword, he goes to Clive immediately. How could anyone not think Clive has done well, seeing him fight like that despite his injury? Taking on two enemies, skilled and powerful, by himself - and without calling on Ifrit's power.
Joshua looks at one of the guards.]
Check the area. Ensure that there are no more surprises. [And to the other:] Inspect their bodies. I don't think those are the sort of enemies one usually finds here.
[Joshua is sure that if Clive has decided the fighting is over, there are no more enemies about, but they have to be certain - and he knows that if he doesn't have the other men do these things, Clive will do them himself. He's done enough already, Joshua can see from the way he holds himself that he's in pain. He doesn't need to do these menial tasks as well.
He doesn't care if they see him fuss over Clive. He probably should, he knows, but right now there's no power in the world that could keep him from doing it. He doesn't even glance at the medic they brought along - talented, he's sure, but Clive is his Shield, so Joshua ought to be the one to care for him.
(He knows he shouldn't feel that unwholesome sort of possessiveness, but right now he doesn't care about that, either.)
Looking over Clive, Joshua can't hide the worry on his face.]
Joshua― [ He starts, when his brother moves towards him in the mud. Clive has a hand pressed to his side, fairly sure that one or two of his ribs have suffered from the force of that first kick, but shakes his head at the offer of healing. ] ―I'm alright. You needn't use your powers for something so trivial.
[ What is he, if he can't be strong for his brother? He'd sooner fill his own veins with poison than be a reason for Joshua to accumulate more of the Eikon's curse, so he tries for a half-smile that only barely skims its way onto his features. He is hurting, but it's nothing he hasn't dealt with before. ]
We're almost to the Bales. There'll be lodging for us there, and I'll tend to myself during the night.
[ He's acquainted with the owners of the cottage they've been given leave to use, and he trusts that they'll be left alone and in peace. An ideal place for Clive to lick his wounds, though he'll have to do it in Joshua's company― their accommodations aren't so spacious that it will allow them all to sleep in separate rooms.
It's agonizing, to make Joshua worry. Clive tries again to reassure with a smile, but it ends up looking more like a wince. ]
―At least let me posture a bit in front of the others.
[ A sigh and a wink, as he whistles for Ambrosia. He knows well enough that Joshua is obstinate when he wants to be, but he'd rather assuage his brother's mood when there aren't eyes on them. ]
[There’s a part of Joshua that wants to put his foot down, wants to insist that Clive let him do this. Wants to tug at every little bit of authority he has, because the thought of watching Clive suffer for the rest of their ride is awful.
But he resists that haughty impulse. Since he was a child, Joshua has seen how Clive was treated differently from him. At first it was because he hadn’t inherited the Phoenix, setting him somehow below Joshua, even though he was the elder and (in Joshua’s eyes) entirely worthy of admiration. Their mother had made her feelings clear, and too many others fell in line.
Then it was because of Ifrit. Joshua doesn’t like to think of that night, but the effects ripple on even now. Too many voices wanted Clive’s head for something Joshua has never blamed him for, and even now he knows they whisper that Clive can’t be trusted, that he doesn’t deserve his title. Even after all he’s done for Rosaria.
All their lives, Clive has been treated like he mattered less than Joshua, like he was inherently less important, less treasured. But Joshua has never agreed. And perhaps that kept him from ever being too spoiled, too much of a little tyrant - his fierce belief that Clive deserved just as much as he did, even if he couldn’t make it reality.
So he’s always tried to be fair. He tries not to be imperious or selfish, tries to only ask Clive for things that must be done. Tries to never order him to do anything he doesn’t want to do. It’s not a burden. Clive is so loyal that, if anything, Joshua wishes he were more disobedient - more selfish.
So he takes a breath to settle himself, and he tucks his fear, his concern for his brother away. For now.]
Very well. But you must ride, and if anything else needs to be done, we send one of the men.
[And Clive will certainly not be tending to himself - but that’s a discussion they can have in private. He’s right about that. Joshua wants them all to see Clive being treated with respect, especially by him.]
[ Funny, that the sentiment about selfishness is mirrored. In another life, Joshua would have had the freedom to act however he wanted around anyone he pleased; and maybe, if Clive hadn't blundered so catastrophically on the eve of Phoenix Gate, Joshua might yet have avoided the scrutiny he still gets when he interacts with Clive.
Because of him. It makes Clive ache to think of it. If he'd done his duties as a Shield, if his first prime hadn't been such a failure, maybe the others would have allowed the both of them to act more honestly with each other instead of seeing them as monster and handler.
They're thoughts he's turned over in his head a thousand times over, and thoughts he continues to mull over as they ride, this time with Clive and one of the guards taking up the front, with Joshua in the center followed by the remaining soldier and the medic. He listens to the man next to him report in about the beastman wearing Waloeder colors, and instructs him to send word back to Rosalith Castle about the abnormal presence near their borders; when asked if they should cancel the diplomatic mission to Sanbreque in favor of investigating this anomaly, Clive tells him that he'll speak to the Archduke about it when they retire to their quarters tonight.
They reach the Bales just before the sun sets completely. A friendly Sanbrequian who speaks with a thick Rosarian accent sees the traveling party to their accommodations, where Joshua and Clive are shown into the master bedroom. It's a simple layout, sparsely furnished, with one queen-sized bed and a divan against the wall that Clive thinks he can manage to curl onto; "apologies, my Lord, for the lack of space", the friendly Sanbrequian murmurs, then leaves the two of them to their rest.
An extended sigh later, Clive turns to Joshua. ]
...An auspicious start to our journey, [ is a self-deprecating joke. ] Are you tired?
[It’s not entirely true. Joshua isn’t used to riding for this far or this long, so he is tired and a little sore. But it’s not so bad that he can’t handle it - he’ll just sleep very well tonight and be a bit stiff in the morning, he thinks. He doesn’t intend to give Clive another reason to worry over him.
He’ll be doing all the worrying this evening, thank you.]
Sit down. Let me see what’s happened to you.
[Joshua gestures Clive towards the bed, while he rummages among their luggage to find the poultices and bandages he knows they brought. Really, he intends to cajole Clive into letting Joshua heal him, but in case it doesn’t work, at least he’ll have something to make do with.
He’s calmed down a little thanks to the rest of their ride, but his concern hasn’t faded. He’s worried about the men who attacked them, what that means for Rosaria, what he ought to do - but right now, Clive is at the front of his mind. Clive was hurt protecting him. He knows it’s Clive’s duty, and that Clive seems satisfied doing it. And Joshua can’t deny that there’s some spoiled, selfish part of himself that likes that too, that thrills at Clive wanting to protect him, fighting for him.
But even so, especially so, Joshua always wants to be the one to care for him. Another selfish impulse that he so often can’t indulge that feels all the more important when Clive was hurt because of him.
Finding the supplies, he dumps the bag on the divan. Of course Clive is going to share the bed with him. Joshua hasn’t even considered the possibility of anything else.]
[ The invitation to sit on the bed is obliged, but reluctantly. It's been an age and a half since they've had enough freedom to share space in this way, and on the heels of his early-day musings about Prince Dion and Joshua, the closeness feels－
－intimate. One-sidedly, Clive knows. Especially since the offer is being extended with the best of intentions, telegraphing concern over Clive (and nothing but concern) despite the fact that Clive is the one who has unduly troubled Joshua with his incompetence. On their first day, no less.
It humbles him. So he doesn't push back, and lets his weight settle on the mattress as he moves to strip off his layers for Joshua's scrutiny. Armor first, followed by crimson and black leathers, until there's nothing left but his trousers.
Clive doesn't allow himself to think anything of his bareness. Instead, he shows Joshua the state of him: the dark, expansive purple-yellow bruise in the shape of an orc's foot spreading from the side of his chest down to nearly his navel, and a slight swelling of his right arm, at the elbow. Sprained, possibly. Most of the damage is internal－ there are no cuts or open wounds to speak of― but they're ugly, unsightly things. ]
I've been through worse, [ he offers. He knows it's no consolation, but he'd prefer to say it regardless. ]
[Joshua's breath hisses through his teeth at the sight of that.]
Clive.
[He reaches out, doesn't quite touch him. Afraid even the slightest touch would hurt, and it probably would. Joshua has learned a little of medicine, and of how the human body works - partly just because he's curious about nearly everything, but mostly because he wants to know when a wound is dire enough that the Phoenix's magic is needed. He's grown since he was a boy, wanting to take away every hurt he could. He tries to only use it when necessary.
He knows it probably isn't now. With time and care, Clive will heal on his own. But Joshua's heart hurts at what's been done to him. Broken ribs, almost certainly. That will make it painful to move, and the arm will make it painful to do nearly anything else.]
Let me heal you. Please. It will only take a moment.
[The Phoenix is warm in his chest - or perhaps it's just his chest that's warm. He realizes, abruptly, that he hasn't seen Clive like this in a long time. They don't undress in front of one another, there's no reason to, at their ages it would be inappropriate.
This isn't inappropriate. It's necessary. But suddenly it feels like it might be both, and Joshua's eyes skim across Clive's shoulders, his chest, not looking at the injuries -
He closes his eyes for a moment. Let Clive think he's only horrified by the bruising, which is even true, really. It's shameful of him to think of anything else. When he opens them again, he's mostly steady.]
[ Founder, Clive trembles at that sound. Please. He could face against an army of Sanbrequians and never once feel compelled to quake, but Joshua imploring him in that sweet voice makes every nerve in his body shudder in unspeakable emotion.
Torn, Clive also flicks his gaze to the side, towards the nondescript wall of their small room. Logically, Joshua shouldn't. These wounds are nothing that patience and poultices can't fix, and his brother is tired, and the power of the Phoenix is sacred.
The problem is that his heart betrays him. He tries to remember when the last time his brother deigned to heal him was― when the last time he felt Joshua's warm fire seep through him was. Ifrit is an inferno, intense and destructive, but his brother's Eikon is an undulating wave of life-giving heat; ever since being given the blessing of the Phoenix, Clive has always liked the way the firebird felt in him. Steady and gentle, like a heartbeat.
He thinks of all the ways he could respond to Joshua's please. "You needn't trouble yourself with such things, Your Grace." "I haven't earned a moment of your blessing, Your Grace." "Your Grace is too kind, but he must rest."
All of them would be preferable to what he actually says, which is: ]
...As you wish, Joshua.
[ Because, at the end of the day, Clive is Joshua's. He turns towards his brother on the bed, utterly vulnerable and open, because Joshua is the only person he will ever trust with the full breadth of his soul. ]
[Something tense in Joshua relaxes at that. He thought it would be harder, but he's glad it wasn't. He didn't want to feel like he was forcing Clive into it - or worse, he didn't want to meet such firm resistance that he had no choice but to give up. Being able to heal Clive makes him happy - it's as simple as that. Knowing he can spare his brother this pain.]
I like it when you call me by my name.
[When, for just a moment, he isn't the Archduke. He's just Joshua, Clive's brother, who adores him no less now than he did when they were small and all of this mattered less.
He reaches out, fingers just a hair away from brushing Clive's skin. He doesn't need to touch someone to heal them, so he doesn't touch Clive - not wanting to cause even a moment's pain. If there's a part of him that aches at being so close, he ignores it as well as he can.
The Phoenix comes easily. It always does now, as if Joshua's infrequent use of its power makes it all the more eager to show itself. Clive's efforts have kept him from having to prime for a long time, and since he's kept to the castle for so long, he's rarely even needed to draw on its lesser powers. Do eikons get restless? Whatever the reason, Joshua hardly has to think before that heat is flowing through him.
He does it right. He heals the bruised flesh, the cracked bone beneath it, the torn ligaments. He soothes away any small aches left behind, letting the Phoenix's warmth ease away the pain until there's nothing left. Until the damage is completely gone, and only then does Joshua touch Clive's skin, only for a moment. To be sure, that's all. To be certain he's done it right.]
[ Feeling Phoenix course through him almost feels like a homecoming of sorts. Something inherently comfortable and familiar that reorients Clive back into his body, free of pain. It's the closest thing he's ever known to peace, and the closest, he thinks, to knowing what it feels like to be whole.
He opens eyes that he hadn't realized he'd held closed; he takes a deep breath, noting that it no longer hurts to fill his lungs with air, and lists, unconsciously, into the hand touching him.
Joshua, he calls out again in the safety of his mind. Joshua. ]
Better than when I started the day. [ Not quite accusatory－ "you did far more than you had to"― but verging on chiding. A don't-push-yourself. Still, he adds: ] ...Thank you.
[ To demonstrate, he flexes the previously-injured elbow and shows that his range of motion has been restored: it bends, stretches, and rotates without trouble. Once that's done, he deflates somewhat, posture rounding to something less austere.
He wonders if he should, if it's proper, but he curls forward and puts his forehead on Joshua's shoulder anyway. A light settling, which he'll relinquish immediately if he senses any discomfort. ]
[He breathes in, quick and soft, as Clive's head settles on his shoulder. It's a gift unasked for, one he wants to cling to. He contents himself with raising his hand, settling it on Clive's head, fingers gentle in his hair. Not holding him there, but offering what comfort he can.]
You fought well - you defeated them both yourself. There's nothing weak about that.
[Clive didn't make either of them look weak, Joshua thinks. Tales will spread, certainly, because all the men love to talk - and fighting creatures like that is worthy of a tale or two. Coming away with only the injuries he did is more than most could hope to manage. They were all safe because of him.
But -]
Even if you had, it doesn't matter. You don't have to be perfect, Clive. You don't.
[Joshua knows it feels like that, for both of them. He has to be the perfect Archduke, showing no weakness that Rosaria's enemies could exploit. Clive has to be the perfect Lord Commander, feared and admired for his skill. It feels like if either of them falter, everything might come apart around them. Joshua knows the feeling well, it's what makes it hard for him to sleep at night.
But he can't watch Clive blame himself for something like this. Clive has fought so hard, for so long. He's done it all for Rosaria, and Rosaria doesn't appreciate him properly. But he's done it for Joshua, too, and Joshua has promised himself to always appreciate Clive properly. To give him everything possible, everything he deserves.
And if that's a place where he can be less than perfect sometimes, and not bleed for it, Joshua will fight for that.]
[ With his head bowed, Clive doesn't have to show Joshua how his expression momentarily twists. The comfort feels good― far better than it needs to be, far better than it reasonably should be― and he knows that he should steel himself against it lest it seep through his defenses and remind him of how wretched his emotions have become.
Joshua has always been kind. It's what makes him so beloved, and it's what makes him so strong, and it's what Clive loves so deeply about him. Because he does: he loves Joshua. As his liege, as his brother, as―
―he cuts his thoughts off, and shakes his head. ]
I have to be. [ Quietly, but firmly. ] ...I've already lost you once due to carelessness, Joshua.
[ Lost, in the sense that he thought he'd lost Joshua. Close his eyes, and he can still remember scrabbling towards his brother's limp body, screaming and wailing and crying while the Undying held him back and away. Pleading for help, pleading to die. Ten years ago to this day, and it still haunts him. ]
[He can't help it, can't resist his need to have Clive just a little closer. Joshua brings his other arm up to hold Clive, a warm half-hug. He wants to comfort Clive, he does - he wants Clive to never, ever think that Joshua hates him for what happened. He wants Clive to understand that even if the rest of the world did, he wouldn't.
But he also knows it isn't just that. He never gets to be this close to Clive. Never gets to hold him. The brush of his fingers on bare skin reminds him that Clive isn't wearing a shirt - but Joshua hasn't forgotten that for a moment, not really. If he feels warmer, it's all right. If his cheeks flush, Clive isn't looking at his face, so it's -
Not safe. But he doesn't let go.]
You've protected me all this time. I don't want you to carry that guilt forever.
[He remembers that night. He tries not to - sometimes he has nightmares about it still - but he does remember. But he never thinks of Ifrit as Clive, not that night. Clive didn't have any control, didn't know what he was doing. How could Joshua blame him? When he woke afterwards, still in pain, still terrified, alive only thanks to the Phoenix, it was Clive's name he called.]
[ Something in Clive shatters when Joshua holds him. There has never been a time in his life when he's wanted to shove Joshua away from him, but he skims close to that feeling now: there's something sick coiled in the pit of his stomach, hot and hungry, that makes him want to shove Joshua down onto the clean sheets of their borrowed bed and sink his teeth into Joshua's soft skin, the way Ifrit had done to Phoenix all those years ago.
It's wretched. He knows what it is, and he knows what to name the pangs of pain he feels whenever the Rosarian court titters at the subject of potential unions for his brother. Jealousy, need, and something else with far worse consequences. Even now, Clive can't bring himself to tear away.]
I'm the reason you need to be protected, Joshua.
[ He lifts his head, and is aware, now, of how close their faces are. Joshua is cast in moonlight, long lashes framing brilliant eyes, perfect brows furrowed in concern. Clive almost holds his breath, his brother is so beautiful.
Instead, he grits his teeth. Grimaces, not at Joshua but himself. ]
I became your burden. [ His voice cracks towards the end; he's replayed this moment so many times that he can recite it by memory. ] I forced you into a prime that you weren't ready for. All because of me, and what I said to you that night.
[ "You must do your duty." "You have to keep Father safe." How could he have said that? Joshua was only ten years old－ a child. He'd done the same thing to his brother as all the others did, as their mother did. He should have told Joshua that it was fine to run. That he should be protected. That he could hide if he needed. ]
[There's something about the way Clive looks at him, just for a moment. He couldn't put it into words, not ones that he would be willing to admit to - but it does something to him, to his heart, to parts of him he shouldn't be thinking about. Not here, not with Clive in his arms.
He's letting his imagination run away from him, surely. Seeing what the deepest, worst parts of him want so badly to see. But for a moment it feels almost real, for a moment he's teetering on the precipice of something terrifying. Even so, he doesn't let go of Clive.
His heart is beating hard, but he still hears every word Clive says. He hears it, and shakes his head. Recovering himself, a little.]
You didn't force me into anything.
[Joshua speaks quietly, but with emotion. It breaks his heart to know that Clive has carried this guilt for so long.]
I've been raised knowing my duty since I was born. I am meant to be Rosaria's protector - I was frightened, but I would have tried regardless.
[Of course Clive's words mattered to him. Everything Clive has ever said to him matters. But they can't be weighed more heavily than ten years of Anabella raising him to know what he was meant for, ten years of Elwin impressing his duty upon him, ten years of expectation. Frightened or not, uncertain or not, Joshua would have tried to do that duty.]
You've never been my burden. You're the only thing that keeps me steady. [Joshua sighs, soft, and tells at least one truth:] I would be lost without you.
[ No, he thinks. No, no, no. He shakes his head, and feels tears sting at the corner of his eyes as he remembers the aftermath of that night, the fits of rage that he went though, how he screamed and screamed and screamed at the Undying not to touch Joshua, that he'd change his brother's bandages himself, for them to choose between leaving the two of them alone or killing him.
They did neither. Clive was kept locked in a room for his own safety until Joshua woke, and Clive knows that Uncle Byron must have told Joshua about it at some point: "oh, there was so much darkness in your brother while you were asleep. He was in pieces, you know. For a good while. Though he did his level best not to let it show when he was finally permitted near you."
Clive feels fifteen again. On the verge of failing Joshua again, when he hears I would be lost without you. He wants to take his brother's face in both palms and kiss him breathless. He wants to hold him close and feel his pulse against his skin. He wants to save Joshua, and hold Joshua, and keep him from everything that would ever look at him with ill intent.
Despicable. But he can't stop himself from acting on a fraction of his unspeakable desires, and so his hands settle on either side of Joshua's blisteringly beautiful face. Gently, with enough give that he could slip away easily if he wishes to. ]
And I'm telling you to let me bear all of this for you. So that you never feel lost again.
[How could he refuse anything Clive says, said like that? With that emotion in his voice, with something that might almost be tears in his eyes. With his gentle touch, palms on Joshua’s cheeks, so tender despite the strength that Joshua knows those hands contain. As if he could never, would never hurt Joshua - something that Joshua wholeheartedly believes to be true.
One of Joshua’s hands comes up, covering Clive’s, holding it there gently.]
If you wish to bear my burdens, you must let me care for you in return.
[The truth is, he can’t stop Clive from continuing to do what he’s done for years: cutting himself to the bone to protect Rosaria, to keep them safe and free so that Joshua might take the throne. It’s Ifrit, it’s Clive, who’s really done it all.
And everyone around them has been content to let it happen. To use Clive’s strength, with little care for Clive himself. Joshua should have done more to stop it, he knows. He shouldn’t be allowing it now. Clive deserves better.
But Joshua can’t ask his brother to stop if it’s truly what he wants. Rosaria needs him, and Joshua needs him even more desperately. Clive is one of the few he truly feels safe with, one of the few he trusts implicitly. What he can do is insist on this. This, if nothing else.]
Let me heal you when you’re hurt. Come to me when you need rest, or - or comfort.
[It can be excused as brotherly affection, perhaps, when Joshua turns his head just a bit, just enough to press his lips to Clive’s palm. He tells himself that, wanting to believe it, though he knows by the rhythm of his heart in his chest that it isn’t true.]
[ Clive wants desperately to believe that he would never, ever harm Joshua, not under threat of death; he wants to believe that he says "never" and means it. But he feels his brother's hand rest over his, feels his soft lips brush his hard palm, and hears the word comfort, and it's all Clive can do to stop himself from leaning in and kissing the word out of Joshua's mouth. Comfort. Clive has never wanted anything more.
His pulse quickens. He's sure Joshua can feel it from where they touch. Like bellows to a fire, Clive can feel his heart heat in his chest.
"If you knew how I look at you, you wouldn't say those things to me." Clive thinks to say it, but the words catch in the back of his throat. ]
Joshua.
[ A chide or a plea, he doesn't even know. His thumb grazes under Joshua's eye, along the peak of his cheekbone. He's so warm; the Phoenix, incarnate. Life and rebirth. Clive's entire world.
He stills for a moment, then breathes through his teeth. He really can't deny Joshua anything. ]
...If that will put your mind at ease. You're the only one I can trust myself with.
[It's hard to think when Clive touches him like that. Hard to think of anything but wanting more of it, though he knows he shouldn't, knows he can't. Clive is his brother, and Clive trusts him. He has to get control of himself, or he'll do something that might shatter that trust. And that's the one thing Joshua knows he couldn't take.
Anything else would be survivable. He's already lost his parents and his last chance to have anything like a peaceful childhood. He could lose his throne, lose his kingdom, and he thinks that he would find a way to carry on, to keep fighting.
But he can't lose Clive. Not to battle - something he fears constantly, for all that he childishly also believes Clive could never lose - but to his own actions. Joshua could so easily misstep, do something stupid and selfish that would drive Clive away. He knows it. Clive would forgive him nearly anything, but how could Clive forgive him something like that?
Still, he can't make himself pull away. Unconsciously, against what should be his better judgement, Joshua leans into Clive's touch.]
It's all I ask for. I hate the thought of you getting hurt for me. I know it's happened - probably more than I think - but if I had my way, no one would ever touch you again.
[Joshua tries not to put that in any context but battle. Anything else is too much - too upsetting to think about. He wants Clive to be happy, he does, but there's a reason he's steadfastly refused to ever listen to rumors, ever to ask about whether his brother has taken lovers.
He doesn't want to know. He doesn't ever want to know.]
[ He can't. This can't go on. The more Joshua lists closer, allows Clive to toe the line, the more Clive will become inclined, at Sanbreque, to start a diplomatic incident if anyone so much as looks at Joshua with heat in their eyes.
Ifrit trills under Clive's skin, mirroring his want, his elation at being granted even a sliver of Joshua's possessiveness. ]
No one's touch has ever mattered to me but yours, [ is uncalculated, stated before Clive can stop himself. The palms bracketing Joshua's face hold with more purpose; he wishes he could make Joshua understand the depth of his feeling, how inextricable it is from Clive's fundamental being. ] I belong to you.
[ Too intense to be a declaration by a subject to his liege. Clive knows it, but he can't take it back-- he finally, finally slides his hands off of his brother, and gives him more space to breathe. ]
...I won't go anywhere, Joshua. I'm fine, so... [ A paltry attempt at finding equilibrium. Clive tries for a smile, and squeezes the crest of Joshua's knee. ] ...We should rest. It's been an age since we shared a bed.
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But Clive would rather Joshua not fight at all unless absolutely necessary, and he definitely wants to avoid a situation in which Joshua would have to prime, semi or no. Over the years, he's found that the Eikon's curse doesn't affect himself the way it affects Joshua― despite all the times he's let Ifrit out of his cage, the worst Clive has suffered for it is a full-body soreness the next day. No creeping threat of turning to stone, no seizing of the heart. It's reinforced the idea that he was born to fight on Joshua's behalf, to be the sword that won't shatter in his brother's hands.
Which makes it easy for Clive to pull a few stories out of his pocket to tell Joshua as they travel. He starts one― "well, there was the time I accidentally slid off a ledge and fell right on top of a coeurl"― and follows it up with another, each of them blisteringly true, and without boasting or embellishment. He's always liked the way his brother lights up at a good story, and so, towards the tail end of his latest story, Clive reminds himself to buy a few books for Joshua when they reach Oriflamme.
The first leg of their journey goes by without incident. Easy conversation, unchallenging roads. It's when they get closer to the border of Sanbreque that Clive senses something stirring in the thickets ahead of them, which prompts him to stop Ambrosia and hop off of her back, sword drawn. ]
―Bandits, [ he guesses. ] Stay here, Joshua. I'll take care of it.
[ In his urgency, he forgets to call Joshua by his title; at the end of the day, what Clive holds dear is his brother, and not the Archduke of Rosaria. ]
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It makes the time pass quickly and pleasantly. Though they aren't alone, there are fewer eyes on them here than in Rosalith, which means Joshua can relax a little. But perhaps he relaxes a bit too much - until Clive dismounts, he doesn't even notice the looming threat.
He doesn't correct Clive, though he does notice the slip. Notices, and tucks it away in his heart. He treasures the moments when he can be just Joshua to Clive. It sounds sweeter from his lips than anyone's.
It's a fleeting thought, one he can't linger on. He dismounts as well, wanting to be free to fight if it comes to that, though he does hang back as Clive instructed.]
Be careful.
[He's not concerned, exactly - he fully believes in Clive's skill - but as much as he likes to see Clive fight, Joshua can't stand to see him hurt. He gestures for the two guards to accompany Clive, not wanting him to have to handle this alone. Even if it's just bandits, who will likely flee the moment they realize who they're facing, Joshua doesn't want Clive to be too much at risk.
He knows he shouldn't feel that way. This is Clive's role, one that he embraces, one that he's very good at. Joshua should only be pleased that he's so dedicated, not worried over his safety. But he can't help it. He'll never be able to see Clive as just a subject.]
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No pleasantries, on Clive's part. ] Show yourself, [ he calls into the dim, walking a straight path towards tall grass and the cover of a shroud of trees. ] I won't ask twice.
[ Routine, he thinks. Not even worth using the blessing of the Phoenix to fend off, most likely. Invictus gleams in the fading light, held by Clive's side―
―and quickly arcs up to block a sudden attack by a creature far bigger than any roadside bandit ought to be. Caught off-guard, Clive grits his teeth against the onslaught and feels his balance shift; his arm momentarily goes numb, and he curses under his breath when his assailant― an orc? but why would a Waloeder beastman be all the way in Rosarian territory?― swings one thick leg up and kicks Clive flat against the nearest tree.
Bones creak under his armor. Anger and shame make Clive see red; careless, his mind hisses. He should have been prepared for anything. ]
―Protect Joshua! [ He calls out to the two guards, who are clearly as stunned to see an orc in Rosarian wetlands as Clive is. They regroup when spoken to, and hastily make to surround Joshua while Clive stands off against the hulking creature.
Creatures, plural. One warrior, and one spellcaster. Nothing Clive hasn't handled before, but his enemies have gotten a head start: Clive can feel pain shooting through his arm and up his side after every swing and parry, dulling his speed and prolonging what should have been a quick battle. He makes short work of the mage, but the remaining beastman warrior closes in on him, giving Clive more trouble than he'd wanted. ]
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It will never sit entirely well with Joshua, that truth. He has a softer heart than he ought to, and fundamentally doesn't believe there is anything about him that matters more than anyone else. But that's not the world they live in, a world where he could have a quiet life, where he could do whatever he pleased. This world is harsher, and he holds a position that means he has to be very careful what he does and when.
Though when it comes to mean something like this - Clive in danger, unable to help him - it doesn't seem worth it. Even the guards, though they're merely doing as they ought, frustrate Joshua. They should be helping Clive, fighting at his side in the way Joshua can't. Instead he must stay back, must simply watch, and be alert for any other enemies.
He does manage it, nearly. But Joshua has been watching Clive fight for too long not to see the way he labors, the brief hesitation as he works through pain.]
He's injured.
[It's not an order, not even an observation - it's a sharp warning to the men guarding him, a brief caution so that they aren't so startled when he steps forward, when he summons the Phoenix's power. Just for a moment, just long enough to hurl fire at the creature - to distract it, if nothing else. To give Clive an opening.
Joshua wants to unsheathe his sword, to rush forward. He doesn't, but his hand is on the hilt of his sword as the guards surround him again, obeying their commander, putting themselves between their lord and the evident danger. He barely notices, all his attention on Clive.]
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It's the opening Clive needs. He braces his feet on uneven marsh, willing himself to keep his balance in all this mud, then kicks forward and swings his blade, aiming for the creature's outstretched neck. He feels the tip of his blade catch against hard skin, dig inwards, then slash sideways; a clean cut across the throat is what finally brings the orc down, its blood staining dirty bogwater.
Clive pants, coughs, and lingers where he stands to make sure that that was the last of it. When he senses no other hostiles, he breathes through his teeth in a hoarse, harsh hiss, and sheaths Invictus to return to Joshua's side.
His head is bowed low. ] ―Your Grace. I've cleared your path. [ Shame and anger still claw up the back of his throat. ] Forgive me. I was unsightly.
[ This is their first mission, and the newly-appointed Lord Commander can't be made to look weak. It reflects poorly on Joshua, and Clive won't forgive himself if he does anything to jeopardize Joshua's station. ]
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[Hand falling from the hilt of his sword, he goes to Clive immediately. How could anyone not think Clive has done well, seeing him fight like that despite his injury? Taking on two enemies, skilled and powerful, by himself - and without calling on Ifrit's power.
Joshua looks at one of the guards.]
Check the area. Ensure that there are no more surprises. [And to the other:] Inspect their bodies. I don't think those are the sort of enemies one usually finds here.
[Joshua is sure that if Clive has decided the fighting is over, there are no more enemies about, but they have to be certain - and he knows that if he doesn't have the other men do these things, Clive will do them himself. He's done enough already, Joshua can see from the way he holds himself that he's in pain. He doesn't need to do these menial tasks as well.
He doesn't care if they see him fuss over Clive. He probably should, he knows, but right now there's no power in the world that could keep him from doing it. He doesn't even glance at the medic they brought along - talented, he's sure, but Clive is his Shield, so Joshua ought to be the one to care for him.
(He knows he shouldn't feel that unwholesome sort of possessiveness, but right now he doesn't care about that, either.)
Looking over Clive, Joshua can't hide the worry on his face.]
You're injured. Let me heal you.
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[ What is he, if he can't be strong for his brother? He'd sooner fill his own veins with poison than be a reason for Joshua to accumulate more of the Eikon's curse, so he tries for a half-smile that only barely skims its way onto his features. He is hurting, but it's nothing he hasn't dealt with before. ]
We're almost to the Bales. There'll be lodging for us there, and I'll tend to myself during the night.
[ He's acquainted with the owners of the cottage they've been given leave to use, and he trusts that they'll be left alone and in peace. An ideal place for Clive to lick his wounds, though he'll have to do it in Joshua's company― their accommodations aren't so spacious that it will allow them all to sleep in separate rooms.
It's agonizing, to make Joshua worry. Clive tries again to reassure with a smile, but it ends up looking more like a wince. ]
―At least let me posture a bit in front of the others.
[ A sigh and a wink, as he whistles for Ambrosia. He knows well enough that Joshua is obstinate when he wants to be, but he'd rather assuage his brother's mood when there aren't eyes on them. ]
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But he resists that haughty impulse. Since he was a child, Joshua has seen how Clive was treated differently from him. At first it was because he hadn’t inherited the Phoenix, setting him somehow below Joshua, even though he was the elder and (in Joshua’s eyes) entirely worthy of admiration. Their mother had made her feelings clear, and too many others fell in line.
Then it was because of Ifrit. Joshua doesn’t like to think of that night, but the effects ripple on even now. Too many voices wanted Clive’s head for something Joshua has never blamed him for, and even now he knows they whisper that Clive can’t be trusted, that he doesn’t deserve his title. Even after all he’s done for Rosaria.
All their lives, Clive has been treated like he mattered less than Joshua, like he was inherently less important, less treasured. But Joshua has never agreed. And perhaps that kept him from ever being too spoiled, too much of a little tyrant - his fierce belief that Clive deserved just as much as he did, even if he couldn’t make it reality.
So he’s always tried to be fair. He tries not to be imperious or selfish, tries to only ask Clive for things that must be done. Tries to never order him to do anything he doesn’t want to do. It’s not a burden. Clive is so loyal that, if anything, Joshua wishes he were more disobedient - more selfish.
So he takes a breath to settle himself, and he tucks his fear, his concern for his brother away. For now.]
Very well. But you must ride, and if anything else needs to be done, we send one of the men.
[And Clive will certainly not be tending to himself - but that’s a discussion they can have in private. He’s right about that. Joshua wants them all to see Clive being treated with respect, especially by him.]
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Because of him. It makes Clive ache to think of it. If he'd done his duties as a Shield, if his first prime hadn't been such a failure, maybe the others would have allowed the both of them to act more honestly with each other instead of seeing them as monster and handler.
They're thoughts he's turned over in his head a thousand times over, and thoughts he continues to mull over as they ride, this time with Clive and one of the guards taking up the front, with Joshua in the center followed by the remaining soldier and the medic. He listens to the man next to him report in about the beastman wearing Waloeder colors, and instructs him to send word back to Rosalith Castle about the abnormal presence near their borders; when asked if they should cancel the diplomatic mission to Sanbreque in favor of investigating this anomaly, Clive tells him that he'll speak to the Archduke about it when they retire to their quarters tonight.
They reach the Bales just before the sun sets completely. A friendly Sanbrequian who speaks with a thick Rosarian accent sees the traveling party to their accommodations, where Joshua and Clive are shown into the master bedroom. It's a simple layout, sparsely furnished, with one queen-sized bed and a divan against the wall that Clive thinks he can manage to curl onto; "apologies, my Lord, for the lack of space", the friendly Sanbrequian murmurs, then leaves the two of them to their rest.
An extended sigh later, Clive turns to Joshua. ]
...An auspicious start to our journey, [ is a self-deprecating joke. ] Are you tired?
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[It’s not entirely true. Joshua isn’t used to riding for this far or this long, so he is tired and a little sore. But it’s not so bad that he can’t handle it - he’ll just sleep very well tonight and be a bit stiff in the morning, he thinks. He doesn’t intend to give Clive another reason to worry over him.
He’ll be doing all the worrying this evening, thank you.]
Sit down. Let me see what’s happened to you.
[Joshua gestures Clive towards the bed, while he rummages among their luggage to find the poultices and bandages he knows they brought. Really, he intends to cajole Clive into letting Joshua heal him, but in case it doesn’t work, at least he’ll have something to make do with.
He’s calmed down a little thanks to the rest of their ride, but his concern hasn’t faded. He’s worried about the men who attacked them, what that means for Rosaria, what he ought to do - but right now, Clive is at the front of his mind. Clive was hurt protecting him. He knows it’s Clive’s duty, and that Clive seems satisfied doing it. And Joshua can’t deny that there’s some spoiled, selfish part of himself that likes that too, that thrills at Clive wanting to protect him, fighting for him.
But even so, especially so, Joshua always wants to be the one to care for him. Another selfish impulse that he so often can’t indulge that feels all the more important when Clive was hurt because of him.
Finding the supplies, he dumps the bag on the divan. Of course Clive is going to share the bed with him. Joshua hasn’t even considered the possibility of anything else.]
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－intimate. One-sidedly, Clive knows. Especially since the offer is being extended with the best of intentions, telegraphing concern over Clive (and nothing but concern) despite the fact that Clive is the one who has unduly troubled Joshua with his incompetence. On their first day, no less.
It humbles him. So he doesn't push back, and lets his weight settle on the mattress as he moves to strip off his layers for Joshua's scrutiny. Armor first, followed by crimson and black leathers, until there's nothing left but his trousers.
Clive doesn't allow himself to think anything of his bareness. Instead, he shows Joshua the state of him: the dark, expansive purple-yellow bruise in the shape of an orc's foot spreading from the side of his chest down to nearly his navel, and a slight swelling of his right arm, at the elbow. Sprained, possibly. Most of the damage is internal－ there are no cuts or open wounds to speak of― but they're ugly, unsightly things. ]
I've been through worse, [ he offers. He knows it's no consolation, but he'd prefer to say it regardless. ]
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Clive.
[He reaches out, doesn't quite touch him. Afraid even the slightest touch would hurt, and it probably would. Joshua has learned a little of medicine, and of how the human body works - partly just because he's curious about nearly everything, but mostly because he wants to know when a wound is dire enough that the Phoenix's magic is needed. He's grown since he was a boy, wanting to take away every hurt he could. He tries to only use it when necessary.
He knows it probably isn't now. With time and care, Clive will heal on his own. But Joshua's heart hurts at what's been done to him. Broken ribs, almost certainly. That will make it painful to move, and the arm will make it painful to do nearly anything else.]
Let me heal you. Please. It will only take a moment.
[The Phoenix is warm in his chest - or perhaps it's just his chest that's warm. He realizes, abruptly, that he hasn't seen Clive like this in a long time. They don't undress in front of one another, there's no reason to, at their ages it would be inappropriate.
This isn't inappropriate. It's necessary. But suddenly it feels like it might be both, and Joshua's eyes skim across Clive's shoulders, his chest, not looking at the injuries -
He closes his eyes for a moment. Let Clive think he's only horrified by the bruising, which is even true, really. It's shameful of him to think of anything else. When he opens them again, he's mostly steady.]
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Torn, Clive also flicks his gaze to the side, towards the nondescript wall of their small room. Logically, Joshua shouldn't. These wounds are nothing that patience and poultices can't fix, and his brother is tired, and the power of the Phoenix is sacred.
The problem is that his heart betrays him. He tries to remember when the last time his brother deigned to heal him was― when the last time he felt Joshua's warm fire seep through him was. Ifrit is an inferno, intense and destructive, but his brother's Eikon is an undulating wave of life-giving heat; ever since being given the blessing of the Phoenix, Clive has always liked the way the firebird felt in him. Steady and gentle, like a heartbeat.
He thinks of all the ways he could respond to Joshua's please. "You needn't trouble yourself with such things, Your Grace." "I haven't earned a moment of your blessing, Your Grace." "Your Grace is too kind, but he must rest."
All of them would be preferable to what he actually says, which is: ]
...As you wish, Joshua.
[ Because, at the end of the day, Clive is Joshua's. He turns towards his brother on the bed, utterly vulnerable and open, because Joshua is the only person he will ever trust with the full breadth of his soul. ]
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I like it when you call me by my name.
[When, for just a moment, he isn't the Archduke. He's just Joshua, Clive's brother, who adores him no less now than he did when they were small and all of this mattered less.
He reaches out, fingers just a hair away from brushing Clive's skin. He doesn't need to touch someone to heal them, so he doesn't touch Clive - not wanting to cause even a moment's pain. If there's a part of him that aches at being so close, he ignores it as well as he can.
The Phoenix comes easily. It always does now, as if Joshua's infrequent use of its power makes it all the more eager to show itself. Clive's efforts have kept him from having to prime for a long time, and since he's kept to the castle for so long, he's rarely even needed to draw on its lesser powers. Do eikons get restless? Whatever the reason, Joshua hardly has to think before that heat is flowing through him.
He does it right. He heals the bruised flesh, the cracked bone beneath it, the torn ligaments. He soothes away any small aches left behind, letting the Phoenix's warmth ease away the pain until there's nothing left. Until the damage is completely gone, and only then does Joshua touch Clive's skin, only for a moment. To be sure, that's all. To be certain he's done it right.]
Better, I hope?
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He opens eyes that he hadn't realized he'd held closed; he takes a deep breath, noting that it no longer hurts to fill his lungs with air, and lists, unconsciously, into the hand touching him.
Joshua, he calls out again in the safety of his mind. Joshua. ]
Better than when I started the day. [ Not quite accusatory－ "you did far more than you had to"― but verging on chiding. A don't-push-yourself. Still, he adds: ] ...Thank you.
[ To demonstrate, he flexes the previously-injured elbow and shows that his range of motion has been restored: it bends, stretches, and rotates without trouble. Once that's done, he deflates somewhat, posture rounding to something less austere.
He wonders if he should, if it's proper, but he curls forward and puts his forehead on Joshua's shoulder anyway. A light settling, which he'll relinquish immediately if he senses any discomfort. ]
I made you look weak. It won't happen again.
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You fought well - you defeated them both yourself. There's nothing weak about that.
[Clive didn't make either of them look weak, Joshua thinks. Tales will spread, certainly, because all the men love to talk - and fighting creatures like that is worthy of a tale or two. Coming away with only the injuries he did is more than most could hope to manage. They were all safe because of him.
But -]
Even if you had, it doesn't matter. You don't have to be perfect, Clive. You don't.
[Joshua knows it feels like that, for both of them. He has to be the perfect Archduke, showing no weakness that Rosaria's enemies could exploit. Clive has to be the perfect Lord Commander, feared and admired for his skill. It feels like if either of them falter, everything might come apart around them. Joshua knows the feeling well, it's what makes it hard for him to sleep at night.
But he can't watch Clive blame himself for something like this. Clive has fought so hard, for so long. He's done it all for Rosaria, and Rosaria doesn't appreciate him properly. But he's done it for Joshua, too, and Joshua has promised himself to always appreciate Clive properly. To give him everything possible, everything he deserves.
And if that's a place where he can be less than perfect sometimes, and not bleed for it, Joshua will fight for that.]
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Joshua has always been kind. It's what makes him so beloved, and it's what makes him so strong, and it's what Clive loves so deeply about him. Because he does: he loves Joshua. As his liege, as his brother, as―
―he cuts his thoughts off, and shakes his head. ]
I have to be. [ Quietly, but firmly. ] ...I've already lost you once due to carelessness, Joshua.
[ Lost, in the sense that he thought he'd lost Joshua. Close his eyes, and he can still remember scrabbling towards his brother's limp body, screaming and wailing and crying while the Undying held him back and away. Pleading for help, pleading to die. Ten years ago to this day, and it still haunts him. ]
I won't chance it again. Never.
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But he also knows it isn't just that. He never gets to be this close to Clive. Never gets to hold him. The brush of his fingers on bare skin reminds him that Clive isn't wearing a shirt - but Joshua hasn't forgotten that for a moment, not really. If he feels warmer, it's all right. If his cheeks flush, Clive isn't looking at his face, so it's -
Not safe. But he doesn't let go.]
You've protected me all this time. I don't want you to carry that guilt forever.
[He remembers that night. He tries not to - sometimes he has nightmares about it still - but he does remember. But he never thinks of Ifrit as Clive, not that night. Clive didn't have any control, didn't know what he was doing. How could Joshua blame him? When he woke afterwards, still in pain, still terrified, alive only thanks to the Phoenix, it was Clive's name he called.]
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It's wretched. He knows what it is, and he knows what to name the pangs of pain he feels whenever the Rosarian court titters at the subject of potential unions for his brother. Jealousy, need, and something else with far worse consequences. Even now, Clive can't bring himself to tear away.]
I'm the reason you need to be protected, Joshua.
[ He lifts his head, and is aware, now, of how close their faces are. Joshua is cast in moonlight, long lashes framing brilliant eyes, perfect brows furrowed in concern. Clive almost holds his breath, his brother is so beautiful.
Instead, he grits his teeth. Grimaces, not at Joshua but himself. ]
I became your burden. [ His voice cracks towards the end; he's replayed this moment so many times that he can recite it by memory. ] I forced you into a prime that you weren't ready for. All because of me, and what I said to you that night.
[ "You must do your duty." "You have to keep Father safe." How could he have said that? Joshua was only ten years old－ a child. He'd done the same thing to his brother as all the others did, as their mother did. He should have told Joshua that it was fine to run. That he should be protected. That he could hide if he needed. ]
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He's letting his imagination run away from him, surely. Seeing what the deepest, worst parts of him want so badly to see. But for a moment it feels almost real, for a moment he's teetering on the precipice of something terrifying. Even so, he doesn't let go of Clive.
His heart is beating hard, but he still hears every word Clive says. He hears it, and shakes his head. Recovering himself, a little.]
You didn't force me into anything.
[Joshua speaks quietly, but with emotion. It breaks his heart to know that Clive has carried this guilt for so long.]
I've been raised knowing my duty since I was born. I am meant to be Rosaria's protector - I was frightened, but I would have tried regardless.
[Of course Clive's words mattered to him. Everything Clive has ever said to him matters. But they can't be weighed more heavily than ten years of Anabella raising him to know what he was meant for, ten years of Elwin impressing his duty upon him, ten years of expectation. Frightened or not, uncertain or not, Joshua would have tried to do that duty.]
You've never been my burden. You're the only thing that keeps me steady. [Joshua sighs, soft, and tells at least one truth:] I would be lost without you.
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They did neither. Clive was kept locked in a room for his own safety until Joshua woke, and Clive knows that Uncle Byron must have told Joshua about it at some point: "oh, there was so much darkness in your brother while you were asleep. He was in pieces, you know. For a good while. Though he did his level best not to let it show when he was finally permitted near you."
Clive feels fifteen again. On the verge of failing Joshua again, when he hears I would be lost without you. He wants to take his brother's face in both palms and kiss him breathless. He wants to hold him close and feel his pulse against his skin. He wants to save Joshua, and hold Joshua, and keep him from everything that would ever look at him with ill intent.
Despicable. But he can't stop himself from acting on a fraction of his unspeakable desires, and so his hands settle on either side of Joshua's blisteringly beautiful face. Gently, with enough give that he could slip away easily if he wishes to. ]
And I'm telling you to let me bear all of this for you. So that you never feel lost again.
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One of Joshua’s hands comes up, covering Clive’s, holding it there gently.]
If you wish to bear my burdens, you must let me care for you in return.
[The truth is, he can’t stop Clive from continuing to do what he’s done for years: cutting himself to the bone to protect Rosaria, to keep them safe and free so that Joshua might take the throne. It’s Ifrit, it’s Clive, who’s really done it all.
And everyone around them has been content to let it happen. To use Clive’s strength, with little care for Clive himself. Joshua should have done more to stop it, he knows. He shouldn’t be allowing it now. Clive deserves better.
But Joshua can’t ask his brother to stop if it’s truly what he wants. Rosaria needs him, and Joshua needs him even more desperately. Clive is one of the few he truly feels safe with, one of the few he trusts implicitly. What he can do is insist on this. This, if nothing else.]
Let me heal you when you’re hurt. Come to me when you need rest, or - or comfort.
[It can be excused as brotherly affection, perhaps, when Joshua turns his head just a bit, just enough to press his lips to Clive’s palm. He tells himself that, wanting to believe it, though he knows by the rhythm of his heart in his chest that it isn’t true.]
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His pulse quickens. He's sure Joshua can feel it from where they touch. Like bellows to a fire, Clive can feel his heart heat in his chest.
"If you knew how I look at you, you wouldn't say those things to me." Clive thinks to say it, but the words catch in the back of his throat. ]
Joshua.
[ A chide or a plea, he doesn't even know. His thumb grazes under Joshua's eye, along the peak of his cheekbone. He's so warm; the Phoenix, incarnate. Life and rebirth. Clive's entire world.
He stills for a moment, then breathes through his teeth. He really can't deny Joshua anything. ]
...If that will put your mind at ease. You're the only one I can trust myself with.
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Anything else would be survivable. He's already lost his parents and his last chance to have anything like a peaceful childhood. He could lose his throne, lose his kingdom, and he thinks that he would find a way to carry on, to keep fighting.
But he can't lose Clive. Not to battle - something he fears constantly, for all that he childishly also believes Clive could never lose - but to his own actions. Joshua could so easily misstep, do something stupid and selfish that would drive Clive away. He knows it. Clive would forgive him nearly anything, but how could Clive forgive him something like that?
Still, he can't make himself pull away. Unconsciously, against what should be his better judgement, Joshua leans into Clive's touch.]
It's all I ask for. I hate the thought of you getting hurt for me. I know it's happened - probably more than I think - but if I had my way, no one would ever touch you again.
[Joshua tries not to put that in any context but battle. Anything else is too much - too upsetting to think about. He wants Clive to be happy, he does, but there's a reason he's steadfastly refused to ever listen to rumors, ever to ask about whether his brother has taken lovers.
He doesn't want to know. He doesn't ever want to know.]
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Ifrit trills under Clive's skin, mirroring his want, his elation at being granted even a sliver of Joshua's possessiveness. ]
No one's touch has ever mattered to me but yours, [ is uncalculated, stated before Clive can stop himself. The palms bracketing Joshua's face hold with more purpose; he wishes he could make Joshua understand the depth of his feeling, how inextricable it is from Clive's fundamental being. ] I belong to you.
[ Too intense to be a declaration by a subject to his liege. Clive knows it, but he can't take it back-- he finally, finally slides his hands off of his brother, and gives him more space to breathe. ]
...I won't go anywhere, Joshua. I'm fine, so... [ A paltry attempt at finding equilibrium. Clive tries for a smile, and squeezes the crest of Joshua's knee. ] ...We should rest. It's been an age since we shared a bed.
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