[ 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.]
It's my duty to you, [ he replies, the faintest trace of a laugh in the way he exhales, ] to be impressive.
[ What use does Rosaria have for a dull sword? The point of Clive is to stay near Joshua and promise that anyone who dares contemplate harm upon him will be swiftly cleaved in two; he's indicated that tenfold today, on the training grounds, and some of the men who occupy higher spaces in the Sanbrequian army give Clive a wide berth as he walks a step and a half behind Joshua, deferring to his brother's lead as always.
Feared, not revered. Clive doesn't care. As long as the world adores Joshua, Clive can bear its hate. As long as Joshua loves him, nothing else matters.
So it's annoying, again, that they have to part yet again: they don't get too far before Sanbrequian officials swoop in like vultures to usher Joshua to his rightful place towards the head of the table, while Clive is similarly whisked away to occupy a space a handful of chairs away, a rosy-cheeked noblewoman to his right and a stern-faced general to his left. It makes Clive feel brittle to be corralled around like some animal, and worse still when he notices that the space around Joshua is filled with beautiful young men and women of his age, bright-eyed and eager to win his brother's favor.
The elite echelon of Sanbreque's nobility, no doubt. All of them looking at his brother as a marriage prospect, hoping to warm his bed at least once before Joshua leaves to return for Rosalith. Clive tears his focus away from the head of the table, keeping his expression staunchly neutral so as not to telegraph displeasure in the middle of a banquet meant to be celebrating the both of them. ]
[Joshua expected this, and it's part of his duty, part of what he was raised to do - smile and say the right things, avoid making enemies while also avoiding making any promises. He is a curious person, genuinely interested in learning things, which means he's an attentive listener. It makes him good at this sort of thing, normally.
But he doesn't immediately realize the point of it all. It doesn't take him that long - Joshua's not a fool, but he's also not used to that sort of attention. So much of the last ten years of his life have been spend at Rosalith, cooped up in the castle, studying to be Archduke. Books, treaties, letters - there were banquets, of course, and other affairs that he attended as the heir. He navigated them well enough, this isn't his first time. But the nobles of Rosaria are fewer, and children of the correct age few as well, and it was commonly understood that there was little chance he would marry until he ascended the throne.
In short, Joshua is used to politics and diplomacy and even charm. He isn't used to being flirted with.
It takes him longer than he'd like to admit to realize that's what's going on. In his defense, it's far more subtle than it might be in another setting - there are no garish displays, no obvious innuendos. Just interest that's a little too pointed, compliments that are a little too flattering.
He responds as best he can, staying neutral while trying to remain kind and avoid offending anyone, being careful not to offer any real encouragement. It makes him uncomfortable in a way that Clive's attention didn't. It feels false, and he knows it is - none of these people know him, none of them see him as anything more than a possible path to advancement.
But it's part of the game. One mentions Clive - 'and your brother too, of course, such handsome men Rosaria has sent us' - and Joshua can't help glancing down the table. If he's being approached like this, has Clive received such attention too? He can see the noblewoman next to Clive leaning in to say something to him, though of course Joshua can't hear it from his position.
He bites back a sigh. He had not thought of himself as a possessive person, before this, but when it comes to Clive, it seems he can't stop himself from feeling the sting of jealousy at the idea that some daring woman might wish to slip into his bed. He knows Clive wouldn't - he does - but he can't help how he feels.]
[ The men and women around Clive are a bit more daring: the elder Rosfield is a soldier, which many take to assume that he requires slightly less care than the younger Rosfield when it comes to manners, having been raised around men of bawdier inclinations. They speak of Ifrit's conquests, and the noblewoman beside him― a little flushed on wine and intrigue― laughs into her hand, then presses her soft body up against his side.
"I wouldn't mind being conquered by Ifrit, myself," she purrs. The table erupts into laughter, leaving Clive to sit stiffly, keeping himself in check so as not to do anything that might reflect poorly on Joshua. ]
...You jest, [ is his default reaction to most of the provocation. He'd never liked the cakes and ale when he was a child, and he likes them far less now, with more riding on how he consumes them.
Meanwhile, the men and women around Joshua glance back and forth between the siblings, then titter behind their own hands. "Come, Your Grace, you mustn't let your brother steal all the attention!", says a pretty young woman with auburn hair, and touches at Joshua's sleeve.
"A group of us are planning to retire to the salon after this, for some more private conversation and games... Perhaps you'd do us the kindness of joining?"
'Games'. There's intent there, expectant and eager. Clive can't hear the content of the conversation happening towards Joshua's end of the dinner table, but he sees how the young woman's finger grazes at his brother's sleeve; it shames him, how unbearable he finds it all. By all rights, this is what Joshua should be doing: speaking to others his own age, expanding his world beyond Clive.
Still. Clive thinks back to forevermore, and tries not to grit his teeth. This entire banquet-charade can't be over soon enough. ]
[Clive doesn't look like he's enjoying himself, Joshua can see that even with the distance between them. It isn't surprising - Clive has never flourished in these sorts of settings. When he has been required to attend events alongside Joshua, as his shield, he tended to linger close, to focus on his duty rather than using it as an opportunity to enjoy himself.
Joshua always felt rather guilty about that. He imagined that Clive was able to cut loose around his men, in more casual settings, but Joshua doesn't belong in those places and never will so long as he's the Archduke. He has always wanted to see Clive relax and enjoy himself, but he knows that events like these are simply not the sort of thing that suits him.
In this case, though, Joshua finds himself (selfishly, childishly) reassured. He isn't enjoying himself, and neither is Clive. They can be united in their discomfort, even if Joshua has to be much more careful to conceal it. Clive has a certain allowance of coldness, even rudeness, given his reputation in Sanbreque - Joshua certainly won't scold him for it. But he himself must smile, must make sweet excuses.]
I'm afraid we rode most of the length of Sanbreque today. I haven't the strength to join you - I'm already nearly falling asleep.
[He laughs, adds a gentle jest to make it softer.]
If you see me wavering, please catch me before I land in my soup.
[It's somewhat true, at least. They did ride a long way, and everything since their arrival has been tiring as well. But Joshua is in no danger of falling asleep at that table, too carefully alert and aware of every little danger. Which in this case means social traps, flirtations, and invitations that he has absolutely no desire to accept.
He does want to rest. But he wants a moment alone with Clive first - at least a moment. It feels like it's been days since they were able to talk freely, though Joshua knows it's been mere hours.]
[ The gaggle look disappointed, but it's obvious that they don't consider the refusal to join a rebuff; Joshua is a perfect gentleman about it, and it only makes the women more eager to spend time with him tomorrow, please, please. They promise tours of gardens and a secret spot where they can rest with a breathtaking view of the Mothercrystal, soft picnic cushions and warm, warm company.
Clive's portion of the table is less subtle. The more the men and women around them drink, the more risqué their questions get: as if he's some wild animal with a penchant for ravaging both maidens and young men alike. Clive bears it for as long as he can, remaining as neutral as he can manage for Joshua's sake－
－but he hits his limit during dessert, when the woman sitting next to him slides a hand along his thigh, and gets dangerously close to the space between his knees. His chair scrapes back, and he rises onto his feet with stern finality. ]
...Excuse my impoliteness. I think I've had too much to drink.
[ Without blaming his need to leave on his present company, he gets up and starts to walk towards Joshua's seat, ignoring the spread of murmurs behind him. None of the other guests seem particularly offended, which is the saving grace; the woman who caused the outburst looks pleased, even, and turns to her friend to boast: "who knew that the fearsome Dominant of Fire could be so shy? A sweet little schoolboy, isn't he."
It turns Clive's stomach. Still, he would never leave Joshua alone in this pit of vipers, so he takes his station a few yards away behind his brother's seat at the table, by the wall and in the shadow of a large tapestry hanging from floor to ceiling.
(He spies Dion laughing into his wineglass, with the young dragoon, Terence, whispering something hurriedly to him. Dion looks up, and gives Clive a wink.) ]
[Joshua doesn't know what happened at Clive's table, but he can see the ripples, Clive standing up, whispers and murmurs spreading, a little laughter. He's more concerned about Clive than anything - he's certain Sanbreque expects an amount of standoffishness from Clive, but he doesn't like what they might have done to provoke it.
Even so, having Clive closer to him is a sort of comfort. He's grown used to it. When Clive is at Rosalith, when he isn't facing one of the many threats that press on Rosaria's borders, he's almost always shadowing Joshua. At banquets, at negotiations, when welcoming visitors, Clive stays near him. It's remarked upon, sometimes, but no one really questions it. Everyone in Rosaria knows that Joshua nearly died once already, and that if anything happened to him now it would disrupt the precarious safety of their country.
So even if some of them fear Clive, they understand why he stays near, or think they do. And Joshua has never thought of it as anything but a comfort. He's safer when Clive is near, he feels more steady when Clive is near. He's happier, then, when Clive abandons his seat and takes a post behind Joshua. He doesn't care what the Sanbrequian nobles might think.
He says something noncommittal to the young nobles chasing his favor -]
My time may be quite spoken for tomorrow, I have the honor of meeting your Emperor. But the gardens do sound delightful -
[And then he looks back at Clive, trying to catch his eye, to give him a quick look of thanks. Though he knows Clive didn't come up there just for him, he doesn't care. Having him there helps.
The nobles clustered around Joshua at the table see him too, of course, and there's a bit of a murmur - scandalized, or delighted, it's hard to tell. But Clive is not so tempting a fruit as Joshua, at least not in that moment, so though he gets a lot of looks, no one approaches him yet.
Joshua hasn't rushed through his meal, not wanting to appear rude, but he wants it to be over. He wants to stop talking to these people, he wants them to stop looking at Clive, stop talking about him. He keeps a careful smile on his face, a welcoming expression, but the moment the dessert course is removed he feels a rush of relief.]
How pleasant you've all made this meal - I appreciate it deeply. But I ought to retire, before I can no longer keep my head up.
[ If Joshua finds a measure of comfort in having Clive near, the feeling is reciprocated in spades: being his brother's shadow has always suited Clive far better than being anywhere close to the limelight, and he can breathe easier for it despite the simmering undercurrent of dislike he feels for the gaggle of noblewomen and noblemen who speak at Joshua instead of trying, even for a second, to perceive him.
So. When Joshua announces that he wishes to retire, Clive is upon him before the others can get a word in edgewise. Hand extended, gaze calm. ]
I'll see you to your quarters, Your Grace.
[ Natural as anything, without inviting any debate. One or two of the other guests seem to want to say something, but the crown prince interrupts with his own quip about leaving the brothers Rosfield alone, for Greagor's sake－ "one doesn't wish to reek of desperation."
That does the trick. A quick bow to the rest of the room, and Clive motions for Joshua to lead him out and back into the quiet of the castle halls, where they pass portraits of past generations of Lesages alongside sprawling paintings of Bahamut taking wing.
It's only once they've made a good amount of distance between themselves and the ballroom that Clive finally breathes, tension furrowing the space between his brows. ]
...An ordeal. [ One that he doesn't look forward to enduring again, though the next day might bring with it even more of these unbearable diplomatic trials. A sigh, and he glances towards Joshua, naked concern in his eyes. ] ―They swooped upon you like vultures. Are you alright?
[ He can't afford to touch his brother until they reach the safety of closed doors, but still. His hand twitches by his side, wishing he could comb fingers through blond hair and soothe a palm over Joshua's cheek. ]
[It's such a relief just to be away from all of that, Joshua nearly laughs at the question. He stops himself, still careful - the halls are empty save for them and an occasional passing servant, but Joshua knows better to let down his guard until they're behind closed doors. But he can answer Clive, at least, when he's fairly sure no one's close enough to hear.]
I feel a bit like I've been pecked at by vultures, in fact. Or nibbled upon by a pack of very hungry rabbits.
[He wishes he could reach out, take Clive's hand. Just for a moment, just to feel something real.]
I knew that it would be... difficult here, but I suppose I didn't expect to it to be like that. Like each and every one of them think that if they can get me in - in bed, they'll win some sort of prize.
[But then, that's true, isn't it? Even a brief dalliance would give a noble Sanbrequian family leverage. All the better if someone could manufacture an infatuation - or worse, a pregnancy. And naturally, a marriage proposal would be the ultimate prize. Most of the nobles clustered around him were not of high enough rank to be considered if Rosaria simply wanted a political marriage (really, only Dion or one of the Emperor's siblings or their children come near the appropriate rank to wed an Archduke), but if they could manage to trick him into falling in love -
Well, Joshua knows of plenty of rulers throughout history who have made unwise marriages because they were in love. And he can't judge them, as he hopes to avoid marriage for exactly the same reason.
He can't even really blame the men and women flocking around him tonight. They want to rise in the world, and he's an obvious path. He might resent them a bit for thinking he's an easy target, that he would fall for such obvious social climbing, but he can't blame them. This is what their lives have revolved around since they were born, just as his has revolved around the Phoenix, Rosaria, the Archduke's throne.]
Were they awful to you?
[That's what he's more worried about, really. At least the nobles hounding him were reasonably pleasant about it. He knows Clive may not have received such consideration.]
They're not so harmless as rabbits, [ is a bit of a huff, though there's no ire to it: just dry exasperation, which he vents through his teeth. They wind themselves down another hall towards the innermost recesses of the castle, the safest and most fortified segment of it, occupied by a handful of large suites that are reserved for the most venerable guests of the Empire. Clive has no idea which room Joshua's been assigned to, as he was swiftly barred from joining the tour earlier, but defers to his brother to show him the way.
He's eager to be out of earshot, out of eyeshot. Though, after tonight's dinner, he's starkly aware of the possibility that someone might be bold enough to trespass－
－which means that sharing a bed with Joshua is out of the question. There will be no way to explain away naked bodies in sheets, which goes well and far beyond what is expected for a vassal and his liege, let alone brothers bound by blood. ]
I minded their prying eyes on you more than their wandering hands on me. [ Bluntly, because he has no need to hide that trespass from Joshua. Clive is his, and Joshua has the right to know if anyone has set their hands on what rightfully belongs to him. ] Beautiful as you are, I didn't relish the rabble lusting after you.
[ He could endure a pass at his cock by a drunk noblewoman; he would have found a blade to draw if the same had been done to Joshua. Let the Sanbrequian nobles dream of climbing the social ladder, or being given a fleeting glance; they were raised to chase. But not at the cost of Joshua's dignity, or his autonomy. Clive would never allow anyone to corner Joshua as if he was some animal to cage. Never again. Their mother did enough harm without yet another high-minded fool trying to reassert themselves in that now-empty space. ]
[Joshua certainly minds the thought of their hands on Clive. It angers him to think about - that they would force their attentions on him in that way, that they touched him without his permission. It's a bit of jealousy, too, possessiveness that someone dared touch what ought to be Joshua's. It's not wise to feel that way, but he can't help it.
He might hate Sanbreque. It doesn't matter. He can't let it affect these negotiations.]
I don't think lust came into it, much. They saw me as an opportunity, and an easy mark. But none of them touched me - not like that. [A breath, muttered:] How dare they.
[Joshua saves anything else for the moment when they've got a door between them and the rest of the world. Luckily, that time has nearly arrived.
His room is right in the middle, a suite fit for a visiting monarch. Finer than his rooms at home, really - Rosalith is a smaller castle, like Rosaria is a smaller country. The furnishings are lavish, bordering on garish in Joshua's opinion, but it's all meant to impress visitors with Sanbreque's wealth. All that he cares about right now is that he can shut the door, and lock it - though who knows who might have a key. Still, it's the best they can manage right now.]
I hate the thought of them with their hands on you. [He turns to Clive, lets himself be angry, just for a moment.] I wish we could burn this place.
[ White furnishings, white bedding, white flowers in crystalline vases. Joshua's suite has a beautiful view of the Mothercrystal towering over the breadth of Oriflamme, but Clive obstructs their view of it with a definitive drawing of curtains (also white), shielding the both of them from any amount of scrutiny from the outside world.
With that done, and the door shut and locked behind them, Clive can finally approach Joshua with the sort of urgency he wouldn't dare show in public. Four quick strides take him back in Joshua's orbit, with one ungloved hand outstretched to press itself against the jut of his brother's jaw.
And god, he'd been aching for the contact. Years and years of self-denial broken by one night of hedonistic indulgence, and now Clive crumbles under the weight of a single day without touch. It would be comical if not for the circumstances they're in. ]
―Joshua. I won't let myself be the reason for the failure of your mission. [ Thumbing just along the corner of Joshua's eye, Clive moves another half-step into his space. The assertion is sincerely meant; no matter what happens, this is his brother's first foray into public relations as Archduke of Rosaria, and no amount of offense will make Clive jeopardize it.
That said, he relaxes into Joshua's anger. An honest thing, so rare for Joshua to show. ]
Though you are still beautiful when you scowl. [ This time, his thumb swipes along the corner of Joshua's mouth. ] Come here.
[He goes to Clive, easily, immediately, crossing the slight distance between them with only a step. Joshua has wanted to touch him all day, has wished for it desperately since dinner. The sensation of Clive’s hands on his skin dampens his anger in a moment.
Joshua slides his arms around Clive, one hand settling at the back of his neck, brushing bare skin there. He knows they aren’t safe here, not really, but he can’t be without this. He’s grown so greedy, so quickly.]
I hate them for doing it, but - I wanted to touch you too.
[A soft, quick confession. He wanted Clive from the moment he saw him, the most eye-catching thing in that room. There will never be a world in which Joshua can kiss his brother in front of onlookers, but he wanted to so badly.
He can do it now, finally, and so he does.
It’s not an innocent peck. There’s need wrapped up with frustration, but more than that, relief. Here with Clive, Joshua is safe. For a moment, at least, he can have what he wants. So he presses his lips to Clive’s and kisses him properly - or at least as well as he’s able, given his still-limited experience.
Afterward, Joshua doesn’t move away. He is where he wants to be, for as long as Clive will allow it.]
The only good thing about this trip is that I get to see you all dressed up.
[Not that he doesn’t like Clive no matter what he wears - and it isn’t as if he goes about in rags, either. He is the Lord Commander, after all. But they so rarely have need of such fine clothing, and Joshua does appreciate the view.]
[ They've had decades to acclimate themselves to others' scrutiny, but the weight of it looms even heavier in foreign territory. It is a relief to be able to breathe easy in trusted and beloved company again, and Clive reciprocates the kiss by leaning inwards for one of his own, just as sweet as the one Joshua offered him. Open-mouthed, trading breath for breath.
There's still the understanding that they have no business pawing and clawing at each other like hungry animals with no sense. What they can't do in public, they shouldn't be doing at all. But the reality exists that it feels perfect to be pressed heartbeat against heartbeat with Joshua, tangled and close, and Clive smiles at the assertion that he was both wanted and admired by his most precious person. ]
As ever, it's for your benefit.
[ Both to keep up appearances, and to match colors with Joshua. They are, and will always be, a unified front. ]
And you―the Archduke's regalia suits you. [ Sliding one hand up the breadth of Joshua's back, tracing and appreciating his shape. The tailors have worked wonders with their father's clothes, modifying and updating them for Joshua to wear proudly. ] ...I declined accompanying you to your fittings for a reason, you know.
[ It would have been far too much to pine after Joshua when he was being fitted to wear the crown. A sullying of something sacred, Clive'd thought.
Look at him now, kissing Joshua in foreign territory with his palm splayed against the small of his brother's back. Unholy and unwise. Elwin would be so disappointed in him, he thinks. ]
[He wouldn't blame Clive. It would be boring to sit around, watching someone get measured and try on clothing. It had bored him more than a little, and he'd been the one doing it.
But it's reassuring to know that the end result is appealing. More than reassuring - especially since Joshua isn't interested in being appealing to anyone but Clive. He understands that he has to seem available in these courtly games, or else rumor will spread quickly, but that doesn't mean he needs to flirt in return.
Part of him thinks it wouldn't be so awful, really, to let people think that he has a lover at home that he won't betray. It wouldn't stop everyone, but it might make things a little more bearable. But Joshua knows that would lead to closer scrutiny, and while they can evade some attention with the obvious - Clive is his brother, no one's first assumption will be that they've crossed the line into something so sinful - there are surely some who might be willing to look too closely. He can't draw that sort of attention, not when they have a secret that could easily ruin them.]
I knew they were afraid of you, but I hate the way they're treating you. [Joshua raises a hand, touches Clive's cheek. Gentle, because Clive is precious to him.] I can't even do anything about it - they haven't overstepped the rules of diplomacy.
[Not even the unwanted touching, not really, as much as Joshua's anger sparks at the thought of it. There are plenty of men who would welcome such a thing, after all, and it's likely that those responsible even see it as a kindness. As if Clive might be lacking for attention.
Joshua doesn't think that's possible. In that, he can understand it, a little. Who could look at him and not want him?]
You could stay here, though. With me.
[There are plenty of reasons that's a terrible idea, and Joshua knows it. But he can't help but offer anyway.]
[ With Joshua still cradled in his arms, Clive walks them a few steps to the side, ever closer to the (generously-sized) canopied bed that sits primly against the far end of the room. Clive will have to help Joshua out of his finery before he even thinks to do anything untoward― even he's not audacious enough to ruin the Archduke's wardrobe－ but the slow journey is an indication that Clive wants Joshua to be far more comfortable than he currently is. ]
...You tempt me. You know I'd like nothing more.
[ A forward lean, to press his mouth against Joshua's jaw. Kissing pale, thin skin, but not with enough intent to bruise. ]
But, like you, I would hate how the Sanbrequians would treat you if they noted my absence from the barracks. [ Because, inevitably, the rabble will assume that the Brothers Rosfield are too paranoid to sleep apart from each other for even a night. ] They would underestimate you, and I won't have it.
[ As if any of them have even a fraction of Joshua's strength. His brother, the Phoenix. This castle could be cinders and ash if Joshua willed it; it's only by his grace and kindness that any of them are extended a chance at peace.
A sigh, and Clive pulls back enough to cradle Joshua's face again. Despite that soft exhale, he lets the corner of his lips hike into a smile. ]
Still. I'll stay for as long as I can. [ Terminally incapable of denying his brother anything. Joshua deserves a bit of spoiling, after having endured the events of the day. ] If it would please you.
[Joshua thinks they both deserve something for making it through their first day here - something to make the day a little less awful. He spent all of dinner wishing he could touch Clive. He isn’t going to give it up so easily now.]
It would please me.
[He knows, of course, that Clive can’t stay. He knew that when he offered it. But Joshua couldn’t help himself - he’s never had a night like the one they just shared. He’s never fallen asleep next to someone, woke to next to them. He’s wanted that, of course, idle imaginings that were never specific because he knew he could never have what he really wanted.
It still doesn’t feel quite real. Like it might disappear, like he might somehow lose this, lose Clive. It isn’t about doubting Clive - that’s something Joshua could never do. It’s more the impossibility of it all, all the reasons they both know they shouldn’t be doing this. But now that they have, Joshua knows he’ll never want anything else. No matter the danger.]
And you? [He tugs Clive back with him, just a little further, so that he can sit on the edge of the bed, Clive just between his knees] What would please you?
[Joshua’s anger has melted away easily in the face of Clive’s attention. It’s hard for him to feel anything negative when Clive is looking at him like that. But if anything, Clive is the one who ought to be spoiled - after all the insult he’s suffered today, and will surely suffer tomorrow.
At least there’s a cadre of Sanbrequian knights nursing their bruises tonight because of him.
Joshua looks up at his brother, reaching out as well, slim fingers resting on the ties of his all-too-tempting leathers.]
After all you’ve done for me today, my shield, I would gladly reward you.
[ Clive'd been bold the night prior, claiming that he'd take Joshua on Sanbrequian sheets. Simply, the logistics of doing something like that is a nightmare: never mind the fact that someone might find out, the maids in the morning would notice the state of the sheets if they managed to be reckless enough. Between the two of them, Clive truly believes that he's the one that has to temper their desires lest he bring ruin, and he feels that duty keenly now, with Joshua sitting and looking up at him through long, pale lashes.
He can't be greedy. The fact that Joshua has accepted how deep his desires really go should be enough.
Should be. It's hard to think of should when Joshua is speaking to him the way he is, with hands roaming over his body. Clive remains standing between his brother's knees, and reaches to slide his fingers along and under his chin. All those men and women clamoring for scraps at Joshua's table, and here Joshua is now, asking Clive what would please him. ]
...It would please Your Grace's shield, [ he finally says, ] to strip His Grace of his finery, and to have him be Joshua once more.
[ A knowing half-grin, more a quick quirk of his lips than anything else. With that, he finally settles into a kneel, still tucked between Joshua's thighs. ]
My Joshua. [ Low and warm, before he leans in for a kiss. Sometimes he thinks it a miracle that no one has seen his infatuation for Joshua for what it is, but he's had years of denying it to himself, he supposes. ]
[In truth, Clive is the one who must temper both of their desires - because Joshua won't. For all his clever mind and careful thinking, when Joshua chooses a course he commits himself to it fully. In his heart, there's no room for regret or hesitation. Now that he knows he can have Clive, he has no interest in holding back, even when he should know better.
He is greedy. He knows it. But Clive is all he wants, and Joshua would throw himself into fire for his brother. The possibility of Sanbrequian condemnation is not quite enough to give him pause - but he will, always and forever, be swayed by Clive's own desires. Including his self-restraint, if he is able to hold onto it where Joshua isn't.
He is swayed, though, immediately and utterly, by Clive's careful words.]
How shocked those knights you thrashed would be if they heard that silver tongue of yours.
[He says it so fondly. There was no chance Joshua would refuse, of course, but when Clive asks like that - Joshua would give him anything he asked for. Anything at all.
He kisses Clive, and when they part, rests his forehead against Clive's - just for a moment.]
That's what I want to be. [Quiet, only for him.] All I want to be.
[Joshua will never lay down his duty, of course, can never truly cease being the Archduke. But here, in these stolen moments, he can be something else. Something that eases just a bit of the burden from his shoulders.]
Those knights need only know 'Lord Commander Rosfield'. [ Forehead to forehead, breath against breath. ] 'Clive' is yours.
[ Just as 'Joshua' is Clive's. Neither of them are referred to so casually anymore: only Sir Wade calls the elder Rosfield by his first name on occasion, and only because everyone knows that Sir Wade has been with the brothers since the Night of Flames. Both of them have had to shed their childhood and their personhood quickly in order to serve, and so―
―this is their reprieve, as twisted and wicked as it might be. No one in the world will ever know what Joshua and Clive have had to endure to be where they are, and no one in the world will understand that it's this bond that they share that has allowed them to live through the unspeakable and unimaginable.
Clive smiles, and presses his lips briefly against the corner of Joshua's mouth one more time before he sets to work on the complicated clasps and ties keeping his brother's formalwear in place. It's a bit of a shame to tug the silks off of him when he looks so striking in them, but he can appreciate that the pomp and circumstance must get stifling after a while; it's nice to peel the layers off and liberate his brother from the weight of it all.
It's when he has his arms circled around Joshua's middle, undoing the last of the laces keeping the corset-like vest hugged tight to his brother's form, that he hears a knock at the door. One of the castle's handmaids, he presumes, by the meek way that her muffled voice sounds through the door.
"Your Grace? I apologize for the intrusion... I was told you would need help getting settled for the night."
Right. Everything Clive is doing now, servants usually take care of. It's not the work of a Lord Commander to get his Archduke ready for bed.
Under his breath, against Joshua's ear: ] ―Should I dismiss her, or should I hide?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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[ What use does Rosaria have for a dull sword? The point of Clive is to stay near Joshua and promise that anyone who dares contemplate harm upon him will be swiftly cleaved in two; he's indicated that tenfold today, on the training grounds, and some of the men who occupy higher spaces in the Sanbrequian army give Clive a wide berth as he walks a step and a half behind Joshua, deferring to his brother's lead as always.
Feared, not revered. Clive doesn't care. As long as the world adores Joshua, Clive can bear its hate. As long as Joshua loves him, nothing else matters.
So it's annoying, again, that they have to part yet again: they don't get too far before Sanbrequian officials swoop in like vultures to usher Joshua to his rightful place towards the head of the table, while Clive is similarly whisked away to occupy a space a handful of chairs away, a rosy-cheeked noblewoman to his right and a stern-faced general to his left. It makes Clive feel brittle to be corralled around like some animal, and worse still when he notices that the space around Joshua is filled with beautiful young men and women of his age, bright-eyed and eager to win his brother's favor.
The elite echelon of Sanbreque's nobility, no doubt. All of them looking at his brother as a marriage prospect, hoping to warm his bed at least once before Joshua leaves to return for Rosalith. Clive tears his focus away from the head of the table, keeping his expression staunchly neutral so as not to telegraph displeasure in the middle of a banquet meant to be celebrating the both of them. ]
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But he doesn't immediately realize the point of it all. It doesn't take him that long - Joshua's not a fool, but he's also not used to that sort of attention. So much of the last ten years of his life have been spend at Rosalith, cooped up in the castle, studying to be Archduke. Books, treaties, letters - there were banquets, of course, and other affairs that he attended as the heir. He navigated them well enough, this isn't his first time. But the nobles of Rosaria are fewer, and children of the correct age few as well, and it was commonly understood that there was little chance he would marry until he ascended the throne.
In short, Joshua is used to politics and diplomacy and even charm. He isn't used to being flirted with.
It takes him longer than he'd like to admit to realize that's what's going on. In his defense, it's far more subtle than it might be in another setting - there are no garish displays, no obvious innuendos. Just interest that's a little too pointed, compliments that are a little too flattering.
He responds as best he can, staying neutral while trying to remain kind and avoid offending anyone, being careful not to offer any real encouragement. It makes him uncomfortable in a way that Clive's attention didn't. It feels false, and he knows it is - none of these people know him, none of them see him as anything more than a possible path to advancement.
But it's part of the game. One mentions Clive - 'and your brother too, of course, such handsome men Rosaria has sent us' - and Joshua can't help glancing down the table. If he's being approached like this, has Clive received such attention too? He can see the noblewoman next to Clive leaning in to say something to him, though of course Joshua can't hear it from his position.
He bites back a sigh. He had not thought of himself as a possessive person, before this, but when it comes to Clive, it seems he can't stop himself from feeling the sting of jealousy at the idea that some daring woman might wish to slip into his bed. He knows Clive wouldn't - he does - but he can't help how he feels.]
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"I wouldn't mind being conquered by Ifrit, myself," she purrs. The table erupts into laughter, leaving Clive to sit stiffly, keeping himself in check so as not to do anything that might reflect poorly on Joshua. ]
...You jest, [ is his default reaction to most of the provocation. He'd never liked the cakes and ale when he was a child, and he likes them far less now, with more riding on how he consumes them.
Meanwhile, the men and women around Joshua glance back and forth between the siblings, then titter behind their own hands. "Come, Your Grace, you mustn't let your brother steal all the attention!", says a pretty young woman with auburn hair, and touches at Joshua's sleeve.
"A group of us are planning to retire to the salon after this, for some more private conversation and games... Perhaps you'd do us the kindness of joining?"
'Games'. There's intent there, expectant and eager. Clive can't hear the content of the conversation happening towards Joshua's end of the dinner table, but he sees how the young woman's finger grazes at his brother's sleeve; it shames him, how unbearable he finds it all. By all rights, this is what Joshua should be doing: speaking to others his own age, expanding his world beyond Clive.
Still. Clive thinks back to forevermore, and tries not to grit his teeth. This entire banquet-charade can't be over soon enough. ]
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Joshua always felt rather guilty about that. He imagined that Clive was able to cut loose around his men, in more casual settings, but Joshua doesn't belong in those places and never will so long as he's the Archduke. He has always wanted to see Clive relax and enjoy himself, but he knows that events like these are simply not the sort of thing that suits him.
In this case, though, Joshua finds himself (selfishly, childishly) reassured. He isn't enjoying himself, and neither is Clive. They can be united in their discomfort, even if Joshua has to be much more careful to conceal it. Clive has a certain allowance of coldness, even rudeness, given his reputation in Sanbreque - Joshua certainly won't scold him for it. But he himself must smile, must make sweet excuses.]
I'm afraid we rode most of the length of Sanbreque today. I haven't the strength to join you - I'm already nearly falling asleep.
[He laughs, adds a gentle jest to make it softer.]
If you see me wavering, please catch me before I land in my soup.
[It's somewhat true, at least. They did ride a long way, and everything since their arrival has been tiring as well. But Joshua is in no danger of falling asleep at that table, too carefully alert and aware of every little danger. Which in this case means social traps, flirtations, and invitations that he has absolutely no desire to accept.
He does want to rest. But he wants a moment alone with Clive first - at least a moment. It feels like it's been days since they were able to talk freely, though Joshua knows it's been mere hours.]
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Clive's portion of the table is less subtle. The more the men and women around them drink, the more risqué their questions get: as if he's some wild animal with a penchant for ravaging both maidens and young men alike. Clive bears it for as long as he can, remaining as neutral as he can manage for Joshua's sake－
－but he hits his limit during dessert, when the woman sitting next to him slides a hand along his thigh, and gets dangerously close to the space between his knees. His chair scrapes back, and he rises onto his feet with stern finality. ]
...Excuse my impoliteness. I think I've had too much to drink.
[ Without blaming his need to leave on his present company, he gets up and starts to walk towards Joshua's seat, ignoring the spread of murmurs behind him. None of the other guests seem particularly offended, which is the saving grace; the woman who caused the outburst looks pleased, even, and turns to her friend to boast: "who knew that the fearsome Dominant of Fire could be so shy? A sweet little schoolboy, isn't he."
It turns Clive's stomach. Still, he would never leave Joshua alone in this pit of vipers, so he takes his station a few yards away behind his brother's seat at the table, by the wall and in the shadow of a large tapestry hanging from floor to ceiling.
(He spies Dion laughing into his wineglass, with the young dragoon, Terence, whispering something hurriedly to him. Dion looks up, and gives Clive a wink.) ]
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Even so, having Clive closer to him is a sort of comfort. He's grown used to it. When Clive is at Rosalith, when he isn't facing one of the many threats that press on Rosaria's borders, he's almost always shadowing Joshua. At banquets, at negotiations, when welcoming visitors, Clive stays near him. It's remarked upon, sometimes, but no one really questions it. Everyone in Rosaria knows that Joshua nearly died once already, and that if anything happened to him now it would disrupt the precarious safety of their country.
So even if some of them fear Clive, they understand why he stays near, or think they do. And Joshua has never thought of it as anything but a comfort. He's safer when Clive is near, he feels more steady when Clive is near. He's happier, then, when Clive abandons his seat and takes a post behind Joshua. He doesn't care what the Sanbrequian nobles might think.
He says something noncommittal to the young nobles chasing his favor -]
My time may be quite spoken for tomorrow, I have the honor of meeting your Emperor. But the gardens do sound delightful -
[And then he looks back at Clive, trying to catch his eye, to give him a quick look of thanks. Though he knows Clive didn't come up there just for him, he doesn't care. Having him there helps.
The nobles clustered around Joshua at the table see him too, of course, and there's a bit of a murmur - scandalized, or delighted, it's hard to tell. But Clive is not so tempting a fruit as Joshua, at least not in that moment, so though he gets a lot of looks, no one approaches him yet.
Joshua hasn't rushed through his meal, not wanting to appear rude, but he wants it to be over. He wants to stop talking to these people, he wants them to stop looking at Clive, stop talking about him. He keeps a careful smile on his face, a welcoming expression, but the moment the dessert course is removed he feels a rush of relief.]
How pleasant you've all made this meal - I appreciate it deeply. But I ought to retire, before I can no longer keep my head up.
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So. When Joshua announces that he wishes to retire, Clive is upon him before the others can get a word in edgewise. Hand extended, gaze calm. ]
I'll see you to your quarters, Your Grace.
[ Natural as anything, without inviting any debate. One or two of the other guests seem to want to say something, but the crown prince interrupts with his own quip about leaving the brothers Rosfield alone, for Greagor's sake－ "one doesn't wish to reek of desperation."
That does the trick. A quick bow to the rest of the room, and Clive motions for Joshua to lead him out and back into the quiet of the castle halls, where they pass portraits of past generations of Lesages alongside sprawling paintings of Bahamut taking wing.
It's only once they've made a good amount of distance between themselves and the ballroom that Clive finally breathes, tension furrowing the space between his brows. ]
...An ordeal. [ One that he doesn't look forward to enduring again, though the next day might bring with it even more of these unbearable diplomatic trials. A sigh, and he glances towards Joshua, naked concern in his eyes. ] ―They swooped upon you like vultures. Are you alright?
[ He can't afford to touch his brother until they reach the safety of closed doors, but still. His hand twitches by his side, wishing he could comb fingers through blond hair and soothe a palm over Joshua's cheek. ]
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I feel a bit like I've been pecked at by vultures, in fact. Or nibbled upon by a pack of very hungry rabbits.
[He wishes he could reach out, take Clive's hand. Just for a moment, just to feel something real.]
I knew that it would be... difficult here, but I suppose I didn't expect to it to be like that. Like each and every one of them think that if they can get me in - in bed, they'll win some sort of prize.
[But then, that's true, isn't it? Even a brief dalliance would give a noble Sanbrequian family leverage. All the better if someone could manufacture an infatuation - or worse, a pregnancy. And naturally, a marriage proposal would be the ultimate prize. Most of the nobles clustered around him were not of high enough rank to be considered if Rosaria simply wanted a political marriage (really, only Dion or one of the Emperor's siblings or their children come near the appropriate rank to wed an Archduke), but if they could manage to trick him into falling in love -
Well, Joshua knows of plenty of rulers throughout history who have made unwise marriages because they were in love. And he can't judge them, as he hopes to avoid marriage for exactly the same reason.
He can't even really blame the men and women flocking around him tonight. They want to rise in the world, and he's an obvious path. He might resent them a bit for thinking he's an easy target, that he would fall for such obvious social climbing, but he can't blame them. This is what their lives have revolved around since they were born, just as his has revolved around the Phoenix, Rosaria, the Archduke's throne.]
Were they awful to you?
[That's what he's more worried about, really. At least the nobles hounding him were reasonably pleasant about it. He knows Clive may not have received such consideration.]
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He's eager to be out of earshot, out of eyeshot. Though, after tonight's dinner, he's starkly aware of the possibility that someone might be bold enough to trespass－
－which means that sharing a bed with Joshua is out of the question. There will be no way to explain away naked bodies in sheets, which goes well and far beyond what is expected for a vassal and his liege, let alone brothers bound by blood. ]
I minded their prying eyes on you more than their wandering hands on me. [ Bluntly, because he has no need to hide that trespass from Joshua. Clive is his, and Joshua has the right to know if anyone has set their hands on what rightfully belongs to him. ] Beautiful as you are, I didn't relish the rabble lusting after you.
[ He could endure a pass at his cock by a drunk noblewoman; he would have found a blade to draw if the same had been done to Joshua. Let the Sanbrequian nobles dream of climbing the social ladder, or being given a fleeting glance; they were raised to chase. But not at the cost of Joshua's dignity, or his autonomy. Clive would never allow anyone to corner Joshua as if he was some animal to cage. Never again. Their mother did enough harm without yet another high-minded fool trying to reassert themselves in that now-empty space. ]
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He might hate Sanbreque. It doesn't matter. He can't let it affect these negotiations.]
I don't think lust came into it, much. They saw me as an opportunity, and an easy mark. But none of them touched me - not like that. [A breath, muttered:] How dare they.
[Joshua saves anything else for the moment when they've got a door between them and the rest of the world. Luckily, that time has nearly arrived.
His room is right in the middle, a suite fit for a visiting monarch. Finer than his rooms at home, really - Rosalith is a smaller castle, like Rosaria is a smaller country. The furnishings are lavish, bordering on garish in Joshua's opinion, but it's all meant to impress visitors with Sanbreque's wealth. All that he cares about right now is that he can shut the door, and lock it - though who knows who might have a key. Still, it's the best they can manage right now.]
I hate the thought of them with their hands on you. [He turns to Clive, lets himself be angry, just for a moment.] I wish we could burn this place.
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With that done, and the door shut and locked behind them, Clive can finally approach Joshua with the sort of urgency he wouldn't dare show in public. Four quick strides take him back in Joshua's orbit, with one ungloved hand outstretched to press itself against the jut of his brother's jaw.
And god, he'd been aching for the contact. Years and years of self-denial broken by one night of hedonistic indulgence, and now Clive crumbles under the weight of a single day without touch. It would be comical if not for the circumstances they're in. ]
―Joshua. I won't let myself be the reason for the failure of your mission. [ Thumbing just along the corner of Joshua's eye, Clive moves another half-step into his space. The assertion is sincerely meant; no matter what happens, this is his brother's first foray into public relations as Archduke of Rosaria, and no amount of offense will make Clive jeopardize it.
That said, he relaxes into Joshua's anger. An honest thing, so rare for Joshua to show. ]
Though you are still beautiful when you scowl. [ This time, his thumb swipes along the corner of Joshua's mouth. ] Come here.
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Joshua slides his arms around Clive, one hand settling at the back of his neck, brushing bare skin there. He knows they aren’t safe here, not really, but he can’t be without this. He’s grown so greedy, so quickly.]
I hate them for doing it, but - I wanted to touch you too.
[A soft, quick confession. He wanted Clive from the moment he saw him, the most eye-catching thing in that room. There will never be a world in which Joshua can kiss his brother in front of onlookers, but he wanted to so badly.
He can do it now, finally, and so he does.
It’s not an innocent peck. There’s need wrapped up with frustration, but more than that, relief. Here with Clive, Joshua is safe. For a moment, at least, he can have what he wants. So he presses his lips to Clive’s and kisses him properly - or at least as well as he’s able, given his still-limited experience.
Afterward, Joshua doesn’t move away. He is where he wants to be, for as long as Clive will allow it.]
The only good thing about this trip is that I get to see you all dressed up.
[Not that he doesn’t like Clive no matter what he wears - and it isn’t as if he goes about in rags, either. He is the Lord Commander, after all. But they so rarely have need of such fine clothing, and Joshua does appreciate the view.]
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There's still the understanding that they have no business pawing and clawing at each other like hungry animals with no sense. What they can't do in public, they shouldn't be doing at all. But the reality exists that it feels perfect to be pressed heartbeat against heartbeat with Joshua, tangled and close, and Clive smiles at the assertion that he was both wanted and admired by his most precious person. ]
As ever, it's for your benefit.
[ Both to keep up appearances, and to match colors with Joshua. They are, and will always be, a unified front. ]
And you―the Archduke's regalia suits you. [ Sliding one hand up the breadth of Joshua's back, tracing and appreciating his shape. The tailors have worked wonders with their father's clothes, modifying and updating them for Joshua to wear proudly. ] ...I declined accompanying you to your fittings for a reason, you know.
[ It would have been far too much to pine after Joshua when he was being fitted to wear the crown. A sullying of something sacred, Clive'd thought.
Look at him now, kissing Joshua in foreign territory with his palm splayed against the small of his brother's back. Unholy and unwise. Elwin would be so disappointed in him, he thinks. ]
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I just thought that sort of thing bored you.
[He wouldn't blame Clive. It would be boring to sit around, watching someone get measured and try on clothing. It had bored him more than a little, and he'd been the one doing it.
But it's reassuring to know that the end result is appealing. More than reassuring - especially since Joshua isn't interested in being appealing to anyone but Clive. He understands that he has to seem available in these courtly games, or else rumor will spread quickly, but that doesn't mean he needs to flirt in return.
Part of him thinks it wouldn't be so awful, really, to let people think that he has a lover at home that he won't betray. It wouldn't stop everyone, but it might make things a little more bearable. But Joshua knows that would lead to closer scrutiny, and while they can evade some attention with the obvious - Clive is his brother, no one's first assumption will be that they've crossed the line into something so sinful - there are surely some who might be willing to look too closely. He can't draw that sort of attention, not when they have a secret that could easily ruin them.]
I knew they were afraid of you, but I hate the way they're treating you. [Joshua raises a hand, touches Clive's cheek. Gentle, because Clive is precious to him.] I can't even do anything about it - they haven't overstepped the rules of diplomacy.
[Not even the unwanted touching, not really, as much as Joshua's anger sparks at the thought of it. There are plenty of men who would welcome such a thing, after all, and it's likely that those responsible even see it as a kindness. As if Clive might be lacking for attention.
Joshua doesn't think that's possible. In that, he can understand it, a little. Who could look at him and not want him?]
You could stay here, though. With me.
[There are plenty of reasons that's a terrible idea, and Joshua knows it. But he can't help but offer anyway.]
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...You tempt me. You know I'd like nothing more.
[ A forward lean, to press his mouth against Joshua's jaw. Kissing pale, thin skin, but not with enough intent to bruise. ]
But, like you, I would hate how the Sanbrequians would treat you if they noted my absence from the barracks. [ Because, inevitably, the rabble will assume that the Brothers Rosfield are too paranoid to sleep apart from each other for even a night. ] They would underestimate you, and I won't have it.
[ As if any of them have even a fraction of Joshua's strength. His brother, the Phoenix. This castle could be cinders and ash if Joshua willed it; it's only by his grace and kindness that any of them are extended a chance at peace.
A sigh, and Clive pulls back enough to cradle Joshua's face again. Despite that soft exhale, he lets the corner of his lips hike into a smile. ]
Still. I'll stay for as long as I can. [ Terminally incapable of denying his brother anything. Joshua deserves a bit of spoiling, after having endured the events of the day. ] If it would please you.
[ Reverent words, but unmistakably a tease. ]
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It would please me.
[He knows, of course, that Clive can’t stay. He knew that when he offered it. But Joshua couldn’t help himself - he’s never had a night like the one they just shared. He’s never fallen asleep next to someone, woke to next to them. He’s wanted that, of course, idle imaginings that were never specific because he knew he could never have what he really wanted.
It still doesn’t feel quite real. Like it might disappear, like he might somehow lose this, lose Clive. It isn’t about doubting Clive - that’s something Joshua could never do. It’s more the impossibility of it all, all the reasons they both know they shouldn’t be doing this. But now that they have, Joshua knows he’ll never want anything else. No matter the danger.]
And you? [He tugs Clive back with him, just a little further, so that he can sit on the edge of the bed, Clive just between his knees] What would please you?
[Joshua’s anger has melted away easily in the face of Clive’s attention. It’s hard for him to feel anything negative when Clive is looking at him like that. But if anything, Clive is the one who ought to be spoiled - after all the insult he’s suffered today, and will surely suffer tomorrow.
At least there’s a cadre of Sanbrequian knights nursing their bruises tonight because of him.
Joshua looks up at his brother, reaching out as well, slim fingers resting on the ties of his all-too-tempting leathers.]
After all you’ve done for me today, my shield, I would gladly reward you.
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He can't be greedy. The fact that Joshua has accepted how deep his desires really go should be enough.
Should be. It's hard to think of should when Joshua is speaking to him the way he is, with hands roaming over his body. Clive remains standing between his brother's knees, and reaches to slide his fingers along and under his chin. All those men and women clamoring for scraps at Joshua's table, and here Joshua is now, asking Clive what would please him. ]
...It would please Your Grace's shield, [ he finally says, ] to strip His Grace of his finery, and to have him be Joshua once more.
[ A knowing half-grin, more a quick quirk of his lips than anything else. With that, he finally settles into a kneel, still tucked between Joshua's thighs. ]
My Joshua. [ Low and warm, before he leans in for a kiss. Sometimes he thinks it a miracle that no one has seen his infatuation for Joshua for what it is, but he's had years of denying it to himself, he supposes. ]
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He is greedy. He knows it. But Clive is all he wants, and Joshua would throw himself into fire for his brother. The possibility of Sanbrequian condemnation is not quite enough to give him pause - but he will, always and forever, be swayed by Clive's own desires. Including his self-restraint, if he is able to hold onto it where Joshua isn't.
He is swayed, though, immediately and utterly, by Clive's careful words.]
How shocked those knights you thrashed would be if they heard that silver tongue of yours.
[He says it so fondly. There was no chance Joshua would refuse, of course, but when Clive asks like that - Joshua would give him anything he asked for. Anything at all.
He kisses Clive, and when they part, rests his forehead against Clive's - just for a moment.]
That's what I want to be. [Quiet, only for him.] All I want to be.
[Joshua will never lay down his duty, of course, can never truly cease being the Archduke. But here, in these stolen moments, he can be something else. Something that eases just a bit of the burden from his shoulders.]
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[ Just as 'Joshua' is Clive's. Neither of them are referred to so casually anymore: only Sir Wade calls the elder Rosfield by his first name on occasion, and only because everyone knows that Sir Wade has been with the brothers since the Night of Flames. Both of them have had to shed their childhood and their personhood quickly in order to serve, and so―
―this is their reprieve, as twisted and wicked as it might be. No one in the world will ever know what Joshua and Clive have had to endure to be where they are, and no one in the world will understand that it's this bond that they share that has allowed them to live through the unspeakable and unimaginable.
Clive smiles, and presses his lips briefly against the corner of Joshua's mouth one more time before he sets to work on the complicated clasps and ties keeping his brother's formalwear in place. It's a bit of a shame to tug the silks off of him when he looks so striking in them, but he can appreciate that the pomp and circumstance must get stifling after a while; it's nice to peel the layers off and liberate his brother from the weight of it all.
It's when he has his arms circled around Joshua's middle, undoing the last of the laces keeping the corset-like vest hugged tight to his brother's form, that he hears a knock at the door. One of the castle's handmaids, he presumes, by the meek way that her muffled voice sounds through the door.
"Your Grace? I apologize for the intrusion... I was told you would need help getting settled for the night."
Right. Everything Clive is doing now, servants usually take care of. It's not the work of a Lord Commander to get his Archduke ready for bed.
Under his breath, against Joshua's ear: ] ―Should I dismiss her, or should I hide?
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