[Joshua doesn't have the strength to do more than slump against the wing of the chair, letting it keep him upright. He's breathing still, he's awake still. Asking more than that from his body seems impossible in this moment. But he never doubted, not for a moment, that Clive would do everything he could.
That's what frightens him most of all. If he dies, what will happen to Clive? Who would look after him, who would love him properly? Joshua can't give him everything he deserves, but he knows without a doubt that he loves Clive with a ferocity that no one else could ever match. How could he leave that, how could he possibly leave Clive alone in this awful place that hates him so?
His mouth opens under Clive's, all instinct, and the natural response of his body is to swallow the liquid, swallow or choke. He does choke, just a little, throat still raw and aching, but he manages to swallow most of it. Better that it be done that way - better that it happen as quickly as possible.
He can't feel it taking effect. His stomach still burns with poison, he still tastes blood every time he even tries to breathe. Joshua thinks, distantly, that if it were not for his eikon he would certainly have died in that dining room. There wouldn't have been time to get here, wouldn't have been time to find anything that might help.
When he has more energy, he might try to hate them for it, but right now all he can do is breathe.
It does help. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the pain eases a bit. His breath comes a little more easily, it's not such a struggle simply to keep from slipping into blackness. He takes in a deeper breath, trying to fill his lungs, and - he coughs, blood staining his lips, but it's nothing really, because the next breath is easier. Finally Joshua is able to lift his head a little, able to look up at his brother.]
I -
[He can't say that he's all right. It's clearly untrue, he's far from well, he can't stand, he can hardly speak, he's still in pain. But he can breathe. He isn't going to die. Not so easily, anyway.]
I'm here. [More steadily, this time, though still far from normal.] With you.
[ Clive can feel it again: the entire world crumbling under him. Madness seeps into his edges, alongside grief and terror. He transfers the antidote, and in his brother's blood, he can taste the acerbic sting of what must be poison.
(Blearily, he thinks of running his tongue over the red on Joshua's collar, of letting the same poison circulate through his own system if Joshua grows cold on this armchair. Either Clive saves his brother here, or he dies with him. Together, in all things.)
Despair numbs him. Even when he feels Joshua steady, the desperation doesn't wane. He looks down at Joshua, vision blurred, eyes wet; his hand is shaking as he presses it against his brother's cheek, steadies his jaw, feels for Joshua's pulse.
[ Blindly, he fumbles behind him for another antidote. Lesser, smaller. Against a poison so potent, Clive knows that the most it can do is stem its circulation without easing the pain, but he takes it into his mouth and presses it into Joshua's again, barely noticing how his tears drip onto his brother's skin.
He can't, he thinks. He can't. He can't lose Joshua again. For all that Clive has tried to become stronger, to do better, to be better, he's fifteen again with his brother's battered body in his arms, the same weak creature without the strength to save Joshua from the horrors of the world. Who is he, to call himself First Shield? What right does he have to live at all?
He pulls back, knelt in front of Joshua with the carcass of their traveling pack scattered around him. His fingers sift through gold hair, trying to soothe with trembling touch. ]
Joshua.
[ It's all Clive can think of to say. His brother, his reason for breathing. ]
[It comforts him, hearing Clive's voice. Those reassurances. He's always known that he's safe with Clive, but this is the first time he's had to trust it so completely. He could not take care of himself now if he wanted to. If Clive wasn't there -
If Clive wasn't there, Joshua would be dead. Dead, or so deeply unconscious he might as well be, and in a place like this that would almost certainly lead to his death anyway. But he's alive, he's breathing, he can - almost speak, even though he's still in pain, even though every breath aches. And Clive is here.
He's safe. He's safe.
He isn't getting any worse. His vision no longer fading in and out, he's no longer just barely clinging to consciousness. The antidotes are working. Joshua doesn't know how much damage the poison did, but it was strong and fast-acting. There's no doubt that someone wanted to kill him. He doesn't know who, but in Sanbreque, there are too many options. Too many reasons to want to kill the Rosarian Archduke, from political to personal.
They would have succeeded. Without the Phoenix, without Clive, Joshua would certainly be dead now. He doesn't have the energy to think about it right now, doesn't want to consider how close he came. He didn't. He's alive. In pain, weak, his body surely damaged - but alive.]
Are you - all right?
[He has to be sure. They could have tried to hurt Clive too - it would have been obvious by now, perhaps, but Joshua isn't exactly thinking clearly. His terror is subsiding a little, but his thoughts are still muddy, his tongue still tripping over itself.
And there's a knock at the door, then. Your Grace? His Highness sent me. A physicker, perhaps, but Joshua only looks at the door. Who can be trusted, here? He knows he could use more treatment - he can feel it - but what if it's a trap? What if this person isn't alone?
Clive is here, so Joshua will be safe. He tells himself that, but even so, he doesn't have the strength to respond. Not loudly enough to be heard.]
[ God, it guts Clive that, even now, Joshua is asking about his state. As if it matters at all if he's alright, when Joshua still looks on the verge of something so catastrophic that Clive's mind stutters around even the thought of it.
He's about to formulate an answer when the rest of the world tries to encroach upon their space with that dispassionate knock, that foreign voice. Immediately, Clive's hackles rise; immediately, his gaze snaps sideways to the door with strung-out suspicion, posture straightening as if to cover his brother from invisible eyes. ]
Leave us, [ is instinctive, a growl, unwise as it may be. Presently, there's no one in Whitewyrm or in Oriflamme that he trusts with Joshua's wellbeing, and that tightly-pulled tension shows in the pinch of his brow, the clench of his jaw. ] His Grace isn't to be disturbed until he wishes it. Tell the others.
[ Nothing about his state, nothing about how he requires care. Clive frames it as a relaying of Joshua's will, and nothing more: he won't give the Sanbrequians more opportunities to whisper and gossip about the treachery that they orchestrated.
The presence on the other side clearly hesitates behind the door. But, he starts, then seems to think better of it. Between being scolded by Dion for not following through, and having his head bitten off by the Warden of Inferno, the man knows which one he would rather.
By your leave, my Lord, the voice murmurs. Clive waits until he's certain that they're alone once more to slowly get up onto his feet, still half-numb from shock and worry, to gather Joshua back up into his arms to take him to bed. ]
I should kill them, one by one, [ he finds himself whispering. ] Until they give me the one who did this to you.
[ Not even a vestige of the usual gentle patience that Clive reserves for most things. There are things that Clive can endure, and then there's harming Joshua; it's the one thing, the only thing, that can make him a monster. ]
[He wishes he could rise, could take some of the burden and worry from Clive, but he's too weak. The antidotes seem to have successfully counteracted the poison, and with rest and time and perhaps more potions, he thinks he'll recover, hopefully without too much permanent damage - but right now, he still feels awful. He doesn't think he could stand under his own power.
He rests his head against Clive's shoulder for the short trip between the chair and his bed. Distantly, and with some small bleak amusement, he thinks: at least now there will be no questions if Clive stays in his room. Now all the Sanbrequians will know he's right to keep his shield close.
Joshua is able to think a little more clearly now. The pain isn't gone, but it's receding a bit, and he knows he doesn't have the luxury of relaxing. Not yet, not when this must have been part of some bigger plot. And it seems obvious, when he thinks about it.]
That's what they want. [His voice is weak, raw, but steady.] They want a war.
[And if he'd died, they certainly would have gotten one. Joshua doesn't know if they were hoping to goad Clive into violence - further ensuring a war, and possibly even ending in his death as well - or if they simply didn't care what happened to him. But Joshua's death alone would have destabilized Rosaria. Should he die, the throne ought to go to Clive until another Phoenix Dominant is born, but Joshua knows the nobles of Rosaria would balk at allowing Ifrit on the throne.
It would be a struggle for power, at the very least. Leaving Rosaria open to invasion, and without at least one of the Dominants that have acted as a deterrent all this time. Possibly without both.
Joshua doesn't know enough about the internal politics of the Sanbrequian court to have a guess about who did this. He knows there are different factions, some desiring war, some not. That Joshua is here at all, that they're discussing peace, means that the faction that also desires peace must have more power currently - but that doesn't mean the others are gone.
This was likely their move, and a very bold one. Kill the Archduke, and any chance of peace collapses.
[ The politics of their situation couldn't be further from Clive's mind. His mind is still swimming with how pale Joshua is, how red the blood on his collar is, how bitter the residual poison had tasted on Clive's tongue. A part of him wants to say that if it's a war Sanbreque wants to have, it's a war they'll get, here and now: Ifrit can fell a city in less than half a day, if Clive set his mind to it.
Still, they're the both of them more than just brothers who have been slighted. It isn't a matter of kicking someone's sandcastle down in retribution for a sandcastle felled. Clive's rage will have consequences; thousands will die if he chooses sentiment over sense.
And it burns him, that that's the case. That he can't lift a fucking finger against the monsters who nearly destroyed Joshua. That they'll have to swallow this heinous indignity for the sake of the world. That it has to be more important to Clive to maintain order than to pursue justice for the one person in Valisthea that he loves more than anything.
He despises it. Can't fucking stand it. His expression is creased and dark, his focus knife-sharp as he sets Joshua down on the bed, piling pillows under soft blond hair. ]
They nearly took you from me.
[ Grit through his teeth, as he throws his gloves off to press his bare palm against his brother's forehead. Feeling for his temperature in the same way Clive used to do when they were children, when their worries were far smaller in scale. ]
Why should any of them be forgiven?
[ Knelt by the side of the bed, curled over Joshua's supine form, Clive is a stormcloud. Volatile, trembling. Something wild is still vibrating under his skin, panicked and anxious; his thumb traces along Joshua's cheek, almost as if to convince himself that he's still here, alive. ]
[Joshua lifts a hand to Clive's cheek. Weak as he is, he has enough strength for this, enough to try to soothe some of that barely-restrained chaos. His touch is warm, a little too warm - his temperature high as the Phoenix burns off whatever toxins are left in his body, ensuring that he will at least have a chance to heal from this.
He should be thinking only of the politics of it all. Of what this means for Rosaria, for the peace treaty. And he is, but -
He loves Clive, an impossible feeling that, in this weakened state, almost makes Joshua want to cry.
His death would reverberate through Valisthea. He knows that - with Rosaria unstable, a war would have effects not only on their country but on the balance of power across the Twins. Plenty of people would care if he died, for better or for worse. But none of them care about him - they care about the Archduke of Rosaria, the Phoenix's Dominant. Joshua Rosfield is simply the person holding those positions currently.
Clive is the only person in the world, he thinks, who cares about him as more than that.
Joshua doesn't normally agonize over it, doesn't focus on what he lacks, but the truth is that he has no actual friends. He has a castle full of servants and knights and councilors, most of them older than him, none of them at all able to treat him as an equal. He doesn't get to put his burdens down and gossip with friends, share secrets, laugh over silly things. He always tries to be kind to those around him, and he thinks most of them like him well enough, but there will always be a distance there. He is their lord. They are his subjects.
Being able to speak to Dion as an equal, or nearly, was a relief. But even there Joshua must be guarded, must be careful what he says. Even if he trusts Dion as much as he can in their situation, Dion is Sanbreque's to his core, and can never truly be the sort of friend Joshua might wish for.
The only person he can let his guard down with is Clive. Only when they're alone, with no eyes on them, can he simply be Joshua. Clive is the only one who knows him like that, the only one who loves him as a person, as something besides his position. The only one who would truly miss him, if he were gone.]
I can't lose you. I can't - do this without you.
[That Clive wants vengeance for him should not make Joshua happy, but it does. A painful sort of joy, the knowledge that Clive truly loves him this much. But he can't risk Clive's life over something like that - never. And Sanbreque would love any chance to destroy Ifrit.]
They will not be forgiven. But we can use this.
[Of course they can. A failed assassination attempt means Rosaria can demand reparations. All the power is in Joshua's hands, for the moment - and he simply had to nearly die for it.]
[ They can. They must. Sanbreque made a critical error in failing to poison Clive's plate alongside Joshua's, and that fatal misstep will allow Rosaria to strike back with the sort of righteousness that will be ruinous for Sanbreque's reputation: an Empire that has to resort to sabotage to gain an advantage over a duchy less than half its size.
Still, all of it turns Clive's stomach. That Joshua has to barter his life for this, that Joshua has to accept his pain to turn it into collateral. As if it doesn't matter that he's a young man of barely over twenty who has spent his entire live being venerated instead of loved.
Joshua is human. He feels. And the more the world seeks to deprive his brother of that simplicity, the more Clive is inclined to dig his heels in and swat the white noise away.
So, finally: ] ...We can. And we will. [ That affirmation, before he cups his brother's face in both of his hands. ] But for now, we can set those things aside.
[ Again: Joshua is human. He deserves to be frightened, to want support, to ask for comfort. To need something from someone, and to have the freedom to reach out without judgment, for once. Clive gets up from where he'd been knelt on the floor to crane over his brother's still-limp form, bridging the gap between them to rub foreheads with agonizing care. ]
My brother. [ A low whisper, as Clive closes his eyes again. His breath shudders, and his lashes feel thick with tears again. ] I'll protect you. They won't dare separate me from you again.
[ (Unhealthy practices, made more unhealthy through calamity.) Clive thumbs along the corner of Joshua's mouth, wiping drying blood from his lips in the process. ]
[It's hard for Joshua to set that sort of thing aside. For so long he's been trained to think that way - raised for it, really, raised to put Rosaria before himself. To prime for his country, to fight for it however he must. As a Dominant, he knew that one day that would mean dying for it, too, when the curse caught up to him.
And he has always known that he has to seem strong. He has to seem like he embraces his role, like he doesn't wish for anything else, like he's never afraid.
But he is. He was terrified. It was only having Clive there that helped at all, only the knowledge that Clive would do anything he could, that Joshua was safe with him. That even if he did die, it wouldn't be because Clive had allowed it to happen.]
I don't - [He takes a breath, and it stutters, caught in his throat as he struggles not to cry.] I don't want you to leave my side again.
[It's all he can ask for, really. He can't demand that Clive keep him safe, because how is Clive meant to protect him from something like this? But if Clive is there, he can be a little stronger. It's the best comfort he could have, the only one. When Clive is near, when it's only the two of them, Joshua can let down his guard. He can let Clive support him, and that will give him the strength to continue even when he's terrified.
He shouldn't, he knows. He asks so much of Clive already, Clive gives him so much. Gives him everything. To ask for this too, to ask Clive to support him when he's weak and frightened, is wrong. Joshua is meant to be the one leading, is meant to be strong enough to never waver.
But he reaches for Clive, fingers clutching at the sleeve of his shirt, wanting simply to touch him. To be held, for just a moment. To remember that he is alive.]
[ Contingencies on contingencies. If this has taught Clive anything, it's that he has to be more vigilant: he'll taste Joshua's food before Joshua does, he'll keep an antidote on his person regularly, and he'll remain by Joshua's side for all meals taken outside of Rosaria. (Sir Wade, poor thing, will hold his head in his hands and lament Clive's backslide into bad habits again, but he'll understand it― tolerate it, even, until it gets too impossible to excuse away.)
"I don't want" is rarer out of Joshua's mouth than "I want". It breaks Clive's heart, but the rest of it eases some of that ache. ]
As are you. My reason for breathing.
[ His weight depresses the mattress as he slinks onto the bed, still fully-dressed; he wraps his arms around Joshua, pulling him up against his chest to support his weight, enveloping him in warmth and humming aether. Ifrit stirs under his skin, recognizing the Phoenix. ]
I'll remain ever by your side. ...For however long we need to remain in this nest of vipers.
[ He's fairly certain that Sylvestre Lesage will balk at the thought of Ifrit being in audience for official proceedings, but Clive has little to no regard for the Sanbrequians' comfort anymore. He would sooner kill the entirety of this castle than allow any of them to even breathe in his brother's direction, but he will also never allow anyone to call Joshua a failure― if brokering peace is what they must do, he will be the picture of docility by his brother's side. Clive Rosfield will not be the thing that tarnishes Joshua Rosfield's reputation.
Gentle fingers comb through gold hair, wiping sweat off a fevered brow. ]
[He relaxes into Clive, a quiet surrender of his fears. He's still in pain, throat raw from the poison, stomach twisting, temperature high. He probably won't be able to each much beyond thin soup for awhile. But he will have time to heal, time and what little bit of safety Clive can give him. He knows that much.
Joshua can hear Clive's heartbeat. He could before, too, held in his arms, when Joshua didn't know if he would live at all. When he thought dying there, so close to the one he loves most in the world, might be all that he could ask for.
Living is better. He can feel Clive's warmth, Ifrit's flames. After Phoenix Gate, Joshua wondered if their eikons might view each other as enemies - if that was something they even could feel. But he no longer thinks that's possible. If anything, they call to each other. There's a connection, perhaps, something deeper than anyone knew. Maybe that's why he's never been afraid of Ifrit, even after everything.]
I wish that we could run away.
[He should never say these things. He knows that, he knows it, and normally he wouldn't. Normally Joshua would have the strength to keep them locked away, keep them as the idle fancies they are. They can never be anything more, after all, and no one can ever hear him say them. Even Clive shouldn't.
But Joshua is only barely holding himself together. It's sinking in now, as he recovers the ability to think clearly. He's realizing, truly, just how close to death he was. How easily it could have happened - if the Phoenix were a little less invested in his survival. If the poison had been a little stronger, or if he'd eaten more, instead of picking carefully at the overly-rich meal he'd been served. If Clive had been slower, or hadn't ensured they had antidotes on this trip.]
Somewhere far from here. Somewhere - somewhere safe.
[From this, from everything. Somewhere he could sleep in Clive's arms every night and never have to fear being found out. He knows it's impossible. But for once, he's too weak to keep from wishing for something impossible.]
[ They'll have to extend their stay here. Joshua is in no state to travel, not even if it would feel safer to be far from Oriflamme and its treachery. He still feels hot to the touch, his breaths still come out ragged, his voice still sounds raw and strung-out. A poison so fast-acting and lethal will require days to drain out of Joshua's system, with or without the Phoenix; even setting the matter of the assassination aside, Clive fears the toll the eikon's protection will have on his brother, the potential petrification that looms ever closer the more Joshua calls the Firebird to him.
It terrifies Clive. Sometimes, it feels as if the world brought them together only to have them be torn apart in one way or another: politics, propriety, powerlessness. He's wracked his brain for ways to save Joshua, for his brother to inhabit this world in a way that would be gentler to him, that would be more tolerable, but that future slips further and further away with each passing year.
And so, when Joshua mentions running away― well. Clive's hold tightens around him, his breath knotted in the back of his throat. ]
...Should this world ever forsake you, [ he murmurs, knowing just as much that he shouldn't, shouldn't say any of this, ] should this world and its people ever turn its back on you―
―I would take you away.
[ "Do your duty." "Protect father". Clive has already spoken these words once to Joshua, on the night that he nearly tore him in two; never again. Never again. ]
Away from the Twins, away from anyone who would know who we were. I would, Joshua.
[ A sin, spoken into existence. Effectively ruining all of Clive's years spent trying to protect his brother from himself; what a failure of a Shield he is, to promise his brother the abdication of both of their duties. He's wicked, selfish, weak. But he also loves Joshua more than anything, more than the world and the people in it. ]
[He lets himself imagine it, just for a moment. Running away from this place, from everything. From the burdens they've both carried since the day they were born. Though Joshua was raised in a castle, in truth he requires little to be happy - food, shelter, a chance to indulge his interests. And Clive, of course.
If they fled from all of this, ran to somewhere no one knew them, they could do anything. Travel, if they wanted. Joshua has always wished he could see more of the world, learn what he could. Books are one thing, but he knows there's so much more out there. But even that, he wouldn't really need. Just somewhere safe with Clive. They could both have time to discover what they might like to do without the demands of their blood, their destinies. They could be together.
They don't look that similar. Joshua takes after Anabella's finer features and paler coloring, while Clive has their father's dark hair and warrior's build. There are similarities, if one looks close, but no one would easily guess that they were brothers. And if no one knew, then Joshua could simply be with him. Could hold his hand, and share his bed, and love him properly, the way he deserves.
He wishes he could cling to the fantasy.]
I would go anywhere with you. [It's barely more than a whisper. He's already said more than he should have. These thoughts are indulgences he isn't meant to entertain, not even for these few moments.] Somewhere quiet, where no one needs me, no one fears you. Where you don't have to spend your life fighting.
[His own grip on Clive tightens. He can't say the rest, though he thinks of it. Somewhere he could pledge himself to Clive, the way he wishes for. Joshua will never marry anyone else, no matter how the nobles of Rosaria might hate him for it - but he'll never be able to marry Clive, either. It's his most impossible fantasy, tying Clive to himself in that way.
It's all only a dream. He knows his duty, and he won't forsake it.]
I only want peace, for both of us. [A breath, one that's not so hard fought for, but still stings.] I will - fight for it here. I will.
[ A future that only exists in the safety of their minds. Even if they leave, their past will likely find a way to catch up to them; even if they run away, they'll carry the guilt of it with them forever. There's always a price to pay, and it just so happens that the consequences of their actions will affect far, far more than most.
And so, they have to grit their teeth and bear it. Eke out whatever happiness they can find between the long stretches of strife. Keep a white-knuckled hold on the moments of privacy that are afforded to them, and look forward to the next.
This, though, is different. They're here, just the two of them, but under circumstances that make Clive want to scream, still. His rage is still in the room with them, an invisible force that paces back and forth like a restless creature, ready to bare teeth. ]
...If you'll fight, so will I. We'll face our enemies together, as we've always done.
[ Even when Joshua isn't physically present on the frontlines. Clive's banner has always been under his brother's name, blasphemous as that is to the Phoenix. ]
The Sanbrequians have erred. They've shown themselves to be weak― afraid of our united front. [ Fingers sift over Joshua's forehead, pushing his bangs away from his eyes. ] We'll show them exactly what they should fear.
[ Clive, storm-eyed and sharp, ever-vigilant beside the poised grace of Rosaria's Archduke. It'll be the roles they have to play, but if theater is what it takes for the two of them to be together, then Clive will endure. There's no happiness possible for him without Joshua. ]
And we'll find our peace. As best we can.
[ He folds forward, lips landing on the crown of Joshua's head. Breathing him in, grip a little tight around his brother's shoulders. ]
[Everything is a little easier with Clive there. Even if he does nothing but stand by Joshua's side, his presence means that Joshua never truly doubts that he is safe. Really, ideally, Clive would never have to do anything but be by his side - he could put down his sword, let the borders defend themselves, find a life that doesn't demand everything from him.
It's as impossible as the rest of Joshua's fantasies, but he hopes that one day he might be able to build something similar, at least. Something that allows his Lord Commander to stop shouldering the burdens of their whole country. Something that, selfishly, gives him more of Clive's time.
If he's strong enough, if they play things right, he can lay the first brick here.]
They'll be even more frightened with you at my side.
[He rests his head against Clive's shoulder, weary still. Joshua doesn't know how long this will take to heal from, but he doesn't have time to waste. If he must take a chair to the negotiations with the emperor, he'll do so - all the more reason to have Clive there as his attendant.
His anger, too, is an odd comfort. Joshua has a right to be angry as well, he knows, but he must always temper it. He can hate Sanbreque, can distrust each and every one of them, but he has to treat them carefully. If not with kindness - he's not certain he can summon that, feeling the way he does - then with neutrality. But Clive can be angry, in a way that Joshua doesn't feel he's allowed. The Sanbrequians already fear him for what he is. This will only make them fear him more, and now Joshua thinks they deserve it.
So long as they do nothing to harm him. That, Joshua would not forgive.
Which reminds him.]
Clive... you should not have been so careless. You could have poisoned yourself.
[He can't muster the energy for a proper scolding, but he isn't going to let it go without saying something. Clive saved his life, but what would Joshua have done if it had taken Clive's in the process?]
[ Let the world see Ifrit as the Phoenix's attack dog. If the Warden of Inferno needs to be a living, breathing deterrent, so be it. Clive will use his eikon as he must, and the rest of the Twins will know as much.
The problem, now, is seeing their current predicament through to the end. It must be the case that the entirety of Whitewyrm is buzzing with talk of Joshua's sudden "bout of sickness", as they'll choose to spin it－ Clive has no idea how Dion has been dealing with the aftermath, or if he has, in fact, done them the kindness (or, at the very least, the due diligence) of investigating the matter further. He wants to believe that Dion has, and that Dion has raised the issue to those that will bring the treachery to light; if not, all talk of peace would be over before it began.
He can also only wonder if Sylvestre Lesage has been informed of this. Would he have been the one who'd masterminded the entire thing? His astrologers? The war council?
(A certain woman wearing the skin of their mother comes to mind; Clive pushes the thought away before it can take root.)
The furious churn of his mind only halts when he registers the chiding. For a moment, Clive looks entirely like someone who has no idea what he could be being scolded for, then shakes his head in light protest. ]
It was the only way. You were in pain, and our supplies were limited.
[ A blunt laying-out of his priorities: Joshua's life is far dearer than his own. ]
I could fetch you a potion, as well. [ A kiss to Joshua's temple, easily brushing aside the matter of his own wellbeing. Nothing his brother need concern himself with. ]
[How frustrating Clive can be, though Joshua is aware he doesn't do it intentionally - it's only that he doesn't value his life the way Joshua does. And why would he? Their mother did her best to ensure he knew he had no worth, and their father, though not nearly so cruel, did little to teach him otherwise. And now most of Rosaria treats him similarly: frightening, but disposable.
He's never been that to Joshua. He sits up a little - though it takes more effort than he might like - and touches his fingers to Clive's jaw, gently ensuring that Clive looks at him. Perhaps that will make it harder to brush off Joshua's words.]
If you had saved me at the cost of your life, it would not have been a trade I was willing to make.
[He didn't - Clive seems fine, and likely didn't get more than a drop or two of poison when his lips were on Joshua's - and that's the only reason Joshua isn't more angry.
(Well, not the only reason. He doesn't have the energy for it, really. But he'd find it somewhere, if he needed it.)
But Clive was hurt protecting him so recently, and who knows how many times before that when he was on the borders, times Joshua never found out about. Clive is the strongest person he knows, the best swordsman, but even he can be unlucky. That is the sort of thing Joshua has nightmares about. His brother hurt, lost, somewhere Joshua can't help him. Clive falling, and Joshua not finding out until days later.]
Fetch me a potion, and one for yourself. I'll only be able to rest properly if I know you're safe.
[And if Clive had eaten that food - if Clive had been the one poisoned - would Joshua have been able to save him? He doesn't know. He would have burned himself out trying, he thinks.]
[ A small sound of protest when Joshua tries to sit up, muted only by that featherlight touch to his jaw. Clive looks down at where his brother is tucked against his chest, and his red-rimmed eyes narrow slightly in contrition.
It's not that he wants to die－ he'd never want to leave Joshua to face this world alone－ but the truth remains that the scales will always tip in Joshua's favor when it comes to who to save between the two of them. ]
...My life is yours. I'll do my utmost not to be careless.
[ With a slight bow of his head in contrition, to show that he means it. As little as his own life might be worth in the grand scheme of things (he knows what the Undying think of him, how they would have put a knife between his ribs if not for Joshua's intervention), there's no point in wasting it prematurely.
His pulse feels too fast under his skin. Every cell in his body screams in protest as he peels himself away, as if leaving for even a moment will cause his brother's condition to worsen again, but he swallows that anxiety down and slides off the bed to go find his potions in the wreckage of their travel pack.
They probably do need to speak to someone about extending their stay for the sake of Joshua's health, though it burns Clive to think of asking the Sanbrequians for anything. He's already made it clear that he doesn't want anyone disturbing their peace for the rest of the day, but Sylvestre Lesage might push back regardless, and the thought of that rankles, too. ]
You needn't worry about anything but recovering, Joshua. I'll handle the rest for today.
[Joshua bites his lip, watching Clive. He almost doesn't say anything - but he can't quite help himself.]
If your life is mine, treasure it the way I do.
[He knows there's only so much that Clive will listen to. And there's so much that Rosaria demands of him, too. It's a fruitless battle, because Clive will always put himself between Joshua and danger, even if it means his life. Joshua loves him for it, loves that it is not only duty that drives him to it but the bone-deep bonds they share, but that doesn't mean he doesn't fear the results of it.
But he lets it rest at that. He watches Clive instead, already missing his warmth, his solid presence. When Joshua was younger and sick all the time, Clive would sneak in sometimes, and his quiet appearance always lifted Joshua's spirits. He might be feeling awful - as he is now - but having Clive nearby never failed to soothe him. It's no different now, except that he is older, the Archduke, meant to need no one but himself. To stand alone.
He doesn't want to. Not if it means parting from Clive.]
I hate to leave it all on your shoulders. I fear they'll treat you poorly.
[If Joshua had his way, he would be up and about immediately. He'd be demanding the Sanbrequians find his attempted assassin, and pressing Sylvestre Lesage to make far more concessions in the treaty than he ever expected. In truth, Joshua doesn't really care who did it - he's sure whoever gets the blame will only be a convenient villain, and not the true mind behind it. But there must be some sort of justice.
It doesn't matter how much he wants to do those things, though - he simply can't. The pain has mostly subsided, though his throat still feels raw and he expects his stomach will revolt against food for a bit. The potion will help. But it won't restore his energy, it won't immediately heal the damage that poison did. He'll need time for that, and until then Joshua can hardly sit up, much less stride around demanding things.
He wants to do his duty, and make the peace that they need. He wants to crawl under his bedcovers with Clive, and tell the rest of the world to take care of itself for awhile, curl close to his brother and sleep safely next to him. He's not sure he can really have either of those things.]
[ A low huff under his breath, at the mention of treatment. ]
Not as poorly as they've treated you.
[ They could chase Clive with cudgels in hand, and it would still pale in comparison to the level of abject deceit and violence that Joshua suffered today. And truly, from the bottom of Clive's heart, he couldn't care less about being reviled; he doesn't wish for the approval of people who would have let his brother die, and the only affection he'll ever seek is from Joshua.
Bottles clink in his hand as he brings them over to the bed again. One is more potent than the other, and it's the one he hands to Joshua as he sidles into that safe space, only debating for a moment whether it would be prudent to do mouth-to-mouth again before deciding that his brother has chided him enough. He ought not to give Joshua more reasons to worry. ]
...I won't leave you in this state. I'll speak to whoever comes to the door in your stead.
[ Because, despite his warning to the first man who came knocking, he's sure that someone higher on the food chain will try to coax at least one of the Rosfields out of hiding.
(Like a certain wicked woman, who would perhaps like to keep her Eikons close to her. Bahamut and the Phoenix, corralled in her castle like toys in a toybox. She can hand Ifrit to the Rosarians as a gesture of goodwill－ she wouldn't want that one nearby, anyway. He looks too much like her beloathed previous husband.
She is, in fact, winding her way through the halls, waving aside attendants as if she has any authority left. Exile hasn't been kind to her, but she is, if nothing else, ambitious.) ]
[He settles back against Clive, comforted by his return. Joshua sips the potion slowly, mostly for the sake of his throat - it doesn't taste especially good, but luckily he's had plenty of experience drinking unpleasant medicine. Comparatively, the potion isn't bad at all.
And it does help. Not as much as he might like, he'll still need to rest and heal for longer than he'd like, but it's something. It settles his stomach, healing some of the worst of the damage. He watches Clive drink his potion, too, reassured by the sight. It's only when they've both finished that he lays his head against Clive's shoulder.]
I expect we'll have visitors before long.
[A representative of the emperor, perhaps, with the first of many apologies. Or Dion, checking to see whether he actually survived. Joshua is too weary to think of all the possibilities. He'll have to take them as they come - or rather, allow Clive to handle them. He doesn't mind that. Joshua thinks that Clive is far more capable than he believes himself to be in this area.
But he intends to listen closely anyway, in case they treat him with disrespect. He hears the way they speak of Clive: with fear, with disgust. It makes him angry, but in a way, it makes him proud, too. They should fear Clive. But even if Joshua feels that way, he doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't know what he'll do if he does - it's not as if he has the strength to rise from the bed and shout at them. He can hardly even raise his voice.
He'll be there, though. He won't make Clive face this alone.]
Whatever decisions you make, know that I will stand by them. What power I have is yours.
[And there is a sharp rap upon the door just then. Joshua sighs softly. He is not quite ready to give up Clive's warmth, but he knows they must face this.]
[ A sharp knock at the door, to snap Clive out of this impossible reverie. Much as he'd like to hover next to Joshua and run his fingers through blond hair for the rest of the day and through the night, duty calls－
－and it takes the form of a familiar voice, muffled but unmistakable through the thick wood of the door that separates their peace from the rest of Sanbreque.
"Joshua? Oh, Joshua, I came as soon as I heard－"
Clive's blood turns to ice. There's no part of him that fears Anabella (previously Rosfield), ten years displaced from her betrayal at Phoenix's Gate, but the unchanged cadence of her words still makes the fifteen year old in him grit his teeth and sit up ramrod-straight, vigilance hammered into him from more than a decade of watching her moods.
Strangely, he feels less hate for her than he knows he should. In its place is a void that of Anabella's own leaving, an absence that she carved into the space where he should have known a mother's love.
He glances towards Joshua, his own countenance slightly paler now as the presence behind that barrier asserts itself with more insistence. ]
...Nothing good will come of this, [ he murmurs. His throat feels tight, but he also feels miles away from the cradle of his own body; like he's watching himself from the opposite end of the room. ]
He knew that their mother was somewhere in Sanbreque. She could not return to Rosaria after her betrayal, not without facing the fate of a traitor, but even though her plot failed Joshua was certain she'd find some sort of safety here. She's too clever to do anything else. But he had made no effort to find out where, exactly, she'd gone. No effort to find her at all.
Joshua had loved his mother. He'd been too young to do anything else, really, too young to understand her cruelty towards Clive, her overprotectiveness towards him. Far too young to understand the kind of person Anabella had always been. But he had never been happy with how she treated Clive, he'd never quite worshiped her the way she might have wanted. His heart did not break when she betrayed them, because even so young he'd known on some level what she really was.
And he never wanted to see her again.
He doesn't want to see her now. But he wants Clive to see her even less - Clive, who she treated like nothing, Clive who deserved so much better. She will be cruel to him. If Joshua were well, he would not hesitate to put himself between them. He would ensure she spoke only to him. The look on Clive's face is enough to make him certain of that.
He isn't even sure he can stand. But he has to try.]
Help me to the door. [Softly, to Clive.] If I lean against the wall, it will be all right.
[And then, louder, though it's an effort:] You did not need to do that, Mother. I'll be fine. [An attempt to send her away, though he knows it's not likely to work.]
[ Clive had heard about Anabella through the grapevine: protected by Sanbreque and by the ailing Sylvestre's favor, but in a precarious position because of the not-quite-success (deposing Elwin, but leaving with two Dominants in her wake) that was the debacle at Phoenix Gate.
All Clive cared to know was that she was alive. Nothing else. As far as he'd been concerned, their paths would never cross again. Naïve of him, he knows now. Their mother would never willingly ignore an opportunity presented to her.
Like now. Clive hears how her voice soars in delight when Joshua calls her mother; she's far too proud to use her hands to pound against the door, but the words that bounce against that physical barrier serves the same purpose.
"Oh Joshua－ my darling, darling boy. Whatever happened, I can protect you from it. You know I've only ever wanted the best for you."
It hurts Clive's head to hear. Anger and distress push up against his skull, makes him taste the same anxiety-bile that'd welled up in the back of his throat whenever he'd felt Anabella's cold impassivity slide over him as a child. So many years later, and he can still remember curling up on the dirt-streaked floor of an abandoned rookery, fighting off the mental image of that look on his mother's face. ]
Joshua, [ he tries to protest. Again, there's nothing good that will come of his brother seeing Anabella in his current state. But Clive also sees that certainty on Joshua's face, and he cedes the point. ]
...If she makes you feel ill, I'll take over.
[ A low sigh later, his arms gently curl around his brother's pain-limp body and carry him gently up and out of bed. They remain looped around his shoulders, his waist, bolstering him through their journey towards the door, where Anabella is still chattering about how only she has the authority to make all of Joshua's anxieties go away. Even if there was any truth to that, Clive doesn't want to accept it.
Blue eyes flick towards Joshua, a silent ready?. A foolish question: neither of them would ever have been prepared for this reunion, and that becomes evident as Clive turns the doorknob and gets metaphorically kicked in the gut by the familiar face that looks back at them from the hallway, completely unchanged despite the decade of separation.
As expected, said familiar face turns sour at the realization that Clive is present; it turns sickly sweet with concern when her focus slips to Joshua. "Oh Founder, Joshua, look at you! My poor, sweet child!" ]
[Joshua knows that it probably won't go well. He knows that, and he knows that he doesn't really want to see her either, doesn't want to speak with her. But he also knows that if they don't, there will surely be some kind of consequences. That she's found shelter here means that she must have some sort of power within Sanbreque, and if they turn her away without even speaking to her -
Joshua knows Anabella won't go quietly, in that case.
He thought he might be able to hold himself up by leaning against the wall, and let Clive avoid facing their mother entirely - but he hasn't the strength. He needs Clive there, needs his steady presence. But he sees the way Anabella's gaze sours and dismisses him, and Joshua feels -
Angry.
He never really did when he was young. He felt confused, mostly, and sad, not understanding why she didn't love Clive the way he did. Joshua is older now, and he understands it even less, but he's not confused anymore. He's angry at the way she treats Clive, at the way Clive has always deserved so much better.]
I will be quite well with some rest. [He keeps his voice steady, coolly polite. As if they're nearly strangers.] You should not have come.
[He wants to send her away, as quickly as possible. Joshua knows it won't be easy - knows she wants something. He tries not to think about what it feels like to see his mother after so long. How he wishes, for a stomach-churning moment, that it was true - that she did care about him. That she could help.
But she'd never done that even when he was a child. She would cluck over him when he was sick, express concern over anything that might impact his health, watch him vigilantly, but his actual care was left to nursemaids - or Clive, when he could sneak in. Anabella wasn't the one wiping sweat from his fevered brow, or holding him when the pain of an aching cough kept him from sleep.
Her eyes widen in that same false concern. "Oh, but Joshua, I can call you my very own apothecary. You'll recover much more quickly under his care." She speaks as if Clive isn't even there, as if Joshua is the only one standing before her. And that's what Joshua wanted, it's true, but -
Clive is her son as well. Joshua wishes he were stronger, so he could be as angry as he wants to be.]
I will have no more 'help' from Sanbreque. Clive will care for me, as he always has.
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That's what frightens him most of all. If he dies, what will happen to Clive? Who would look after him, who would love him properly? Joshua can't give him everything he deserves, but he knows without a doubt that he loves Clive with a ferocity that no one else could ever match. How could he leave that, how could he possibly leave Clive alone in this awful place that hates him so?
His mouth opens under Clive's, all instinct, and the natural response of his body is to swallow the liquid, swallow or choke. He does choke, just a little, throat still raw and aching, but he manages to swallow most of it. Better that it be done that way - better that it happen as quickly as possible.
He can't feel it taking effect. His stomach still burns with poison, he still tastes blood every time he even tries to breathe. Joshua thinks, distantly, that if it were not for his eikon he would certainly have died in that dining room. There wouldn't have been time to get here, wouldn't have been time to find anything that might help.
When he has more energy, he might try to hate them for it, but right now all he can do is breathe.
It does help. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the pain eases a bit. His breath comes a little more easily, it's not such a struggle simply to keep from slipping into blackness. He takes in a deeper breath, trying to fill his lungs, and - he coughs, blood staining his lips, but it's nothing really, because the next breath is easier. Finally Joshua is able to lift his head a little, able to look up at his brother.]
I -
[He can't say that he's all right. It's clearly untrue, he's far from well, he can't stand, he can hardly speak, he's still in pain. But he can breathe. He isn't going to die. Not so easily, anyway.]
I'm here. [More steadily, this time, though still far from normal.] With you.
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(Blearily, he thinks of running his tongue over the red on Joshua's collar, of letting the same poison circulate through his own system if Joshua grows cold on this armchair. Either Clive saves his brother here, or he dies with him. Together, in all things.)
Despair numbs him. Even when he feels Joshua steady, the desperation doesn't wane. He looks down at Joshua, vision blurred, eyes wet; his hand is shaking as he presses it against his brother's cheek, steadies his jaw, feels for Joshua's pulse.
Shh, he hushes. Raw, hoarse. ] Don't speak. Don't tax yourself.
[ Blindly, he fumbles behind him for another antidote. Lesser, smaller. Against a poison so potent, Clive knows that the most it can do is stem its circulation without easing the pain, but he takes it into his mouth and presses it into Joshua's again, barely noticing how his tears drip onto his brother's skin.
He can't, he thinks. He can't. He can't lose Joshua again. For all that Clive has tried to become stronger, to do better, to be better, he's fifteen again with his brother's battered body in his arms, the same weak creature without the strength to save Joshua from the horrors of the world. Who is he, to call himself First Shield? What right does he have to live at all?
He pulls back, knelt in front of Joshua with the carcass of their traveling pack scattered around him. His fingers sift through gold hair, trying to soothe with trembling touch. ]
Joshua.
[ It's all Clive can think of to say. His brother, his reason for breathing. ]
I'm here. I'll let no one harm you again.
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If Clive wasn't there, Joshua would be dead. Dead, or so deeply unconscious he might as well be, and in a place like this that would almost certainly lead to his death anyway. But he's alive, he's breathing, he can - almost speak, even though he's still in pain, even though every breath aches. And Clive is here.
He's safe. He's safe.
He isn't getting any worse. His vision no longer fading in and out, he's no longer just barely clinging to consciousness. The antidotes are working. Joshua doesn't know how much damage the poison did, but it was strong and fast-acting. There's no doubt that someone wanted to kill him. He doesn't know who, but in Sanbreque, there are too many options. Too many reasons to want to kill the Rosarian Archduke, from political to personal.
They would have succeeded. Without the Phoenix, without Clive, Joshua would certainly be dead now. He doesn't have the energy to think about it right now, doesn't want to consider how close he came. He didn't. He's alive. In pain, weak, his body surely damaged - but alive.]
Are you - all right?
[He has to be sure. They could have tried to hurt Clive too - it would have been obvious by now, perhaps, but Joshua isn't exactly thinking clearly. His terror is subsiding a little, but his thoughts are still muddy, his tongue still tripping over itself.
And there's a knock at the door, then. Your Grace? His Highness sent me. A physicker, perhaps, but Joshua only looks at the door. Who can be trusted, here? He knows he could use more treatment - he can feel it - but what if it's a trap? What if this person isn't alone?
Clive is here, so Joshua will be safe. He tells himself that, but even so, he doesn't have the strength to respond. Not loudly enough to be heard.]
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He's about to formulate an answer when the rest of the world tries to encroach upon their space with that dispassionate knock, that foreign voice. Immediately, Clive's hackles rise; immediately, his gaze snaps sideways to the door with strung-out suspicion, posture straightening as if to cover his brother from invisible eyes. ]
Leave us, [ is instinctive, a growl, unwise as it may be. Presently, there's no one in Whitewyrm or in Oriflamme that he trusts with Joshua's wellbeing, and that tightly-pulled tension shows in the pinch of his brow, the clench of his jaw. ] His Grace isn't to be disturbed until he wishes it. Tell the others.
[ Nothing about his state, nothing about how he requires care. Clive frames it as a relaying of Joshua's will, and nothing more: he won't give the Sanbrequians more opportunities to whisper and gossip about the treachery that they orchestrated.
The presence on the other side clearly hesitates behind the door. But, he starts, then seems to think better of it. Between being scolded by Dion for not following through, and having his head bitten off by the Warden of Inferno, the man knows which one he would rather.
By your leave, my Lord, the voice murmurs. Clive waits until he's certain that they're alone once more to slowly get up onto his feet, still half-numb from shock and worry, to gather Joshua back up into his arms to take him to bed. ]
I should kill them, one by one, [ he finds himself whispering. ] Until they give me the one who did this to you.
[ Not even a vestige of the usual gentle patience that Clive reserves for most things. There are things that Clive can endure, and then there's harming Joshua; it's the one thing, the only thing, that can make him a monster. ]
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He rests his head against Clive's shoulder for the short trip between the chair and his bed. Distantly, and with some small bleak amusement, he thinks: at least now there will be no questions if Clive stays in his room. Now all the Sanbrequians will know he's right to keep his shield close.
Joshua is able to think a little more clearly now. The pain isn't gone, but it's receding a bit, and he knows he doesn't have the luxury of relaxing. Not yet, not when this must have been part of some bigger plot. And it seems obvious, when he thinks about it.]
That's what they want. [His voice is weak, raw, but steady.] They want a war.
[And if he'd died, they certainly would have gotten one. Joshua doesn't know if they were hoping to goad Clive into violence - further ensuring a war, and possibly even ending in his death as well - or if they simply didn't care what happened to him. But Joshua's death alone would have destabilized Rosaria. Should he die, the throne ought to go to Clive until another Phoenix Dominant is born, but Joshua knows the nobles of Rosaria would balk at allowing Ifrit on the throne.
It would be a struggle for power, at the very least. Leaving Rosaria open to invasion, and without at least one of the Dominants that have acted as a deterrent all this time. Possibly without both.
Joshua doesn't know enough about the internal politics of the Sanbrequian court to have a guess about who did this. He knows there are different factions, some desiring war, some not. That Joshua is here at all, that they're discussing peace, means that the faction that also desires peace must have more power currently - but that doesn't mean the others are gone.
This was likely their move, and a very bold one. Kill the Archduke, and any chance of peace collapses.
They might both still be in danger.]
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Still, they're the both of them more than just brothers who have been slighted. It isn't a matter of kicking someone's sandcastle down in retribution for a sandcastle felled. Clive's rage will have consequences; thousands will die if he chooses sentiment over sense.
And it burns him, that that's the case. That he can't lift a fucking finger against the monsters who nearly destroyed Joshua. That they'll have to swallow this heinous indignity for the sake of the world. That it has to be more important to Clive to maintain order than to pursue justice for the one person in Valisthea that he loves more than anything.
He despises it. Can't fucking stand it. His expression is creased and dark, his focus knife-sharp as he sets Joshua down on the bed, piling pillows under soft blond hair. ]
They nearly took you from me.
[ Grit through his teeth, as he throws his gloves off to press his bare palm against his brother's forehead. Feeling for his temperature in the same way Clive used to do when they were children, when their worries were far smaller in scale. ]
Why should any of them be forgiven?
[ Knelt by the side of the bed, curled over Joshua's supine form, Clive is a stormcloud. Volatile, trembling. Something wild is still vibrating under his skin, panicked and anxious; his thumb traces along Joshua's cheek, almost as if to convince himself that he's still here, alive. ]
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He should be thinking only of the politics of it all. Of what this means for Rosaria, for the peace treaty. And he is, but -
He loves Clive, an impossible feeling that, in this weakened state, almost makes Joshua want to cry.
His death would reverberate through Valisthea. He knows that - with Rosaria unstable, a war would have effects not only on their country but on the balance of power across the Twins. Plenty of people would care if he died, for better or for worse. But none of them care about him - they care about the Archduke of Rosaria, the Phoenix's Dominant. Joshua Rosfield is simply the person holding those positions currently.
Clive is the only person in the world, he thinks, who cares about him as more than that.
Joshua doesn't normally agonize over it, doesn't focus on what he lacks, but the truth is that he has no actual friends. He has a castle full of servants and knights and councilors, most of them older than him, none of them at all able to treat him as an equal. He doesn't get to put his burdens down and gossip with friends, share secrets, laugh over silly things. He always tries to be kind to those around him, and he thinks most of them like him well enough, but there will always be a distance there. He is their lord. They are his subjects.
Being able to speak to Dion as an equal, or nearly, was a relief. But even there Joshua must be guarded, must be careful what he says. Even if he trusts Dion as much as he can in their situation, Dion is Sanbreque's to his core, and can never truly be the sort of friend Joshua might wish for.
The only person he can let his guard down with is Clive. Only when they're alone, with no eyes on them, can he simply be Joshua. Clive is the only one who knows him like that, the only one who loves him as a person, as something besides his position. The only one who would truly miss him, if he were gone.]
I can't lose you. I can't - do this without you.
[That Clive wants vengeance for him should not make Joshua happy, but it does. A painful sort of joy, the knowledge that Clive truly loves him this much. But he can't risk Clive's life over something like that - never. And Sanbreque would love any chance to destroy Ifrit.]
They will not be forgiven. But we can use this.
[Of course they can. A failed assassination attempt means Rosaria can demand reparations. All the power is in Joshua's hands, for the moment - and he simply had to nearly die for it.]
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Still, all of it turns Clive's stomach. That Joshua has to barter his life for this, that Joshua has to accept his pain to turn it into collateral. As if it doesn't matter that he's a young man of barely over twenty who has spent his entire live being venerated instead of loved.
Joshua is human. He feels. And the more the world seeks to deprive his brother of that simplicity, the more Clive is inclined to dig his heels in and swat the white noise away.
So, finally: ] ...We can. And we will. [ That affirmation, before he cups his brother's face in both of his hands. ] But for now, we can set those things aside.
[ Again: Joshua is human. He deserves to be frightened, to want support, to ask for comfort. To need something from someone, and to have the freedom to reach out without judgment, for once. Clive gets up from where he'd been knelt on the floor to crane over his brother's still-limp form, bridging the gap between them to rub foreheads with agonizing care. ]
My brother. [ A low whisper, as Clive closes his eyes again. His breath shudders, and his lashes feel thick with tears again. ] I'll protect you. They won't dare separate me from you again.
[ (Unhealthy practices, made more unhealthy through calamity.) Clive thumbs along the corner of Joshua's mouth, wiping drying blood from his lips in the process. ]
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And he has always known that he has to seem strong. He has to seem like he embraces his role, like he doesn't wish for anything else, like he's never afraid.
But he is. He was terrified. It was only having Clive there that helped at all, only the knowledge that Clive would do anything he could, that Joshua was safe with him. That even if he did die, it wouldn't be because Clive had allowed it to happen.]
I don't - [He takes a breath, and it stutters, caught in his throat as he struggles not to cry.] I don't want you to leave my side again.
[It's all he can ask for, really. He can't demand that Clive keep him safe, because how is Clive meant to protect him from something like this? But if Clive is there, he can be a little stronger. It's the best comfort he could have, the only one. When Clive is near, when it's only the two of them, Joshua can let down his guard. He can let Clive support him, and that will give him the strength to continue even when he's terrified.
He shouldn't, he knows. He asks so much of Clive already, Clive gives him so much. Gives him everything. To ask for this too, to ask Clive to support him when he's weak and frightened, is wrong. Joshua is meant to be the one leading, is meant to be strong enough to never waver.
But he reaches for Clive, fingers clutching at the sleeve of his shirt, wanting simply to touch him. To be held, for just a moment. To remember that he is alive.]
You are the reason I'm still breathing.
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"I don't want" is rarer out of Joshua's mouth than "I want". It breaks Clive's heart, but the rest of it eases some of that ache. ]
As are you. My reason for breathing.
[ His weight depresses the mattress as he slinks onto the bed, still fully-dressed; he wraps his arms around Joshua, pulling him up against his chest to support his weight, enveloping him in warmth and humming aether. Ifrit stirs under his skin, recognizing the Phoenix. ]
I'll remain ever by your side. ...For however long we need to remain in this nest of vipers.
[ He's fairly certain that Sylvestre Lesage will balk at the thought of Ifrit being in audience for official proceedings, but Clive has little to no regard for the Sanbrequians' comfort anymore. He would sooner kill the entirety of this castle than allow any of them to even breathe in his brother's direction, but he will also never allow anyone to call Joshua a failure― if brokering peace is what they must do, he will be the picture of docility by his brother's side. Clive Rosfield will not be the thing that tarnishes Joshua Rosfield's reputation.
Gentle fingers comb through gold hair, wiping sweat off a fevered brow. ]
The only one here is you and me.
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Joshua can hear Clive's heartbeat. He could before, too, held in his arms, when Joshua didn't know if he would live at all. When he thought dying there, so close to the one he loves most in the world, might be all that he could ask for.
Living is better. He can feel Clive's warmth, Ifrit's flames. After Phoenix Gate, Joshua wondered if their eikons might view each other as enemies - if that was something they even could feel. But he no longer thinks that's possible. If anything, they call to each other. There's a connection, perhaps, something deeper than anyone knew. Maybe that's why he's never been afraid of Ifrit, even after everything.]
I wish that we could run away.
[He should never say these things. He knows that, he knows it, and normally he wouldn't. Normally Joshua would have the strength to keep them locked away, keep them as the idle fancies they are. They can never be anything more, after all, and no one can ever hear him say them. Even Clive shouldn't.
But Joshua is only barely holding himself together. It's sinking in now, as he recovers the ability to think clearly. He's realizing, truly, just how close to death he was. How easily it could have happened - if the Phoenix were a little less invested in his survival. If the poison had been a little stronger, or if he'd eaten more, instead of picking carefully at the overly-rich meal he'd been served. If Clive had been slower, or hadn't ensured they had antidotes on this trip.]
Somewhere far from here. Somewhere - somewhere safe.
[From this, from everything. Somewhere he could sleep in Clive's arms every night and never have to fear being found out. He knows it's impossible. But for once, he's too weak to keep from wishing for something impossible.]
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It terrifies Clive. Sometimes, it feels as if the world brought them together only to have them be torn apart in one way or another: politics, propriety, powerlessness. He's wracked his brain for ways to save Joshua, for his brother to inhabit this world in a way that would be gentler to him, that would be more tolerable, but that future slips further and further away with each passing year.
And so, when Joshua mentions running away― well. Clive's hold tightens around him, his breath knotted in the back of his throat. ]
...Should this world ever forsake you, [ he murmurs, knowing just as much that he shouldn't, shouldn't say any of this, ] should this world and its people ever turn its back on you―
―I would take you away.
[ "Do your duty." "Protect father". Clive has already spoken these words once to Joshua, on the night that he nearly tore him in two; never again. Never again. ]
Away from the Twins, away from anyone who would know who we were. I would, Joshua.
[ A sin, spoken into existence. Effectively ruining all of Clive's years spent trying to protect his brother from himself; what a failure of a Shield he is, to promise his brother the abdication of both of their duties. He's wicked, selfish, weak. But he also loves Joshua more than anything, more than the world and the people in it. ]
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If they fled from all of this, ran to somewhere no one knew them, they could do anything. Travel, if they wanted. Joshua has always wished he could see more of the world, learn what he could. Books are one thing, but he knows there's so much more out there. But even that, he wouldn't really need. Just somewhere safe with Clive. They could both have time to discover what they might like to do without the demands of their blood, their destinies. They could be together.
They don't look that similar. Joshua takes after Anabella's finer features and paler coloring, while Clive has their father's dark hair and warrior's build. There are similarities, if one looks close, but no one would easily guess that they were brothers. And if no one knew, then Joshua could simply be with him. Could hold his hand, and share his bed, and love him properly, the way he deserves.
He wishes he could cling to the fantasy.]
I would go anywhere with you. [It's barely more than a whisper. He's already said more than he should have. These thoughts are indulgences he isn't meant to entertain, not even for these few moments.] Somewhere quiet, where no one needs me, no one fears you. Where you don't have to spend your life fighting.
[His own grip on Clive tightens. He can't say the rest, though he thinks of it. Somewhere he could pledge himself to Clive, the way he wishes for. Joshua will never marry anyone else, no matter how the nobles of Rosaria might hate him for it - but he'll never be able to marry Clive, either. It's his most impossible fantasy, tying Clive to himself in that way.
It's all only a dream. He knows his duty, and he won't forsake it.]
I only want peace, for both of us. [A breath, one that's not so hard fought for, but still stings.] I will - fight for it here. I will.
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And so, they have to grit their teeth and bear it. Eke out whatever happiness they can find between the long stretches of strife. Keep a white-knuckled hold on the moments of privacy that are afforded to them, and look forward to the next.
This, though, is different. They're here, just the two of them, but under circumstances that make Clive want to scream, still. His rage is still in the room with them, an invisible force that paces back and forth like a restless creature, ready to bare teeth. ]
...If you'll fight, so will I. We'll face our enemies together, as we've always done.
[ Even when Joshua isn't physically present on the frontlines. Clive's banner has always been under his brother's name, blasphemous as that is to the Phoenix. ]
The Sanbrequians have erred. They've shown themselves to be weak― afraid of our united front. [ Fingers sift over Joshua's forehead, pushing his bangs away from his eyes. ] We'll show them exactly what they should fear.
[ Clive, storm-eyed and sharp, ever-vigilant beside the poised grace of Rosaria's Archduke. It'll be the roles they have to play, but if theater is what it takes for the two of them to be together, then Clive will endure. There's no happiness possible for him without Joshua. ]
And we'll find our peace. As best we can.
[ He folds forward, lips landing on the crown of Joshua's head. Breathing him in, grip a little tight around his brother's shoulders. ]
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It's as impossible as the rest of Joshua's fantasies, but he hopes that one day he might be able to build something similar, at least. Something that allows his Lord Commander to stop shouldering the burdens of their whole country. Something that, selfishly, gives him more of Clive's time.
If he's strong enough, if they play things right, he can lay the first brick here.]
They'll be even more frightened with you at my side.
[He rests his head against Clive's shoulder, weary still. Joshua doesn't know how long this will take to heal from, but he doesn't have time to waste. If he must take a chair to the negotiations with the emperor, he'll do so - all the more reason to have Clive there as his attendant.
His anger, too, is an odd comfort. Joshua has a right to be angry as well, he knows, but he must always temper it. He can hate Sanbreque, can distrust each and every one of them, but he has to treat them carefully. If not with kindness - he's not certain he can summon that, feeling the way he does - then with neutrality. But Clive can be angry, in a way that Joshua doesn't feel he's allowed. The Sanbrequians already fear him for what he is. This will only make them fear him more, and now Joshua thinks they deserve it.
So long as they do nothing to harm him. That, Joshua would not forgive.
Which reminds him.]
Clive... you should not have been so careless. You could have poisoned yourself.
[He can't muster the energy for a proper scolding, but he isn't going to let it go without saying something. Clive saved his life, but what would Joshua have done if it had taken Clive's in the process?]
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The problem, now, is seeing their current predicament through to the end. It must be the case that the entirety of Whitewyrm is buzzing with talk of Joshua's sudden "bout of sickness", as they'll choose to spin it－ Clive has no idea how Dion has been dealing with the aftermath, or if he has, in fact, done them the kindness (or, at the very least, the due diligence) of investigating the matter further. He wants to believe that Dion has, and that Dion has raised the issue to those that will bring the treachery to light; if not, all talk of peace would be over before it began.
He can also only wonder if Sylvestre Lesage has been informed of this. Would he have been the one who'd masterminded the entire thing? His astrologers? The war council?
(A certain woman wearing the skin of their mother comes to mind; Clive pushes the thought away before it can take root.)
The furious churn of his mind only halts when he registers the chiding. For a moment, Clive looks entirely like someone who has no idea what he could be being scolded for, then shakes his head in light protest. ]
It was the only way. You were in pain, and our supplies were limited.
[ A blunt laying-out of his priorities: Joshua's life is far dearer than his own. ]
I could fetch you a potion, as well. [ A kiss to Joshua's temple, easily brushing aside the matter of his own wellbeing. Nothing his brother need concern himself with. ]
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He's never been that to Joshua. He sits up a little - though it takes more effort than he might like - and touches his fingers to Clive's jaw, gently ensuring that Clive looks at him. Perhaps that will make it harder to brush off Joshua's words.]
If you had saved me at the cost of your life, it would not have been a trade I was willing to make.
[He didn't - Clive seems fine, and likely didn't get more than a drop or two of poison when his lips were on Joshua's - and that's the only reason Joshua isn't more angry.
(Well, not the only reason. He doesn't have the energy for it, really. But he'd find it somewhere, if he needed it.)
But Clive was hurt protecting him so recently, and who knows how many times before that when he was on the borders, times Joshua never found out about. Clive is the strongest person he knows, the best swordsman, but even he can be unlucky. That is the sort of thing Joshua has nightmares about. His brother hurt, lost, somewhere Joshua can't help him. Clive falling, and Joshua not finding out until days later.]
Fetch me a potion, and one for yourself. I'll only be able to rest properly if I know you're safe.
[And if Clive had eaten that food - if Clive had been the one poisoned - would Joshua have been able to save him? He doesn't know. He would have burned himself out trying, he thinks.]
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It's not that he wants to die－ he'd never want to leave Joshua to face this world alone－ but the truth remains that the scales will always tip in Joshua's favor when it comes to who to save between the two of them. ]
...My life is yours. I'll do my utmost not to be careless.
[ With a slight bow of his head in contrition, to show that he means it. As little as his own life might be worth in the grand scheme of things (he knows what the Undying think of him, how they would have put a knife between his ribs if not for Joshua's intervention), there's no point in wasting it prematurely.
His pulse feels too fast under his skin. Every cell in his body screams in protest as he peels himself away, as if leaving for even a moment will cause his brother's condition to worsen again, but he swallows that anxiety down and slides off the bed to go find his potions in the wreckage of their travel pack.
They probably do need to speak to someone about extending their stay for the sake of Joshua's health, though it burns Clive to think of asking the Sanbrequians for anything. He's already made it clear that he doesn't want anyone disturbing their peace for the rest of the day, but Sylvestre Lesage might push back regardless, and the thought of that rankles, too. ]
You needn't worry about anything but recovering, Joshua. I'll handle the rest for today.
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If your life is mine, treasure it the way I do.
[He knows there's only so much that Clive will listen to. And there's so much that Rosaria demands of him, too. It's a fruitless battle, because Clive will always put himself between Joshua and danger, even if it means his life. Joshua loves him for it, loves that it is not only duty that drives him to it but the bone-deep bonds they share, but that doesn't mean he doesn't fear the results of it.
But he lets it rest at that. He watches Clive instead, already missing his warmth, his solid presence. When Joshua was younger and sick all the time, Clive would sneak in sometimes, and his quiet appearance always lifted Joshua's spirits. He might be feeling awful - as he is now - but having Clive nearby never failed to soothe him. It's no different now, except that he is older, the Archduke, meant to need no one but himself. To stand alone.
He doesn't want to. Not if it means parting from Clive.]
I hate to leave it all on your shoulders. I fear they'll treat you poorly.
[If Joshua had his way, he would be up and about immediately. He'd be demanding the Sanbrequians find his attempted assassin, and pressing Sylvestre Lesage to make far more concessions in the treaty than he ever expected. In truth, Joshua doesn't really care who did it - he's sure whoever gets the blame will only be a convenient villain, and not the true mind behind it. But there must be some sort of justice.
It doesn't matter how much he wants to do those things, though - he simply can't. The pain has mostly subsided, though his throat still feels raw and he expects his stomach will revolt against food for a bit. The potion will help. But it won't restore his energy, it won't immediately heal the damage that poison did. He'll need time for that, and until then Joshua can hardly sit up, much less stride around demanding things.
He wants to do his duty, and make the peace that they need. He wants to crawl under his bedcovers with Clive, and tell the rest of the world to take care of itself for awhile, curl close to his brother and sleep safely next to him. He's not sure he can really have either of those things.]
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Not as poorly as they've treated you.
[ They could chase Clive with cudgels in hand, and it would still pale in comparison to the level of abject deceit and violence that Joshua suffered today. And truly, from the bottom of Clive's heart, he couldn't care less about being reviled; he doesn't wish for the approval of people who would have let his brother die, and the only affection he'll ever seek is from Joshua.
Bottles clink in his hand as he brings them over to the bed again. One is more potent than the other, and it's the one he hands to Joshua as he sidles into that safe space, only debating for a moment whether it would be prudent to do mouth-to-mouth again before deciding that his brother has chided him enough. He ought not to give Joshua more reasons to worry. ]
...I won't leave you in this state. I'll speak to whoever comes to the door in your stead.
[ Because, despite his warning to the first man who came knocking, he's sure that someone higher on the food chain will try to coax at least one of the Rosfields out of hiding.
(Like a certain wicked woman, who would perhaps like to keep her Eikons close to her. Bahamut and the Phoenix, corralled in her castle like toys in a toybox. She can hand Ifrit to the Rosarians as a gesture of goodwill－ she wouldn't want that one nearby, anyway. He looks too much like her beloathed previous husband.
She is, in fact, winding her way through the halls, waving aside attendants as if she has any authority left. Exile hasn't been kind to her, but she is, if nothing else, ambitious.) ]
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And it does help. Not as much as he might like, he'll still need to rest and heal for longer than he'd like, but it's something. It settles his stomach, healing some of the worst of the damage. He watches Clive drink his potion, too, reassured by the sight. It's only when they've both finished that he lays his head against Clive's shoulder.]
I expect we'll have visitors before long.
[A representative of the emperor, perhaps, with the first of many apologies. Or Dion, checking to see whether he actually survived. Joshua is too weary to think of all the possibilities. He'll have to take them as they come - or rather, allow Clive to handle them. He doesn't mind that. Joshua thinks that Clive is far more capable than he believes himself to be in this area.
But he intends to listen closely anyway, in case they treat him with disrespect. He hears the way they speak of Clive: with fear, with disgust. It makes him angry, but in a way, it makes him proud, too. They should fear Clive. But even if Joshua feels that way, he doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't know what he'll do if he does - it's not as if he has the strength to rise from the bed and shout at them. He can hardly even raise his voice.
He'll be there, though. He won't make Clive face this alone.]
Whatever decisions you make, know that I will stand by them. What power I have is yours.
[And there is a sharp rap upon the door just then. Joshua sighs softly. He is not quite ready to give up Clive's warmth, but he knows they must face this.]
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－and it takes the form of a familiar voice, muffled but unmistakable through the thick wood of the door that separates their peace from the rest of Sanbreque.
"Joshua? Oh, Joshua, I came as soon as I heard－"
Clive's blood turns to ice. There's no part of him that fears Anabella (previously Rosfield), ten years displaced from her betrayal at Phoenix's Gate, but the unchanged cadence of her words still makes the fifteen year old in him grit his teeth and sit up ramrod-straight, vigilance hammered into him from more than a decade of watching her moods.
Strangely, he feels less hate for her than he knows he should. In its place is a void that of Anabella's own leaving, an absence that she carved into the space where he should have known a mother's love.
He glances towards Joshua, his own countenance slightly paler now as the presence behind that barrier asserts itself with more insistence. ]
...Nothing good will come of this, [ he murmurs. His throat feels tight, but he also feels miles away from the cradle of his own body; like he's watching himself from the opposite end of the room. ]
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He knew that their mother was somewhere in Sanbreque. She could not return to Rosaria after her betrayal, not without facing the fate of a traitor, but even though her plot failed Joshua was certain she'd find some sort of safety here. She's too clever to do anything else. But he had made no effort to find out where, exactly, she'd gone. No effort to find her at all.
Joshua had loved his mother. He'd been too young to do anything else, really, too young to understand her cruelty towards Clive, her overprotectiveness towards him. Far too young to understand the kind of person Anabella had always been. But he had never been happy with how she treated Clive, he'd never quite worshiped her the way she might have wanted. His heart did not break when she betrayed them, because even so young he'd known on some level what she really was.
And he never wanted to see her again.
He doesn't want to see her now. But he wants Clive to see her even less - Clive, who she treated like nothing, Clive who deserved so much better. She will be cruel to him. If Joshua were well, he would not hesitate to put himself between them. He would ensure she spoke only to him. The look on Clive's face is enough to make him certain of that.
He isn't even sure he can stand. But he has to try.]
Help me to the door. [Softly, to Clive.] If I lean against the wall, it will be all right.
[And then, louder, though it's an effort:] You did not need to do that, Mother. I'll be fine. [An attempt to send her away, though he knows it's not likely to work.]
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All Clive cared to know was that she was alive. Nothing else. As far as he'd been concerned, their paths would never cross again. Naïve of him, he knows now. Their mother would never willingly ignore an opportunity presented to her.
Like now. Clive hears how her voice soars in delight when Joshua calls her mother; she's far too proud to use her hands to pound against the door, but the words that bounce against that physical barrier serves the same purpose.
"Oh Joshua－ my darling, darling boy. Whatever happened, I can protect you from it. You know I've only ever wanted the best for you."
It hurts Clive's head to hear. Anger and distress push up against his skull, makes him taste the same anxiety-bile that'd welled up in the back of his throat whenever he'd felt Anabella's cold impassivity slide over him as a child. So many years later, and he can still remember curling up on the dirt-streaked floor of an abandoned rookery, fighting off the mental image of that look on his mother's face. ]
Joshua, [ he tries to protest. Again, there's nothing good that will come of his brother seeing Anabella in his current state. But Clive also sees that certainty on Joshua's face, and he cedes the point. ]
...If she makes you feel ill, I'll take over.
[ A low sigh later, his arms gently curl around his brother's pain-limp body and carry him gently up and out of bed. They remain looped around his shoulders, his waist, bolstering him through their journey towards the door, where Anabella is still chattering about how only she has the authority to make all of Joshua's anxieties go away. Even if there was any truth to that, Clive doesn't want to accept it.
Blue eyes flick towards Joshua, a silent ready?. A foolish question: neither of them would ever have been prepared for this reunion, and that becomes evident as Clive turns the doorknob and gets metaphorically kicked in the gut by the familiar face that looks back at them from the hallway, completely unchanged despite the decade of separation.
As expected, said familiar face turns sour at the realization that Clive is present; it turns sickly sweet with concern when her focus slips to Joshua. "Oh Founder, Joshua, look at you! My poor, sweet child!" ]
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Joshua knows Anabella won't go quietly, in that case.
He thought he might be able to hold himself up by leaning against the wall, and let Clive avoid facing their mother entirely - but he hasn't the strength. He needs Clive there, needs his steady presence. But he sees the way Anabella's gaze sours and dismisses him, and Joshua feels -
Angry.
He never really did when he was young. He felt confused, mostly, and sad, not understanding why she didn't love Clive the way he did. Joshua is older now, and he understands it even less, but he's not confused anymore. He's angry at the way she treats Clive, at the way Clive has always deserved so much better.]
I will be quite well with some rest. [He keeps his voice steady, coolly polite. As if they're nearly strangers.] You should not have come.
[He wants to send her away, as quickly as possible. Joshua knows it won't be easy - knows she wants something. He tries not to think about what it feels like to see his mother after so long. How he wishes, for a stomach-churning moment, that it was true - that she did care about him. That she could help.
But she'd never done that even when he was a child. She would cluck over him when he was sick, express concern over anything that might impact his health, watch him vigilantly, but his actual care was left to nursemaids - or Clive, when he could sneak in. Anabella wasn't the one wiping sweat from his fevered brow, or holding him when the pain of an aching cough kept him from sleep.
Her eyes widen in that same false concern. "Oh, but Joshua, I can call you my very own apothecary. You'll recover much more quickly under his care." She speaks as if Clive isn't even there, as if Joshua is the only one standing before her. And that's what Joshua wanted, it's true, but -
Clive is her son as well. Joshua wishes he were stronger, so he could be as angry as he wants to be.]
I will have no more 'help' from Sanbreque. Clive will care for me, as he always has.
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DRAGS MY CORPSE OUT OF HOLIDAY HELL...!!!
omg welcome back! I'm glad you survived
cursed november-december... it will never take me alive
༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ sending energy ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ
i owe you my LIFE!!!!
♥♥♥!
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