[ 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.
[ Gold hair, pale blue eyes, the long bridge of a well-shaped nose. It's remarkable how little Anabella has changed from the last time they saw her at Rosalith Castle－ it's also remarkable how much of her traits Joshua has inherited, and yet how little he resembles her even after he's grown into his features. Even when his brother steels himself, his anger-tinged calm is nothing like their mother's porcelain dispassion.
That realization settles some of the nausea in Clive's gut. Joshua is so much more than what Anabella would have molded him to be; not a puppet for her to claim, nor a pretty thing she could dress in silks and parade like a trophy in her arms. He squares against her, imperious despite the pain Clive knows must still be ravaging his system, and Clive has never felt prouder to stand beside him.
Even if Anabella still treats Clive like the dirt beneath her slippers. The mention of her eldest child barely evokes a reaction: she moves swiftly on, only cowed by that cursed name for a heartbeat of a moment.
"If you'd been properly cared for, none of this would have happened in the first place."
A well-manicured hand reaches out to try to brush along Joshua's forearm. Again, still too prideful to cling to a son who doesn't seem to be warming to her presence yet, but insistent.
"Come, Joshua. I'll see to it that you receive the protection that you deserve. You might even prefer Oriflamme to Rosalith by the end of this all."
And oh, it clicks into place. Anabella's intentions, what she must want. It almost makes Clive see red－ the same shade that'd dominated his vision after Joshua collapsed in that dining room－ but he blinks it away as best as he can manage without letting it dissipate entirely. ]
Don't presume to tell Joshua how he might feel.
[ She hasn't the right. Clive's grip around Joshua's waist tightens, keeping him tucked and close; even so, their mother doesn't deign to spare Clive a glance.
"Sanbreque and Rosaria will be united in peace, soon. We must deepen bonds while we can." ]
[Instinctively, Joshua pulls back from her touch. The moment he realizes he's doing it, he tries to make it look more smooth, intentional, obscuring the truth - which is that he just flinched away from his own mother's touch.
He had wondered a little, after Phoenix Gate, what it might feel like to see her again. If she had tried to come back when he was young, still recovering, she might have been able to win him over. Joshua had loved her, after all, as any child loves their parent. Even if he didn't understand her, even if he didn't like the way she acted sometimes, he'd still loved her.
But that time is gone. It has been for years now. Joshua doesn't want to be near her, doesn't want her to touch him, doesn't want to hear her voice.]
Rosalith is my home, and this place - [His careful calm cracks just a little.] It is a haven for snakes.
[It's on the tip of his tongue: A fitting dwelling for you. Even now, Joshua wants to believe she had nothing to do with his poisoning. If she hopes to use him now, then it would make little sense for her to try to kill him - but for all he knows, this is an attempt to grasp some sort of victory after a failed plan. He doesn't know. He can't trust her.
Her lips thin, and he knows she noticed the flinch, just as she's probably noticed every move they make. But as she opens her mouth to say something else - something he's sure he doesn't want to hear - Joshua cuts her off.]
Clive is all the protection I need, and the only family I have. I wish you well, Mother, but we are nothing to one another anymore.
[He keeps the tremble from his voice, barely. It's not fear, exactly, nor quite anger - it's just emotion, too much of it, held back by such little strength. He want to shout at her, to tell her that Clive is her son too, he's right there, and she's acting like he's nothing. Treating him terribly, as she always has. And Clive is the only thing keeping Joshua upright, the only person Joshua can trust with all of himself.
If she knew what Clive really was to him, she would only take it as some sort of vindication. She would be horrified, would use it against them. But Joshua still wishes, with some petty part of himself, that he could throw it in her face. He leans against Clive instead, taking some strength from that.]
[ It breaks Clive, to hear Joshua's voice waver. For all that Clive has struggled with Anabella, it gives him no joy to see or think that whatever love Joshua had for her has been defiled and broken by her actions. Whatever unconditionality their mother had for Joshua, and whatever innocent affection Joshua felt for her, should have been sacrosanct; it burns Clive to think that this, too, is another thing that his brother has had to lose and restructure himself around.
(On his end－ is it a loss, if he never had it? He can set that agony aside, because a void is a void is a void.)
Unfair. Unjust. Clive's stomach knots at how Joshua flinches, and every instinct in his body screams that he should close the door and shield his brother from this, to keep his brother away from their mother's steel-forged scrutiny. ]
Joshua－ [ he starts, but Anabella doesn't let him finish. She cuts in, chin hiked in firm austerity but with a tremble that says that she can't believe this is happening to her. (Because that's how it's always been, hasn't it? That these things stumble onto her path, instead of her having been the direct cause.)
"He's poisoned you with these notions, Joshua. Him and your late father, always pulling you in the wrong direction. What is your life to them but a trophy to their precious people?"
Clive's eyes widen; his hand doesn't stray from Joshua's side, but he feels the fingers of his free one clenching inwards, so hard that the leather creaks.
"None of that need concern you anymore, my sweet child. You are the Phoenix. Let your soldiers guard their precious castle if they must－ you are entitled to sit on a throne more worthy of your station."
Again, Clive boggles. This time, when he cuts in, it's with far more vehemence than he would have allowed himself only seconds ago. ]
Enough. I'll not have my brother endure this any longer.
[Joshua doesn't know what to say to that. His anger stops his tongue - the idea that he means nothing to Clive but that.
He doesn't know about their father. He wishes he could believe otherwise, that Elwin truly loved him, but he'll never be sure. He was too young to know, really, and their father was burdened with every concern of the kingdom. Joshua knows what that feels like now, and understands how Elwin could be distant, could have been so even while loving his children. But he'll never know for certain.
But Clive's love, he doesn't doubt. Not after everything they've shared, the lines they've crossed. If he turned to Clive this very night and asked to run, to leave this place and never return, to build new lives away from Sanbreque and Rosaria and all their problems -
Joshua believes with all his heart that Clive would agree. To Clive, he was not born solely for Rosaria. He is more than that, he matters in his own right. Even Joshua doesn't feel that way sometimes, has a difficult time believing that his life matters beyond what he can give to his country. But Clive never has.
So when Anabella straightens, her eyes narrowing, and she finally looks at Clive - when she speaks to him finally, and all she says is Stay your tongue, beast, as if he's even less than nothing, as if he's not even human -
Joshua feels that incandescent anger that he didn't before. The confusion, the longing for something better is burned away in a moment. It was like this before, he remembers. She was sweet to him, perhaps overly so, but she would denigrate Clive before his eyes. She never cared that he was watching, or perhaps she wanted it that way - wanted him to see the way she treated his brother, in hopes that he would treat Clive similarly. When he begged kindness for Clive, when he asked for his brother's presence, it only angered her. He had no power, before.
He does now. He straightens as much as he can, to match her.]
My Lord Commander speaks with my voice. We are done here.
[He can't slam the door in her face - he doesn't have the strength - so he will have to leave that to Clive. But he ignores her immediate outburst, something about how Joshua belongs in Oriflamme. He doesn't care. He's torn between his own weakness and his anger, the sort of thing that could turn to wildfire.]
[ Of course Rosaria matters. Of course the legacy their father left for them matters. Of course it matters for Clive to know that the world they live in and the people that inhabit is are happier under their care and protection. But to imply that Clive would give Joshua to the wolves for the sake of the greater good is unthinkable, and the nausea that the accusation inspires in him becomes too much to bear.
He can't. The shape of their mother's glare and the sound of her voice feels like a thinning of his soul; Clive simply can't. ]
Tell the Emperor that His Grace will see him on the morrow.
[ A cruel dismissal, Clive knows, to make Anabella be the bearer of such ignoble news, but it's all Clive can offer before he closes the door against her shrill, corrosive rage. He can almost hear the sound of her feet stamping in indignance behind that barrier, but no part of him can bring himself to care about her feelings after her thorough attempts to injure Joshua's.
Heels turning on carpet, he swiftly attempts to lead his brother back towards the canopied bed, as far away from the residual dregs of their mother as he can manage. Her voice still reverberates in Clive's skull, and whether that's because she's still outside the room trying to implore to Joshua's remaining goodwill or because he can hear her like an echo in his mind, Clive can't tell.
It doesn't matter. His palms are steady against Joshua's hip, his back, and he keeps himself from gripping too hard in his own simmering anger. ]
This won't be the last we hear from her, [ he guesses, blue eyes cast back in the direction of the door. His features crumple into a frown, deep and stormy. ]
...Are you alright?
[ As they lower onto the mattress, bodies nested side by side. ]
[He's not all right. He feels shaky, sick to his stomach, and it would be easy to blame it on the poison - certainly, there's more than enough reason for that. But he knows that's not the only reason. To see her again, after all this time -
He didn't know what to expect, not really. His head knew it wouldn't be good. He knows she betrayed them, and he remembers how she treated Clive, and anyone else she didn't think was good enough. He knew that nothing Anabella wanted from him now would be something he would be willing to give. He knew that she would only seek him out if she wanted something, if she wanted to use him.
He knew all that. And yet, the last time he saw his mother, he was ten years old. He loved her. His heart still wished, until this meeting, that things could be different. That she could somehow magically become someone better. That she would love him, that she would care for Clive the way she always should have. It was impossible, Joshua never truly believed anything like that could happen.
But still, it hurts.]
I will be.
[He'll have to be. Clive is right. She isn't done with them, so he needs to put his pain and sadness away. He always knew it would be like this, if she showed her face before them again. He doesn't know why it hurts.
He presses close to Clive, weary in so many ways. What would he have done, if Clive wasn't there? Would he have crumbled? Or would he have lost his temper, truly, the way he wanted to? Joshua can't help but be deeply grateful he was there, even as he feels guilty for it. She was cruel to him, she has always been cruel to him. Clive should not have had to speak to her, should not even have had to see her. If Joshua were stronger, he could protect Clive better.]
[ A definitive shake of his head, when Joshua apologizes to him. It's a full-bodied no, rejecting that 'sorry' with everything Clive has in himself. ]
It was more of the same. [ Anabella's treatment of him, obviously. There was no delusion involved here, no glimmer of hope that a decade of separation might have warmed their mother to him. He wouldn't have expected her to grow a garden where there was no soil, and thus, her silent resentment towards him was unpleasant, but expected. That isn't what bothers Clive.
What does: ] I'll never understand it. [ The matter of how she sees Joshua. Joshua, who had been the only thing Clive could agree with Anabella on, once upon a time: that he was the most important person in their world. ] She had you. There was nothing－ there is nothing－ that a mother could have wanted more.
[ Even ignoring the blessing of the Phoenix, which is negligible in Clive's eyes. Joshua was a clever, warm-hearted boy from birth; from the moment he was born, all he radiated was joy. Clive can remember the exact moment he understood that his brother would be the one he lived for, and had held that feeling close to his chest ever since.
Not a single sliver of him can begin to understand how Anabella doesn't hold the same regard for the son she'd claimed to have lived all her life to bring into the world. Clive will never understand it, and will never forgive her for breaking Joshua's heart. ]
You're worthy of every bit of love. [ And he should have had it. If not Clive, at least Joshua. All Clive wants for his brother is reprieve, is rest, is peace. He presses that feeling to Joshua's forehead, lips to soft hair, though his jaw is tight with anger and tension. ]
[It helps to hear it. He can't change how their mother is - neither of them can, and Joshua knew that even if his heart didn't. But he has this. He has Clive. Clive loves him, he always has, more than Joshua had ever believed possible. He doesn't know if he deserves that love, not really, but he is selfish enough that he never wants to let it go anyway.
He reaches out, raising his chin so he can kiss Clive properly. Gently, with care. Joshua can feel the anger there, roiling beneath Clive's skin, but he's so impossibly sweet to Joshua even so. Joshua can only try to match it.]
So are you. [He's insistent, using what little energy he has to be certain Clive listens.] You are the best person I know, the kindest, the strongest. That she can't see that is only evidence of how blind she is.
[It makes Joshua angry, again, to think of it. Of her dismissal of Clive, her disgust with him. For what? Only that he did not receive the Phoenix? Joshua did nothing special to inherit the eikon, it was only chance, and he has never been as strong as he should be. A flawed vessel. Perhaps that's why Anabella only sees him as something to be used.
Or perhaps that's a flaw in her. One that blinds her to Clive's immeasurable goodness, one that makes her care about Joshua only insofar as he can be useful to her. He will cast away any chance that that might change. He knows it won't. She will only make their lives here harder.]
I won't let her hurt you again. [Joshua presses his lips to Clive's jaw, the tense muscle there. Wanting only to convey his feelings, his love, as best he can.] I don't need her love. I have all that I need right here.
[ It feels surreal to be speaking about Anabella after a decade of carefully avoiding the subject of her estrangement. Clive had never wanted to invoke her around Joshua, who Clive always believed must have suffered her betrayal the most keenly－ Joshua was ten, for fuck's sake. He was a child who believed in his mother's love, and no part of Clive wanted to say anything that would have broken his brother's heart further than it already had been.
But the past has a way of catching up to them, and here she is. Back in their lives at their most vulnerable, and still doing as she's always done. Attempting to separate them, to make them believe that they don't belong together.
Her return is like the migraine pushing up behind the backs of Clive's eyes, but Joshua's touch, his kiss, soothes the greater part of it. Clive tips into it with more conviction than before, bolstered by this shared threat; even if the boundaries they've crossed remain blasphemous, it's what they need to survive the trials that are constantly biting at their heels. ]
－For the past ten years, we've had each other. Everything that we are, everything that we've accomplished, we've done hand in hand.
[ He softens, both in expression and tone. It's easy to, when Joshua so graciously extends his love the way he does, undeservingly and unconditionally. ]
She can't harm us. So long as we're together, we'll remain exactly as we're meant to be.
[ As he litters kisses against Joshua's hair, gentle and careful. The only thing Clive fears now is what Anabella might do to force his brother to stay in Oriflamme, to remain under her thumb using peace as an excuse. Joshua might have his assassination attempt to use as leverage now, but the fact remains that friendly relations between Sanbreque and Rosaria benefit Rosaria far more than the former.
It's a precarious position they've found themselves in. But Joshua's health matters more to Clive than politics, so he sinks them back down on soft pillows again to remain blissfully horizontal for as long as Joshua needs. ]
[Some of the turmoil of Joshua's emotions fades a little, soothed away by Clive's gentle kisses, his reassuring words. He doesn't know what Anabella might try to do, even if he's certain she's not finished. He doesn't know what to anticipate, how to prepare for it. He should be preparing, he knows, he should be thinking of ways to protect them.
But he's tired. He's tired, and his body still aches, the poison's damage only slightly soothed by the potion Clive gave him. He can speak without a spike of pain, but he's hardly strong enough to stand, much less walk. He doesn't even want to think of eating. He wants only to rest here, in Clive's arms, the only place he truly feels safe.
Joshua clings to his brother, trying not to think about how he could have died. Trying not to think about what it felt like to see his mother again, to realize that she didn't care about him - that she only cared for what he might do for her, what role he might play in her plans. It feels childish to be hurt by it. He knew what she was like. It shouldn't be painful.
But Clive is right, and hearing it helps. All this time, Clive has always been by his side, has fought for him, has protected him. He gave Rosaria safety while Joshua learned how to rule, and Joshua wants only to repay that sacrifice by winning peace for their home.
(And if that means Clive might no longer have to spend most of his time at the borders, away from Joshua - it's something to hope for, nothing more.)
Weary as he is, Joshua doesn't close his eyes yet. Just looking at Clive, gazing at that handsome face Joshua loves so deeply.]
Yes. You're right. We've come so far already, she isn't going to stop us now.
[He can let go of some of that pain, or try to. The slightest of smiles, a hint of levity.]
[ Not much of a silver lining, considering what it took to get Clive into bed with Joshua, but still－ the attempt tugs at the corner of Clive's mouth, successfully ending in a wan smile that only lasts for a whisper of a second, but a second nevertheless. There's no part of him that's celebrating Joshua having been moments away from slipping into death, but Clive will always spare some levity for his brother if he needs it.
Even if he still feels like he could prime and tear this capital apart, brick by cursed brick. ]
A paltry excuse for a consolation prize.
[ His presence is no substitute for Joshua's life. Without giving too much stock to what Anabella had said about his vigilance (or lack thereof), it is true that Clive could have been far more paranoid than he had been before he sat at the lunch table; that said, it's also true that it would be extremely suffocating for Joshua if Clive insisted that he eat a bite of everything on Joshua's plate before every meal.
His heart lurches again. He really couldn't bear it if he had to watch Joshua be bedridden again, ashen-faced and short of breath. ]
They wouldn't dare attempt something like this again, but... [ Brows knit, pinching Clive's expression into a frown again. ] ...It would be for the best if I assigned one of our retinue to oversee meal preparations.
[ And if that individual mysteriously dies in a freak accident, well. They really might not have cause to pursue a peace built on a foundation of lies. ]
[A bare moment's smile is more than he hoped for. He knows Clive must feel awful - they both do. After the poison, then Anabella, how could they not? But he so desperately wants his brother to feel even a moment's happiness, a moment's relief. He wishes he could give Clive joy unmixed with worry. Right now, though, all he can do is something so small.
He sighs a little, thinking about what Clive said. He can admit it's the wiser thing to do - for all they know, this is the first of many attempts. Joshua can't count on luck and the Phoenix to keep him safe. But even if Clive is right, he doesn't like it.]
If it had been anyone else... if it had been you, I would have lost you. [The idea terrifies him. Losing Clive like that, unable to save him - it would break Joshua.] That poison worked so quickly.
[He can still feel the effects of it. He'll be feeling it for days, likely even weeks, though Joshua hopes it'll heal more quickly than that. His health has always been delicate, he's used to feeling a bit under the weather, but this - he knows how close he was to death. He knows anyone else might not have clung to life.]
I know it's their duty, I do. But I still don't like the thought of them dying for me.
[It's something he has to grapple with often. When he sends Rosaria's soldiers out to secure the borders, he's sending men to their deaths. Every time Clive leaves, he fears he won't come back. And all the knights that remain at Rosalith, sworn to lay down their lives for him - Joshua knows their names, their faces. He knows the men who came with them, too, and what will he tell their loved ones if he returns without them?
That they died for him, he supposes. That they did their duty, and that he will honor them for it.
He doesn't like it. But he knows Clive is right.]
Send one of them into the city to get more antidotes. I don't think we should trust any that we might be given here in the castle, and I want them prepared. Just in case.
cursed november-december... it will never take me alive
[ It should have been me, Clive doesn't say, because that would be absurd. As much as Clive would find purpose in dying for his brother's sake, there would be no point if it meant leaving Joshua alone to fend off the world. And so, he bites his tongue and strokes his brother's hair as if to to soothe away any more what-ifs that would plague him for the rest of the day. ]
We won't burden you with our deaths. This mission was to be one of peace. [ A farce, now that things have played out the way they have. ] Imagine how embarrassing it would be for the Empire if we leave with our numbers intact.
[ There. A little hope for them to cling to, in this political nightmare. ]
And it'll be as you say. I'll send our medic out for procurements. [ Which will be a daunting and high-stakes task for the poor man, to be sure, but the medic in question is a loyal, seasoned physicker who has been in Rosaria's service for his entire life. He was chosen for this sortie for a reason, and Clive (along with the Undying) has faith in the man's ability to find unsullied antidotes for Joshua's needs.
Clive should be sending for him, actually. It's just... difficult, with the current state of his heart and his head, to peel away from Joshua for any reason. A near-impossibility, even. He thumbs at the bloodied state of Joshua's shirt, flecks of dried red staining its collar, its front. The blood smells wrong, copper tinged with something more acidic, and Clive's frown deepens. ]
But... Forgive me, brother. It'll be a while yet before I can make myself useful.
[Joshua should be making more plans, he knows. He should be thinking about what to say when he sees the Emperor - what to demand, how to spin this to best benefit them. He should be planning how to keep them safe, too, though he knows that's really Clive's job. But he fears that Clive won't keep his own safety well enough in mind, that he'll set it aside to protect Joshua. So he must find ways to protect Clive as well, no matter what.
It's too much. He's tired, he still feels terrible, even if he thankfully no longer feels like he's barely clinging to life. And Clive is here, and all Joshua wants to do is lay with him and feel safe, just for a little while.]
It can wait. [He rests his head against Clive, taking strength from his warmth, his solidity.] I don't want you to go anywhere.
[Perhaps, just for now, all of that can be set aside. Their mother at the door, now out there almost certainly plotting something they won't like. Whoever poisoned that food, who might not stop there. Rosaria, depending on them to avoid war, to win peace for a home that's fought so hard already.
He can't set it aside. When they rise from this bed, Joshua knows they will have to face all of that. But for now - maybe it's all right to just be here, with Clive. To be a person, instead of an Archduke or a Dominant, with everything that means.]
I'm sorry I frightened you. [He catches hold of Clive's sleeve, clinging a little.] I wish you knew how important you are to me. Impossibly so.
[He can't help but think of their mother, the way she treated him like he was nothing. Like he didn't matter. And she always has, hasn't she? Joshua needs him to know that was never true, never right.]
[ Treachery spreads around them like ink in water, but the worst of the heartache comes from Joshua's soft sorry. Clive hates to hear it, hates the sound of it in his brother's voice, and shakes his head before gathering Joshua inward.
For a moment, his ear presses against Joshua's pulse. The beat of it rings irregular; slow and plodding in a laborious effort to keep an ailing body from shutting down. That, too, makes something in Clive's chest sink. ]
It's your right, to make me worry. And I always will.
[ As his brother, as the person Clive loves more than anything. So don't apologize is implicit, as he thumbs the last of the dried blood away from Joshua's chin. ] ...As you always worry for me. I understand, Joshua.
[ Their separation is always under unhappy circumstances. Clive is aware of it, and has seen the due diligence his brother does before any and all of Clive's excursions: resource allocation, routine Stolas reports, readying their reserves. It's impossible to ask Joshua to see his Shield as an unfeeling sheet of steel to use as a barricade until he bends and warps and needs to be replaced; they are altogether too committed to each other in ways that not even Anabella's cruelty would be able to change. ]
I was born to be yours. The knowledge of that alone is enough for me to go on.
[ The flipside: he has no idea what he would do if he lost the one person who's held him together all this time. He doesn't say so, because he doesn't want to burden Joshua any further. ] ...So we'll have to make sure you get better, hm?
[ Softly, as he presses a kiss against Joshua's pulse. ]
[He has always liked when Clive says things like that - selfishly, greedily, wanting Clive to be his in every possible way. A spoiled child, wanting so badly to be that important to the one he loves, his favorite person in the world. He shouldn't like it as much has he does, he knows. It probably makes him no better than their mother, wishing for Clive to belong to him so completely.
Joshua should want Clive to live his own life, whatever it may be. To find love, start a family, settle down. All things he can never do so long as he's Joshua's. He feels guilty sometimes, knowing that, but the guilt has never been enough to stifle his selfishness. Clive saying things like that, as if it gives him strength, only encourages that part of Joshua.
He rests his hand, still a little shaky, on the back of Clive's neck. Just touching him, a point of contact.]
I'll get better. I always do.
[Joshua's health may always be a bit precarious, but he recovers again and again. He doesn't fall ill as often as he once did, but it still happens enough that he's used to doing what must be done even when he feels unwell - listening to reports, writing letters, anything that can be done abed.
He won't be able to stay in bed here, though. Tonight, certainly, but tomorrow he'll have to try to be well enough to meet with the emperor. Joshua cannot demand that the Emperor of Sanbreque visit him as he lays around. He'll have to be well enough to sit upright, at least, and to make it to their meeting and back. He'll manage it, he thinks, somehow.]
With you here, it'll be easy. You always took better care of me than any of the nurses back home.
[Or perhaps it was that Joshua simply always preferred Clive's care, the gentle devotion of it, the satisfaction of having all his brother's attention, just for a little while. In that, he hasn't changed. This night may have been one of the worst he's ever endured (though not, of course, the worst), but at least Clive's lips are brushing his skin. Even weary as his body is, it makes his heart beat a little harder.]
[ The both of them run warmer than most, but Joshua still feels feverish where he's tucked against Clive's chest. It brings to mind memories of tending to Joshua when he was much smaller and his coughs would wrack his entire body－ maybe things were simpler back then, but not by much. ]
I wouldn't know about 'better'. [ Finally, the barest sliver of what might pass as a chuckle. Nothing about Joshua being ill was pleasant, but Clive has to admit that it afforded him an excuse to push past the protests and to be near his brother without having to worry about Anabella dismissing him immediately. ] But I was happy to do it.
[ Another little breath, fond and wistful. He wonders if Joshua knows (he must) how many nursemaids Clive had to beg to let them into his brother's room; the pushback wasn't because they were particularly worried about Clive catching whatever it is that Joshua had (which never happened anyway), but because they feared his mother's wrath. ]
I remember trying to act out scenes of "The Saint and the Sectary" to keep you distracted from your fever. It never went very well without Uncle Byron to play Madu.
[ A foolish boy brandishing his training sword, trying to make his brother smile. He feels all of twelve summers again, repeating the past in foreign land, trying to soothe their heartaches by offering trite, uncomplicated things.
Fingers move to undo the front of Joshua's tunic. Clive wants to get rid of the bloodstained layer, and replace it with one of his own shirts. Bigger, less constraining. ]
...Maybe we can stop by Port Isolde after this. You deserve a change in scenery.
[Joshua smiles, remembering. They're fond memories, for all that he generally felt awful at the time - Clive wheedling his way into Joshua's room, the nursemaids nervous of Anabella's anger at first but then drifting away, taking the opportunity to steal some time for themselves while Clive took care of their charge. It wasn't fair to Clive, really, none of it, but Joshua never realized it then. He was just happy that Clive was there.]
I thought you were very dashing, with or without Uncle Byron.
[Usually he was a bit too sick to appreciate the finer points of any acting, after all. It was a wonderful distraction, though. It couldn't cure him, but it soothed his aches and fevers a little, brought a smile to his face. Even now Clive is doing the same thing, putting on a strong face for him, taking care of him.
He helps, as much as he can, shrugging out of his shirt. Until Clive began to remove it, Joshua had hardly noticed the blood, even as it dried tacky against his skin. He would have fallen asleep like that, if Clive hadn't been looking out for him.]
Though I would like to see him again. I always loved Uncle's visits.
[Byron was one of the few who treated Joshua like a child - who would encourage him to play, instead of expecting him to be the proper little prince and sit quietly. It's true, often he had little energy for more than that, but he always wanted to play. He got Clive in trouble because of it sometimes, and he's sure their uncle also endured his share of Anabella's scolding.
But Joshua treasured those moments anyway. Even now, they're some of his favorite memories from childhood. Byron encouraging them, Clive playing along, Joshua getting to have fun even if all he was well enough for was watching them caper about to amuse him.
He was spoiled, he knows. But he loves them both for it.]
I ought to visit the port anyway, now that I am Archduke.
[ Elwin, Byron, Rodney. A continuous cycle of father-adjacent figures in their lives, with their Uncle or their Lord Commander filling in whenever their father was away (which was more frequent than not). Though Clive knows that Joshua wasn't permitted to indulge in Byron or Rodney's company because of their mother's interference, it still warms him to know that Joshua holds fondness for the brief amount of time his brother got to spend in less restrictive company.
Folding the bloodstained shirt haphazardly, Clive displaces himself with an apologetic half-quirk of his lips, a wan smile that communicates I'll be back in a moment. He should probably divest himself of his bird-smelling, blood-flecked leathers as well; he easily strips himself of his top layers, his belts and buckles, and－
－remembers that this isn't Rosalith, and that he can't quickly walk out for some spare clothes. Fuck. The most he can offer Joshua is his relatively clean undershirt, which he brings back and hands over while he rummages through the dresser drawers for something else that Joshua can wear.
As he searches: ] You should, though I don't expect Uncle will treat you any differently. He still thinks I'm a boy scarcely ten summers old, which means he'll think you're barely five.
[ And Founder bless him for it. Clive fishes out a long, snow-white nightgown, and wrinkles his nose subtly at it before stuffing it back into the drawer. ]
We can write him tomorrow. I'll send for a Stolas.
[ Another bleached-white dress shirt, with frilled sleeves reminiscent of a Wyvern's Tail. It's slightly better than the gown, but not by much. ]
[Clive's shirt smells of him, which is - distracting and comforting all at once. Joshua tugs it on. He's nearly as tall as Clive now, but his shoulders will never be as broad, so the shirt still hangs loose on him. He's perfectly content with this, would be quite happy to fall asleep with the faint scent of Clive relaxing him, but he doesn't tell Clive to stop looking quite yet.
He's enjoying the view.
It's entirely inappropriate, he knows, and he feels a bit like he's taking advantage of Clive, but he can't help it. Even after all they've shared, the first flush of something new and impossible and forbidden, Joshua rarely gets opportunities like these. Clive is wildly handsome, he's sure anyone would agree, and for once he can look without fear. No one is here to see, to remark upon Joshua looking a little too long. And there Clive is, shirtless, so appealing that even though Joshua feels like something a morbol has just spat up he can't help but feel a sharp spike of longing.
There's not a soul who could look at Clive without wanting him, he thinks. He is only so strong.]
I'm all right in this. Come back to bed.
[He doesn't remember what he packed. Or rather, what the servants packed for him. Clothes for charming an emperor, clothes for impressing a country that hates all of them. What does it matter what he sleeps in? He would rather it be this, and have Clive close to him.]
You've done so much for me tonight, brother. Please, come and rest.
[And it's true, isn't it? Joshua was the one who was poisoned, but Clive is the one who's carried it all. Just as he always has. Joshua doesn't have the strength to tend to him properly, but he can offer relief, at least.]
[ A mirrored, entirely inappropriate thought, as Clive looks over his shoulder to find Joshua wrapped in his shirt, shoulders drowning in the fabric and raised collarbones peering from its collar. It must be shameful how Clive's attention draws to Joshua like a moth to a flame (ha), especially when his brother looks so tired, so spent.
He banishes his impolite thoughts with a silent exhale through his teeth, and abandons his search to do as he's bid. Like his inability to make himself useful by leaving the room to do more helpful things (finding their retinue, going to his quarters for a change of clothes and his own traveling supplies), Clive can't find it within himself right now to do anything but hover close, nursing his still anxiously-beating heart.
He'd promised himself, long ago, that he would never put Joshua on the edge of another brink. When he'd been spared death even after his transgressions against Joshua, he'd knelt and vowed that he'd never let Joshua fear for his life again. A naïve and foolish thing to pledge, knowing now the trials they inevitably have to face in such tumultuous times, but still.
He lets silence fall between them for a protracted few beats, seated on the edge of the mattress without properly laying flat. Idly, he fixes the oversized shirt on Joshua so that it hikes a little higher around his neck, like all the times he'd tucked his brother into bed when they were children. ]
...Were you afraid?
[ Finally, a murmured question. Soft, as if he already knows the answer to it, and wants to apologize for what it must be. His expression hovers between apologetic and pained. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
－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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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!" ]
no subject
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.
no subject
That realization settles some of the nausea in Clive's gut. Joshua is so much more than what Anabella would have molded him to be; not a puppet for her to claim, nor a pretty thing she could dress in silks and parade like a trophy in her arms. He squares against her, imperious despite the pain Clive knows must still be ravaging his system, and Clive has never felt prouder to stand beside him.
Even if Anabella still treats Clive like the dirt beneath her slippers. The mention of her eldest child barely evokes a reaction: she moves swiftly on, only cowed by that cursed name for a heartbeat of a moment.
"If you'd been properly cared for, none of this would have happened in the first place."
A well-manicured hand reaches out to try to brush along Joshua's forearm. Again, still too prideful to cling to a son who doesn't seem to be warming to her presence yet, but insistent.
"Come, Joshua. I'll see to it that you receive the protection that you deserve. You might even prefer Oriflamme to Rosalith by the end of this all."
And oh, it clicks into place. Anabella's intentions, what she must want. It almost makes Clive see red－ the same shade that'd dominated his vision after Joshua collapsed in that dining room－ but he blinks it away as best as he can manage without letting it dissipate entirely. ]
Don't presume to tell Joshua how he might feel.
[ She hasn't the right. Clive's grip around Joshua's waist tightens, keeping him tucked and close; even so, their mother doesn't deign to spare Clive a glance.
"Sanbreque and Rosaria will be united in peace, soon. We must deepen bonds while we can." ]
no subject
He had wondered a little, after Phoenix Gate, what it might feel like to see her again. If she had tried to come back when he was young, still recovering, she might have been able to win him over. Joshua had loved her, after all, as any child loves their parent. Even if he didn't understand her, even if he didn't like the way she acted sometimes, he'd still loved her.
But that time is gone. It has been for years now. Joshua doesn't want to be near her, doesn't want her to touch him, doesn't want to hear her voice.]
Rosalith is my home, and this place - [His careful calm cracks just a little.] It is a haven for snakes.
[It's on the tip of his tongue: A fitting dwelling for you. Even now, Joshua wants to believe she had nothing to do with his poisoning. If she hopes to use him now, then it would make little sense for her to try to kill him - but for all he knows, this is an attempt to grasp some sort of victory after a failed plan. He doesn't know. He can't trust her.
Her lips thin, and he knows she noticed the flinch, just as she's probably noticed every move they make. But as she opens her mouth to say something else - something he's sure he doesn't want to hear - Joshua cuts her off.]
Clive is all the protection I need, and the only family I have. I wish you well, Mother, but we are nothing to one another anymore.
[He keeps the tremble from his voice, barely. It's not fear, exactly, nor quite anger - it's just emotion, too much of it, held back by such little strength. He want to shout at her, to tell her that Clive is her son too, he's right there, and she's acting like he's nothing. Treating him terribly, as she always has. And Clive is the only thing keeping Joshua upright, the only person Joshua can trust with all of himself.
If she knew what Clive really was to him, she would only take it as some sort of vindication. She would be horrified, would use it against them. But Joshua still wishes, with some petty part of himself, that he could throw it in her face. He leans against Clive instead, taking some strength from that.]
no subject
(On his end－ is it a loss, if he never had it? He can set that agony aside, because a void is a void is a void.)
Unfair. Unjust. Clive's stomach knots at how Joshua flinches, and every instinct in his body screams that he should close the door and shield his brother from this, to keep his brother away from their mother's steel-forged scrutiny. ]
Joshua－ [ he starts, but Anabella doesn't let him finish. She cuts in, chin hiked in firm austerity but with a tremble that says that she can't believe this is happening to her. (Because that's how it's always been, hasn't it? That these things stumble onto her path, instead of her having been the direct cause.)
"He's poisoned you with these notions, Joshua. Him and your late father, always pulling you in the wrong direction. What is your life to them but a trophy to their precious people?"
Clive's eyes widen; his hand doesn't stray from Joshua's side, but he feels the fingers of his free one clenching inwards, so hard that the leather creaks.
"None of that need concern you anymore, my sweet child. You are the Phoenix. Let your soldiers guard their precious castle if they must－ you are entitled to sit on a throne more worthy of your station."
Again, Clive boggles. This time, when he cuts in, it's with far more vehemence than he would have allowed himself only seconds ago. ]
Enough. I'll not have my brother endure this any longer.
no subject
He doesn't know about their father. He wishes he could believe otherwise, that Elwin truly loved him, but he'll never be sure. He was too young to know, really, and their father was burdened with every concern of the kingdom. Joshua knows what that feels like now, and understands how Elwin could be distant, could have been so even while loving his children. But he'll never know for certain.
But Clive's love, he doesn't doubt. Not after everything they've shared, the lines they've crossed. If he turned to Clive this very night and asked to run, to leave this place and never return, to build new lives away from Sanbreque and Rosaria and all their problems -
Joshua believes with all his heart that Clive would agree. To Clive, he was not born solely for Rosaria. He is more than that, he matters in his own right. Even Joshua doesn't feel that way sometimes, has a difficult time believing that his life matters beyond what he can give to his country. But Clive never has.
So when Anabella straightens, her eyes narrowing, and she finally looks at Clive - when she speaks to him finally, and all she says is Stay your tongue, beast, as if he's even less than nothing, as if he's not even human -
Joshua feels that incandescent anger that he didn't before. The confusion, the longing for something better is burned away in a moment. It was like this before, he remembers. She was sweet to him, perhaps overly so, but she would denigrate Clive before his eyes. She never cared that he was watching, or perhaps she wanted it that way - wanted him to see the way she treated his brother, in hopes that he would treat Clive similarly. When he begged kindness for Clive, when he asked for his brother's presence, it only angered her. He had no power, before.
He does now. He straightens as much as he can, to match her.]
My Lord Commander speaks with my voice. We are done here.
[He can't slam the door in her face - he doesn't have the strength - so he will have to leave that to Clive. But he ignores her immediate outburst, something about how Joshua belongs in Oriflamme. He doesn't care. He's torn between his own weakness and his anger, the sort of thing that could turn to wildfire.]
no subject
He can't. The shape of their mother's glare and the sound of her voice feels like a thinning of his soul; Clive simply can't. ]
Tell the Emperor that His Grace will see him on the morrow.
[ A cruel dismissal, Clive knows, to make Anabella be the bearer of such ignoble news, but it's all Clive can offer before he closes the door against her shrill, corrosive rage. He can almost hear the sound of her feet stamping in indignance behind that barrier, but no part of him can bring himself to care about her feelings after her thorough attempts to injure Joshua's.
Heels turning on carpet, he swiftly attempts to lead his brother back towards the canopied bed, as far away from the residual dregs of their mother as he can manage. Her voice still reverberates in Clive's skull, and whether that's because she's still outside the room trying to implore to Joshua's remaining goodwill or because he can hear her like an echo in his mind, Clive can't tell.
It doesn't matter. His palms are steady against Joshua's hip, his back, and he keeps himself from gripping too hard in his own simmering anger. ]
This won't be the last we hear from her, [ he guesses, blue eyes cast back in the direction of the door. His features crumple into a frown, deep and stormy. ]
...Are you alright?
[ As they lower onto the mattress, bodies nested side by side. ]
no subject
He didn't know what to expect, not really. His head knew it wouldn't be good. He knows she betrayed them, and he remembers how she treated Clive, and anyone else she didn't think was good enough. He knew that nothing Anabella wanted from him now would be something he would be willing to give. He knew that she would only seek him out if she wanted something, if she wanted to use him.
He knew all that. And yet, the last time he saw his mother, he was ten years old. He loved her. His heart still wished, until this meeting, that things could be different. That she could somehow magically become someone better. That she would love him, that she would care for Clive the way she always should have. It was impossible, Joshua never truly believed anything like that could happen.
But still, it hurts.]
I will be.
[He'll have to be. Clive is right. She isn't done with them, so he needs to put his pain and sadness away. He always knew it would be like this, if she showed her face before them again. He doesn't know why it hurts.
He presses close to Clive, weary in so many ways. What would he have done, if Clive wasn't there? Would he have crumbled? Or would he have lost his temper, truly, the way he wanted to? Joshua can't help but be deeply grateful he was there, even as he feels guilty for it. She was cruel to him, she has always been cruel to him. Clive should not have had to speak to her, should not even have had to see her. If Joshua were stronger, he could protect Clive better.]
I'm sorry. For all of it. Are you alright?
no subject
It was more of the same. [ Anabella's treatment of him, obviously. There was no delusion involved here, no glimmer of hope that a decade of separation might have warmed their mother to him. He wouldn't have expected her to grow a garden where there was no soil, and thus, her silent resentment towards him was unpleasant, but expected. That isn't what bothers Clive.
What does: ] I'll never understand it. [ The matter of how she sees Joshua. Joshua, who had been the only thing Clive could agree with Anabella on, once upon a time: that he was the most important person in their world. ] She had you. There was nothing－ there is nothing－ that a mother could have wanted more.
[ Even ignoring the blessing of the Phoenix, which is negligible in Clive's eyes. Joshua was a clever, warm-hearted boy from birth; from the moment he was born, all he radiated was joy. Clive can remember the exact moment he understood that his brother would be the one he lived for, and had held that feeling close to his chest ever since.
Not a single sliver of him can begin to understand how Anabella doesn't hold the same regard for the son she'd claimed to have lived all her life to bring into the world. Clive will never understand it, and will never forgive her for breaking Joshua's heart. ]
You're worthy of every bit of love. [ And he should have had it. If not Clive, at least Joshua. All Clive wants for his brother is reprieve, is rest, is peace. He presses that feeling to Joshua's forehead, lips to soft hair, though his jaw is tight with anger and tension. ]
no subject
He reaches out, raising his chin so he can kiss Clive properly. Gently, with care. Joshua can feel the anger there, roiling beneath Clive's skin, but he's so impossibly sweet to Joshua even so. Joshua can only try to match it.]
So are you. [He's insistent, using what little energy he has to be certain Clive listens.] You are the best person I know, the kindest, the strongest. That she can't see that is only evidence of how blind she is.
[It makes Joshua angry, again, to think of it. Of her dismissal of Clive, her disgust with him. For what? Only that he did not receive the Phoenix? Joshua did nothing special to inherit the eikon, it was only chance, and he has never been as strong as he should be. A flawed vessel. Perhaps that's why Anabella only sees him as something to be used.
Or perhaps that's a flaw in her. One that blinds her to Clive's immeasurable goodness, one that makes her care about Joshua only insofar as he can be useful to her. He will cast away any chance that that might change. He knows it won't. She will only make their lives here harder.]
I won't let her hurt you again. [Joshua presses his lips to Clive's jaw, the tense muscle there. Wanting only to convey his feelings, his love, as best he can.] I don't need her love. I have all that I need right here.
no subject
But the past has a way of catching up to them, and here she is. Back in their lives at their most vulnerable, and still doing as she's always done. Attempting to separate them, to make them believe that they don't belong together.
Her return is like the migraine pushing up behind the backs of Clive's eyes, but Joshua's touch, his kiss, soothes the greater part of it. Clive tips into it with more conviction than before, bolstered by this shared threat; even if the boundaries they've crossed remain blasphemous, it's what they need to survive the trials that are constantly biting at their heels. ]
－For the past ten years, we've had each other. Everything that we are, everything that we've accomplished, we've done hand in hand.
[ He softens, both in expression and tone. It's easy to, when Joshua so graciously extends his love the way he does, undeservingly and unconditionally. ]
She can't harm us. So long as we're together, we'll remain exactly as we're meant to be.
[ As he litters kisses against Joshua's hair, gentle and careful. The only thing Clive fears now is what Anabella might do to force his brother to stay in Oriflamme, to remain under her thumb using peace as an excuse. Joshua might have his assassination attempt to use as leverage now, but the fact remains that friendly relations between Sanbreque and Rosaria benefit Rosaria far more than the former.
It's a precarious position they've found themselves in. But Joshua's health matters more to Clive than politics, so he sinks them back down on soft pillows again to remain blissfully horizontal for as long as Joshua needs. ]
no subject
But he's tired. He's tired, and his body still aches, the poison's damage only slightly soothed by the potion Clive gave him. He can speak without a spike of pain, but he's hardly strong enough to stand, much less walk. He doesn't even want to think of eating. He wants only to rest here, in Clive's arms, the only place he truly feels safe.
Joshua clings to his brother, trying not to think about how he could have died. Trying not to think about what it felt like to see his mother again, to realize that she didn't care about him - that she only cared for what he might do for her, what role he might play in her plans. It feels childish to be hurt by it. He knew what she was like. It shouldn't be painful.
But Clive is right, and hearing it helps. All this time, Clive has always been by his side, has fought for him, has protected him. He gave Rosaria safety while Joshua learned how to rule, and Joshua wants only to repay that sacrifice by winning peace for their home.
(And if that means Clive might no longer have to spend most of his time at the borders, away from Joshua - it's something to hope for, nothing more.)
Weary as he is, Joshua doesn't close his eyes yet. Just looking at Clive, gazing at that handsome face Joshua loves so deeply.]
Yes. You're right. We've come so far already, she isn't going to stop us now.
[He can let go of some of that pain, or try to. The slightest of smiles, a hint of levity.]
At least this has ended with you in my bed.
DRAGS MY CORPSE OUT OF HOLIDAY HELL...!!!
Even if he still feels like he could prime and tear this capital apart, brick by cursed brick. ]
A paltry excuse for a consolation prize.
[ His presence is no substitute for Joshua's life. Without giving too much stock to what Anabella had said about his vigilance (or lack thereof), it is true that Clive could have been far more paranoid than he had been before he sat at the lunch table; that said, it's also true that it would be extremely suffocating for Joshua if Clive insisted that he eat a bite of everything on Joshua's plate before every meal.
His heart lurches again. He really couldn't bear it if he had to watch Joshua be bedridden again, ashen-faced and short of breath. ]
They wouldn't dare attempt something like this again, but... [ Brows knit, pinching Clive's expression into a frown again. ] ...It would be for the best if I assigned one of our retinue to oversee meal preparations.
[ And if that individual mysteriously dies in a freak accident, well. They really might not have cause to pursue a peace built on a foundation of lies. ]
omg welcome back! I'm glad you survived
He sighs a little, thinking about what Clive said. He can admit it's the wiser thing to do - for all they know, this is the first of many attempts. Joshua can't count on luck and the Phoenix to keep him safe. But even if Clive is right, he doesn't like it.]
If it had been anyone else... if it had been you, I would have lost you. [The idea terrifies him. Losing Clive like that, unable to save him - it would break Joshua.] That poison worked so quickly.
[He can still feel the effects of it. He'll be feeling it for days, likely even weeks, though Joshua hopes it'll heal more quickly than that. His health has always been delicate, he's used to feeling a bit under the weather, but this - he knows how close he was to death. He knows anyone else might not have clung to life.]
I know it's their duty, I do. But I still don't like the thought of them dying for me.
[It's something he has to grapple with often. When he sends Rosaria's soldiers out to secure the borders, he's sending men to their deaths. Every time Clive leaves, he fears he won't come back. And all the knights that remain at Rosalith, sworn to lay down their lives for him - Joshua knows their names, their faces. He knows the men who came with them, too, and what will he tell their loved ones if he returns without them?
That they died for him, he supposes. That they did their duty, and that he will honor them for it.
He doesn't like it. But he knows Clive is right.]
Send one of them into the city to get more antidotes. I don't think we should trust any that we might be given here in the castle, and I want them prepared. Just in case.
cursed november-december... it will never take me alive
We won't burden you with our deaths. This mission was to be one of peace. [ A farce, now that things have played out the way they have. ] Imagine how embarrassing it would be for the Empire if we leave with our numbers intact.
[ There. A little hope for them to cling to, in this political nightmare. ]
And it'll be as you say. I'll send our medic out for procurements. [ Which will be a daunting and high-stakes task for the poor man, to be sure, but the medic in question is a loyal, seasoned physicker who has been in Rosaria's service for his entire life. He was chosen for this sortie for a reason, and Clive (along with the Undying) has faith in the man's ability to find unsullied antidotes for Joshua's needs.
Clive should be sending for him, actually. It's just... difficult, with the current state of his heart and his head, to peel away from Joshua for any reason. A near-impossibility, even. He thumbs at the bloodied state of Joshua's shirt, flecks of dried red staining its collar, its front. The blood smells wrong, copper tinged with something more acidic, and Clive's frown deepens. ]
But... Forgive me, brother. It'll be a while yet before I can make myself useful.
༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ sending energy ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ
It's too much. He's tired, he still feels terrible, even if he thankfully no longer feels like he's barely clinging to life. And Clive is here, and all Joshua wants to do is lay with him and feel safe, just for a little while.]
It can wait. [He rests his head against Clive, taking strength from his warmth, his solidity.] I don't want you to go anywhere.
[Perhaps, just for now, all of that can be set aside. Their mother at the door, now out there almost certainly plotting something they won't like. Whoever poisoned that food, who might not stop there. Rosaria, depending on them to avoid war, to win peace for a home that's fought so hard already.
He can't set it aside. When they rise from this bed, Joshua knows they will have to face all of that. But for now - maybe it's all right to just be here, with Clive. To be a person, instead of an Archduke or a Dominant, with everything that means.]
I'm sorry I frightened you. [He catches hold of Clive's sleeve, clinging a little.] I wish you knew how important you are to me. Impossibly so.
[He can't help but think of their mother, the way she treated him like he was nothing. Like he didn't matter. And she always has, hasn't she? Joshua needs him to know that was never true, never right.]
i owe you my LIFE!!!!
For a moment, his ear presses against Joshua's pulse. The beat of it rings irregular; slow and plodding in a laborious effort to keep an ailing body from shutting down. That, too, makes something in Clive's chest sink. ]
It's your right, to make me worry. And I always will.
[ As his brother, as the person Clive loves more than anything. So don't apologize is implicit, as he thumbs the last of the dried blood away from Joshua's chin. ] ...As you always worry for me. I understand, Joshua.
[ Their separation is always under unhappy circumstances. Clive is aware of it, and has seen the due diligence his brother does before any and all of Clive's excursions: resource allocation, routine Stolas reports, readying their reserves. It's impossible to ask Joshua to see his Shield as an unfeeling sheet of steel to use as a barricade until he bends and warps and needs to be replaced; they are altogether too committed to each other in ways that not even Anabella's cruelty would be able to change. ]
I was born to be yours. The knowledge of that alone is enough for me to go on.
[ The flipside: he has no idea what he would do if he lost the one person who's held him together all this time. He doesn't say so, because he doesn't want to burden Joshua any further. ] ...So we'll have to make sure you get better, hm?
[ Softly, as he presses a kiss against Joshua's pulse. ]
♥♥♥!
Joshua should want Clive to live his own life, whatever it may be. To find love, start a family, settle down. All things he can never do so long as he's Joshua's. He feels guilty sometimes, knowing that, but the guilt has never been enough to stifle his selfishness. Clive saying things like that, as if it gives him strength, only encourages that part of Joshua.
He rests his hand, still a little shaky, on the back of Clive's neck. Just touching him, a point of contact.]
I'll get better. I always do.
[Joshua's health may always be a bit precarious, but he recovers again and again. He doesn't fall ill as often as he once did, but it still happens enough that he's used to doing what must be done even when he feels unwell - listening to reports, writing letters, anything that can be done abed.
He won't be able to stay in bed here, though. Tonight, certainly, but tomorrow he'll have to try to be well enough to meet with the emperor. Joshua cannot demand that the Emperor of Sanbreque visit him as he lays around. He'll have to be well enough to sit upright, at least, and to make it to their meeting and back. He'll manage it, he thinks, somehow.]
With you here, it'll be easy. You always took better care of me than any of the nurses back home.
[Or perhaps it was that Joshua simply always preferred Clive's care, the gentle devotion of it, the satisfaction of having all his brother's attention, just for a little while. In that, he hasn't changed. This night may have been one of the worst he's ever endured (though not, of course, the worst), but at least Clive's lips are brushing his skin. Even weary as his body is, it makes his heart beat a little harder.]
no subject
I wouldn't know about 'better'. [ Finally, the barest sliver of what might pass as a chuckle. Nothing about Joshua being ill was pleasant, but Clive has to admit that it afforded him an excuse to push past the protests and to be near his brother without having to worry about Anabella dismissing him immediately. ] But I was happy to do it.
[ Another little breath, fond and wistful. He wonders if Joshua knows (he must) how many nursemaids Clive had to beg to let them into his brother's room; the pushback wasn't because they were particularly worried about Clive catching whatever it is that Joshua had (which never happened anyway), but because they feared his mother's wrath. ]
I remember trying to act out scenes of "The Saint and the Sectary" to keep you distracted from your fever. It never went very well without Uncle Byron to play Madu.
[ A foolish boy brandishing his training sword, trying to make his brother smile. He feels all of twelve summers again, repeating the past in foreign land, trying to soothe their heartaches by offering trite, uncomplicated things.
Fingers move to undo the front of Joshua's tunic. Clive wants to get rid of the bloodstained layer, and replace it with one of his own shirts. Bigger, less constraining. ]
...Maybe we can stop by Port Isolde after this. You deserve a change in scenery.
no subject
I thought you were very dashing, with or without Uncle Byron.
[Usually he was a bit too sick to appreciate the finer points of any acting, after all. It was a wonderful distraction, though. It couldn't cure him, but it soothed his aches and fevers a little, brought a smile to his face. Even now Clive is doing the same thing, putting on a strong face for him, taking care of him.
He helps, as much as he can, shrugging out of his shirt. Until Clive began to remove it, Joshua had hardly noticed the blood, even as it dried tacky against his skin. He would have fallen asleep like that, if Clive hadn't been looking out for him.]
Though I would like to see him again. I always loved Uncle's visits.
[Byron was one of the few who treated Joshua like a child - who would encourage him to play, instead of expecting him to be the proper little prince and sit quietly. It's true, often he had little energy for more than that, but he always wanted to play. He got Clive in trouble because of it sometimes, and he's sure their uncle also endured his share of Anabella's scolding.
But Joshua treasured those moments anyway. Even now, they're some of his favorite memories from childhood. Byron encouraging them, Clive playing along, Joshua getting to have fun even if all he was well enough for was watching them caper about to amuse him.
He was spoiled, he knows. But he loves them both for it.]
I ought to visit the port anyway, now that I am Archduke.
no subject
Folding the bloodstained shirt haphazardly, Clive displaces himself with an apologetic half-quirk of his lips, a wan smile that communicates I'll be back in a moment. He should probably divest himself of his bird-smelling, blood-flecked leathers as well; he easily strips himself of his top layers, his belts and buckles, and－
－remembers that this isn't Rosalith, and that he can't quickly walk out for some spare clothes. Fuck. The most he can offer Joshua is his relatively clean undershirt, which he brings back and hands over while he rummages through the dresser drawers for something else that Joshua can wear.
As he searches: ] You should, though I don't expect Uncle will treat you any differently. He still thinks I'm a boy scarcely ten summers old, which means he'll think you're barely five.
[ And Founder bless him for it. Clive fishes out a long, snow-white nightgown, and wrinkles his nose subtly at it before stuffing it back into the drawer. ]
We can write him tomorrow. I'll send for a Stolas.
[ Another bleached-white dress shirt, with frilled sleeves reminiscent of a Wyvern's Tail. It's slightly better than the gown, but not by much. ]
no subject
He's enjoying the view.
It's entirely inappropriate, he knows, and he feels a bit like he's taking advantage of Clive, but he can't help it. Even after all they've shared, the first flush of something new and impossible and forbidden, Joshua rarely gets opportunities like these. Clive is wildly handsome, he's sure anyone would agree, and for once he can look without fear. No one is here to see, to remark upon Joshua looking a little too long. And there Clive is, shirtless, so appealing that even though Joshua feels like something a morbol has just spat up he can't help but feel a sharp spike of longing.
There's not a soul who could look at Clive without wanting him, he thinks. He is only so strong.]
I'm all right in this. Come back to bed.
[He doesn't remember what he packed. Or rather, what the servants packed for him. Clothes for charming an emperor, clothes for impressing a country that hates all of them. What does it matter what he sleeps in? He would rather it be this, and have Clive close to him.]
You've done so much for me tonight, brother. Please, come and rest.
[And it's true, isn't it? Joshua was the one who was poisoned, but Clive is the one who's carried it all. Just as he always has. Joshua doesn't have the strength to tend to him properly, but he can offer relief, at least.]
no subject
He banishes his impolite thoughts with a silent exhale through his teeth, and abandons his search to do as he's bid. Like his inability to make himself useful by leaving the room to do more helpful things (finding their retinue, going to his quarters for a change of clothes and his own traveling supplies), Clive can't find it within himself right now to do anything but hover close, nursing his still anxiously-beating heart.
He'd promised himself, long ago, that he would never put Joshua on the edge of another brink. When he'd been spared death even after his transgressions against Joshua, he'd knelt and vowed that he'd never let Joshua fear for his life again. A naïve and foolish thing to pledge, knowing now the trials they inevitably have to face in such tumultuous times, but still.
He lets silence fall between them for a protracted few beats, seated on the edge of the mattress without properly laying flat. Idly, he fixes the oversized shirt on Joshua so that it hikes a little higher around his neck, like all the times he'd tucked his brother into bed when they were children. ]
...Were you afraid?
[ Finally, a murmured question. Soft, as if he already knows the answer to it, and wants to apologize for what it must be. His expression hovers between apologetic and pained. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)