[ 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. ]
[Resting against the pillows, he looks up at Clive. A lie comes easily to his tongue - I knew I would be all right, or the Phoenix always protects me, or you were there, so I was safe. If it were anyone else, he would lie, he knows. He has to seem strong, and he doesn't want anyone to fuss over him, and he knows how to project the right image.
But this is Clive. Joshua doesn't want to lie to him, and anyway he thinks it would be ridiculous. Clive was there, holding him. He knew, had to know, that Joshua wasn't as strong as he has to seem.
When he faces the Sanbrequians tomorrow, he will have to be strong. He will have to be the Archduke of Rosaria, who wasn't frightened for a moment, full of righteous anger and firm demands. He can do it, he thinks, but - maybe here, with Clive, he can be honest. He can let himself be weak, for a moment, even though he knows it means forcing Clive to carry that weakness for him.
But if not Clive, then who? There's no one else Joshua can trust.]
I was terrified. [He says it quietly, and he can't quite look at Clive, ashamed of admitting that truth.] I don't want to die. I thought - I thought I would be leaving you alone.
[And Rosaria, of course, and all the duties he must carry. But it was Clive he thought of, really, Clive he so desperately wanted to cling to. What will happen to Clive if he dies? Joshua doesn't even want to think of it.]
[ (In another life, Clive will spend thirteen years living only for the chance to kill the man who took his brother from him. It will never be couched in terms of "the man who destroyed my homeland" or "the man who shattered my life"― it will always be "the man who killed Joshua". Everything else will be white noise.)
Clive's jaw flexes. Terrified is a hot knife through his ribs, but it's the answer he anticipated, and it's the one that Joshua deserves to speak out loud. Strong as he is, capable as he is, his brother is still a young man that has lived with the threat of death since childhood. Even as a small boy, Joshua only projected his fears in the form of fingers in Clive's sleeves, or his face nestled in Clive's chest. Never out loud.
Still sitting upright, he feels his heart lurch. ]
...I've lost you once. [ Or, well. Thought he had, anyway. If the Undying hadn't pulled him off of Joshua, still smoldering and singed at the seams, the worst would have come to pass; he has defined himself around that moment ever since. ] I wouldn't have survived it again.
[ He's stitched himself around that trauma, yes. Has used it to bolster himself to become stronger, more in control of the thing that turned against him. But to live it again would have unspooled him entirely, and he knows it. It's what his heart still says now, hammering against his chest when he thinks back to the moment Joshua had collapsed in that dining room, blood streaming from his mouth.
So. ]
You wouldn't have left me for long.
[ Twin flames, in life and death. Is that unhealthy? The better question, by this point, would be if there's ever been a moment since the Night of Flames since he's dealt with this pain in a healthy way. ]
[It makes him terribly sad to think of that. To think that the loss of his life would mean the loss of Clive's as well - he never wants anything to happen to Clive. He wants to imagine Clive living happily somehow, living a life free of pain and duty.
But Joshua isn't such a fool as to believe that would be easy. Possible, maybe - but nowhere near easy. Though Joshua has not had to act to protect Clive since that day so long ago, the day he begged - demanded - that the Undying not punish Clive the way they wished, he knows that his presence has been some sort of protection in its own right. If he were gone, the nobles of Rosaria might let their fear get the better of him. The Undying might decide penance was long overdue. Sanbreque would certainly want Ifrit gone, or under their control.
Clive's life without him would not be happy or painless. Knowing that doesn't make the thought of Clive joining him in death any easier, though.]
I would want you to be happy. To just - run away from all of this, and find some way to be happy.
[He reaches out, catching one of Clive's hands in his. Needing badly to touch him in that moment, because the thought of Clive dying is as frightening as the thought of his own death. Would he be able to live on without Clive, if Clive were the one to go first? He would have to try. Joshua knows his duty, knows Rosaria's future rests on his shoulders. But the thought of doing it without his brother is awful.
So he understands. He just doesn't like it.]
I hate the thought of anything happening to you. Even if that's what you want, I can't stand it, Clive. [And, as if it's easy, as if it's just a decision he can make:] I will be certain that nothing happens to me, so that you never have to suffer such a thing.
[He wants to pull Clive to him, to cling to his brother with all his strength, as if he could somehow force the desire to live no matter what into him. Joshua thinks that Clive does not properly understand how much Joshua loves him, how much of his heart will always be Clive's. He doesn't know how to make him understand.]
[ Clive hovers for a moment, caught between his thoughts and this very real plea that's being projected to him. Joshua's grip on him is fragile in a way that makes his stomach turn again, reminding him of how much strength the poison has taken and still continues to take from his brother.
It's devastating. As devastating as the thought of finding happiness with a Joshua-shaped hole carved out of his soul. Clive can't even begin to imagine what that would look like, what that would feel like. Ever since he was a child, he only knew happiness in the context of his brother's smiles, in the purpose it gave him to become stronger and more capable to fulfill the duty of being his brother's protector.
What is happiness, exactly? What is it, if not giving yourself wholly to someone you love more than yourself? He tries to reconcile that preconceived notion with Joshua's request that he retain himself even in Joshua's absence, and it...
...feels impossible. He doesn't say so, obviously. ]
―It's my role to make sure nothing happens to you. [ As gently as he can manage, without denying his brother outright. No part of him wants this to become a disagreement. ] And I'd like to keep it as long as I can. Until I'm old and grey.
[ Which is a concession, to some extent. It's not that I want to die, in different terms. He tries for a smile that doesn't land― more a flinch than anything, but there was an attempt― and he finally, finally lowers himself down again.
(There's no care spent to reassess the optics of this. Him, shirtless and stripped down to his trousers, and Joshua, wrapped in his shirt and pulled close to his chest. If someone comes to check on the both of them somehow, they'll see what they see.) ]
...So I'll have to do my utmost to keep swatting flies.
[ A sigh, as he settles under covers. ] The Imperials may shift back to courting you again. [ If what Anabella said before at their door is any indication of what she'll push for in the future, Clive means. ] And I don't intend to return to Rosalith without you.
I don't intend to stay here. [And then, far more petulant than Joshua usually ever allows himself to be:] I hate this place.
[He will be mature tomorrow, when he has to be. When he faces Sylvestre and all the other nobles who will surely want a peek at him - to see how awful he might look, how close to death he was, so they can gossip about it afterwards. Joshua knows he can handle it, knows a night of rest won't give him back all his strength but it'll give him enough for that.
It helps, more than he can say, that Clive is there. That he will be allowed, hopefully, to fall asleep in his brother's arms. It's greedy of him to want that when he knows how difficult, how dangerous it is - but how can he help but want it? Even as awful as he feels, having Clive so close warms him in a way that's not nearly as innocent as it ought to be.]
They can try, and in return I'll wring as many concessions out of them as I can before we return home. [And if that's the only way he gets justice for this, it will be enough. If Rosaria ends up safe, it will all be worth it.] They won't get my hand, though, no matter what they may offer. I will never marry.
[He rests his head against Clive. He would marry if he could, if only it were possible. But it never can be, and so he never will.
It should be a mad thought, really. This thing between them has only come to life so recently, and though Joshua is young and rather a romantic, he knows his duty and is level-headed enough that he would never think such a thing about any other relationship that was so new.
But Joshua has loved Clive for so long, trusted him for just as many years. He has wanted Clive for longer than he ought to, even knowing - certain, back then - that it could never be possible. He always thought they would spend their lives together, and he still thinks that. So it isn't so mad, in the end. It isn't.]
I'll see you when you're old and grey, someday. And you will be just as handsome.
[ "I hate this place", Joshua says, and those petulance-laced words give Clive more comfort than he's willing to admit. Not just because Joshua so rarely permits himself to sound his age－ though that's most of it－ but because it gives Clive the childlike reassurance that his brother will stay.
A selfish, greedy thought. Not quite unlike Clive's plans for the following morning, to find the brightest crimson silks that his brother packed to dress him in, and to wear something just as red to match. Not a speck of white on either of their bodies if they can help it, standing tall and proud like the twin flames that they are.
(Clive has not been invited to stand vigil during Joshua's audience with Sylvestre.
Clive will invite himself.)
The subject of marriage pries Clive away from what constitutes as pettiness on his part, and his eyes widen as he digests the declaration, though they've already spoken in heated terms about how they're only meant for one another. It's a terrible thing to be happy about the thought of his brother being deprived of something as fundamental as marriage, but still－ ]
－And you'll be older, and even more beautiful.
[ Joshua, who the uncharitable members of the Rosarian nobility said wouldn't live past eight summers. Look at him now, stronger and far more radiant than bards could ever sing of; it makes Clive's heart full just to think of the trials that his brother survived to be where he is now, a stunning young man full of healing fire. ]
We'll walk along the beach of Port Isolde, and watch the spires of Castle Rosalith from afar.
[ His voice grows lower, more hushed. ]
And we'll speak of this day, and laugh about how they failed to keep us apart.
[He wants that life, that future. Joshua may dream of more frivolous things - running away, living a quiet life with Clive, somewhere no one knows them and they can be together - but he knows something like that is impossible. Duty binds them both too tightly, duty will take Clive from his side again and again, it will tie him to Rosalith no matter how much he might wish to see the world.
But this gentle future, side by side still when they're old and grey, is something that could happen. If they're careful, if they live through everything the world throws at them, they can have that someday.
Joshua raises himself from where he's been contentedly resting against Clive, letting his brother's warmth relax him, and tugs him close for a soft kiss. Indulgent, wistful.]
It's all I could ask for.
[Too weary for more than that simple kiss, he rests against Clive again. They both need to sleep soon, in preparation for the trials they'll face on the morrow. Joshua hopes that he'll be able to sleep, that the twinges of pain that still haunt him will let him. Clive, too, likely won't sleep the night through, he knows. But with luck, he'll get at least a bit of rest.]
If I can't run away with you, a life where you share those moments with me will be enough.
[Even that, really, is a bit of wishful thinking. Even if they return with peace and Sanbreque's supposed friendship, there's the Iron Kingdom still to worry about, as well as the less serious but near-constant threat of bandits and monsters. Clive always takes it upon himself, and Joshua cannot force him to do anything else, and so they will part again, he knows.
But until then, Joshua will steal whatever moments with Clive that he can.]
[ Is it a comfort to know that every separation will come with a reunion? It's a consolation, even if it's not the solution to the pain of never being perceived as anything but what the world will require of them.
Still, they have what they have. Unbreakable. Clive meets Joshua's soft flutter of a kiss with a careful touch of hand to hair, lingering anxiety regarding the sickness under his brother's skin making all of his gestures more muted, tentative. ]
I want more for you than 'enough'.
[ It seems such a cruel thing to consign Joshua to. 'Enough'. But Clive doesn't push it, not wanting to spend precious time arguing over the things they currently can't fight for, and so he relents to his brother's request as best he can manage－
－which really just boils down to giving the bed his deadweight. Sleep is not an option for him, in case anything worsens while Joshua closes his eyes; there are limited supplies in the room and threats all around them in this cursed castle, and all he can see when he shutters his eyelids is the bright red of Joshua's blood pooling between his teeth.
Another nightmare to add to his piles. Fine. Let Sanbreque lord this one victory over him. They won't have the satisfaction of knowing about it. ]
...We'll speak of the future once our work here is done. Close your eyes, brother－ let the Phoenix tend to you for a while.
[ And, like that, seconds bleed into minutes bleed into hours. The sun resumes its slow crawl on the opposite side of the earth, and takes its time screaming back up over the horizon, while Clive remains floating in that nebulous space between wakefulness and half-dreaming, stroking gold hair and replaying fraught memories in the safety of his head. ]
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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. ]
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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?
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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. ]
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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.
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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. ]
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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.]
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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.
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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.
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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. ]
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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.]
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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. ]
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But this is Clive. Joshua doesn't want to lie to him, and anyway he thinks it would be ridiculous. Clive was there, holding him. He knew, had to know, that Joshua wasn't as strong as he has to seem.
When he faces the Sanbrequians tomorrow, he will have to be strong. He will have to be the Archduke of Rosaria, who wasn't frightened for a moment, full of righteous anger and firm demands. He can do it, he thinks, but - maybe here, with Clive, he can be honest. He can let himself be weak, for a moment, even though he knows it means forcing Clive to carry that weakness for him.
But if not Clive, then who? There's no one else Joshua can trust.]
I was terrified. [He says it quietly, and he can't quite look at Clive, ashamed of admitting that truth.] I don't want to die. I thought - I thought I would be leaving you alone.
[And Rosaria, of course, and all the duties he must carry. But it was Clive he thought of, really, Clive he so desperately wanted to cling to. What will happen to Clive if he dies? Joshua doesn't even want to think of it.]
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Clive's jaw flexes. Terrified is a hot knife through his ribs, but it's the answer he anticipated, and it's the one that Joshua deserves to speak out loud. Strong as he is, capable as he is, his brother is still a young man that has lived with the threat of death since childhood. Even as a small boy, Joshua only projected his fears in the form of fingers in Clive's sleeves, or his face nestled in Clive's chest. Never out loud.
Still sitting upright, he feels his heart lurch. ]
...I've lost you once. [ Or, well. Thought he had, anyway. If the Undying hadn't pulled him off of Joshua, still smoldering and singed at the seams, the worst would have come to pass; he has defined himself around that moment ever since. ] I wouldn't have survived it again.
[ He's stitched himself around that trauma, yes. Has used it to bolster himself to become stronger, more in control of the thing that turned against him. But to live it again would have unspooled him entirely, and he knows it. It's what his heart still says now, hammering against his chest when he thinks back to the moment Joshua had collapsed in that dining room, blood streaming from his mouth.
So. ]
You wouldn't have left me for long.
[ Twin flames, in life and death. Is that unhealthy? The better question, by this point, would be if there's ever been a moment since the Night of Flames since he's dealt with this pain in a healthy way. ]
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But Joshua isn't such a fool as to believe that would be easy. Possible, maybe - but nowhere near easy. Though Joshua has not had to act to protect Clive since that day so long ago, the day he begged - demanded - that the Undying not punish Clive the way they wished, he knows that his presence has been some sort of protection in its own right. If he were gone, the nobles of Rosaria might let their fear get the better of him. The Undying might decide penance was long overdue. Sanbreque would certainly want Ifrit gone, or under their control.
Clive's life without him would not be happy or painless. Knowing that doesn't make the thought of Clive joining him in death any easier, though.]
I would want you to be happy. To just - run away from all of this, and find some way to be happy.
[He reaches out, catching one of Clive's hands in his. Needing badly to touch him in that moment, because the thought of Clive dying is as frightening as the thought of his own death. Would he be able to live on without Clive, if Clive were the one to go first? He would have to try. Joshua knows his duty, knows Rosaria's future rests on his shoulders. But the thought of doing it without his brother is awful.
So he understands. He just doesn't like it.]
I hate the thought of anything happening to you. Even if that's what you want, I can't stand it, Clive. [And, as if it's easy, as if it's just a decision he can make:] I will be certain that nothing happens to me, so that you never have to suffer such a thing.
[He wants to pull Clive to him, to cling to his brother with all his strength, as if he could somehow force the desire to live no matter what into him. Joshua thinks that Clive does not properly understand how much Joshua loves him, how much of his heart will always be Clive's. He doesn't know how to make him understand.]
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It's devastating. As devastating as the thought of finding happiness with a Joshua-shaped hole carved out of his soul. Clive can't even begin to imagine what that would look like, what that would feel like. Ever since he was a child, he only knew happiness in the context of his brother's smiles, in the purpose it gave him to become stronger and more capable to fulfill the duty of being his brother's protector.
What is happiness, exactly? What is it, if not giving yourself wholly to someone you love more than yourself? He tries to reconcile that preconceived notion with Joshua's request that he retain himself even in Joshua's absence, and it...
...feels impossible. He doesn't say so, obviously. ]
―It's my role to make sure nothing happens to you. [ As gently as he can manage, without denying his brother outright. No part of him wants this to become a disagreement. ] And I'd like to keep it as long as I can. Until I'm old and grey.
[ Which is a concession, to some extent. It's not that I want to die, in different terms. He tries for a smile that doesn't land― more a flinch than anything, but there was an attempt― and he finally, finally lowers himself down again.
(There's no care spent to reassess the optics of this. Him, shirtless and stripped down to his trousers, and Joshua, wrapped in his shirt and pulled close to his chest. If someone comes to check on the both of them somehow, they'll see what they see.) ]
...So I'll have to do my utmost to keep swatting flies.
[ A sigh, as he settles under covers. ] The Imperials may shift back to courting you again. [ If what Anabella said before at their door is any indication of what she'll push for in the future, Clive means. ] And I don't intend to return to Rosalith without you.
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[He will be mature tomorrow, when he has to be. When he faces Sylvestre and all the other nobles who will surely want a peek at him - to see how awful he might look, how close to death he was, so they can gossip about it afterwards. Joshua knows he can handle it, knows a night of rest won't give him back all his strength but it'll give him enough for that.
It helps, more than he can say, that Clive is there. That he will be allowed, hopefully, to fall asleep in his brother's arms. It's greedy of him to want that when he knows how difficult, how dangerous it is - but how can he help but want it? Even as awful as he feels, having Clive so close warms him in a way that's not nearly as innocent as it ought to be.]
They can try, and in return I'll wring as many concessions out of them as I can before we return home. [And if that's the only way he gets justice for this, it will be enough. If Rosaria ends up safe, it will all be worth it.] They won't get my hand, though, no matter what they may offer. I will never marry.
[He rests his head against Clive. He would marry if he could, if only it were possible. But it never can be, and so he never will.
It should be a mad thought, really. This thing between them has only come to life so recently, and though Joshua is young and rather a romantic, he knows his duty and is level-headed enough that he would never think such a thing about any other relationship that was so new.
But Joshua has loved Clive for so long, trusted him for just as many years. He has wanted Clive for longer than he ought to, even knowing - certain, back then - that it could never be possible. He always thought they would spend their lives together, and he still thinks that. So it isn't so mad, in the end. It isn't.]
I'll see you when you're old and grey, someday. And you will be just as handsome.
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A selfish, greedy thought. Not quite unlike Clive's plans for the following morning, to find the brightest crimson silks that his brother packed to dress him in, and to wear something just as red to match. Not a speck of white on either of their bodies if they can help it, standing tall and proud like the twin flames that they are.
(Clive has not been invited to stand vigil during Joshua's audience with Sylvestre.
Clive will invite himself.)
The subject of marriage pries Clive away from what constitutes as pettiness on his part, and his eyes widen as he digests the declaration, though they've already spoken in heated terms about how they're only meant for one another. It's a terrible thing to be happy about the thought of his brother being deprived of something as fundamental as marriage, but still－ ]
－And you'll be older, and even more beautiful.
[ Joshua, who the uncharitable members of the Rosarian nobility said wouldn't live past eight summers. Look at him now, stronger and far more radiant than bards could ever sing of; it makes Clive's heart full just to think of the trials that his brother survived to be where he is now, a stunning young man full of healing fire. ]
We'll walk along the beach of Port Isolde, and watch the spires of Castle Rosalith from afar.
[ His voice grows lower, more hushed. ]
And we'll speak of this day, and laugh about how they failed to keep us apart.
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But this gentle future, side by side still when they're old and grey, is something that could happen. If they're careful, if they live through everything the world throws at them, they can have that someday.
Joshua raises himself from where he's been contentedly resting against Clive, letting his brother's warmth relax him, and tugs him close for a soft kiss. Indulgent, wistful.]
It's all I could ask for.
[Too weary for more than that simple kiss, he rests against Clive again. They both need to sleep soon, in preparation for the trials they'll face on the morrow. Joshua hopes that he'll be able to sleep, that the twinges of pain that still haunt him will let him. Clive, too, likely won't sleep the night through, he knows. But with luck, he'll get at least a bit of rest.]
If I can't run away with you, a life where you share those moments with me will be enough.
[Even that, really, is a bit of wishful thinking. Even if they return with peace and Sanbreque's supposed friendship, there's the Iron Kingdom still to worry about, as well as the less serious but near-constant threat of bandits and monsters. Clive always takes it upon himself, and Joshua cannot force him to do anything else, and so they will part again, he knows.
But until then, Joshua will steal whatever moments with Clive that he can.]
Rest, brother. You've done so much for me today.
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Still, they have what they have. Unbreakable. Clive meets Joshua's soft flutter of a kiss with a careful touch of hand to hair, lingering anxiety regarding the sickness under his brother's skin making all of his gestures more muted, tentative. ]
I want more for you than 'enough'.
[ It seems such a cruel thing to consign Joshua to. 'Enough'. But Clive doesn't push it, not wanting to spend precious time arguing over the things they currently can't fight for, and so he relents to his brother's request as best he can manage－
－which really just boils down to giving the bed his deadweight. Sleep is not an option for him, in case anything worsens while Joshua closes his eyes; there are limited supplies in the room and threats all around them in this cursed castle, and all he can see when he shutters his eyelids is the bright red of Joshua's blood pooling between his teeth.
Another nightmare to add to his piles. Fine. Let Sanbreque lord this one victory over him. They won't have the satisfaction of knowing about it. ]
...We'll speak of the future once our work here is done. Close your eyes, brother－ let the Phoenix tend to you for a while.
[ And, like that, seconds bleed into minutes bleed into hours. The sun resumes its slow crawl on the opposite side of the earth, and takes its time screaming back up over the horizon, while Clive remains floating in that nebulous space between wakefulness and half-dreaming, stroking gold hair and replaying fraught memories in the safety of his head. ]
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