[Joshua has been preparing for this his entire life. Since before he really understood what it meant, he knew that he would be the Archduke someday. When he was found to have inherited the Phoenix's power, his path was decided for him, and he's followed it, as he was meant to. Hiding every doubt, every misgiving, every wish that he could have something, anything else.
Rosaria needs an Archduke, and it needs the Phoenix. It needs a ruler who doesn't show weakness, and Joshua was already starting out in a difficult position there - everyone knows he has a poor constitution, that he falls ill easily and will never be a fierce warrior like his father was. Since that's the case, it was all the more important that he not be seen to waver in any other way. So he didn't when Anabella betrayed their family, when Elwin lost his life, when Rosaria was nearly conquered. And in the years since, he's done all he can to become the sort of person who is worthy of the throne.
When he had his doubts, his fears, he locked them away. And when he couldn't lock them away, he whispered them to Clive, the only person he knew would never look down on him.
But Joshua is an adult now, finally of age to take the title that's been waiting for him since he was born. There is much he wants to do, much Rosaria needs from him, but the first is this: a peace treaty with Sanbreque. It's possible, he thinks, to turn their precarious cease fire into something real. It won't be easy, but he has to try. But it means leaving Rosalith Castle - something he's rarely done since that night at Phoenix Gate.
In truth, he's less frightened than excited. Joshua wants to see the countryside, the towns, the people who are now his responsibility. It's not freedom, really, but even so he's been looking forward to it. And Clive will be with him, so he has little doubt that he'll be safe. Even now, after everything, Joshua trusts his brother implicitly. As they exit the gates, Joshua glances back only for a moment before straightening, trying his best to appear like the Archduke he's supposed to be.
He can't help that his gaze wanders a little, though, looking for Clive. Excited he might be, but the nerves are there too, and having Clive near will help steady Joshua. It always does.]
[ Ten years since Phoenix Gate. Ten years since the Rosfield brothers experienced their first prime, and ten years since the Twins have known two Dominants of fire. A decade after the fact, and Clive still remembers the details of that night with diamond clarity: how he'd lost control, how he'd only managed not to destroy everything thanks to the intervention of the Undying, and how he'd begged Joshua afterwards to kill him for the transgressions he'd made as Ifrit.
Ten years. Clive is still alive, only by the grace of his brother's forgiveness; Clive is still First Shield, only by the grace of his brother's insistence. Naturally, there were those who pushed back against his brother's decision― "you risk your safety by appointing someone so volatile as your guard"― but the reality was that a small, vulnerable nation like Rosalith benefited from its possession of two Dominants. Left to fend for itself in the vacuum that the coup had created, the Duchy had needed both a sword and a shield. And Clive has been all too willing to atone by assuming the role of both.
Ten years. All of it, for Joshua. To protect him, to brace him if he stumbles. To see him clearly, when all the world prefers not to. To be by his side through all his trials and see to it that he's not alone in any of them, upcoming peace talks with Sanbreque included.
Past the gates of Rosalith Castle they go, across familiar grounds and onto the dirt road that they'll be following for the first leg of their journey. When Clive catches Joshua's focus wandering, he takes it as his cue to approach, Ambrosia in tow. ]
―Your Grace, [ is how he addresses Joshua in the moment, mindful of their retinue (a small group: two additional guards and a field medic, who are mostly there for appearance's sake). ] I ask that you not hesitate to call on me should any part of the journey prove taxing to you.
[ Translation: "say something if you ever need anything". A part of him longs for the days when he could hold his brother's hand and escort him with impunity. ]
[Many might blame Joshua's attachment to his brother on the loss of their parents, assuming that a young boy left to grow up alone would naturally gravitate to his older brother. But that would mean ignoring those years before Phoenix Gate, when Joshua idolized his brother, when he truly believed that Clive was the bravest and strongest protector he could ever hope for. He knew it was true then, and he knows it's true now.
He is aware, of course, of eyes on them at nearly all times. He's very aware that leaning on Clive in public too much will make him look like a weak ruler, a figurehead, even if it isn't true. Now that the world knows Clive as Ifrit, Joshua knows there have been whispers, rumors about both of them. That Joshua is a pawn, ruled by his brother, given the Archduke's title to distract from the truth. And the inverse: that Joshua has merely been waiting to take his throne so that he may unleash Ifrit's power on the countries that have threatened Rosaria.
Neither is true. Clive has knelt at Joshua's feet, pledged himself, treated him more like the rightful ruler than nearly anyone. And Joshua has no wish to conquer anything, much less to force Clive to fight for him. He wants peace, he wants a chance to help Rosaria flourish.
But what is true is how dear Clive is to him. Perhaps everyone is correct, perhaps he would have grown out of it if their lives had taken a different path, but there's no way of knowing. What Joshua knows is that Clive has always protected him, has always been a strong shoulder and an attentive ear, has comforted him when he had nightmares and drawn a smile from him when he could not keep tears at bay. So he must be careful not to show too much favor when the world can see - but he cannot help favoring Clive regardless, even if only in his heart.]
I shall. [Though he knows Clive is speaking of more important things, Joshua's request is a bit more frivolous.] Could you ride next to me, and tell me what we pass?
[This close to Rosalith, Joshua is familiar with the lay of the land - but the farther they go, the longer it's been since he had a chance to see it.]
[ No matter what the rabble say about the Rosfields, the fact remains that one is rarely mentioned in a sentence without the other. Ifrit, Phoenix's keeper― Phoenix, Ifrit's master. Twin Flames, who have upheld a struggling nation despite their collectively young ages.
Clive doesn't mind the whispers. But he minds that it must wear on Joshua, and he minds the pressure always bearing down on his brother. The eyes, the expectations. Despite what Clive has done over the years to lessen the influence of noble families who'd more often than not taken their now-exiled mother's side in arguments, it's proven impossible to purge them entirely; any nation, big or small, contains dissenters. What Clive hopes from this mission is that it will bring them one step closer to a future in which the scrutiny lessens, and Joshua's worth will be proven tenfold through his success.
Besides. He's heard good things about Prince Dion, soon-to-be-Emperor. Bahamut, gallant and honor-driven. Joshua's age, if sources prove correct.
(Also, if sources prove correct, with a preference for male lovers. A good union, foul voices have murmured, and Clive―
―has given thought to it, in ways that shame him deeply. Has considered the possibility of Joshua in Prince Dion's arms, and felt his heart recoil so violently that it made him retch.)
None of that makes it known in Clive's demeanor, naturally. He smiles when asked to point out landmarks during their travels, given that the others only have a view of the back of his head. ]
Of course. [ He swallows the bile simmering in the back of his throat. ] ―I'll also have to fill you in on Prince Dion's recent movements, if you've not already been informed.
That’s right. Perhaps Dion will be at the negotiating table.
[It would make sense. Not only the heir to Sanbreque’s throne, but their sole Dominant as well. While Sanbreque’s armies have always far outnumbered Rosaria’s, they can only field Bahamut, while Rosaria claims the Phoenix and Ifrit both. It has been enough to stave off a real war, but it hasn’t prevented small sorties here and there - nor does it keep the roads safe from bandits, which Joshua suspects are supported partially by Sanbreque as well. Of course, it’s just as possible that Dion won’t be there. Sanbreque is a large country, with other conflicts along its border, and Dion and his dragoons are their most effective force.
They could have been friends, once. Two young royals, both heirs, both Dominants, the same age. They could share things that few others might understand, and though Joshua only ever met Dion one time, he admired the other boy - already training to be a dragoon, brave and with a noble manner. But whatever friendship they might have cultivated disintegrated after Anabella’s betrayal. Joshua only knows him now through the intelligence reports he receives and the rumors he hears.
He doesn’t know what Clive is thinking, of course. Though Joshua has heard those rumors as well, no one’s yet suggested to his face that he ought to try to turn Dion’s head, and he certainly wouldn’t think of it himself. He only wishes - a little wistfully - that they could have been friends.]
You would like him, I think. He’s quite skilled, I’ve heard, and he was kind to me when we were children.
[He’d thought so at the time, too. Joshua, young and so enamored of his older brother, had admired the qualities Dion shared with Clive - had wished that Clive might come along too, and make a friend. Their mother would never have allowed it, but in Joshua’s childish mind, he’d wished for it dearly. He thought everyone should love Clive as he did, and it was a constant sadness that the world did not conform to his wishes.
They can’t expect an ally in Dion now, of course. He’s Sanbreque’s through and through. But Joshua thinks he might deal with them more honestly than some would.]
[ Dion, honorifics omitted. And maybe it should have been that way, if the politics of their current world didn't require this constant tug-of-war over the Mothercrystals and their blessings. Had things been different for all of them, there would have been less anxiety surrounding Joshua and his trip to Oriflamme; it may even have been two friends reuniting after years apart, and rekindling a connection that was meant to happen between two extraordinary people so isolated from the general populace because of their respective stations.
It's what Joshua deserves. Something more than the bars of his gilded cage, surrounded by the same faces saying the same things, day in and day out. Happiness, away from the duties of court life. Safety, in the arms of someone who isn't his brother.
Why, then, does it make Clive's heart ache to think of it? The answer has become more and more self-evident with age, corrosive and corrupt. So much so that he feels some base jealousy to hear Joshua call the prince of Sanbreque by his name.
Horrible. Clive seals that simmering feeling shut in a mental box; it only manifests as a tightening of his grip around Ambrosia's reins. ]
...Yes. I've heard that he's a personage possessed of rare qualities. Rarer still, given that he's Sanbrequian.
[ A private little joke between them; they're not allowed to needle neighboring nations in the presence of diplomats, so they can only do so in the comfort of each other's company. Clive winks at Joshua, a subtle thing, as punctuation. ]
I'll... see to it that you're given some time alone with him. It'll be good for you, I think.
[He smiles at Clive, just a little quirk of the lips, acknowledging his joke. Sanbreque has given them both enough headaches - enough late nights, enough long meetings. Joshua doesn't care if it's at Dion's expense. For all that he admired Dion, for all that they could have been friends, who knows what has become of him now?
Joshua hopes for the best, of course, but he must always prepare for the worst.]
I'd like to try to speak to him about how things are with his father, and with -
[He can't quite call her mother. It doesn't feel right, not anymore. But after what she's done to Rosaria, Joshua needs to know what she's doing in Sanbreque. He's not sure Dion will tell him, but he doesn't have another reliable source of information. He has to try, at least.
He's not thinking about anything else, really. Not rekindling a friendship, certainly not anything more. Just learning what he can in order to keep his home safe - to keep them both safe.]
Well, how things are in the capital.
[A pause, as he considers this. Joshua watches the countryside as he thinks. He was raised for this, but he always feels like he's falling short, like he'll never be quite what his country needs. At least Clive is here, shoring up his weak spots - someone he can trust, someone he can lean on. Joshua has always thought that he would make a better leader: kind and strong, devoted but fierce. Anyone would follow him.]
But you should come with me. I'm not sure it's safe to be alone with anyone from Sanbreque. Not even Dion.
[There's no clear line of succession if Joshua dies. He doesn't know if Clive would be allowed to take the throne, though he hopes so - but if not Clive, then who? It's not so much that he fears for his life, it's more that he fears what happen if such a thing does come to pass. Would Rosaria fall? What would happen to Clive? He can't stand the thought of any of it, and so he must be careful, must stay safe.
And he's never safer than when Clive is by his side.]
[ It's wretched, how his heart celebrates the requesting of his presence. It's only that Joshua would feel more secure having his Lord Commander and First Shield by his side in foreign territory, nothing more― and yet, the thought that Joshua would rather feels like water to a dry throat. That he's permitted, still, to keep Joshua safe is a miracle in and of itself.
His fingers loosen and curl around Ambrosia's reins again. Clever girl that she is, the chocobo senses just a sliver of her master's trepidation, and cranes back to nuzzle his head with a large beak. The gesture makes Clive smile, and he reciprocates with a slow stroke between her soft feathers; enough of an interim for him to gather himself. ]
Whatever would make Your Grace feel more secure.
[ Least of all because Joshua has the weight of a nation on his shoulders (though that very much does factor in). More than anything, Clive just wants to see his brother happy. His sun, his light. ]
―Speaking of. [ They're moving across Rosarian territory towards Orabelle Downs, where they'll rest for the night near the vineyards. The path there is well-trodden and relatively clear of monsters, but the marshlands they have to cut across are still treacherous and unpredictable; anything that wishes them ill will be sure to converge there, hidden behind tall grass or stationed in structures long abandoned. Monsters and humans alike. ] We'll be entering the wetlands soon, so stay close to me.
[ That comes out more as "Clive being overprotective of his brother" and less like "Lord Commander requesting something of his liege". ]
Thrilled as you might be to spy a large turtle during our journey, I assure you that they're a pain to beat.
[ Exaggerating. Clive has bullied countless Adamantoises in his time. ]
[Joshua doesn't pout - he was never too prone to that even as a child, and he's long since grown out of it, aware that there are nearly always eyes on him and that he must comport himself as an Archduke - but he does sigh a little. He really would have been quite thrilled to see such a creature. Even more thrilled to see Clive fight one, for all that he knows it's a silly, selfish thought.
As a child, he used to sneak away often to watch Clive train, never caring about the trouble he'd be in for it. It was a delight to watch his brother fight, to see how skilled he was. Joshua doesn't really get to do that anymore, and secretly, he misses it quite a bit. He wasn't even able to prevail upon Clive to teach him how to fight, much to his disappointment. He doesn't have the right build to fight the way his brother does, nor the amount of time that would be needed to cultivate it.
He's had to content himself with a lighter blade, and with what lessons could be fit in around everything else he's had to learn - and of course, only when he's healthy enough. It rather put to rest his childhood dreams of being a dashing warrior like Clive. The only balm is that Clive is - well. His.
His knight, his Shield. His Lord Commander.
Even if he won't get to see him fight monsters. Ideally, anyway.]
Oh, very well. We'll let the turtles be this time.
[He knows Clive is right, anyway. Joshua can't be careless with his own safety, and he can't put Clive in danger for a foolish whim. He tugs his own chocobo a bit closer to Ambrosia.]
I may require a few tales of your previous encounters, however.
[ We'll let the turtles be. Truth be told, Clive finds his brother very capable in combat, even if his stamina fails him more often than not. In short bursts, however, he doubts that many of the royal guards could best Joshua in a duel; he's lithe, graceful, and has an instinct for how to avoid danger. A dancer, to Clive's brawler.
But Clive would rather Joshua not fight at all unless absolutely necessary, and he definitely wants to avoid a situation in which Joshua would have to prime, semi or no. Over the years, he's found that the Eikon's curse doesn't affect himself the way it affects Joshua― despite all the times he's let Ifrit out of his cage, the worst Clive has suffered for it is a full-body soreness the next day. No creeping threat of turning to stone, no seizing of the heart. It's reinforced the idea that he was born to fight on Joshua's behalf, to be the sword that won't shatter in his brother's hands.
Which makes it easy for Clive to pull a few stories out of his pocket to tell Joshua as they travel. He starts one― "well, there was the time I accidentally slid off a ledge and fell right on top of a coeurl"― and follows it up with another, each of them blisteringly true, and without boasting or embellishment. He's always liked the way his brother lights up at a good story, and so, towards the tail end of his latest story, Clive reminds himself to buy a few books for Joshua when they reach Oriflamme.
The first leg of their journey goes by without incident. Easy conversation, unchallenging roads. It's when they get closer to the border of Sanbreque that Clive senses something stirring in the thickets ahead of them, which prompts him to stop Ambrosia and hop off of her back, sword drawn. ]
―Bandits, [ he guesses. ] Stay here, Joshua. I'll take care of it.
[ In his urgency, he forgets to call Joshua by his title; at the end of the day, what Clive holds dear is his brother, and not the Archduke of Rosaria. ]
[Clive is a good storyteller, and Joshua can't help but hang on to every word. He wishes sometimes that he could accompany Clive on his adventures, but it has to remain a wish - he knows that. And he knows that Clive does all of it for Rosaria, to keep their home safe. To keep him safe. If it hadn't been for Clive, Joshua knows they would never have been able to stand against Sanbreque or the Iron Kingdom. He is a hero, even if he might never think of himself that way.
It makes the time pass quickly and pleasantly. Though they aren't alone, there are fewer eyes on them here than in Rosalith, which means Joshua can relax a little. But perhaps he relaxes a bit too much - until Clive dismounts, he doesn't even notice the looming threat.
He doesn't correct Clive, though he does notice the slip. Notices, and tucks it away in his heart. He treasures the moments when he can be just Joshua to Clive. It sounds sweeter from his lips than anyone's.
It's a fleeting thought, one he can't linger on. He dismounts as well, wanting to be free to fight if it comes to that, though he does hang back as Clive instructed.]
Be careful.
[He's not concerned, exactly - he fully believes in Clive's skill - but as much as he likes to see Clive fight, Joshua can't stand to see him hurt. He gestures for the two guards to accompany Clive, not wanting him to have to handle this alone. Even if it's just bandits, who will likely flee the moment they realize who they're facing, Joshua doesn't want Clive to be too much at risk.
He knows he shouldn't feel that way. This is Clive's role, one that he embraces, one that he's very good at. Joshua should only be pleased that he's so dedicated, not worried over his safety. But he can't help it. He'll never be able to see Clive as just a subject.]
[ What Clive expects is a quick and easy fight, if that. Some bandits are ambitious enough to try intimidating soldiers wearing Rosarian colors, but flee the moment they realize that they're speaking to a Rosfield― desperate as they are, most of them are smart enough not to risk it all for coin they won't get.
No pleasantries, on Clive's part. ] Show yourself, [ he calls into the dim, walking a straight path towards tall grass and the cover of a shroud of trees. ] I won't ask twice.
[ Routine, he thinks. Not even worth using the blessing of the Phoenix to fend off, most likely. Invictus gleams in the fading light, held by Clive's side―
―and quickly arcs up to block a sudden attack by a creature far bigger than any roadside bandit ought to be. Caught off-guard, Clive grits his teeth against the onslaught and feels his balance shift; his arm momentarily goes numb, and he curses under his breath when his assailant― an orc? but why would a Waloeder beastman be all the way in Rosarian territory?― swings one thick leg up and kicks Clive flat against the nearest tree.
Bones creak under his armor. Anger and shame make Clive see red; careless, his mind hisses. He should have been prepared for anything. ]
―Protect Joshua! [ He calls out to the two guards, who are clearly as stunned to see an orc in Rosarian wetlands as Clive is. They regroup when spoken to, and hastily make to surround Joshua while Clive stands off against the hulking creature.
Creatures, plural. One warrior, and one spellcaster. Nothing Clive hasn't handled before, but his enemies have gotten a head start: Clive can feel pain shooting through his arm and up his side after every swing and parry, dulling his speed and prolonging what should have been a quick battle. He makes short work of the mage, but the remaining beastman warrior closes in on him, giving Clive more trouble than he'd wanted. ]
[He wants to go to Clive immediately, wants to fight at his side. It's torture to hold back - but he tells himself that he must. He isn't just Clive's brother, desperately wanting to help him in a difficult situation. He's the Archduke, and the Phoenix, and that means his life somehow matters more.
It will never sit entirely well with Joshua, that truth. He has a softer heart than he ought to, and fundamentally doesn't believe there is anything about him that matters more than anyone else. But that's not the world they live in, a world where he could have a quiet life, where he could do whatever he pleased. This world is harsher, and he holds a position that means he has to be very careful what he does and when.
Though when it comes to mean something like this - Clive in danger, unable to help him - it doesn't seem worth it. Even the guards, though they're merely doing as they ought, frustrate Joshua. They should be helping Clive, fighting at his side in the way Joshua can't. Instead he must stay back, must simply watch, and be alert for any other enemies.
He does manage it, nearly. But Joshua has been watching Clive fight for too long not to see the way he labors, the brief hesitation as he works through pain.]
He's injured.
[It's not an order, not even an observation - it's a sharp warning to the men guarding him, a brief caution so that they aren't so startled when he steps forward, when he summons the Phoenix's power. Just for a moment, just long enough to hurl fire at the creature - to distract it, if nothing else. To give Clive an opening.
Joshua wants to unsheathe his sword, to rush forward. He doesn't, but his hand is on the hilt of his sword as the guards surround him again, obeying their commander, putting themselves between their lord and the evident danger. He barely notices, all his attention on Clive.]
[ Flame, unmistakable. Joshua's burst of magic slams against the orc's back, sending it reeling sideways― it roars in anger, turning its dull eyes on the party of three standing yards away, almost as if considering switching targets.
It's the opening Clive needs. He braces his feet on uneven marsh, willing himself to keep his balance in all this mud, then kicks forward and swings his blade, aiming for the creature's outstretched neck. He feels the tip of his blade catch against hard skin, dig inwards, then slash sideways; a clean cut across the throat is what finally brings the orc down, its blood staining dirty bogwater.
Clive pants, coughs, and lingers where he stands to make sure that that was the last of it. When he senses no other hostiles, he breathes through his teeth in a hoarse, harsh hiss, and sheaths Invictus to return to Joshua's side.
His head is bowed low. ] ―Your Grace. I've cleared your path. [ Shame and anger still claw up the back of his throat. ] Forgive me. I was unsightly.
[ This is their first mission, and the newly-appointed Lord Commander can't be made to look weak. It reflects poorly on Joshua, and Clive won't forgive himself if he does anything to jeopardize Joshua's station. ]
[Hand falling from the hilt of his sword, he goes to Clive immediately. How could anyone not think Clive has done well, seeing him fight like that despite his injury? Taking on two enemies, skilled and powerful, by himself - and without calling on Ifrit's power.
Joshua looks at one of the guards.]
Check the area. Ensure that there are no more surprises. [And to the other:] Inspect their bodies. I don't think those are the sort of enemies one usually finds here.
[Joshua is sure that if Clive has decided the fighting is over, there are no more enemies about, but they have to be certain - and he knows that if he doesn't have the other men do these things, Clive will do them himself. He's done enough already, Joshua can see from the way he holds himself that he's in pain. He doesn't need to do these menial tasks as well.
He doesn't care if they see him fuss over Clive. He probably should, he knows, but right now there's no power in the world that could keep him from doing it. He doesn't even glance at the medic they brought along - talented, he's sure, but Clive is his Shield, so Joshua ought to be the one to care for him.
(He knows he shouldn't feel that unwholesome sort of possessiveness, but right now he doesn't care about that, either.)
Looking over Clive, Joshua can't hide the worry on his face.]
Joshua― [ He starts, when his brother moves towards him in the mud. Clive has a hand pressed to his side, fairly sure that one or two of his ribs have suffered from the force of that first kick, but shakes his head at the offer of healing. ] ―I'm alright. You needn't use your powers for something so trivial.
[ What is he, if he can't be strong for his brother? He'd sooner fill his own veins with poison than be a reason for Joshua to accumulate more of the Eikon's curse, so he tries for a half-smile that only barely skims its way onto his features. He is hurting, but it's nothing he hasn't dealt with before. ]
We're almost to the Bales. There'll be lodging for us there, and I'll tend to myself during the night.
[ He's acquainted with the owners of the cottage they've been given leave to use, and he trusts that they'll be left alone and in peace. An ideal place for Clive to lick his wounds, though he'll have to do it in Joshua's company― their accommodations aren't so spacious that it will allow them all to sleep in separate rooms.
It's agonizing, to make Joshua worry. Clive tries again to reassure with a smile, but it ends up looking more like a wince. ]
―At least let me posture a bit in front of the others.
[ A sigh and a wink, as he whistles for Ambrosia. He knows well enough that Joshua is obstinate when he wants to be, but he'd rather assuage his brother's mood when there aren't eyes on them. ]
[There’s a part of Joshua that wants to put his foot down, wants to insist that Clive let him do this. Wants to tug at every little bit of authority he has, because the thought of watching Clive suffer for the rest of their ride is awful.
But he resists that haughty impulse. Since he was a child, Joshua has seen how Clive was treated differently from him. At first it was because he hadn’t inherited the Phoenix, setting him somehow below Joshua, even though he was the elder and (in Joshua’s eyes) entirely worthy of admiration. Their mother had made her feelings clear, and too many others fell in line.
Then it was because of Ifrit. Joshua doesn’t like to think of that night, but the effects ripple on even now. Too many voices wanted Clive’s head for something Joshua has never blamed him for, and even now he knows they whisper that Clive can’t be trusted, that he doesn’t deserve his title. Even after all he’s done for Rosaria.
All their lives, Clive has been treated like he mattered less than Joshua, like he was inherently less important, less treasured. But Joshua has never agreed. And perhaps that kept him from ever being too spoiled, too much of a little tyrant - his fierce belief that Clive deserved just as much as he did, even if he couldn’t make it reality.
So he’s always tried to be fair. He tries not to be imperious or selfish, tries to only ask Clive for things that must be done. Tries to never order him to do anything he doesn’t want to do. It’s not a burden. Clive is so loyal that, if anything, Joshua wishes he were more disobedient - more selfish.
So he takes a breath to settle himself, and he tucks his fear, his concern for his brother away. For now.]
Very well. But you must ride, and if anything else needs to be done, we send one of the men.
[And Clive will certainly not be tending to himself - but that’s a discussion they can have in private. He’s right about that. Joshua wants them all to see Clive being treated with respect, especially by him.]
[ Funny, that the sentiment about selfishness is mirrored. In another life, Joshua would have had the freedom to act however he wanted around anyone he pleased; and maybe, if Clive hadn't blundered so catastrophically on the eve of Phoenix Gate, Joshua might yet have avoided the scrutiny he still gets when he interacts with Clive.
Because of him. It makes Clive ache to think of it. If he'd done his duties as a Shield, if his first prime hadn't been such a failure, maybe the others would have allowed the both of them to act more honestly with each other instead of seeing them as monster and handler.
They're thoughts he's turned over in his head a thousand times over, and thoughts he continues to mull over as they ride, this time with Clive and one of the guards taking up the front, with Joshua in the center followed by the remaining soldier and the medic. He listens to the man next to him report in about the beastman wearing Waloeder colors, and instructs him to send word back to Rosalith Castle about the abnormal presence near their borders; when asked if they should cancel the diplomatic mission to Sanbreque in favor of investigating this anomaly, Clive tells him that he'll speak to the Archduke about it when they retire to their quarters tonight.
They reach the Bales just before the sun sets completely. A friendly Sanbrequian who speaks with a thick Rosarian accent sees the traveling party to their accommodations, where Joshua and Clive are shown into the master bedroom. It's a simple layout, sparsely furnished, with one queen-sized bed and a divan against the wall that Clive thinks he can manage to curl onto; "apologies, my Lord, for the lack of space", the friendly Sanbrequian murmurs, then leaves the two of them to their rest.
An extended sigh later, Clive turns to Joshua. ]
...An auspicious start to our journey, [ is a self-deprecating joke. ] Are you tired?
[It’s not entirely true. Joshua isn’t used to riding for this far or this long, so he is tired and a little sore. But it’s not so bad that he can’t handle it - he’ll just sleep very well tonight and be a bit stiff in the morning, he thinks. He doesn’t intend to give Clive another reason to worry over him.
He’ll be doing all the worrying this evening, thank you.]
Sit down. Let me see what’s happened to you.
[Joshua gestures Clive towards the bed, while he rummages among their luggage to find the poultices and bandages he knows they brought. Really, he intends to cajole Clive into letting Joshua heal him, but in case it doesn’t work, at least he’ll have something to make do with.
He’s calmed down a little thanks to the rest of their ride, but his concern hasn’t faded. He’s worried about the men who attacked them, what that means for Rosaria, what he ought to do - but right now, Clive is at the front of his mind. Clive was hurt protecting him. He knows it’s Clive’s duty, and that Clive seems satisfied doing it. And Joshua can’t deny that there’s some spoiled, selfish part of himself that likes that too, that thrills at Clive wanting to protect him, fighting for him.
But even so, especially so, Joshua always wants to be the one to care for him. Another selfish impulse that he so often can’t indulge that feels all the more important when Clive was hurt because of him.
Finding the supplies, he dumps the bag on the divan. Of course Clive is going to share the bed with him. Joshua hasn’t even considered the possibility of anything else.]
[ The invitation to sit on the bed is obliged, but reluctantly. It's been an age and a half since they've had enough freedom to share space in this way, and on the heels of his early-day musings about Prince Dion and Joshua, the closeness feels－
－intimate. One-sidedly, Clive knows. Especially since the offer is being extended with the best of intentions, telegraphing concern over Clive (and nothing but concern) despite the fact that Clive is the one who has unduly troubled Joshua with his incompetence. On their first day, no less.
It humbles him. So he doesn't push back, and lets his weight settle on the mattress as he moves to strip off his layers for Joshua's scrutiny. Armor first, followed by crimson and black leathers, until there's nothing left but his trousers.
Clive doesn't allow himself to think anything of his bareness. Instead, he shows Joshua the state of him: the dark, expansive purple-yellow bruise in the shape of an orc's foot spreading from the side of his chest down to nearly his navel, and a slight swelling of his right arm, at the elbow. Sprained, possibly. Most of the damage is internal－ there are no cuts or open wounds to speak of― but they're ugly, unsightly things. ]
I've been through worse, [ he offers. He knows it's no consolation, but he'd prefer to say it regardless. ]
[Joshua's breath hisses through his teeth at the sight of that.]
Clive.
[He reaches out, doesn't quite touch him. Afraid even the slightest touch would hurt, and it probably would. Joshua has learned a little of medicine, and of how the human body works - partly just because he's curious about nearly everything, but mostly because he wants to know when a wound is dire enough that the Phoenix's magic is needed. He's grown since he was a boy, wanting to take away every hurt he could. He tries to only use it when necessary.
He knows it probably isn't now. With time and care, Clive will heal on his own. But Joshua's heart hurts at what's been done to him. Broken ribs, almost certainly. That will make it painful to move, and the arm will make it painful to do nearly anything else.]
Let me heal you. Please. It will only take a moment.
[The Phoenix is warm in his chest - or perhaps it's just his chest that's warm. He realizes, abruptly, that he hasn't seen Clive like this in a long time. They don't undress in front of one another, there's no reason to, at their ages it would be inappropriate.
This isn't inappropriate. It's necessary. But suddenly it feels like it might be both, and Joshua's eyes skim across Clive's shoulders, his chest, not looking at the injuries -
He closes his eyes for a moment. Let Clive think he's only horrified by the bruising, which is even true, really. It's shameful of him to think of anything else. When he opens them again, he's mostly steady.]
[ Founder, Clive trembles at that sound. Please. He could face against an army of Sanbrequians and never once feel compelled to quake, but Joshua imploring him in that sweet voice makes every nerve in his body shudder in unspeakable emotion.
Torn, Clive also flicks his gaze to the side, towards the nondescript wall of their small room. Logically, Joshua shouldn't. These wounds are nothing that patience and poultices can't fix, and his brother is tired, and the power of the Phoenix is sacred.
The problem is that his heart betrays him. He tries to remember when the last time his brother deigned to heal him was― when the last time he felt Joshua's warm fire seep through him was. Ifrit is an inferno, intense and destructive, but his brother's Eikon is an undulating wave of life-giving heat; ever since being given the blessing of the Phoenix, Clive has always liked the way the firebird felt in him. Steady and gentle, like a heartbeat.
He thinks of all the ways he could respond to Joshua's please. "You needn't trouble yourself with such things, Your Grace." "I haven't earned a moment of your blessing, Your Grace." "Your Grace is too kind, but he must rest."
All of them would be preferable to what he actually says, which is: ]
...As you wish, Joshua.
[ Because, at the end of the day, Clive is Joshua's. He turns towards his brother on the bed, utterly vulnerable and open, because Joshua is the only person he will ever trust with the full breadth of his soul. ]
[Something tense in Joshua relaxes at that. He thought it would be harder, but he's glad it wasn't. He didn't want to feel like he was forcing Clive into it - or worse, he didn't want to meet such firm resistance that he had no choice but to give up. Being able to heal Clive makes him happy - it's as simple as that. Knowing he can spare his brother this pain.]
I like it when you call me by my name.
[When, for just a moment, he isn't the Archduke. He's just Joshua, Clive's brother, who adores him no less now than he did when they were small and all of this mattered less.
He reaches out, fingers just a hair away from brushing Clive's skin. He doesn't need to touch someone to heal them, so he doesn't touch Clive - not wanting to cause even a moment's pain. If there's a part of him that aches at being so close, he ignores it as well as he can.
The Phoenix comes easily. It always does now, as if Joshua's infrequent use of its power makes it all the more eager to show itself. Clive's efforts have kept him from having to prime for a long time, and since he's kept to the castle for so long, he's rarely even needed to draw on its lesser powers. Do eikons get restless? Whatever the reason, Joshua hardly has to think before that heat is flowing through him.
He does it right. He heals the bruised flesh, the cracked bone beneath it, the torn ligaments. He soothes away any small aches left behind, letting the Phoenix's warmth ease away the pain until there's nothing left. Until the damage is completely gone, and only then does Joshua touch Clive's skin, only for a moment. To be sure, that's all. To be certain he's done it right.]
[ Feeling Phoenix course through him almost feels like a homecoming of sorts. Something inherently comfortable and familiar that reorients Clive back into his body, free of pain. It's the closest thing he's ever known to peace, and the closest, he thinks, to knowing what it feels like to be whole.
He opens eyes that he hadn't realized he'd held closed; he takes a deep breath, noting that it no longer hurts to fill his lungs with air, and lists, unconsciously, into the hand touching him.
Joshua, he calls out again in the safety of his mind. Joshua. ]
Better than when I started the day. [ Not quite accusatory－ "you did far more than you had to"― but verging on chiding. A don't-push-yourself. Still, he adds: ] ...Thank you.
[ To demonstrate, he flexes the previously-injured elbow and shows that his range of motion has been restored: it bends, stretches, and rotates without trouble. Once that's done, he deflates somewhat, posture rounding to something less austere.
He wonders if he should, if it's proper, but he curls forward and puts his forehead on Joshua's shoulder anyway. A light settling, which he'll relinquish immediately if he senses any discomfort. ]
[He breathes in, quick and soft, as Clive's head settles on his shoulder. It's a gift unasked for, one he wants to cling to. He contents himself with raising his hand, settling it on Clive's head, fingers gentle in his hair. Not holding him there, but offering what comfort he can.]
You fought well - you defeated them both yourself. There's nothing weak about that.
[Clive didn't make either of them look weak, Joshua thinks. Tales will spread, certainly, because all the men love to talk - and fighting creatures like that is worthy of a tale or two. Coming away with only the injuries he did is more than most could hope to manage. They were all safe because of him.
But -]
Even if you had, it doesn't matter. You don't have to be perfect, Clive. You don't.
[Joshua knows it feels like that, for both of them. He has to be the perfect Archduke, showing no weakness that Rosaria's enemies could exploit. Clive has to be the perfect Lord Commander, feared and admired for his skill. It feels like if either of them falter, everything might come apart around them. Joshua knows the feeling well, it's what makes it hard for him to sleep at night.
But he can't watch Clive blame himself for something like this. Clive has fought so hard, for so long. He's done it all for Rosaria, and Rosaria doesn't appreciate him properly. But he's done it for Joshua, too, and Joshua has promised himself to always appreciate Clive properly. To give him everything possible, everything he deserves.
And if that's a place where he can be less than perfect sometimes, and not bleed for it, Joshua will fight for that.]
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Rosaria needs an Archduke, and it needs the Phoenix. It needs a ruler who doesn't show weakness, and Joshua was already starting out in a difficult position there - everyone knows he has a poor constitution, that he falls ill easily and will never be a fierce warrior like his father was. Since that's the case, it was all the more important that he not be seen to waver in any other way. So he didn't when Anabella betrayed their family, when Elwin lost his life, when Rosaria was nearly conquered. And in the years since, he's done all he can to become the sort of person who is worthy of the throne.
When he had his doubts, his fears, he locked them away. And when he couldn't lock them away, he whispered them to Clive, the only person he knew would never look down on him.
But Joshua is an adult now, finally of age to take the title that's been waiting for him since he was born. There is much he wants to do, much Rosaria needs from him, but the first is this: a peace treaty with Sanbreque. It's possible, he thinks, to turn their precarious cease fire into something real. It won't be easy, but he has to try. But it means leaving Rosalith Castle - something he's rarely done since that night at Phoenix Gate.
In truth, he's less frightened than excited. Joshua wants to see the countryside, the towns, the people who are now his responsibility. It's not freedom, really, but even so he's been looking forward to it. And Clive will be with him, so he has little doubt that he'll be safe. Even now, after everything, Joshua trusts his brother implicitly. As they exit the gates, Joshua glances back only for a moment before straightening, trying his best to appear like the Archduke he's supposed to be.
He can't help that his gaze wanders a little, though, looking for Clive. Excited he might be, but the nerves are there too, and having Clive near will help steady Joshua. It always does.]
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Ten years. Clive is still alive, only by the grace of his brother's forgiveness; Clive is still First Shield, only by the grace of his brother's insistence. Naturally, there were those who pushed back against his brother's decision― "you risk your safety by appointing someone so volatile as your guard"― but the reality was that a small, vulnerable nation like Rosalith benefited from its possession of two Dominants. Left to fend for itself in the vacuum that the coup had created, the Duchy had needed both a sword and a shield. And Clive has been all too willing to atone by assuming the role of both.
Ten years. All of it, for Joshua. To protect him, to brace him if he stumbles. To see him clearly, when all the world prefers not to. To be by his side through all his trials and see to it that he's not alone in any of them, upcoming peace talks with Sanbreque included.
Past the gates of Rosalith Castle they go, across familiar grounds and onto the dirt road that they'll be following for the first leg of their journey. When Clive catches Joshua's focus wandering, he takes it as his cue to approach, Ambrosia in tow. ]
―Your Grace, [ is how he addresses Joshua in the moment, mindful of their retinue (a small group: two additional guards and a field medic, who are mostly there for appearance's sake). ] I ask that you not hesitate to call on me should any part of the journey prove taxing to you.
[ Translation: "say something if you ever need anything". A part of him longs for the days when he could hold his brother's hand and escort him with impunity. ]
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He is aware, of course, of eyes on them at nearly all times. He's very aware that leaning on Clive in public too much will make him look like a weak ruler, a figurehead, even if it isn't true. Now that the world knows Clive as Ifrit, Joshua knows there have been whispers, rumors about both of them. That Joshua is a pawn, ruled by his brother, given the Archduke's title to distract from the truth. And the inverse: that Joshua has merely been waiting to take his throne so that he may unleash Ifrit's power on the countries that have threatened Rosaria.
Neither is true. Clive has knelt at Joshua's feet, pledged himself, treated him more like the rightful ruler than nearly anyone. And Joshua has no wish to conquer anything, much less to force Clive to fight for him. He wants peace, he wants a chance to help Rosaria flourish.
But what is true is how dear Clive is to him. Perhaps everyone is correct, perhaps he would have grown out of it if their lives had taken a different path, but there's no way of knowing. What Joshua knows is that Clive has always protected him, has always been a strong shoulder and an attentive ear, has comforted him when he had nightmares and drawn a smile from him when he could not keep tears at bay. So he must be careful not to show too much favor when the world can see - but he cannot help favoring Clive regardless, even if only in his heart.]
I shall. [Though he knows Clive is speaking of more important things, Joshua's request is a bit more frivolous.] Could you ride next to me, and tell me what we pass?
[This close to Rosalith, Joshua is familiar with the lay of the land - but the farther they go, the longer it's been since he had a chance to see it.]
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Clive doesn't mind the whispers. But he minds that it must wear on Joshua, and he minds the pressure always bearing down on his brother. The eyes, the expectations. Despite what Clive has done over the years to lessen the influence of noble families who'd more often than not taken their now-exiled mother's side in arguments, it's proven impossible to purge them entirely; any nation, big or small, contains dissenters. What Clive hopes from this mission is that it will bring them one step closer to a future in which the scrutiny lessens, and Joshua's worth will be proven tenfold through his success.
Besides. He's heard good things about Prince Dion, soon-to-be-Emperor. Bahamut, gallant and honor-driven. Joshua's age, if sources prove correct.
(Also, if sources prove correct, with a preference for male lovers. A good union, foul voices have murmured, and Clive―
―has given thought to it, in ways that shame him deeply. Has considered the possibility of Joshua in Prince Dion's arms, and felt his heart recoil so violently that it made him retch.)
None of that makes it known in Clive's demeanor, naturally. He smiles when asked to point out landmarks during their travels, given that the others only have a view of the back of his head. ]
Of course. [ He swallows the bile simmering in the back of his throat. ] ―I'll also have to fill you in on Prince Dion's recent movements, if you've not already been informed.
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[It would make sense. Not only the heir to Sanbreque’s throne, but their sole Dominant as well. While Sanbreque’s armies have always far outnumbered Rosaria’s, they can only field Bahamut, while Rosaria claims the Phoenix and Ifrit both. It has been enough to stave off a real war, but it hasn’t prevented small sorties here and there - nor does it keep the roads safe from bandits, which Joshua suspects are supported partially by Sanbreque as well. Of course, it’s just as possible that Dion won’t be there. Sanbreque is a large country, with other conflicts along its border, and Dion and his dragoons are their most effective force.
They could have been friends, once. Two young royals, both heirs, both Dominants, the same age. They could share things that few others might understand, and though Joshua only ever met Dion one time, he admired the other boy - already training to be a dragoon, brave and with a noble manner. But whatever friendship they might have cultivated disintegrated after Anabella’s betrayal. Joshua only knows him now through the intelligence reports he receives and the rumors he hears.
He doesn’t know what Clive is thinking, of course. Though Joshua has heard those rumors as well, no one’s yet suggested to his face that he ought to try to turn Dion’s head, and he certainly wouldn’t think of it himself. He only wishes - a little wistfully - that they could have been friends.]
You would like him, I think. He’s quite skilled, I’ve heard, and he was kind to me when we were children.
[He’d thought so at the time, too. Joshua, young and so enamored of his older brother, had admired the qualities Dion shared with Clive - had wished that Clive might come along too, and make a friend. Their mother would never have allowed it, but in Joshua’s childish mind, he’d wished for it dearly. He thought everyone should love Clive as he did, and it was a constant sadness that the world did not conform to his wishes.
They can’t expect an ally in Dion now, of course. He’s Sanbreque’s through and through. But Joshua thinks he might deal with them more honestly than some would.]
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It's what Joshua deserves. Something more than the bars of his gilded cage, surrounded by the same faces saying the same things, day in and day out. Happiness, away from the duties of court life. Safety, in the arms of someone who isn't his brother.
Why, then, does it make Clive's heart ache to think of it? The answer has become more and more self-evident with age, corrosive and corrupt. So much so that he feels some base jealousy to hear Joshua call the prince of Sanbreque by his name.
Horrible. Clive seals that simmering feeling shut in a mental box; it only manifests as a tightening of his grip around Ambrosia's reins. ]
...Yes. I've heard that he's a personage possessed of rare qualities. Rarer still, given that he's Sanbrequian.
[ A private little joke between them; they're not allowed to needle neighboring nations in the presence of diplomats, so they can only do so in the comfort of each other's company. Clive winks at Joshua, a subtle thing, as punctuation. ]
I'll... see to it that you're given some time alone with him. It'll be good for you, I think.
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Joshua hopes for the best, of course, but he must always prepare for the worst.]
I'd like to try to speak to him about how things are with his father, and with -
[He can't quite call her mother. It doesn't feel right, not anymore. But after what she's done to Rosaria, Joshua needs to know what she's doing in Sanbreque. He's not sure Dion will tell him, but he doesn't have another reliable source of information. He has to try, at least.
He's not thinking about anything else, really. Not rekindling a friendship, certainly not anything more. Just learning what he can in order to keep his home safe - to keep them both safe.]
Well, how things are in the capital.
[A pause, as he considers this. Joshua watches the countryside as he thinks. He was raised for this, but he always feels like he's falling short, like he'll never be quite what his country needs. At least Clive is here, shoring up his weak spots - someone he can trust, someone he can lean on. Joshua has always thought that he would make a better leader: kind and strong, devoted but fierce. Anyone would follow him.]
But you should come with me. I'm not sure it's safe to be alone with anyone from Sanbreque. Not even Dion.
[There's no clear line of succession if Joshua dies. He doesn't know if Clive would be allowed to take the throne, though he hopes so - but if not Clive, then who? It's not so much that he fears for his life, it's more that he fears what happen if such a thing does come to pass. Would Rosaria fall? What would happen to Clive? He can't stand the thought of any of it, and so he must be careful, must stay safe.
And he's never safer than when Clive is by his side.]
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His fingers loosen and curl around Ambrosia's reins again. Clever girl that she is, the chocobo senses just a sliver of her master's trepidation, and cranes back to nuzzle his head with a large beak. The gesture makes Clive smile, and he reciprocates with a slow stroke between her soft feathers; enough of an interim for him to gather himself. ]
Whatever would make Your Grace feel more secure.
[ Least of all because Joshua has the weight of a nation on his shoulders (though that very much does factor in). More than anything, Clive just wants to see his brother happy. His sun, his light. ]
―Speaking of. [ They're moving across Rosarian territory towards Orabelle Downs, where they'll rest for the night near the vineyards. The path there is well-trodden and relatively clear of monsters, but the marshlands they have to cut across are still treacherous and unpredictable; anything that wishes them ill will be sure to converge there, hidden behind tall grass or stationed in structures long abandoned. Monsters and humans alike. ] We'll be entering the wetlands soon, so stay close to me.
[ That comes out more as "Clive being overprotective of his brother" and less like "Lord Commander requesting something of his liege". ]
Thrilled as you might be to spy a large turtle during our journey, I assure you that they're a pain to beat.
[ Exaggerating. Clive has bullied countless Adamantoises in his time. ]
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As a child, he used to sneak away often to watch Clive train, never caring about the trouble he'd be in for it. It was a delight to watch his brother fight, to see how skilled he was. Joshua doesn't really get to do that anymore, and secretly, he misses it quite a bit. He wasn't even able to prevail upon Clive to teach him how to fight, much to his disappointment. He doesn't have the right build to fight the way his brother does, nor the amount of time that would be needed to cultivate it.
He's had to content himself with a lighter blade, and with what lessons could be fit in around everything else he's had to learn - and of course, only when he's healthy enough. It rather put to rest his childhood dreams of being a dashing warrior like Clive. The only balm is that Clive is - well. His.
His knight, his Shield. His Lord Commander.
Even if he won't get to see him fight monsters. Ideally, anyway.]
Oh, very well. We'll let the turtles be this time.
[He knows Clive is right, anyway. Joshua can't be careless with his own safety, and he can't put Clive in danger for a foolish whim. He tugs his own chocobo a bit closer to Ambrosia.]
I may require a few tales of your previous encounters, however.
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But Clive would rather Joshua not fight at all unless absolutely necessary, and he definitely wants to avoid a situation in which Joshua would have to prime, semi or no. Over the years, he's found that the Eikon's curse doesn't affect himself the way it affects Joshua― despite all the times he's let Ifrit out of his cage, the worst Clive has suffered for it is a full-body soreness the next day. No creeping threat of turning to stone, no seizing of the heart. It's reinforced the idea that he was born to fight on Joshua's behalf, to be the sword that won't shatter in his brother's hands.
Which makes it easy for Clive to pull a few stories out of his pocket to tell Joshua as they travel. He starts one― "well, there was the time I accidentally slid off a ledge and fell right on top of a coeurl"― and follows it up with another, each of them blisteringly true, and without boasting or embellishment. He's always liked the way his brother lights up at a good story, and so, towards the tail end of his latest story, Clive reminds himself to buy a few books for Joshua when they reach Oriflamme.
The first leg of their journey goes by without incident. Easy conversation, unchallenging roads. It's when they get closer to the border of Sanbreque that Clive senses something stirring in the thickets ahead of them, which prompts him to stop Ambrosia and hop off of her back, sword drawn. ]
―Bandits, [ he guesses. ] Stay here, Joshua. I'll take care of it.
[ In his urgency, he forgets to call Joshua by his title; at the end of the day, what Clive holds dear is his brother, and not the Archduke of Rosaria. ]
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It makes the time pass quickly and pleasantly. Though they aren't alone, there are fewer eyes on them here than in Rosalith, which means Joshua can relax a little. But perhaps he relaxes a bit too much - until Clive dismounts, he doesn't even notice the looming threat.
He doesn't correct Clive, though he does notice the slip. Notices, and tucks it away in his heart. He treasures the moments when he can be just Joshua to Clive. It sounds sweeter from his lips than anyone's.
It's a fleeting thought, one he can't linger on. He dismounts as well, wanting to be free to fight if it comes to that, though he does hang back as Clive instructed.]
Be careful.
[He's not concerned, exactly - he fully believes in Clive's skill - but as much as he likes to see Clive fight, Joshua can't stand to see him hurt. He gestures for the two guards to accompany Clive, not wanting him to have to handle this alone. Even if it's just bandits, who will likely flee the moment they realize who they're facing, Joshua doesn't want Clive to be too much at risk.
He knows he shouldn't feel that way. This is Clive's role, one that he embraces, one that he's very good at. Joshua should only be pleased that he's so dedicated, not worried over his safety. But he can't help it. He'll never be able to see Clive as just a subject.]
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No pleasantries, on Clive's part. ] Show yourself, [ he calls into the dim, walking a straight path towards tall grass and the cover of a shroud of trees. ] I won't ask twice.
[ Routine, he thinks. Not even worth using the blessing of the Phoenix to fend off, most likely. Invictus gleams in the fading light, held by Clive's side―
―and quickly arcs up to block a sudden attack by a creature far bigger than any roadside bandit ought to be. Caught off-guard, Clive grits his teeth against the onslaught and feels his balance shift; his arm momentarily goes numb, and he curses under his breath when his assailant― an orc? but why would a Waloeder beastman be all the way in Rosarian territory?― swings one thick leg up and kicks Clive flat against the nearest tree.
Bones creak under his armor. Anger and shame make Clive see red; careless, his mind hisses. He should have been prepared for anything. ]
―Protect Joshua! [ He calls out to the two guards, who are clearly as stunned to see an orc in Rosarian wetlands as Clive is. They regroup when spoken to, and hastily make to surround Joshua while Clive stands off against the hulking creature.
Creatures, plural. One warrior, and one spellcaster. Nothing Clive hasn't handled before, but his enemies have gotten a head start: Clive can feel pain shooting through his arm and up his side after every swing and parry, dulling his speed and prolonging what should have been a quick battle. He makes short work of the mage, but the remaining beastman warrior closes in on him, giving Clive more trouble than he'd wanted. ]
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It will never sit entirely well with Joshua, that truth. He has a softer heart than he ought to, and fundamentally doesn't believe there is anything about him that matters more than anyone else. But that's not the world they live in, a world where he could have a quiet life, where he could do whatever he pleased. This world is harsher, and he holds a position that means he has to be very careful what he does and when.
Though when it comes to mean something like this - Clive in danger, unable to help him - it doesn't seem worth it. Even the guards, though they're merely doing as they ought, frustrate Joshua. They should be helping Clive, fighting at his side in the way Joshua can't. Instead he must stay back, must simply watch, and be alert for any other enemies.
He does manage it, nearly. But Joshua has been watching Clive fight for too long not to see the way he labors, the brief hesitation as he works through pain.]
He's injured.
[It's not an order, not even an observation - it's a sharp warning to the men guarding him, a brief caution so that they aren't so startled when he steps forward, when he summons the Phoenix's power. Just for a moment, just long enough to hurl fire at the creature - to distract it, if nothing else. To give Clive an opening.
Joshua wants to unsheathe his sword, to rush forward. He doesn't, but his hand is on the hilt of his sword as the guards surround him again, obeying their commander, putting themselves between their lord and the evident danger. He barely notices, all his attention on Clive.]
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It's the opening Clive needs. He braces his feet on uneven marsh, willing himself to keep his balance in all this mud, then kicks forward and swings his blade, aiming for the creature's outstretched neck. He feels the tip of his blade catch against hard skin, dig inwards, then slash sideways; a clean cut across the throat is what finally brings the orc down, its blood staining dirty bogwater.
Clive pants, coughs, and lingers where he stands to make sure that that was the last of it. When he senses no other hostiles, he breathes through his teeth in a hoarse, harsh hiss, and sheaths Invictus to return to Joshua's side.
His head is bowed low. ] ―Your Grace. I've cleared your path. [ Shame and anger still claw up the back of his throat. ] Forgive me. I was unsightly.
[ This is their first mission, and the newly-appointed Lord Commander can't be made to look weak. It reflects poorly on Joshua, and Clive won't forgive himself if he does anything to jeopardize Joshua's station. ]
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[Hand falling from the hilt of his sword, he goes to Clive immediately. How could anyone not think Clive has done well, seeing him fight like that despite his injury? Taking on two enemies, skilled and powerful, by himself - and without calling on Ifrit's power.
Joshua looks at one of the guards.]
Check the area. Ensure that there are no more surprises. [And to the other:] Inspect their bodies. I don't think those are the sort of enemies one usually finds here.
[Joshua is sure that if Clive has decided the fighting is over, there are no more enemies about, but they have to be certain - and he knows that if he doesn't have the other men do these things, Clive will do them himself. He's done enough already, Joshua can see from the way he holds himself that he's in pain. He doesn't need to do these menial tasks as well.
He doesn't care if they see him fuss over Clive. He probably should, he knows, but right now there's no power in the world that could keep him from doing it. He doesn't even glance at the medic they brought along - talented, he's sure, but Clive is his Shield, so Joshua ought to be the one to care for him.
(He knows he shouldn't feel that unwholesome sort of possessiveness, but right now he doesn't care about that, either.)
Looking over Clive, Joshua can't hide the worry on his face.]
You're injured. Let me heal you.
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[ What is he, if he can't be strong for his brother? He'd sooner fill his own veins with poison than be a reason for Joshua to accumulate more of the Eikon's curse, so he tries for a half-smile that only barely skims its way onto his features. He is hurting, but it's nothing he hasn't dealt with before. ]
We're almost to the Bales. There'll be lodging for us there, and I'll tend to myself during the night.
[ He's acquainted with the owners of the cottage they've been given leave to use, and he trusts that they'll be left alone and in peace. An ideal place for Clive to lick his wounds, though he'll have to do it in Joshua's company― their accommodations aren't so spacious that it will allow them all to sleep in separate rooms.
It's agonizing, to make Joshua worry. Clive tries again to reassure with a smile, but it ends up looking more like a wince. ]
―At least let me posture a bit in front of the others.
[ A sigh and a wink, as he whistles for Ambrosia. He knows well enough that Joshua is obstinate when he wants to be, but he'd rather assuage his brother's mood when there aren't eyes on them. ]
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But he resists that haughty impulse. Since he was a child, Joshua has seen how Clive was treated differently from him. At first it was because he hadn’t inherited the Phoenix, setting him somehow below Joshua, even though he was the elder and (in Joshua’s eyes) entirely worthy of admiration. Their mother had made her feelings clear, and too many others fell in line.
Then it was because of Ifrit. Joshua doesn’t like to think of that night, but the effects ripple on even now. Too many voices wanted Clive’s head for something Joshua has never blamed him for, and even now he knows they whisper that Clive can’t be trusted, that he doesn’t deserve his title. Even after all he’s done for Rosaria.
All their lives, Clive has been treated like he mattered less than Joshua, like he was inherently less important, less treasured. But Joshua has never agreed. And perhaps that kept him from ever being too spoiled, too much of a little tyrant - his fierce belief that Clive deserved just as much as he did, even if he couldn’t make it reality.
So he’s always tried to be fair. He tries not to be imperious or selfish, tries to only ask Clive for things that must be done. Tries to never order him to do anything he doesn’t want to do. It’s not a burden. Clive is so loyal that, if anything, Joshua wishes he were more disobedient - more selfish.
So he takes a breath to settle himself, and he tucks his fear, his concern for his brother away. For now.]
Very well. But you must ride, and if anything else needs to be done, we send one of the men.
[And Clive will certainly not be tending to himself - but that’s a discussion they can have in private. He’s right about that. Joshua wants them all to see Clive being treated with respect, especially by him.]
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Because of him. It makes Clive ache to think of it. If he'd done his duties as a Shield, if his first prime hadn't been such a failure, maybe the others would have allowed the both of them to act more honestly with each other instead of seeing them as monster and handler.
They're thoughts he's turned over in his head a thousand times over, and thoughts he continues to mull over as they ride, this time with Clive and one of the guards taking up the front, with Joshua in the center followed by the remaining soldier and the medic. He listens to the man next to him report in about the beastman wearing Waloeder colors, and instructs him to send word back to Rosalith Castle about the abnormal presence near their borders; when asked if they should cancel the diplomatic mission to Sanbreque in favor of investigating this anomaly, Clive tells him that he'll speak to the Archduke about it when they retire to their quarters tonight.
They reach the Bales just before the sun sets completely. A friendly Sanbrequian who speaks with a thick Rosarian accent sees the traveling party to their accommodations, where Joshua and Clive are shown into the master bedroom. It's a simple layout, sparsely furnished, with one queen-sized bed and a divan against the wall that Clive thinks he can manage to curl onto; "apologies, my Lord, for the lack of space", the friendly Sanbrequian murmurs, then leaves the two of them to their rest.
An extended sigh later, Clive turns to Joshua. ]
...An auspicious start to our journey, [ is a self-deprecating joke. ] Are you tired?
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[It’s not entirely true. Joshua isn’t used to riding for this far or this long, so he is tired and a little sore. But it’s not so bad that he can’t handle it - he’ll just sleep very well tonight and be a bit stiff in the morning, he thinks. He doesn’t intend to give Clive another reason to worry over him.
He’ll be doing all the worrying this evening, thank you.]
Sit down. Let me see what’s happened to you.
[Joshua gestures Clive towards the bed, while he rummages among their luggage to find the poultices and bandages he knows they brought. Really, he intends to cajole Clive into letting Joshua heal him, but in case it doesn’t work, at least he’ll have something to make do with.
He’s calmed down a little thanks to the rest of their ride, but his concern hasn’t faded. He’s worried about the men who attacked them, what that means for Rosaria, what he ought to do - but right now, Clive is at the front of his mind. Clive was hurt protecting him. He knows it’s Clive’s duty, and that Clive seems satisfied doing it. And Joshua can’t deny that there’s some spoiled, selfish part of himself that likes that too, that thrills at Clive wanting to protect him, fighting for him.
But even so, especially so, Joshua always wants to be the one to care for him. Another selfish impulse that he so often can’t indulge that feels all the more important when Clive was hurt because of him.
Finding the supplies, he dumps the bag on the divan. Of course Clive is going to share the bed with him. Joshua hasn’t even considered the possibility of anything else.]
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－intimate. One-sidedly, Clive knows. Especially since the offer is being extended with the best of intentions, telegraphing concern over Clive (and nothing but concern) despite the fact that Clive is the one who has unduly troubled Joshua with his incompetence. On their first day, no less.
It humbles him. So he doesn't push back, and lets his weight settle on the mattress as he moves to strip off his layers for Joshua's scrutiny. Armor first, followed by crimson and black leathers, until there's nothing left but his trousers.
Clive doesn't allow himself to think anything of his bareness. Instead, he shows Joshua the state of him: the dark, expansive purple-yellow bruise in the shape of an orc's foot spreading from the side of his chest down to nearly his navel, and a slight swelling of his right arm, at the elbow. Sprained, possibly. Most of the damage is internal－ there are no cuts or open wounds to speak of― but they're ugly, unsightly things. ]
I've been through worse, [ he offers. He knows it's no consolation, but he'd prefer to say it regardless. ]
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Clive.
[He reaches out, doesn't quite touch him. Afraid even the slightest touch would hurt, and it probably would. Joshua has learned a little of medicine, and of how the human body works - partly just because he's curious about nearly everything, but mostly because he wants to know when a wound is dire enough that the Phoenix's magic is needed. He's grown since he was a boy, wanting to take away every hurt he could. He tries to only use it when necessary.
He knows it probably isn't now. With time and care, Clive will heal on his own. But Joshua's heart hurts at what's been done to him. Broken ribs, almost certainly. That will make it painful to move, and the arm will make it painful to do nearly anything else.]
Let me heal you. Please. It will only take a moment.
[The Phoenix is warm in his chest - or perhaps it's just his chest that's warm. He realizes, abruptly, that he hasn't seen Clive like this in a long time. They don't undress in front of one another, there's no reason to, at their ages it would be inappropriate.
This isn't inappropriate. It's necessary. But suddenly it feels like it might be both, and Joshua's eyes skim across Clive's shoulders, his chest, not looking at the injuries -
He closes his eyes for a moment. Let Clive think he's only horrified by the bruising, which is even true, really. It's shameful of him to think of anything else. When he opens them again, he's mostly steady.]
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Torn, Clive also flicks his gaze to the side, towards the nondescript wall of their small room. Logically, Joshua shouldn't. These wounds are nothing that patience and poultices can't fix, and his brother is tired, and the power of the Phoenix is sacred.
The problem is that his heart betrays him. He tries to remember when the last time his brother deigned to heal him was― when the last time he felt Joshua's warm fire seep through him was. Ifrit is an inferno, intense and destructive, but his brother's Eikon is an undulating wave of life-giving heat; ever since being given the blessing of the Phoenix, Clive has always liked the way the firebird felt in him. Steady and gentle, like a heartbeat.
He thinks of all the ways he could respond to Joshua's please. "You needn't trouble yourself with such things, Your Grace." "I haven't earned a moment of your blessing, Your Grace." "Your Grace is too kind, but he must rest."
All of them would be preferable to what he actually says, which is: ]
...As you wish, Joshua.
[ Because, at the end of the day, Clive is Joshua's. He turns towards his brother on the bed, utterly vulnerable and open, because Joshua is the only person he will ever trust with the full breadth of his soul. ]
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I like it when you call me by my name.
[When, for just a moment, he isn't the Archduke. He's just Joshua, Clive's brother, who adores him no less now than he did when they were small and all of this mattered less.
He reaches out, fingers just a hair away from brushing Clive's skin. He doesn't need to touch someone to heal them, so he doesn't touch Clive - not wanting to cause even a moment's pain. If there's a part of him that aches at being so close, he ignores it as well as he can.
The Phoenix comes easily. It always does now, as if Joshua's infrequent use of its power makes it all the more eager to show itself. Clive's efforts have kept him from having to prime for a long time, and since he's kept to the castle for so long, he's rarely even needed to draw on its lesser powers. Do eikons get restless? Whatever the reason, Joshua hardly has to think before that heat is flowing through him.
He does it right. He heals the bruised flesh, the cracked bone beneath it, the torn ligaments. He soothes away any small aches left behind, letting the Phoenix's warmth ease away the pain until there's nothing left. Until the damage is completely gone, and only then does Joshua touch Clive's skin, only for a moment. To be sure, that's all. To be certain he's done it right.]
Better, I hope?
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He opens eyes that he hadn't realized he'd held closed; he takes a deep breath, noting that it no longer hurts to fill his lungs with air, and lists, unconsciously, into the hand touching him.
Joshua, he calls out again in the safety of his mind. Joshua. ]
Better than when I started the day. [ Not quite accusatory－ "you did far more than you had to"― but verging on chiding. A don't-push-yourself. Still, he adds: ] ...Thank you.
[ To demonstrate, he flexes the previously-injured elbow and shows that his range of motion has been restored: it bends, stretches, and rotates without trouble. Once that's done, he deflates somewhat, posture rounding to something less austere.
He wonders if he should, if it's proper, but he curls forward and puts his forehead on Joshua's shoulder anyway. A light settling, which he'll relinquish immediately if he senses any discomfort. ]
I made you look weak. It won't happen again.
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You fought well - you defeated them both yourself. There's nothing weak about that.
[Clive didn't make either of them look weak, Joshua thinks. Tales will spread, certainly, because all the men love to talk - and fighting creatures like that is worthy of a tale or two. Coming away with only the injuries he did is more than most could hope to manage. They were all safe because of him.
But -]
Even if you had, it doesn't matter. You don't have to be perfect, Clive. You don't.
[Joshua knows it feels like that, for both of them. He has to be the perfect Archduke, showing no weakness that Rosaria's enemies could exploit. Clive has to be the perfect Lord Commander, feared and admired for his skill. It feels like if either of them falter, everything might come apart around them. Joshua knows the feeling well, it's what makes it hard for him to sleep at night.
But he can't watch Clive blame himself for something like this. Clive has fought so hard, for so long. He's done it all for Rosaria, and Rosaria doesn't appreciate him properly. But he's done it for Joshua, too, and Joshua has promised himself to always appreciate Clive properly. To give him everything possible, everything he deserves.
And if that's a place where he can be less than perfect sometimes, and not bleed for it, Joshua will fight for that.]
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