Archive of Our Own

When her husband swore to handle Jill Warrick’s betrothal, Anabella thought he were at least practical. She didn’t think him to be a damned arsonist.

Lords and ladies from across the Talons had come to bear witness to Elwin’s announcement. Most could not predict its purpose unless they had known that today his ward was finally of age, and soon would no longer be his ward.

But to who the girl would belong to after today, Elwin hadn’t deigned to inform her.

So her husband presided over the throne room, guiding a crowd of nearly a hundred or so of his vassals. Many of these lords were allies House Rosfield fought beside in the north and in Drake’s Breath (and of course Kanver, not that anyone would speak of that debacle). Though many more were peasants, castle staff that Anabella imagined were too much of a hassle to rid themselves of for such an unworthy event. Anabella despised being looked upon by them, these peasants. She knew the hushed tones they took when they shared in her air.

The whispers of her, as an unworthy wife, a wretched duchess.

A failure.

Yet she heeded them not, for this was her rightful place.

Joshua sat at her side, wincing as Anabella stroked his face while the boy’s brother hid somewhere in the crowd. Despite being First Shield, Clive didn’t need to be seen nor heard.

The Warrick girl stood more central than her pitiful station should allow, but that was to be expected. The girl was apparently a woman today, and her dress changed to match that. The pure white garments with teal accents of her childhood had now taken on doses of gray and darker blue linens. Her skinny figure was washed in the hues of her savage homeland, the duchess in her vermillion gowns found the sight to be horrendous. The ghastly amount of azure she now wore reminded Anabella of her dearly departed brother-in-law.

The lifeless hue of the child’s hair might have complemented her bland dress, but the duchess did feel some colorful joy in this needless ceremony.

Despite her spite, this had been a day long awaited by Anabella Rosfield. While she lost her right to decide its fate, she felt confidant it’d be the last she’s see of that pathetic little mongrel from the north. Her usefulness as a war trophy had reached its end, and now she was nothing more than a nuisance, a boorish spectacle challenging the cleanliness of House Rosfield.

The child’s father, Geir Warrick was no longer relevant, his homeland was lost to the blight. For House Rosfield to send the bitch off to any of these lesser houses would be far above her station, and would be doing her a favor. So the duchess was excited to be done with this wretched northerner. She could disappear now to fulfill her duty dying in childbirth (if those hips were anything to go by).

With her gone, Anabella could finally focus her energies upon making Joshua ready to rule in three years’ time. As she coldly stroked her second born son’s bronze hair, he wormed and inched away like a trapped mouse, to watch his father speak.

“My friends... After the end of our great battle at Manus Fields, when Lord Warrick bent the knee to save his people, I promised him his child would be well cared for behind the walls of Rosaria. That was a sacred pact I had made, and I would sooner end myself than be made a craven for betraying mine and the Silvermane’s honor.”

Her spouse was uncomfortable regaling this crowd with his well-rehearsed drivel. He lacked much of the charisma of his feckless brother, and yet Anabella knew how these people were drawn to Elwin, a skill she had yet to replicate.

If only they knew how pathetic Elwin truly was, how he wasted their nobility.

“And so, as our Lady Jill has entered her sixteenth summer, in the traditions of Storm and Ash, she is now a woman. I have guarded and protected her under the banners of House Rosfield as my ward for a decade. But as she is now of age to be taken as a wife, her protection shall be entrusted to another… and that decision of transference falls along to me in her father’s stead.”

As annoying as the girl was squirming from the cloying language, the duchess was perturbed by something else. Despite Warrick’s obvious discomfort to be perceived in this place of honor (of which she held no rightful claim), she was also uncannily smiling like an idiot. Her hands pressed together behind her back, playing with that horrid ashen braid she insisted upon having.

Were she just that simple?

“With careful consideration and a gentle amount of prayer, I have made the decision to betroth Lady Jill to a son from one of Rosaria’s greatest houses.” Anabella paused at such a thing, watching as Elwin reached a hand out towards the crowd, beckoning someone to approach. She recognized something in his gaze, a familiarity. “My own.”

The duchess saw him, an older boy, dark of hair stepping from Lord Murdoch’s side (who patted his shoulder). It was a feckless unworthy son, garbed in black-and-white leather, with a scarlet shirt underneath approaching the Archduke. Like his brother, a silver earing clung to his left ear and a fresh sword hung from his back uselessly (she’d rather it be thrust in his stomach now than continue this dishonorable display). With uncertainty he reached the center, to greet his useless father.

Silent words were spoken between them, and Anabella watched as Elwin took that wretched girl’s hand to offer it to his firstborn. The boy took it like he had never touched a woman in his life and that ashen bitch continued grinning ear to ear.

It was absolutely transparent what had occurred, like a robbery. She sat in horror as members of the crowd cheered away their nobility with the peasants surrounding them. This was the very spectacle Anabella had secretly feared would come to pass, and her vision reddened.

“My firstborn son, Clive Rosfield, Lord Marquess of Rosilith and esteemed First Shield of Rosaria has long had the honor of being Lady Jill’s companion since childhood…” Clive’s father said with a kind fondness he typically put on display. “It’s with a merry heart I tell you all that someday soon, they shall honor us in being joined together in matrimony, as Lord Marquess and Lady Marchioness.” The Archduke stood proudly, luxuriating in his mess like a craven boar.

“It is with unending joy in my heart that I welcome Lady Jill into the Phoenix’s Embrace of House Rosfield forevermore.”

As the Archduke said that, Jill's breath hastened, her heart beating just a little faster. Despite it, Clive stood at her side, smiling just like he did when she pushed him into that water weeks ago. Despite her own feelings about the Archduke, Jill noticed something in his eyes as he said that. He truly believed she could make his son happy.

And that was all Jill wanted.

Meanwhile the crowd had a far more basic reaction, the lords were casually enthused, but the staff and castle workers were ecstatic for Clive and Jill. Some of them were even bearers, many they had helped and in that way shared in the couple’s triumph. Jill even recognized a couple workers from the kitchen, including a girl her age who despite clapping had such an unmoving face, Jill wondered if it were made of stone.

Jill couldn’t help but feel nervous from the attention showered upon herself and Clive. Despite coming of age, she didn’t feel that much different than she always did. She knew Clive was just as anxious too, though he hid it well with his boyish smile.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered to her. “Many of them have been waiting years for this.” He calmed her nerves simply with his touch. His hand was a rope that anchored her to this moment. She grasped it tightly.

“I realize that.” Jill shrugged breathlessly. “It’s just with the way they’re acting, you’d think it’d be for something more worthy of the excitement.”

Clive’s gaze stayed with her as she said such a thing.

He couldn’t betray his own weariness from the attention. He had been starved of it for much of his life like she had. But as nervous as this ceremony made him, Clive felt as if all he needed to do was look at Jill and everyone else would vanish.

He found that plenty worthy of excitement.

“If you truly believe that, than you are a lovely fool.” He teased, Jill’s cheeks reddened.

Much had changed since their conversation at the lake. In the days since, Clive had been so attentive to her. The ways he (unknowingly) flirted with her before had never been so overt.

She could certainly get used to this.

“We’re both fools,” Jill relented, Clive didn’t argue with that.

“Aye, so just keep smiling like one, they’ll bugger off eventually.”

“I just wish things could return to normal,” Jill admitted, “But perhaps that’s become impossible.” Clive squeezed her hand gently, his warmth filed her up.

As the vassals of the duchy applauded the betrothal, there was a sudden chilling beat from Joshua’s side.

With an eerie tempo, the duchess crossed through a line of rosarian shields to approach the central group. Her hand coldly snaked her disaffected husband’s side, as she beckoned the crowd’s attention. Her violet gown shimmered and deformed as her well-maintained hair bounced rigidly.

She approached her firstborn son and his bride to be. Both instinctively dared not to look upon her lest they catch her glare. But even in that distance they felt winter’s embrace as she regaled them.

Clive almost reflexively sacrificed himself to stand between his mother and Jill.

Her stare was venomous in observing her son. For the first time in years her hand reached out and she deigned to touch him. It seemed designed to make her appear like a doting mother, but her freezing grip forced Clive to tense further up. She was almost gentle, stroking his face with her rough but proper fingers.

She nudged at his handsome jawline, causing small uninformed chuckles in the crowd. Her Grace took small delights in Clive struggling to bolster his courage. He stood resolute, but could do nothing as Anabella pushed him aside to finally look upon his intended.

Jill heaved watching the duchess’s beady eyes studied her with a hinted scowl. Her fingers nearly touched the girl’s face, but they flexed in mid-air as the duchess thought against it. She relented, the worse she did was deigning to touch the northern styled braid that rested on Jill’s shoulder. Somehow despite Jill’s colorless ashen hair, Anabella’s skin in that moment was paler, betraying this act of humanity the duchess sought to perform for the crowd.

Jill breathed for relief as Clive’s mother finally looked away to the public.

“This match is acceptable.” Duchess Anabella lied solemnly, with a false hint of joy. “May they continue to bring honor and joy to House Rosfield and to the Grand Duchy of Rosaria.”

The crowd applauded the duchess’s words respectfully, she stepped towards the crowd and Jill’s breathing became easier as her future-mother-in-law soaked up that attention like a weed absorbed sunlight.

Clive didn’t need to excel at lying to know his mother disapproved, but she couldn’t lose face in a betrothal ceremony. She’d tell a far different story behind closed doors to her ladies-in-waiting.

When his mother was finally distracted, Joshua pushed into the group to hug Clive and Jill much like he did at the lake.

“If only Torgal could be here to see this.” The young prince smiled with a whisper. “His parents are finally getting together.” Clive put a gloved hand through his brother’s unkept curls.

“Only seems proper… soon he’ll be in the line of succession, your grace.”

“Good,” Joshua added, “He can be Archduke then.”

Joshua's father approached the trio, gently shooing his second-born away with a gentle hand.

Elwin noticed how tall his eldest had grown, and did his best to stand as tall as was befitting his station. Though he relented to put his hand through Clive’s hair affectionately. Realizing how odd that would be with Jill, he instead offered a stern fatherly hand on her shoulder.

“That was quite a good performance.” Elwin said, “You both brought no dishonor upon our house today.” There was an immediate sigh in relief from Clive, though he did his best not to make it audible.

“Thank you, fa- your grace,” Clive resolutely bowed, Jill did the same, if a little slower.

“Your grace.” She whispered unprepared.

Elwin scowled at such pomp decorum, but didn’t have it in him to correct the behavior. He was far too nice for his own good.

“I ask that you two be on your best behavior, aye? It is your decision when to wed, but I implore that you keep it respectable until then. Don’t create scandals. Don’t create excuses for others to doubt your oaths to one another.” He sounded rather parental saying that, but Jill realized his gaze was focused intently on Clive who heard the message loud and clear.

“Of course, your grace.” Clive bowed again, Jill did the same, unintentionally irritating Elwin. As his father’s focus moved entirely to Jill, Joshua approached Clive with a whisper. They both stepped away to speak to a delighted Lord Commander Murdoch. He had already informed Hanna in their correspondence.

As Jill looked up from her bow, the Archduke cautiously opened himself to embrace Jill. She was surprised but allowed him to pull her in, to welcome her into his family.

It somehow reminded her of when he pulled her onto his mount, when he came to her father’s castle years ago. He had long struggled to be tender with her given the tension of that situation. For years Jill had simply known him as the man who stole her away from her mother’s arms. And while it had softened, that divide still stood between them.

As he held her, it dawned on Jill like the Phoenix how much of this care had been missing in the ten years she dwelled in Rosilith.

And Elwin knew that too.

Perhaps the Archduke saw granting this betrothal as a means of beginning to seek repentance for that wound he created in her.

“I’m sure Lord Geir would have approved,” Elwin told her. Jill felt momentarily tense at her father’s mention. “He once said he married your mother for love, after all.”

A sadness overtook Jill, but that helped her settle into the embrace.

She could never see the Archduke as her father, but she was grateful for what he did.

“I trust you’ll take good care of Clive.”

Jill thanked him sincerely. As he pulled away to join the crowd with Clive and Joshua. Jill was about to follow them, when someone stepped in front of her. Jill felt that chilling gaze again. She wore no crown, but she carried herself like a domineering empress. Her glare was cold and distant.

Jill froze up looking at the duchess, the woman smiled incredulously. Her arms outstretched.

“Oh come now child, we’re about to be family, are we not?” Anabella crossed the line dividing them and moved into Jill in a way approximating a person performing a hug. Jill shivered but had no choice but to participate. She put so much work into touching this woman who breathed with pure venom. Jill counted the seconds, hugging her for what an appropriate amount of time.

She released and sought to finally return to the men greeting the crowd, when Anabella’s cold grip stayed on her, forcing her to stay locked in. Jill’s colorless eyes flickered with fear no one else could witness.

“I suppose you’ll soon feel the obligation to call me mother.” Anabella whispered, “I wouldn’t, if I were you… you beastly little mongrel.” She held the silver haired girl hostage, her breath froze Jill down into the ground. “You honorless, gutless, craven vulture, preying upon my fool husband’s misplaced nobility and my unworthy offspring’s lust.” Jill tried so badly to ignore her, but she had never been so close to this woman before. It was terrifying. “You wish to plunder us like your peasant father thought he could? So be it. I will instead insist that you recall this moment every time you deign to think yourself be worthy of my name, of my throne and station… to imagine yourself the Lady of Rosilith.” Jill felt numb as Anabella continued her onslaught. Her diction was pristine. Unlike her husband, Anabella required no preparation.

“I trust you’ll understand and regret your childish error. You’ll rightfully withdraw and abandon these pursuits like you too are rightfully abandoned, Orphan. That worth you ascribe yourself… t’is nothing but fool’s gold befitting a hopeless, peopleless pauper. It is naught but a fleeting fantasy, dreamt up by a worthless little ashen whore. Nothing more.”

The cold spite that duchess Anabella spoke with infected Jill’s heart. She stayed planted there as the woman released her grip, pushing back slowly to look at her future “daughter.” With her cold smile, her hands reached to Jill’s face, touching her cheek, fingertips cold and rough on the girl’s skin. She could draw blood if she wished, but she preferred Jill remain pretty.

There was a rustic charm to it, the duchess mused.

“You’ll be such a beautiful bride.” Anabella said in a cruel but hidden tone, while her dead eyes stayed with Jill, clearly immersed in her earlier words.

As Anabella finally let go of the child’s face, she motioned for her handmaidens to follow her out of the throne room. Jill stood there not a step out of place, hand shaking to touch were the duchess stroked her face. She felt like a fractured glacier, breaking further.

Hours later, Jill was alone in the courtyard, imagining Anabella’s head as she sequentially loosed three arrows into a target. Only the first managed to land while the rest only found ground. The ends of her new dress were ragged, covered by dirt and a hooded travelers cloak she had taken to wearing at night in her training. The shadows hid her rather well, but wasn’t particularly conductive for her athletic education.

In her frustration Jill reflexively look up to seek the Moon and Metia, but both celestial bodies were missing. Clouds enveloped the dark sky, the only light to came from distant flickering torches.

She resigned herself to walking across that yard, picking arrows from the ground. Far too many stuck up from the soil like thin saplings she had inadvertently planted.

Earlier she just laid in her bed, staring at the ceiling, Anabella’s words repeating in her head.

Jill could hear her voice calling her worthless, an orphan,

And far worse.

Jill thought she had gotten good at tuning that woman’s voice out. But it dawned on her that before Anabella simply didn’t think of her as a threat. The Duchess assumed she’d get into line, stand up straight, do her time and leave like a good little base-born princess. And now Jill’s intention to stay threw a wrench into that woman’s ambitions.

Jill was now a long term invader staking a claim upon her kingdom, the woman saw an infestation.

Any joy Jill had in angering Anabella was replaced with this misery sinking into her like a stone submerged in water… and frozen there by the bone-chilling tide of winter for extra measure.

She might as well be the remnants of Drake's Eye, seeping down into the Frigid Depths.

So that night she did what she always did to clear her mind. The training yard was clear of onlookers and she could practice in peace… well as much peace as she could find missing her mark. Torgal wished to stay and watch over her, but early in the evening Jill had ordered the beast to leave her be. He left her whining, tail between his legs. Jill did everything she could to resist the bite of her own cruelty.

Jill angrily pulled the arrow from the target, finding her aim to be woefully misaligned.

The bolt snapped in two where she pulled it, frustrating and confusing the archer. In the dim light, she felt as if she saw a thin mist emanating from the end of the broken arrow.

Was that… frost?

Jill’s confusion was short-lived when she heard a mis-timed mis-step. She pulled an arrow from her quiver and outstretched the loaded bow. Jill’s braid spilled out of her hood in the sudden turn. Her silver eyes scanned the dark space. Someone was in the bailey watching her, perhaps it was one of Anabella’s.

She discovered a fading flicker beside the stables. The kweh of chocobos helped alert her to such an intruder (who tried shushing them). In a tight stride, Jill boldly confronted her onlooker, pulling her bowstring upon a thin twig of a boy wearing scarlet clothes. His hands were outstretched from the sight of an arrow aimed upon him. Though he didn’t seem scared as much as he was frustrated to find an arrow in his face (that Jill routinely stuffed back into her quiver).

At his discovery, the boy sighed, and with a snap of his fingers formed a ball of fire, illuminating Jill’s face behind the hood and the boy’s own copper hair. As the Archduke’s heir regained his composure, his very presence illuminated Jill and the training yard.

“Perhaps Clive had a point about keeping me under his watch… though I’d hate to see him forced to choose ‘tween us.”

Thankfully that could wait for another night, he was alone. Jill huffed, re-adjusting her hood and braid.

“Joshua, why are you up at such an hour?” Jill asked. The boy blinked, unprepared for such a basic question. “It’s later than usual for our talks.” She imagined he was carrying something under his clothes, he was hiding something.

“Well, Rosilith will be mine someday, why can’t I walk about it as I please?” Jill clocked his lie and cocked her head. A knowing look took to her gaze.

“It’s that girl in the kitchens isn’t it, Joanna’s apprentice, the one that shares apples with you?” With a mild look of shame Joshua pulled out a couple gleaming red apples.

“If it’s any consolation, happy late-Nameday, sister.” He casually bit into an apple.

Jill found herself sitting beside her foster brother at a nearby table, trading her bow to tentatively bite into a stolen apple.

While the castle had food to spare, Jill had always been weary of her intake. They didn’t have much in the north, so to eat whatever she pleased seemed selfish. Nor did Jill have the rigorous exercise that Clive endured, resulting in him devouring a literal barn every morning. She also had an overbearing future mother in law just looking for excuses to criticize her. All in all it was a shame, Rosarian cuisine was a guilty pleasure for her (all food was a guilty pleasure for her). As was imported chocolate from Sanbreque, though she told no one about that.

She kept that element to herself as she sat with Joshua. In more recent years he had begun following her outside, sometimes watching her training with Clive. Less of the duchess’s agents were active at night, so they could do as they pleased. That was presuming Joshua could sneak out of his over-guarded room without protection. Given that cough of his, it was very half-and-half.

The last time they had such a conversation was when Jill had confided in her foster brother that she wished to marry Clive.

“I bet she’s one of mother’s plants, but if so, she’s one of the good ones.” Joshua suggested, biting into his dwindling apple, hands playing with a wet core. “She still seems quite unnerved, working with Joanna. I wonder if I should get her name…” Realizing Jill had barely bitten into their late night snack, Joshua slowed his pace, intuiting her mood.

She was an awfully good listener, but rarely to the point of saying nothing at all.

Like an inquisitive child, Joshua grew curious. Jill felt naked as Joshua studied her now unhooded face, the state of her dress. He observed her self-consciously stroking her own cheek and shivering. From the corner of his eye saw Jill’s bow leaning on the table. Behind it was the training yard, a veritable graveyard of arrows.

“Joshua?”

He gave off a sort of “wise-beyond-his-years” sort of stare, either that or the look he gave whenever his brother insisted he eat his carrots.

“Clive said you were under the weather when you left the ceremony, but I’m quite familiar with that expression." Jill always disliked how Clive's brother enjoyed playing detective. "So I must assume something else happened.” He leaned back, studying Jill’s distant look like a map.

“Nothing happened, Joshua. Tell me more about your servant girl”-

“It was her, wasn’t it?”

It was the look in Jill’s ashen eyes that confirmed his suspicions. Joshua saw flecks of shame that filled her gaze, a humiliation that froze her from the inside.

His mother’s handiwork.

“Why aren’t you talking to Clive about it?”

“Because there’s nothing to talk about.” Jill lied, poorly. “And if there were… he’s got greater things to worry of, as do you. There’s no need to bother him.”

Joshua clocked that too.

“For someone who talks at length about sharing Clive’s burdens, you seem very unwilling to share your own.” There was a pace to his speech that reminded Jill of the duchess, but none of her venom was present. His gaze was measured and warm, and it frustrated her.

Why couldn’t he just be awful like Anabella? That’d make this so much easier.

Then she’d feel better about dividing Clive’s attention away from his charge.

“That’s ridiculous,” Jill answered, as a strong breeze pushed through the air, flitting with her hood. She shivered to protect her abdomen. Meanwhile the normally sickly Joshua appeared completely unmoved by the gale. The only shifting came from his messy bronze hair puffing in wind much like Jill’s braid.

“Maybe you should rest.”

“I’m fine…” Not that she could sleep anyways, but she didn’t need Joshua to worry for her any more already.

He had enough on his plate.

“You know you can tell me, whatever it is.” Jill obstinately looked away. She felt childish hiding her problems from this literal child. “You were able to confine in me about confessing to Clive, why is this any different?”

“It just is.” Jill said, confirming the problem’s existence.

“That’s not a real answer.” Joshua refused to accept the arbitrariness of such a statement, frustrating Jill. “What did she say to you?”

“Joshua-“

“It was really bad, wasn’t it?” As Jill was being verbally dissected, she felt colder. “Jill we’re family, you can tell me anything, why can’t I help you?”

“Because we’re not all family, Joshua.” She broke, losing her temper. “Clive is family, and you might be family, but she isn’t, and you’d just make it worse thinking she is.” She felt spiteful, telling this to Joshua, there was a part of her that wanted him to be angry with her. “Because you have something from the duchess we’ll never have.”

And that confirmed it for Joshua.

There had always been a jealousy Clive and Jill had for the attention Joshua received from Anabella. A bitterness, a resentment that was always there despite the affection both held for their brother.

They never wished to disparage Joshua’s mother in his presence. He was the only one to have the relationship with that woman that held any hint of positivity. She might have seen Jill as a useless tool and Clive a failure, but she saw Joshua as something greater. Her legacy, a means of propelling herself to greater heights.

And the boy knew that.

He knew who Anabella really was, he didn’t need her to confirm it. He witnessed how much his friends suffered around that woman… and how little he could do to help.

They couldn’t even dare to confine in him, it made him feel terrible. Like he was also abusing them.

But he always felt that when it came to Clive and their burden.

A guilt overtook Jill in lashing out at Joshua, it reminded her of how Torgal left earlier.

“I didn’t mean that.” Jill replied to quell his solitude, “She’s your mother, and-“

“She’s awful.” Joshua said simply. “It’s not that abstract of a concept.” And Jill looked away, her arms shaking, struggling to warm herself. “She’s going to be worse, to try and get you to call it off, so she can send you away.” As Joshua said that, he pressed a hand to Jill’s shoulder. He couldn’t offer her any of Clive’s warmth, but the gesture did steady her.

But she felt it shake.

There was a deep held frustration within Joshua that he couldn’t escape. He knew how his mother viewed people as tools. That felt personal to him in ways only he could understand. Power pulsated through his spellcasting hand, just thinking of it. Jill felt his hand burn and drift away from her, as he lost his composure.

“If she had her way, we wouldn’t be talking right now. You’d be gone forever.” The boy felt frustrated even entertaining what could have happened. “And-I would… Clive would be all alone.”

There was a flicker of smoke arising from the apple in his other hand. His fingers shook with burgeoning power… like he needed to release something but refused to do so.

And Jill somehow understood that feeling, watching him slowly cook that misshapen orb.

She saw that look in Joshua’s eyes… a lonely terror. The same fear he had of someday becoming Archduke. But there was something else to that fright. It reminded her of the stories the shields had said after the battles against the Ironblood years earlier. They had spoken about how the Phoenix came to Drake’s Breath. The Homecoming...

He was ten years old when he primed and realized his power. So many had died as the Phoenix rained fire upon the Ironblood. And now Jill imagined that he carried that experience with him. He carried it every time he looked upon his spellcasting hand, his fingertips covered with black scorch marks.

They coddled him, but Joshua knew fully well what he was. He was the reason Rosaria now had a Mothercrystal. And the memory of that display made him absolutely miserable.

She never dared to ask him about what happened, and neither did Clive (who had his own side of the event that he too kept private). But in that moment, Jill perhaps began to understand.

Joshua didn’t just need Clive to shoulder his burden, he needed Jill too.

She was his sister.

And without them, he was so alone.

“Joshua-“

“Do you regret it, what happened at the lake?” Jill stared at him, “And I don’t mean Clive misplacing his sword.” His eyes pleaded with Jill to be honest, so that’s all she would be.

“No, not at all.” The tears Jill shed that day were real, she wouldn’t replace that joy for anything. “I want to be with him.”

It was the one thing she had ever wanted since coming to this place.

“Then why aren’t you with him?” Joshua asked simply. Jill heaved. “If you can’t talk to me, talk to Clive, share your burden with him. You’ll feel better.” The boy said simply. “And if not… you’ll at least feel less alone, because ultimately, that’s what she wants you to feel.”

Joshua knew a lot about being alone, but he could suffer it. He refused however to accept it for his friends. Jill felt that determination, that pure care he had for her and his brother.

She decided to trust him, and left to go find Clive.

As Jill solemnly left him, Joshua sighed sitting there, staring at the overcooked apple in his hand. He couldn’t even feel how hot it was, to a normal person it’d be burning their skin. With a twist of his wrist, gravity beckoned the fruit to the ground as the young prince stood up.

As much as Clive wished to shoulder his burden, some things were impossible to transfer.

Whilst he glanced out to the shadows, he heard a rustling of departing footsteps that didn't belong to Jill. Sadly, he didn't find their owner... some mysteries would have to wait, it seemed.

Jill felt nervous standing outside Clive’s quarters in the middle of the night. The guard stared at her incredulously.

“Lady Warrick this is… improper-” The ginger rumbled.

“We are betrothed, Sir Tyler, I wish to visit with my fiancée.” The last thing Jill cared about was what one guard thought, as he rambled about how Lord Commander Murdoch would disapprove.

Of course this was much easier when she and Clive were younger and innocent.

But eventually there was enough rabble that Clive’s door opened independently, and he stood in his nightwear, looking quite awake (she could see his torches inside were lit). His gaze met Jill’s with some worry.

Moments later Jill sat upon Clive’s bed as he used Joshua’s power to prepare herbal tea. Her cloak was removed and left on a chair at his study. An old book of plays sat open on his desk. She surmised he must have been reading and was earlier distracted by something else.

Torgal, resting on the floor, eyes away from Jill.

“He had just shown up an hour ago, Sir Tyler couldn’t really get the beast to leave.”

Jill was reminded of their childhood, reading Clive’s favorite books and how small Torgal was, begging them both for attention.

The princess pressed a hand into Torgal’s soft fur, silently apologizing for how she treated him.

There was a cold guilt she couldn’t help but feel as the dog instantly forgave her. He even let Jill rub his belly. His undercoat shed quite spectacularly, not that Clive would worry much.

As Jill finished comforting the overgrown pup, Clive offered her a cup of tea, she took it, hands shaking. Clive joined her on the bed, attentively.

“Sir Tyler won’t tell anyone, will he?” Jill asked as they sat together. The tea did nothing for her nerves, but it did make her feel a little warmer, or perhaps that was his presence.

“He’s a good comrade,” Clive said, “And is good with secrets.” Despite seeing him all her life, Jill knew little of the man. Only that he was apparently close to Lord Murdoch and that he had been close to another of Clive’s comrades that died at Drake’s Breath. She wondered what guard duty was for a seasoned veteran like him.

But Clive trusted him, so she would too.

“You needn’t worry… dear.” Jill raised an eyebrow as Clive’s attempt at a pet name. Despite their obvious affection for one another, it was still strange.

But Jill didn’t hate it.

“You know,” Clive said nervously. “If you wanted to do something else for your nameday, we could have. The lake might have been nice… maybe see the town? I heard the Crow Company’s production of Saint and Sectary is quite good. Though Firebird tickets are hard to come by.”

Jill grinned a little at such a suggestion, but let him down gently.

“This is fine.” She blew into the cup, sipping again. “It’s a little too late, already… improper for a lady like myself.”

“Yet not improper for me.” Clive added, holding his cup obtusely. Like Joshua, it refused to burn his hand. “I’ve never been that fond of tea, honestly… just seemed like something a gentleman aught be well at preparing.” Clive smiled, “Uncle Byron spoke a great deal about those things.” As Clive said that, Jill saw that mournful look in his gaze.

It must have been why he mentioned that show earlier, he must have been re-reading that play. It gave him comfort, memory of younger days.

“Do you wish to speak of him?” Jill asked sincerely, touching Clive’s hand. He was grateful for her support.

“I wish he could have been here, at the ceremony.” If he could, he would have moved heaven and earth to be there.

Despite never being that close to him, Jill remembered Byron quite colorfully. He was always so boisterous, the life of the party. It made little sense to Jill growing up how Elwin was Archduke when Byron seemed much more suited to that charismatic task. But perhaps it was just in their limited encounters that Jill could feel his warmth radiating unconditionally. He loved Clive in ways many refused to do so.

And now Clive had to simply be content with his memories.

“He was a wonderful man,” Jill said. “Rosaria is lesser without him in it.”

“As is this family.” Clive smiled sadly, “I wish he could have known you better.” She nodded reverently, but found her mind drifting.

“I wish so many could have been at that ceremony.” Jill thought of her parents.

Her peasant parents. The ones who left her an orphan.

The ones who unknowingly gave her to that woman.

It seemed a magic trick, to be so close, yet Jill managed to rebuild that distance between them. She let go of his hand, that chill continued to grow within her.

Clive recognized the need to be assertive rather than passive. He gingerly stood from the bed. Torgal proceeded to take his spot beside Jill like clockwork.

“You seem haunted. Was it her?” Clive surmised simply, depositing his cup on the bed stand.

“Is it that transparently obvious? Am I that much of an open book?”

“Well the cover is very nice,” Clive flirted in vain, Jill ignored the attempt. So Clive changed tactics. “I noticed how you just stood there when she walked away. I’d also be sick afterwards, I’m sure.”

“If you knew, then why did you let me lie to you?” Jill asked, a hint of frustration colored her inflection.

“Because I knew if you wished to speak of it, you would. And now you are.” Jill recognized this as one of Lord Murdoch’s annoying lessons.

You don’t divert a stream if the water will naturally reach you anyways. That creates unnecessary lasting damage. But Jill wasn’t some bloody body of water, and Clive recognized that in her irritation.

As Clive stood to lean back on his wall, Jill sat cross legged, hands balled up and digging down into her new skirt.

“If it’s alright, what’d she say?”

Jill heard Anabella’s voice in her head again and cringed painfully.

“I’d rather her words not be repeated.” Her intended sighed, experiencing a familiar sensation. “It wasn’t what she said, it was how she said it.” Jill remarked, “I mean… what she said was awful. But much was just the icy promise of it. I feel so cold, knowing I’m going to be around that woman for the rest of my life.”

“Rest of our life.” Clive added, eyes softening on Jill’s. “She’s always been our greatest obstacle… why should that change?” He was rhetorical, obviously just as frustrated as Jill. “The way I see it, it’s a war of attrition. Joshua comes of age in three years’ time, and when he’s Archduke, he can remove her. Banish her to Port Isolde for all we care.” Jill wanted to be infected by Clive’s hope, but she was tethered to reality.

“That’s making a great deal of assumptions. Your father has despised her for decades, and yet she’s still his wife. Just because Joshua empathizes with us and understands that she’s a monster… that doesn’t mean he can just remove her from court.”

And Jill hated the idea of forcing that burden onto Joshua.

She also worried of what could happen if Anabella was removed from her place of power. With what she knew, Jill was convinced that woman could very well destroy Rosaria.

She could have destroyed it years ago.

Perhaps the honorable thing was to suffer in silence until she simply died.

But none of that was fair to Clive and Jill, and not just them.

“We can resist her just fine, I’m sure of it…” She hated how certain he was.

“But someday it probably won’t be just us under her thumb, Clive.” Jill said, hands shaking more. “What if there’s children, and they must suffer her as their grandmother?”

Such an idea was pure misery to Jill, her veins became ice from the very thought of subjecting more children to that unfeeling woman. Would they too becomes tormented tools like their parents? Jill knew she’d be no better than Anabella if she couldn’t protect them.

And she couldn’t even imagine if she and Clive birthed bearers, such a thought always brought Jill dread.

Clive however remained steadfast, he knew their problem couldn’t be solved in one night. The most he could do now was find a way to bring her some comfort.

As Jill’s words rested in the air, he recognized something she hadn’t realized.

“You want to have children?” Jill’s eyes widened, a tension arose within her, realizing where she sat. “With me?” They stared at each other uncertainly, the tension was palpable. The only party unaware was Torgal (who now laid on the bed with Jill), sniffing the air thinking his owners smelled something off-putting.

Whenever Clive looked at her like that, she felt warmer.

“Someday, perhaps.” Jill stammered, struggling to maintain eye contact. “I suppose it ‘ought seem proper, obvious even.” She felt embarrassed and yet Clive didn’t judge her at all. He pushed off the wall, and returned to her side. The bed had grown overcrowded at this point. Jill gently pet Torgal, to distract herself from Clive’s gaze. But instead Torgal chaotically leapt from the bed, and Jill was left noticing that dark shade of blue in his eyes growing closer.

“It’s still nice to hear.” Clive admitted, pressing his warm hand onto hers. Jill felt so hot in that moment, looking at him, this person she adored. It was terrifying how close they were. She was staring upon ten years of newly requited affection.

She wanted to kiss him so badly. And not just that…

But Clive was more introspective, unaware of the effect he had on her. And she was too nervous to break into that territory, to cross that line even considering where she sat.

She wondered if Clive was about to do so as he drew even nearer. Her throat shakily expelling breath and the teacup in her hands raddled even more. But instead Clive stopped in place and gently took the cup from her, to deposit it onto his bed stand.

“I think I can make you feel better, if you allow it.” From Clive's suggestion, Jill watched him, uneasy.

He motioned for Jill to lie down on the bed, and like a fool she did so, finding herself face to face with Torgal standing up from the floor. The dog licked at her face and Jill struggled to keep her mouth closed until Clive shooed the beast away.

Clive sat closer to her. He gently offered his lap as a pillow for her head.

And Jill felt a sense of de ja vu, of something she used to do for Clive when they were little. He got so worn out from his training, and she’d hold him like this, rub his neck. That was her way of giving him peace. Sometimes she even put flowers in his hair, and he wouldn’t mind. The most precious of those moments was when she watched him drift to sleep.

So Jill did as he asked, laying her head back.

He mimicked her old techniques perfectly, cradling Jill’s head and putting his hand through her tresses like a comb. He stroked her ashen hair, quietly pulling apart her unkept braid. She allowed it, surprised by the comfort she felt in this display. His hands cupped her neck, softly rubbing the back of her head. Jill felt a slow release in that tension that had been building in her. She looked up as he did it not at the ceiling but at Clive, her silver eyes watched him.

“Why do you put up with me?” Jill asked. “It feels like I receive so much more from this arrangement than you ever will.” Her intended chuckled painlessly, pushing stray hairs out of her shining face.

“If you truly believe that, then you really are a lovely fool.” Jill felt infected by his warmth. She saw a decade of unconditional love staring down at her, holding her.

Joshua was right when he said she’d feel less alone. That’s all Jill ever needed from Clive. She didn’t require some grand display or a battle on behalf of her honor. She just needed him.

And she had that. He made sure of it.

Clive was so gentle, so careful to not cross any unspoken boundaries. His fingers reached for her face, caressing it with a deft hand, massaging her jaw and then her cheek. He used just a pinch of the phoenix’s warmth in his fingertips. Little by little, Jill felt that coldness melting away. There was something else within her that he couldn’t reach, that Jill couldn’t help but notice, but this was enough, he was enough.

He was radiating warmth in his simple gaze. He was Jill’s favorite star, looking down upon her.

Clive recognized in his own way that there was more to say about the duchess, and what Jill was feeling. But right now he only wanted to relieve her burden like she had done for him. Perhaps he couldn’t shoulder it for her, but it didn’t mean he shouldn’t try.

His mother wasn’t a problem you solve in a day, but Clive was committed to finding that solution with her.

Jill closed her eyes, smiling just a little bit. He could feel her beginning to nod off much like he used to. Moments later there was a soft snore pushing out from her throat, telling him all he needed to know. As she slept, Clive quietly pressed his hand to her cheek.

“I think you would make a wonderful mother, Jill.” Clive leant in, pressing his lips to her forehead. Jill offered no reaction to the kiss other than the softest of unaware smiles. And Clive felt such joy, seeing the peace he could bring her.

Clive Rosfield continued to stand vigil over his intended for the rest of the night. For the rest of his life, if he had to. Though like the torches, eventually he too would succumb to sleep and become intertwined with Jill, breathing in her hair.

Thankfully, Torgal was prepared to pick up his master’s slack, watching them under the returning moonlight. Metia shone especially bright.