Chapter Text
Clive and Joshua were returning.
Of course that would imply that they had left, and indeed they had. Months earlier the Ironblood began a brutal campaign to take back Drake’s Breath. Archduke Elwin and the Shields of Rosaria assembled a fleet to sail west and support Rosaria’s hard won Mothercrystal.
It was so sudden, Jill hadn’t at all been prepared for her goodbye with Clive. Despite her weariness, Clive was utterly convinced he’d return to her. So Jill too would mirror that faith in him.
That embrace and his words were all she had of him to sustain herself for the last few months. Thankfully Jill at least had Torgal to keep her company, Clive was kind for that.
She didn’t like being back in that uncertain place, knowing Clive and Joshua were in danger while she was helpless to affect any of it. How was she supposed to carry Clive’s burdens when everything about her was deemed powerless in the ways Valisthea valued?
So Jill waited these past months with bated breath, pacing in Clive’s room with Torgal watching from his bed. She struggled even further in continuing her combat training, if she couldn’t master her anxiety… she found instead that it enslaved her. So all she could do was spend her nights praying... begging that Metia would hear her.
Her dreams had gotten worse with Clive and Joshua’s fate in question, she woke in terror to find her sweat frozen. Many oddities like that had been happening in the past few years, and yet Jill refused to think on them, even as they got worse in the past months.
She wouldn’t entertain this idea that she could have magic. She knew what that meant.
Anabella’s cruelties since the men had left became unending. She had insisted on spending time with Jill, summoning her to socialize with her ladies… imagining the poor girl had grown lonely. It was so infuriating to dedicate much of her life here in understanding Anabella’s network, only to be rudely incorporated into it. The duchess then proceeded to turn these lunches into excuses to otherize Jill and ask rhetorical questions about the north and its savage customs.
“I think it’s delightful you choose to wear your hair that way, I would have thought you’d grow out of it, after all you’ve been my child far longer than your baseborn mother’s.”
Jill cringed at such an insinuation. She wanted Jill to become angry, the more she resisted the more fun it became for the Duchess.
“Clive will really have his hands full with you, dear.”
She’d have to grin and bear it, to lash out would only confirm to Anabella what she thought of Jill. Of course she could just not attend, as Clive and Joshua would both suggest if they were here, but Jill refused to indicate that kind of weakness… especially when she knew the duchess acted as Elwin’s proxy in his stead. She could absolutely order Jill to attend her, whether she would was a separate question. Maybe it was like what Joshua spoke of, that Jill was too proud, she jumped too willfully into her misery than request assistance. Maybe this was her way of punishing herself for feeling useless.
That wasn’t to say all she did was subject herself to Anabella’s whims, in Clive's stead, Jill spent her time performing those tasks he performed for others. As uncomfortable as they were to entrust those duties to her, they were ultimately grateful. It gave her some fulfillment to do things for other people, even the ones their society refused to acknowledge as people.
The bearers were always grateful for her assistance, though she felt so odd being around them. Perhaps it was the empathy she always had for those poor people, knowing how easily she could have been born into their life instead. She knew better than to imply she understood what they went through in comparison to her own plight.
Jill might have been a prisoner, but they were born into it, born into that betrayal, that loss. Stripped of anything resembling humanity. Even a name.
Recently she had taken to carrying Joanna a fresh box of apples, and found herself disappointed to find her apprentice was gone.
“Yeah she left a little while after the lords went off… not much was lost given her talents, don’t worry about them pies, Lady Jill.”
Jill tried to keep herself busy to distract herself, sometimes she was successful. Every once and a while she would sit up with Torgal, reading from that book of plays, Saint and Sectary was Clive’s favorite, after all. She thought reading it would make her feel closer to Clive, but instead she just felt hollow; knowing that a play read best with a partner (and Torgal couldn’t speak). It didn’t help she already didn’t enjoy the show like her intended did. Though it did bring back old memories of Clive pouring over the text and making her perform as Saint Sybil the Unshodden… By the flames her performance was always so flat and misshapen.
Even if Clive always liked it.
The only sustainable happiness Jill really found was when she received Clive’s letters. She treasured them, treasured every word he sent her. He’d tell her of the battles they fought and their misadventures on that frontline. She could tell Joshua coached his brother in written composition, every time the prose became especially flowery and excessive she could see through it. But there was a sweetness in Joshua assisting, so when she wrote back she made sure to include a message for the younger prince.
Torgal seemed happy enough, every week or so she would read the new missive out loud in Clive’s room as the beast sat attentively upon the bed. She liked to pretend he understood. Jill even made sure to include whatever words Clive had for the hound, though she was fairly certain Torgal just liked how kindly she said his name.
In response Jill would write him of the monotony, and never anything of the duchess knowing how easily her network could sift through her mail. Frankly the only interesting to happen were the occasional criminals who thought they could plunder Castle Rosilith with the Archduke missing. Jill had even caught one such fellow days earlier, disguised as a trader to spy upon the duchess… Not that he’d ever admit it when she confronted him in the stockades.
In Clive’s letters it seemed there was no end to the fighting… or at least that’s what she had thought.
At one of those horrid lunches, the duchess had received a stolas from her husband. Immediately the mood in the room changed and the woman coldly told Jill that Clive and Joshua were returning in a day.
She didn’t think to tell Jill anything else about their return... even if the war had ended.
So as evening slowly came Jill and Torgal watched a small company of chocobos and wagons return to Rosilith. Past the gate they seemed downtrodden, none of the vigor Jill expected of Rosarian Shields. She also noticed Ambrosia was ridden by another soldier, and Torgal seemed anxious from such a sight. That was the first indication something was wrong, the second came from the duchess standing nearby, watching Jill and suddenly acting surprised.
“That’s right, I forgot to mention it, the boys have returned because Clive’s been wounded in battle… must have slipped my mind.” That woman in her vermillion gowns walked away briskly to the castle. Jill’s terror returned at the sight of soldiers pulling a stretcher from a wagon, the patient’s face was lined with bandages and his armor was replaced with sullen underclothes.
What happened?
Joshua in his black and scarlet armor crouched out of the wagon with a tired look. He presided over his brother, pressing magic into him like an uncorked bottle. The prince heaved and coughed blood onto his chainmail. Finally Joshua recognized his home, that overgrown weed of a boy looked aged in the months he’d been away. His gaze finally met Jill’s with a defeated look. Shame followed him wherever he went.
“It was an arrow, meant for father.” Joshua told her as Clive was settling into the infirmary. It was a wide brick hewn room filled with cots, linked to private rooms. Clive was placed in one of those rooms, being looked over by a physician wielding a crystal. In her inspection his clothes and bandages were being replaced with fresh ones. “Clive took it instead, like he always does… made a nasty cut, but it only sliced his cheek. We thought he’d be fine apart from the wound, the fighting resumed.” His voice had continued to deepen since the last time they saw each other. “Then after minutes, he collapsed… convulsed like his face was burning… we had to tie him down for his own safety.” She watched the physician do as Joshua described, tying down Clive’s wrists so he couldn’t hurt himself with those spasms.
“What was in that arrow?” Joshua looked morbid, normally he would have enjoyed the search for answers. But the pressure added new layers of guilt to it.
“In my research with the other physicians, we agreed his convulsions seem awfully similar to what a bearer experiences when they try to remove their brand... when the tattoo is cut. A poison crafted from the black root of a wyvern tail. A plant that does not exist in the Iron Kingdom.”
Jill paused, realizing how intricate this already was.
“They don’t even have bearers, why would they trade for such a poison?” They already didn’t trade, the Iron Kingdom were a nation of hateful reclusives.
“My thoughts exactly,” Joshua replied. “The Iron Kingdom as an institution treats bearers as heretical, they’re put to the sword at birth.” Jill cringed at the reminder. “And if that arrow was meant for father then I’m not certain we’re dealing only with Ironblood.”
Both royals knew of the rumors at court, that Elwin intended to give bearers more protections, more rights. It was a topic that Anabella spoke of at length in her lunches with much interest.
“As noble as my husband is, I fear he misplaces it on those undeserving of it… wouldn’t you agree, Orphan?”
As far as Joshua was aware, the assailant had escaped, fleeing as the Ironblood mounted an assault upon their forces, pushing them back to the beach. While Jill wished to know who hurt Clive, his current condition mattered more. She watched as Torgal stayed with his master, rubbing up to his hand as the physician drained pus from his face and reapplied bandages.
There was a wound on his face, cut into his left cheek.
The medic continued to leak energy from a crystal into Clive, but it didn’t seem to improve him at all. In fact she watched the medic cringe when she touched Clive’s forehead, as if it burned her.
“But how’s Clive still alive? Hasn’t it been days since he was struck?” Joshua nodded.
“Luckily, the poison already doesn’t work fast, it’s intentionally agonizing so I had time to research it. While it’s not a true cure, a wyvern tail could be diluted by our alchemist to offer relief and further slow the infection. And in my study, it seemed I already had a wyvern tail.”
That last part seemed to bother her brother.
“It seemed?”
“I’m very particular about my personal effects, Jill.” Joshua admitted. “If I had such a specimen, I wouldn’t be surprised to discover it… I fear someone in our camp knew of that arrow’s trajectory before it was ever pulled from its quiver.” There was weariness as Joshua said that, he couldn’t help but feel mistrustful, as if he was being watched by someone. It was rather recent how Joshua had developed that issue.
“Father however was unconcerned for obvious reasons… and with the medicine Clive did improve, but not enough I fear. He’s grown worse.”
Joshua sat back, watching the work being done on his brother. If this was the poison derided from a bearer’s brand, it didn’t have a true cure, it was something that was lethal because it required an impossible stamina that bearers were typically too unhealthy to survive.
But Clive was different, or at least that’s what Joshua had thought.
“It broke Father to send him away, but we knew Rosilith would give him a better chance. So I demanded to come along… I’ve been using my magic to slow it as much as I can, to keep him stable. But I’ve been at this for days.” She saw how blackened his hands looked now, his palms were absolutely engulfed from use of his magic.
Jill pressed a hand to her brother’s shoulder, he was so tense, so wound up. He felt guilty… like he wasn’t doing enough to shoulder this burden when he had given so much for it.
“He’s been resilient, maybe that’s my magic in him, or maybe that’s him.” Joshua heaved, “His forehead burns, literally. I fear that’s my fault, the Rosarian Crest of flames burns brightly.”
He tried to take guilt for this but Jill refused that.
“Like you said, you kept him alive, you’ve gifted him a fighting chance… and he’s a far better warrior than either of us.”
Joshua looked at Jill; seeing that lie she was telling herself; that Clive was going to be fine. He realized how much Jill needed that lie, and the prince needed it too. But he was ever the realist, and faith in Clive could only go so far.
So he sought to make up that difference. But that didn’t stop him from being a realist.
“In the brief moments he’s been lucid, Clive’s asked for father, Lord Murdoch, Uncle Bryon… and he’s asked for you.” Joshua said that so solemnly, Jill felt chills fracturing her heart. “I think that was why father wanted him home…” He wanted to continue that thought, but it felt wrong to define what that meant.
As Joshua suggested such a terrible thing, the medic stepped out from Clive’s quarters, uncertain. Torgal remained with his master.
The woman told them that despite what she did for Clive, she wasn’t certain if he would survive the night. The medicine given to him was ineffective because its own side effect contributed to the same fever created by the poison, which seemed magnified by the Blessing of the Phoenix.
“The poison flows best when blood is boiling. If his fever doesn’t stop neither will it… and even if it does…” the medic sighed, “He seems strong, but so were plenty of others who also succumbed.” Jill refused that.
“Surely there’s something else,” Jill asked. “Bearer magic perhaps?” The medic shook her head.
“Castle Rosilith doesn’t have bearers with that sort of specialty, if they knew magic that could resist the poison, they wouldn’t be branded… and they certainly wouldn’t be here.”
There was a reason bearers were never taught anything beyond basic control of their powers.
Joshua stood up. “I can keep helping him, I can”-
“Absolutely not.” Anabella said, they were suddenly reminded that the duchess had sat in on their entire conversation. “You are the heir to the Duchy, you shouldn’t even have been in the fighting to begin with.” Her cold logic penetrated Joshua in a way he wasn’t prepared for. Jill though she saw a burgeoning anger in him that reminded her of Clive. “You need to rest, Joshua.”
There was a stern moment between the duchess and her fifteen year old son, his gaze tightened.
“He is my brother.” Joshua breathed. “You don’t get to tell me who I can and can’t save.”
“But you won’t save him,” The cold woman rebutted, trying to forcefully sound affected. “And worse you’ll expend even more of yourself, of the Phoenix.” She said it so simply, as if it were mere arithmetic. “Like your grandfather did.”
Was that all she really saw of Joshua? She only saw his Eikon?
“Clive as First Shield wouldn’t ask you to make that sacrifice for himself.” She reasoned.
“You don’t give a damn what he’d want”- Josh shook, as if something very real was breaking between himself and his mother. “Clive made an oath to me, not to the Phoenix, me. He is in my service, that makes me responsible for him!”
His mother cared very little for his hysterics, she saw it only as childish rabble.
As Joshua worked himself up, he began hacking violently, more blood dripping from his mouth. It mixed with sweat and frustrated tears. He bent over, retching as Anabella approached him. She thought to touch him, but thankfully didn’t.
“But the Phoenix in its wisdom and divinity did not choose Clive, it chose you, Joshua. Wanting the world to be different does not make it so… as I keep needing to remind your father.” Jill felt the woman’s hidden venom as she tried to coddle Joshua, every time she glanced at Jill, the north girl felt that indifference.
She noticed the few guards in the room stiffening up, including a sorrowful Sir Tyler… perhaps the duchess had spoken to them earlier about this encounter.
“This is a very difficult time, but the duchy will press onwards, Joshua. That’s what matters, not this attachment to stagnant blood.” Her cold gaze focused on Joshua’s hands, they were stiffly caked in unnatural black soot. “You need rest, before you sacrifice even more of yourself… the Archduke will understand-”
“HE IS YOUR SON!” Joshua’s voice cracked, feeling as if nobody was listening to him. “YOUR FIRST SON!” His gestured towards his brother in the other room. “DID THAT EVER MEAN ANYTHING TO YOU?” He broke, coughing more, expelling more tears. “Did you ever love him?”
Jill hadn’t known this was inside Joshua, this anger. She had seen hints of it before, but she never felt this agony. There was a heat radiating off him, a furious fear fueled by despair. Confronted with his anger, the duchess breathed evenly. She looked away from her son, towards Clive in the distant room.
Anabella Rosfield seemed at briefest odds with herself, as if she was forced to reckon with something she had buried long ago.
“Once… I did once.” She sounded sobering acknowledging that. As she looked back to an enraged Joshua, Jill couldn’t help but feel Anabella answered another question he hadn’t asked.
She didn’t love him either… at least not in the way she ought to. Just like Clive, he was also a tool. But while his brother had outlived his usefulness, Joshua had yet to do so, and was the only known path forward.
He was her only form of self-preservation, a way of extending herself and her influence.
That was all.
“We are shepherds Joshua, as the Founder intended. Clive is but a small part of our flock… your flock.” Joshua’s jaw practically fell to the ground staring upon this woman, no longer hiding behind her cruelties. She was absolutely transparent, her dead heart was visible.
She was treating this as a lesson for her son… her heir.
“Clive has made many great contributions in protecting you… he’s killed many in your name. But the ability to cleave does not grant one divinity any more than it simply grants the role of a butcher. Find comfort in understanding that difference, and you’ll find much more happiness in this life than you would otherwise.”
Joshua refused that, believed none of what he was hearing.
“You… you heartless… you craven”- he whispered, hoarsely, coughing again. Anabella motioned for Sir Tyler.
“The Prince needs his rest, take him to his room before he says something we’ll both regret…” With a conflicted look, the guards approached their future Archduke.
The law was clear, Joshua wasn’t of age, and Anabella was the Archduke’s proxy. The only other person who could maybe contest her will was currently in the other room, slowly dying.
Clive was dying.
That part still hadn’t sunk in for Jill.
As the soldiers approached, Joshua shook, frustrated tears welling up.
How could she betray him like this?
“Don’t make me leave him.” Joshua begged Anabella, reverting to that childlike image, all that rage and anger turned inwards to sorrow. “Please mother.”
The duchess had to have known the tragedy she was creating. Joshua didn’t know if he could save Clive, he knew only that he didn’t wish to abandon him in those final moments.
But the duchess refused him even that. She’d rather just get this over with. Move on. Ever onwards.
“You’ll thank me someday for this, Joshua.” She said simply, allowing the shields to finish their approach.
Joshua’s turmoil was apparent, but whatever rage he felt became so drained… exhausting.
There was still hint of that fire in him, begging to expel flames from his fingertips, that fire was so unlike him… but he could never give into that. It wasn’t in his character to do so, as the duchess knew. Joshua let it go as she assumed he would, pushing away Sir Tyler’s hands and said he’d leave in peace.
He paused on the walk out of the infirmary, remembering Jill with a guilty look.
“I’ll be back first thing in the morning.” He promised, tear stricken, knowing there was nothing he could say to make any of this alright.
“Wait,” Jill breathed, feeling powerless but offering what little agency she had in this. “I don’t want you to be alone. Take Torgal.” The dog finally left Clive’s side at his name’s beckoning. The beast growled deeply towards the duchess but approached Joshua finally.
The duchess paid them no mind as they left the room. She promptly told the physician to take her leave as well. She had done everything she could for Clive with her potions and medicines after all. The medic knew not to argue, but there was a moment of trepidation. The woman had a familiarity with Jill (who had assisted her like Clive had in the past). Without even saying so, she recognized Jill would watch her patient... as she had done for others.
That seemed to be Jill's duty in all of this, to ensure Clive wouldn’t be alone when he…
The doctor said if anything changed, to send for her. But like Joshua and Torgal and Sir Tyler, she too left.
There was a solemn beat as Jill focused on Anabella. The duchess was adjusting a bracelet she wore. She acted as if she hadn’t said those horrid things to her child, advocating for the death of the other. Anabella looked about to leave too, when she was interrupted.
“How do you live with yourself?” Jill asked, the woman turned. “Your son is dying, and you won’t even let his brother attend him as he goes. Do you feel anything? Are you even capable of feeling?” At this point all of Jill’s childhood fear of this woman was washed away with by her sorrow. She felt as if she could see her so clearly… she looked so vapid, so empty.
The duchess seemed not at all put off by Jill’s boldness. She was covered by a shrewd indifference, drained only from the discussion with Joshua. Perhaps Anabella looked at Jill like a teacher would a poorly-performing student, much like the rest of her children. Perhaps she hoped Jill would have preferred what she had arranged her before this tragedy could occur.
She didn’t speak to it, of course… it was inherent to the situation.
Happiness was overrated because it was always fleeting. It was crueler to love and lose than to have never loved at all. So why even bother with the whole affair?
And yet like she had all her life, Jill refused to give an inch to this woman.
Anabella stared at Jill as if her question had been answered long ago, it was purposeless now.
“Why are you wasting time asking these questions, Orphan?” She evened her gaze on Jill, this child she refused to love much like she refused to love Clive. “After all, it could be better spent saying goodbye to your beloved Clive.” She acted as if her cruel words were doing Jill a kindness… but knew this lesson would not stick. Joshua might have been a poor student, but Jill was far worse.
The silver haired girl was silent as her “mother” finally left the room, shutting the door behind her.
And then Jill was left alone with Clive.