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Joshua.
Clive couldn’t think of anything else.
His body ached, muscles in agony and each bone feeling like it had been snapped in half. He felt paralyzed; like he was trapped inside his own body.
He wanted to call out for his brother. For the brother he failed.
His face was digging into the dirt, hindering his breathing but he couldn't get it to shift to the side so he could clear his airways. Not that he deserved to.
Joshua.
He couldn't even whimper the name.
Everything went black. The next time he awoke he was still trapped inside his own head. He could hear footsteps as they combed the area.
"What are you even expecting to find?" A feminine voice questions, stern yet young. "I can only do so much and these men are practically on death's door. I can't help them."
An older, gravelly voice of a man who has probably smoked his whole life responds. "There’s gotta be some poor sod still kicking around here."
Clive can't even twitch. He doesn't know whether these people are friends or foes, he doesn't know if he wants them to find him or not.
Footsteps get closer and then speed up, hurrying until they stop right beside him.
"Cid! I found something!" A younger masculine voice calls. Clive feels himself being pulled up, an arm around his waist. "I think he's alive!"
A few more pairs of feet follow and then there are more people holding him up. Someone with thin, slender hands and careful yet confident touches shifts around him, fingers pressing against his throat before running a hand down the back of his head and then down his spine.
Clive realizes that they're looking for serious injuries. They grip his arms, testing his movement despite how limp his limbs are before shifting to gently prod his stomach, eventually pulling back.
“What’s your opinion?” The deep voice asks, tone casual.
“He’s battered and bruised, but I can’t find any broken bones, he doesn't appear to be suffering any internal injuries, his spine is intact and there doesn’t seem to be any injuries to his head. I don’t know why he’s still unconscious, but maybe there’s something I missed.”
“Smoke inhalation?” The younger man asks. “He looks like he was in the middle of the whole mess.”
“Could be,” the feminine voice responds. Clive feels the same hands cleanly run down his throat and to his chest, clinical and precise. “There’s certainly damage here, nothing a potion won’t fix but I don’t think he’ll be conscious for a while.”
A low hum follows it and Clive still can’t tell if he wants to crawl away or not. The pain in his body is distant, but his body refuses to respond to his thoughts.
“Best get him up then,” the deep voice says. “Goetz?”
A squeakier voice echoes in response. “Got it.”
It’s dizzying, being hefted up by multiple arms, hoisted onto something like a seat. He can hear heavy breaths as he’s strapped up against a solid wooden board. The whole world shakes even as his head hangs limply with his chin to his chest. Someone lifts it up, settling it into a slightly more comfortable position against his shoulder.
“Hope our sleeping princess is comfortable,” the deeper voice says with a snort. The feminine voice huffs.
“Be nice,” she snaps.
A hand ruffles his hair before he finds himself swinging and swaying at the behest of footsteps. It makes him realize, with a start, that someone is carrying him away. He has no way to protest, no strength to break free, and is completely helpless.
He hates it.
Walking alongside Tarja and Gav, Cid spares a look forward at Goetz and his passenger. He hadn’t expected to find much within the remains of Phoenix Gate. He’d had a brief, futile hope that they’d discover the Phoenix amidst the wreckage, potentially even clinging to life. But, instead, the boy was nowhere to be seen and the remaining soldiers were either dead or close to it.
All but the young man strapped to Goetz’s back, unconscious and limp. He’s in pretty good shape for being in the middle of all the chaos and Cid wonders if he was sheltered from the flames by fallen debris. Or…
Yeah, probably not. The dominant that unleashed that mysterious and demonic second eikon of fire, something thought impossible, was almost certainly long gone, into the dark of the night with little thought as to what remained behind. What they were doing there, Cid can’t even begin to guess, but that’s not the current priority.
He can feel the aether falling off the boy in droves. No mark, no indication that he’s a bearer, but if the Imperials had gotten their hands on him, he dreads to think what they’d have done.
Good thing they got to him first.
Gav, eighteen and still a youth barely older than the teenager, looks torn at the plight. Just like always, he’d sniffed out a survivor perfectly. Now they just need to figure out who the hell this kid is and why he was in the middle of a warzone.
Gav had gotten them some intel that the Ducal army would be heading to Phoenix Gate alongside the Archduke and the Phoenix, so what a child was doing among them he can’t quite puzzle out. Still, Cid’s glad that they’d found him alive anyway. He looks barely older than Mid, which makes Cid’s stomach turn and he huffs to break himself out of that thinking.
At least Tarja ruled him mostly okay. She’s quiet, studying the boy carefully still and barely watching her step. Cid has ended up stopping her from falling into a pit or two the whole walk and Gav had snatched her arm to prevent her from tripping more than once.
At least they’re almost to their previous campsite.
It remains undisturbed, hidden by brush and fallen ruins. It’s rare for people to stumble into this forest anyway, and most monsters aren’t very fond of the fallen ruins that Cid seeks out. So they make camp, the dark creeping in as they finally set the teen down so his head is propped up by Tarja’s folded-up coat, Gav tending to a small, flickering fire to keep them warm.
“So?” Gav clears his throat, looking down at the teen. “What’s your thoughts, Cid?”
“My thoughts are that he is very much out of place amidst that mess,” Cid says with a huff. “And he needs to eat and drink something.”
Tarja nods firmly, getting out her canteen that she’d filled up. Cid hefts the teenager into a sitting position and Tarja carefully pries his mouth open before letting a bit of water slip down his throat. Instinctively he swallows and Tarja gives him a few more sips before letting him slump back.
"We'll need to wait until he wakes up to get him some food, but this will do for now," Tarja says. "It’s a good sign that he can swallow at all."
Cid nods, trusting her call before letting the kid lie back down on his side.
He's on the last watch, the sky turning grey and silver at pre-dawn when he hears a raspy cough. Shaking Tarja awake, Cid shifts over.
"Well look who's awake. Good morning princess."
Clive comes back to awareness to silence. His throat is straining from dehydration although it feels like water sits in his stomach anyway. He feels exhausted, although it's more to do with the exhaustion one would have from sleeping too much.
He blinks his eyes open, giving in to the harsh cough his throat begs for. Nothing loosens, a dry cough that just makes his throat feel worse, but he forces himself silent when he hears movement.
He's lying on his side, head pillowed on some fabric, and he gazes at a burned-out campfire, illuminated by the light slowly creeping up the horizon and painting the skies a pale grey, in anticipation of the rising sun.
Someone, a man with faint lines around his eyes and brown hair, silver strands hiding amongst the dark ones, leans over him.
"Well look who's awake. Good morning princess."
His arms still ache but he's not bound and there are no crystal fetters around his wrists so he's just lying there, defenseless aside from the Phoenix flames and his minimal remaining strength. He considers trying to conjure a flame but realizes at the last second that… maybe they don't know he can channel magic. If he keeps his cards closer to his chest, he may have a chance to escape.
"Get out of the way," the feminine voice from before snaps, before a woman pushes the man away and comes into view.
"Alright," the man huffs with a light chuckle and Clive realizes this is the gravelly voice from before as well.
So these are his kidnappers.
The woman presses the back of her hand against his forehead, looking for a fever, before gesturing with her hands.
"Can you sit up?"
Breathing heavily, he warily sits up only because it's a more advantageous position if he wants to run. The woman holds out a canteen and motions with it.
"Drink," she commands, stern and firm. "You need fluids, you're dehydrated."
That he can agree on. But he doesn't trust the water.
Sighing heavily, the man snatches the canteen and takes a gulp before holding it out.
"Not poisoned," he says slowly, as if he's done this before.
Still hesitant, Clive takes a small sip of the water. That little bit makes him yearn for more but the woman takes it away after he gets barely a mouthful.
"Pace yourself," she says simply, tucking the canteen away. Away from him, the man is shaking two others awake. A blond-haired teenager who looks just a little older than Clive himself and a large man who looks to be in his early twenties.
"Now that you're awake and can talk…? How about we do that?" The man hums. He's the oldest and clearly the leader.
"What do you want?" He gets out, breathing heavily.
The man backs off a little.
"Just to have a conversation for now," he says simply, leaning back.
"Who are you?" Clive asks, not believing the man for a second.
"I'm Cid," the man responds, treating him with caution. "This is Tarja, Gav, and Goetz."
"Where are we?" Clive scowls.
"I believe it's common courtesy to offer your own name after asking a stranger for theirs. But, no formalities, fair enough," the man, Cid, says. "We're in the southeast of Rosaria, just about to cross into the deadlands."
Struggling, Clive tries to get to his feet. If he's still in Rosaria, he can get help. Yet, his arms give out and he falls, just barely being caught by Cid.
"Yeah, don't really recommend that course of action," Cid tells him, making him lie back down on the ground. Clive doesn't possess the strength to fight him off but he certainly wants to.
"Need to go back," Clive hisses anyway.
Cid raises an eyebrow. "Back to Phoenix Gate? Yeah, no. That place is swarming with Imperials and an unbranded bearer is going to look appealing for someone looking for a quick buck."
With those words, Clive feels sick.
"Joshua," he whispers, clawing at the ground. "I need to go back. Father…"
"So… your pops was one of the Rosarian soldiers, huh? Still doesn't quite explain why you were there. And Joshua…"
"I was supposed to protect him," Clive whines, a few tears slipping down his cheeks. "I'm a failure."
Over the top of him, Cid and Tarja share a look.
"What’s your name?" A softer voice asks. Both Cid and Tarja look over to see that Goetz has shuffled over. Gav, awkward and a little nervous, also shifts so he's sitting beside Clive.
Maybe it's strange but it's nice, having someone just slightly older than him there. It feels like there's someone on the same playing field as him.
"Clive," he chokes out as much as he doesn't want to. He can't trust these people. They know about his magic, he should just fling a fireball at them now and make an escape.
If only he had the strength to run or even just stand. Again, he claws at the ground.
"We need to get you some food," Cid finally says. "And a potion. That rasp cannot be a good sign."
Goetz steps over, heavy footfalls echoing in his ears, and digs into a strangely shaped pack, a few wooden boards tied to the back.
That's how they carried him here. Efficient, but suspicious.
Returning, Goetz holds out a green bottle and Tarja takes it. This close, Clive finally sees it.
A fading brand on her cheek.
She holds the potion up to his lips as his thoughts start to race. This woman is a bearer, but her brand is worn and she has a command over the group, a group of non-bearers.
He comes back to himself when he tastes the sickly lime and pepper liquid slip across his tongue and he instantly wants to spit it out. In Rosaria, you break potions. You don't swallow them. For this very reason. Soldiers would be throwing the things back up during battle if they did.
Technically it is more potent when taken directly, but not nearly as efficient.
He feels as Cid holds his arms down so he doesn't thrash and Tarja cups one hand around his mouth so he doesn't throw up, running her other hand down his throat like one might do to a dog. Eventually, he gets it down, the taste disappearing almost immediately and as soon as she feels him swallow, she lets him go and Cid lies him back down.
"We better get moving," Gav says. "So we don't lose daylight."
Cid surges to his feet. "You're right." He then looks down at Clive. "I don't think this one is quite up for walking yet though. So he'll get the luxury treatment."
Clive doesn't puzzle out what that means until Goetz has his pack on and Cid hefts Clive up, Gav helping. This time, Clive tries to push them off but Cid just raises an eyebrow and continues. Despite Clive’s best attempts, it's all in vain because he’s quickly strapped into the seat, arms still aching from before. The potion sits in his stomach with all the water, but it feels desperately empty.
"Go on back to sleep," Cid says. "You probably need it."
He doesn't mean to close his eyes. Yet, they flutter closed anyway.
Muffled conversation surrounds him as his kidnappers discuss things he's not privy to.
"...he's probably starving…"
"...the Phoenix’s dominant, right?"
"... should we…"
Clive wonders, in the back of his mind, if potions can be spiked with sleeping medicine.
Things are bouncing around Cid’s head as they start to walk. The teen's eyes are closed but his mouth is twisted into a frown.
"Clive, huh?" Gav starts, trying to lighten the mood. "That name ring any bells?" He then cringes. "Fuck, he's probably starving."
"We'll be back at the hideaway soon," Cid points out. "We can get him some food then. And some for ourselves."
"Cid…" Tarja starts, quiet. "Joshua. As in Joshua Rosfield."
"But that's the Phoenix’s dominant, right?" Goetz ventures and, with a grim look, Cid nods.
"He said he was supposed to protect him. Which would make him a Ducal shield himself."
"But he's younger than me!" Gav blurts out.
Cid’s hands tighten into fists. "Clive Rosfield, first shield of Rosaria. Would have gone with his father and younger brother. Of course."
Gav stares at Clive for a moment before a frown crosses his lips.
"Cid," Tarja hisses. "Should we take him back to Rosalith? He is technically the only remaining heir."
"No way," Gav hisses back. "You think those Imperial fuckers are gonna let him live? Ain't like he got an army to defend him any longer."
"Gav’s right." Cid watches as Clive’s expression goes lax. He's finally fallen back asleep. "We send him home and he's dead meat. Or enslaved."
The Deadlands just feel wrong. Inside the ruins, Ramuh is steady, a force of nature alright but tamed. Calm.
Usually in the deadlands, it feels like Ramuh is trying to claw his way out, away from the decay. It makes Cid often wonder if there's something more to it all.
Right now, Ramuh is agitated but cautious. Cid frowns, pulling at the magic. It comes, to his shock. Lightning sparks in his hand and both Tarja and Gav stop in place.
There are still mountains of Aether dripping off Clive.
"Now that's not a good sign," Cid murmurs before starting forward again. The sooner they can get that kid to a warm bed and some soup in him, the sooner he can figure out what the hell is going on.
Clive wakes up in a bed. It's stiff and worn, but the blankets are warm and clean. It's a far cry from his bed in Rosalith castle, but it's better than the ground he'd been lying on before or the wooden board he'd been propped up against.
He jolts up with a start at the memories. Phoenix Gate, Joshua, Cid and his other kidnappers.
"Easy, kiddo," the familiar voice of the woman from before, Tarja, carries across the room as she steps over. As he glances around, he finds that he is in, in fact, an infirmary. A fairly rudimentary one, with mismatched furniture and basic supplies but an infirmary all the same.
"Where am I?" He questions sharply.
"The Hideaway," Cid’s voice comes from the lone doorway. He’s standing there between Clive and the only route of escape. "I'd hoped we could chat a little more, but I think Tarja wants to get some food in you first."
Clive scowls and Cid laughs a little.
"That's certainly a sour expression. I wonder if you even know how to smile," he teases and gets a sharper glare in return. What reason would Clive have to smile? He's lost his brother, his father, his home, and he's been kidnapped by strangers.
He's scared, he realizes. But less like a child, fearful of monsters under the bed. More like an animal, an instinctual fear of the unknown circumstances and the fear of vulnerability.
He wants to go home. He wants all of this to be a dream.
"Alright," Tarja snaps. "Go get him something from downstairs then."
Cid salutes her cheerfully.
Clive finally speaks again.
"You're a bearer," he states simply. "But still…"
Tarja, surprisingly, sits down on the bed. She doesn't touch him, just sits. "We are free, Clive. We have no masters here. It's a haven for branded and outlaws, created by Cid to keep us safe."
"How are you hiding?" Clive asks.
"We're living in a cave," Cid announces, returning with a bowl of something, steaming hot. "In the middle of the deadlands. No one will come looking for us here."
Sliding over, Tarja helps him sit up properly and swing his legs over the side of the bed, pulling the side table in front of him where Cid places the food. Wary, Clive doesn't lift his hand to take the offered spoon and Cid sighs again, pulling out an identical spoon as if he'd expected as much and taking a generous amount, sipping it carefully.
"Bit hot, but I'm sure you'll manage," Cid says with a shrug. "Make sure to look after him, Tarja." And then he slips out of the room. Hesitant, Clive starts to test the waters, taking very little from the bowl and swallowing cautiously. At least Tarja looks pleased.
"How did you know I was a bearer?" He asks quietly once he's halfway through, unable to get another spoonful in.
"Cid could sense the aether on you," Tarja explains.
"He's a bearer too?"
She shakes her head. "Not quite. He's a bit unique. His particular skill set isn't very common."
"What do you mean?" He questions sharply. She only gives him a roll of her eyes and a sigh.
"You'll have to ask him yourself. Cid," she calls and, as if he was waiting, the door swings open to reveal Cid’s form, walking in again as Tarja gently pries the spoon from his grip and shifts him up so he's sitting with his legs out on the bed again. Pulling the blankets up to his lap, she slips out of the room with the half-empty bowl and spoon. Cid pulls up a stool, crossing his arms with raised eyebrows.
"Got a question for me, do you?" He prompts not unkindly.
"What are you?" Clive asks in a low tone. Cid snorts in response.
"Well, I am a man just like you. But most would simply refer to me as a dominant."
Clive almost chokes on his own saliva. Swallowing hard, he tries not to let the shock show on his face. It clearly doesn't work because Cid gives him an amused smile, a knowing one. He's done this before.
"What do you want? And… what Eikon?"
"What’s with the sudden interrogation? Alright." Cid straightens. "To answer your second question first, I've got the old man Ramuh haunting my bones. For the first, I want for bearers like yourself to have somewhere safe. To be treated with the same respect as any other man."
Clive looks away. "My father wanted that." He's glad, at least, that the man in front of him isn't the second Eikon of Fire. Or he'd have to kill him, as he swore to.
"Yet he couldn't do a damn thing, all strung up in politics," Cid says.
"Do you want to start a war?" Clive suddenly asks, a serious expression on his face.
Cid frowns. "That remains to be seen."
"Fine." He then turns his head. "Why did you bring me here?"
"Why?" Cid scoffs. "I wasn't particularly interested in seeing a kid get branded and tossed into the Imperial garrison, nor executed amidst a mass grave." Sighing, Cid withdraws a cigar from a pack in his pocket, lighting the end with his finger. "And, since you can't exactly go back to the capital, how about you stick around here? We always need more capable fighters to help with the cause."
Looking away, Clive considers it.
"I'll… I'll think about it," he concedes, turning his gaze to his lap.
"Fair enough," Cid hums, standing. "Get some rest and do your thinking. I'll be in my solar for the rest of the day but if I'm not there, ask Otto downstairs. He'll be in blue, bit younger than me."
Clive nods, not really paying attention.
Cid leaves and Clive is left with his thoughts, the screams echoing in his head.
What stopped him? Why couldn't he get to his brother? What was holding him back?
He sits there, thinking, for hours.
Cid is smoking his third cigar of the day, bad for the lungs Tarja always annoys him about, when the kid finally ducks his head in.
"Well, good to see you up and about," Cid comments casually. "Make your decision?"
Clive nods. "I'll stay. But only if you help me."
Raising an eyebrow, Cid nods for Clive to elaborate.
"I need to find the second Eikon of Fire. He killed my brother and I…"
"You want revenge," Cid surmises. Clive nods and Cid continues. "Well, if those are your terms, fair enough. I'd like to see exactly what this whole business with a second Eikon really is."
"Okay."
With a grin, Cid rises and claps the kid on the shoulder.
"Welcome to the Hideaway, lord marquess."