Work Text:
The city was on fire.
It wasn’t even his doing this time. They’d barely arrived, and there were already flames shooting into the night sky. At least that meant they were probably in the right place.
Clive could see fighting down one of the streets. He squinted at the banners, then wondered why he was bothering. It wasn’t like it mattered.
It wasn’t like any of this would matter for much longer.
“Well, we’re here,” Tiamat announced unnecessarily. “Split up. Remember,” he shot a pointed look at Biast, “our orders are to recruit the Dominant if at all possible, by force if necessary. Only go for the kill if you’re sure you can’t capture — and try the recruitment pitch first.” They’d been given a whole speech about what the Empire could offer the mysterious apparently-unaligned Dominant. Clive had forgotten it immediately.
Biast wasn’t the one Tiamat needed to be worried about. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to realize that.
Clive waited a moment longer, but since Tiamat appeared to be done he went ahead and jogged into the burning city. The others seemed to be heading broadly towards the center of the fires, but some instinct led Clive off to the left. Maybe it was Joshua’s spirit, leading him to vengeance. Maybe it was just his imagination.
He took a few turns mostly at random, pushing open gates and kicking down debris-formed barricades. A glint of glass led to a potion, better-quality than the empire provided. He came across two groups of soldiers who took exception to his presence. What were Waloeders even doing in Dhalmekia? If they were after the Dominant as well, that shouldn’t take an army.
After the second group, Clive emerged into a courtyard of some sort. Another fight? He looked around. The city was quiet around him, only the crackling of small fires and the distant sounds of fighting — and then it wasn’t.
Back towards the biggest fire, a street or two away, a gout of flame broke the sky accompanied by screams and crashes. Got you. He started towards a gate, and — and —
No. No, that’s — that’s not possible —
A red-golden crest. A fierce beak. Proud wings and streaming feathers and the Phoenix rose into the night sky.
The firebird flew with purpose, circling once and soaring straight overhead towards an area that the fighting had already passed through. Clive found himself running after it without conscious thought. Was he screaming, or was that only his memories?
Five years. The Phoenix had never been reborn before two, more commonly three or four, and they could never prime so young. This couldn’t possibly be a new Dominant. So —
Streets passed in smears of color. Clive scrambled over rubble and charged through hedges and pushed Phoenix Shift further than ever before and somehow, somehow he managed to keep up. Somehow he saw where the firebird landed.
Clive was screaming now. “Joshua!”
One more rubble-pile, one more corner, and —
In the middle of the square, already turning to look —
Clive fell to his knees. “Joshua.” The word came out as half sob, half whisper.
Joshua took a step forward. Clive felt a surge of aether, and the flaring Blessing in his chest drew a gasp. A matching gasp from Joshua, and he started to run. “Clive!”
Clive caught him, of course, caught him and drew him tightly into his chest. Joshua clutched back, and twin sobs shook their entangled frames.
It felt like he knelt there forever, clinging to Joshua warm in his arms, soaking up every moment like rain on dry ground, choking sobs and half-words and hearing Joshua do the same, I’m sorries and you’re alives and forgive mes blurring together. Forever, and yet it was far too soon when a voice intruded.
“My lord marquess?”
Clive had already shot to his feet, interposed himself, and half-drawn his sword by the time he registered what she’d actually said. He was further interrupted by Joshua grabbing onto his left arm. “Clive, it’s alright, Jote’s a friend!”
Clive forced himself to breathe, relax, resheathe his sword. He gave this Jote a measuring look — she carried herself well, and he could see several likely places for concealed knives — before turning back to Joshua.
Founder, Joshua stood at his chin. “Look at you, you grew up…” Mingled pride and grief choked his tone. “I should’ve been there.”
“I wish you could’ve been.” Something flared in the distance, backlighting Joshua, and he gasped, eyes fixing on —
Oh. The brand.
Clive reflexively turned his face away, hiding it, but Joshua was already reaching up to trace the poisoned tattoo. “This is my fault.” Joshua’s voice shook. “My Blessing…”
Clive took a second to parse that before his hand shot up to cover his brother’s. “ No. Your Blessing kept me alive. I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.”
Joshua didn’t look entirely reassured, but Jote cut in before Clive could say anything else. “Your Grace, my lord marquess — I really do hate to interrupt, but we need to leave. That display will have been seen all over the city; we need to be well away before word spreads.”
Oh, Founder. She was right — and now that Clive was thinking again, he realized several important things at the exact same time.
Jote didn’t know the half of it — she thought they had time before Imperial forces arrived, but the other Bastards were already in the city. They couldn’t be much further behind. Clive could take all three of them, but… the Empire would only send more.
Being thought dead had been Joshua’s greatest protection. Now that the Phoenix had flown, the Empire would never stop looking. They couldn’t leave the Rosfield heir free to threaten their grip on Rosaria. Jote couldn’t do anything to change that.
But Clive could.
As if to punctuate his decision, he heard voices — ones he recognized. Still a ways off, but… coming closer.
“Give me your cloak.”
“What?” Joshua blinked, but started pulling it off.
“There’s no time.” There was a convenient shed against one of the buildings; Clive took the cloak and pointed. “Both of you, get in there and stay hidden until everyone’s gone.”
“Clive, what are you saying?” Founder, the look on Joshua’s face…
Clive pulled his little brother into a last, fierce hug. “I love you so much, Joshua, and I’m so proud of you. Be safe.”
Joshua pulled away. “You’re — don’t leave me again! I—“ His voice broke, and he swallowed down a sob.
The sound tore at Clive’s heart. “I’ll find you, I promise.” A rash promise, and not one he’d intended, but… He pressed his knuckles into his brother’s chest, trying not to think of the last time he’d done so. “Now go!” He met Jote’s eyes where she stood to the side.
She nodded and put a hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “Your Grace,” she said in a soft voice, “we must make haste.”
Joshua resisted her pull for a moment, staring at Clive. “I love you, Brother.” Then he let Jote pull him away.
Clive watched him until the shed door swung closed.
He gauged the others’ progress and looked down at the cloak he still held. It would be doable, but he’d have to work quickly.
Just under a minute later, a column of phoenixfire lit up the sky. When the other Bastards rounded the corner a few seconds afterward, they found Clive, singed around the edges, walking slowly towards the center of a scorch mark three meters across. A body lay there, burned beyond recognition and dressed in what was barely discernible as the remnants of a tattered grey cloak, showing several gashes that matched the bloody sword in Clive’s hand.
“Ho, Wyvern! You gone and finished the party without us?” Biast called.
Clive poked the body with the tip of his sword. “Took your sweet time.” Now more than ever he watched his speech, carefully maintaining the Sanbrequois accent he’d learned from the other Branded.
Tiamat moved up behind him, prodding at the body with the toe of his boot. “Well, he’s deader than a doornail. Guess we never had a shot recruiting the Phoenix.”
The body yielded nothing, of course. The poor kid had been dead for much longer than a minute, but hopefully the burns would obscure that. He’d been a civilian, most likely, caught in the fighting.
Clive had done much worse things, the past five years, than desecrate a body. Still, holding the kid up so the burn would look right if someone rolled him over was… not a pleasant memory. Fortunately, his overuse of Phoenix Shift earlier had provided the burns to his own clothes and hair that the phoenixfire hadn’t.
“We done here, then?” asked Dahak. “Sooner we leave, sooner we’re outta the field.” Why the man liked the barracks and their utter lack of privacy was completely beyond Clive.
Tiamat bent to grab the mostly-intact hood, tugging it off the body easily. “Reckon this’ll serve. Matches the descriptions, anyway, and not much use bringing anything else. Yeah, we’re done.” He moved to leave. Dahak and Biast followed.
Clive lingered for a second, carefully not looking at the shed. Joshua would be safe. His account of the Phoenix’s death would ensure it.
It had been a miracle that they’d been the ones assigned to this mission. A miracle that Clive had gone in the right direction to find Joshua before the others did.
A miracle that they’d found each other this once.
If he walked away now…
Clive turned. That pulse of aether hit him again, much weaker now but enough to stir the Blessing. He half-stumbled, but couldn’t react more. Couldn’t turn, couldn’t run, couldn’t call out.
Founder, it tore him apart to leave. He could tell himself he’d be able to desert eventually, once it wouldn’t be suspicious and he could find a good opportunity to “die” as well — he could tell himself he’d do everything he could to keep that promise — but it didn’t help.
“Wyvern! You plan on moving sometime this week?”
Joshua would be safe.
Clive walked away, leaving his brother behind.