Work Text:
850
Joshua was crying.
It was no meek whimper—on the contrary, it was shocking that something so small and delicate could make such a loud, powerful sound. It carried through the walls, piercing through Clive’s ears and heart alike. It was the most lonely, heartbreaking sound in the world, and Clive was desperate to fix it.
The adults were not keen on his involvement. Mother had begun to brush him off with a sharpness that startled, telling him to stay away from his new brother’s vicinity, and while Father had been more open to the idea of letting his sons interact, he, too, had warned against Clive trying to do things too independently with the infant.
However, it seemed that everyone was reaching their wits’ end. Ever since the Phoenix had made its presence known within the child, Joshua had been prone to episodes of inconsolable crying. Nothing seemed to calm him—not Mother’s presence, not the wet nurse’s bosom, neither movement nor stillness any more than the warmth of the fireplace or the fresh outside air next to the window. Knowing his presence in the room would be unwelcome, Clive sat outside the nursery and listened, the painful cries of his baby brother raising tears to his own eyes as well.
The maids assured him that sometimes babies just cried and there may not be any rhyme or reason to it, certainly no need for him to hover. They urged him to go and occupy his time somewhere else, where he would not be so bothered by the sound. But Clive could not take this advice seriously, for even if he could somehow put Joshua out of his mind, his brother would still be upset, and it did not sit right with Clive to ignore that.
This brought him to the present moment, standing outside the empty nursery while listening to his baby brother crying inside. It was Mother’s bath day, so most of the ladies in waiting were otherwise occupied. Someone had surely been left to take care of the future Archduke, but Clive had heard some of the maids whisper recently that since nothing could be done about the crying, perhaps they should try simply leaving the child be for a time to see if he calmed on his own rather than hurry to placate him. No one dared to make such a suggestion in the Duchess’ presence, but at a time like this…
Clive looked around anxiously, yet the corridor remained empty while the wails grew more insistent, each rending his heart apart. Eventually, he threw caution to the wind and stepped inside the room, making his way to the crib.
Joshua’s small, round face was completely red as he screamed, beautiful eyes squeezed shut and cute little nose wrinkled with the force of his distress. Clive reached into the crib, gently touching the baby’s little hand with his finger in hope that Joshua might grasp it again, just like he had the first time they had met.
“I’m sorry I don’t know how to help you… Wish I could see you smile again,” he muttered.
Joshua jolted a bit at Clive’s finger brushing against him, the scream abating for a brief moment as he processed the new presence. Just as Clive thought he had succeeded, the crying began anew, Joshua’s hands flailing in the air as if looking for something.
“...Do you want me closer?” Clive asked, receiving no response.
He hesitated. Father had strictly warned him against trying to pick Joshua up on his own, saying he should not attempt it before they both were older. He was deathly afraid of accidentally hurting this fragile, little creature that had completely enamoured him ever since he had first laid eyes on him. But something had to be done.
Clive made his choice. Very carefully, he shifted Joshua’s tiny body towards the side of the crib, whispering apologies as the crying grew louder as a result. Next, he hooked a leg over the wall of the crib and pulled himself up before lowering his body to lie next to his brother. It was quite a tight fit, Clive having to pull his legs up to maneuver himself inside, but he was able to make a comfortable space for Joshua to curl against him, one hand lightly wound around the baby while the other was under his own cheek, face positioned close enough to kiss the crown of Joshua’s head.
“Now you don’t need to feel lonely,” he told his brother, whose cries had indeed calmed into hesitant whimpers. Joshua’s lovely eyes opened and closed repeatedly, and his tiny hand closed around Clive’s shirt tightly.
“It’s okay. I’ll be here.”
Exhausted from his long tantrum, Joshua was already falling asleep. While Clive’s ringing ears welcomed the newfound peace and quiet, his chest very nearly burst with fondness when he heard his brother’s breathing settle into a peaceful rhythm.
Closing his own eyes, Clive hoped that Mother would take her time with her bath and it would be a long, long while before anyone would think to check the crib and inevitably shoo him away.
860
“It is unbecoming of a future Archduke, and it must be brought to an end.”
“Ana…” Elwin sighed. “He is a boy still. It’s hardly unusual.”
“He has a perfectly suitable bed to spend his nights in instead of wandering the halls of the castle,” the disgruntled wrinkle in Anabella’s nose could be heard in the sharpness of her voice. “Clive at least should know better, but that fool of a boy does nothing but encourage this behaviour.”
“He cares for Joshua.”
“Not enough to be firm when the situation calls for it. By the Founder’s grace, speak to your sons. Joshua has been quite impossible of late.”
Sensing that the conversation was nearing its end, Clive moved quickly away from the door he had been listening behind and made his way around the nearest corner. He did not wish to give Mother yet more reason to berate him.
The underlying issue behind her ire was longstanding. As soon as Joshua had learned to painstakingly push the heavy castle doors open by himself, he had acquired a frequent habit of making his way into Clive’s room at night. The stated reason varied, but whether it was nightmares, insomnia, ill-health or simple curiosity about a bedtime story that had stopped at a too intriguing part, Clive could never find it in himself to question his brother’s reasoning or deny him access to his bed. Sometimes Clive was able to carry the sleeping boy back to where he was supposed to be before dawn, or wake Joshua up early enough for him to sneak back on his own, but every now and then they were caught by Mother or a servant who was not willing to keep such secrets from their mistress.
Being caught invariably resulted in scoldings and punishment for both Joshua and Clive, although in the case of Clive she was often more generous with the latter.
Clive counted his blessings when she saved airing her grievances with him for when Joshua was not watching.
Just as he was beginning to fall asleep that night, Clive heard his door crack open. He knew who it was, even before the flickering firelight illuminated a head of blond curls peeking inside.
“Clive…”
A timid whisper.
Eyes only half open, Clive shifted to the side and tapped the newly vacated spot in the bed.
“I’m awake. Come here.”
Pushing the door closed behind him, Joshua extinguished the light and climbed into bed, giving a pleased little shiver as he settled in the warmth Clive had nurtured under the blanket. His toes were cold as they brushed against Clive’s shin, and the older brother frowned.
“You should’ve worn your slippers,” he murmured.
“I couldn’t find them,” Joshua said in an equally hushed tone, the chilled tip of his nose almost resembling Torgal’s when he nuzzled it against Clive’s neck.
Deciding it was his mission to warm the future Archduke, Clive stretched his arm around Joshua and pulled him snugly to himself. Being close to his baby brother like this had always had a calming effect on him, making the tightly wound coil of anxiety in his chest loosen and allowing him to breathe easier for a little while. However, since taking on the Phoenix’s Blessing it had been…different, somehow. Like two flames conjoined, it felt like something in their very cores resonated with one another, parts of a greater whole melding together in a profound sensation of rightness. Perhaps it was the Eikon missing the part of itself given away, perhaps something else entirely.
He wondered if Joshua felt the same way, but was hesitant to ask. Something about the connection felt sacred, like it would be too crass to speak of it out loud.
Besides…the boy was already fast asleep. Clive moved a stray lock of hair out of Joshua’s eyes and smiled fondly before closing his own eyes, as well.
There was always another night.
865
“I don’t want to marry her.”
The words made Clive’s heart skip a beat, and he bit his tongue so Joshua wouldn’t hear the way breath caught in his throat.
The talks had continued for weeks now, and the prospect of the future Archduke’s marriage had become an increasingly concrete, tangible fact rather than the shapeless, distant cloud too far out in the horizon to truly worry about. From the day Father had announced he had found a suitable match for Joshua, a strange unease had made a home of Clive’s heart, refusing to leave even as he kept telling himself it was only a matter of getting used to the thought.
Of course Joshua was to marry. He was the Phoenix, and it was his duty to produce a worthy heir to continue the Rosfield line. Mother had made that abundantly clear when she was still with them, and her passing changed nothing about the fact.
The chosen lady was a Dhalmekian princess, a match primed to bolster the Republic’s alliance with Rosaria against the Ironblood. Such support would be most welcome, as Waloed’s growing threat was limiting Sanbreque’s ability to provide support on the Western front. Without assuring the help of the Dhalmeks, Joshua’s burdens would only grow as the Phoenix would be needed to take flight more frequently.
Even with the machinations of nations around them, Father had had the wisdom to give consideration to his son’s personal happiness in addition to political gain: the princess was well-read and witty just like Joshua, her letters to him imbued with natural charm that reflected genuine personality rather than mere words fed to her by a skilful tutor. Clive had suffered many agonizing hours watching Joshua sit in the study and waste untold amounts of good parchment in his attempts to compose suitable replies to her correspondence.
While the date of the trip to Ran’dellah and the would-be pair’s first meeting approached, Clive had assured himself that much could still happen—the talks could yet go awry, and should anything untoward come to light, Clive would not let it go easily. This he considered his prerogative not only as the Phoenix’s First Shield, but as Joshua’s older brother.
Alas, now that he had met her, Clive could not think of a single genuine complaint against the lady. Her beauty was not exaggerated by the portraits, and her countenance was pleasant, speaking kindly to her peers but also those below her station. She was as close to perfect as could be, and somehow that was driving Clive mad.
For his part, Joshua had not breathed a word about his impressions of his fiancée. After leaving the city and a long day of travelling, they had stopped at an inn. When they had retired to rest, Joshua had ignored his own bed and scurried into his brother’s, instead. Clive had indulged him with an easy smile—in Ran’dellah, the Archduke and his successor had been roomed together while Clive was in rotation with the other Shields in the entourage. Even at home in Rosalith, it was increasingly hard to find chances to indulge in their old habit as before. It was one thing for a child of ten to seek comfort in the bed of his brother, but a youth of fifteen doing the same caused brows to furrow and rumours to spread entirely without input from the late Duchess.
Were Joshua to be married, there would be no place for another in his bed. Clive’s service as Joshua’s First would last as long as the two of them breathed, but his place would be outside the door, guarding the peaceful rest of Joshua and his wife alike. At a respectful distance.
It was these sullen thoughts that were interrupted by Joshua suddenly speaking the words.
I don’t want to marry her.
Then don’t, Clive wanted to say, but this was not like some boring court function he could help Joshua sneak away from, or vegetables he could slip onto his own plate when Mother was not looking. This was something much bigger, more complicated. Clive needed to swallow his own selfish desires and be the support his brother needed on the cusp of this great change.
“Did you find fault in her?” he asked.
Joshua made a displeased face.
“She is good and kind and all but faultless,” he said in a bitter voice, “and I do not want her.”
Clive swallowed, hating his treacherous heart for taking secret joy in Joshua’s rejection.
“Sometimes…it takes time,” he said slowly. There was no pretending he had a leg to stand on when it came to these matters—marriage had barely entered his mind ever since he decided to dedicate his life to the blade—but he had heard people say such things many times. “You’re young, and the future may seem frightening. But when you let yourself grow into the idea…it may turn out much better than you expect.”
Clive thought he did a commendable job keeping his inner turmoil from seeping into his voice, and hearing Joshua’s pained sigh in response felt like a great personal loss.
“You don’t understand, Clive… My…my heart is not my own.”
The words were so quiet Clive nearly convinced himself he had misheard, but the stunned silence that followed only served to reinforce the shape of the syllables in his ears.
Joshua had someone he admired? Who? How could Clive have been so close to him for all these years and never noticed?
“In…in that case, you could talk to Father. I’m sure he’ll–”
The head beside him shook fervently.
“I can’t tell Father!”
Clive’s frown deepened. So Joshua’s beloved was someone who would be considered inappropriate. A lady already promised to another? A servant? Surely not a Bearer?
He tried to coax Joshua into giving a hint, swearing there would be no judgment from him and he only wished to know how to help…but Joshua only looked more miserable with every assurance.
Eventually, the boy let out a wounded sound and covered his face with his hands. Clive moved closer, gently prying a hand away. In the dark, he could only really see the outline of his brother’s face and the gleam of his eyes.
After a moment of silence, a whisper light as a feather.
“Please, please don’t hate me…”
“How could I h–”
Clive’s words were cut off by the soft touch of lips against his. It was merely a brush, chaste and boyish in the haste of its retreat, the image of youth complete in the sound of the racing heartbeat under the shroud of darkness.
Joshua pulled the covers over his head and curled into a ball like a small animal slinking into hiding. Meanwhile, Clive plopped on his back and stayed frozen there, staring at the ceiling, trying to comprehend what had just come to pass.
The hours until dawn were long and many.
870
“My Lord Marquess, may I disturb you for a moment?”
Clive had been deep in thought, so he uncharacteristically had missed the maidservant approaching. He chastised himself for such carelessness—even though relations with the Empire had been warm for several years, this was still Sanbreque territory. He needed to remain vigilant.
He turned to face the maid properly.
“Yes, go ahead.”
“Thank you, my lord,” the maid curtseyed. “My name is Lenna, and I have been tasked with maintaining the chambers of His Grace and yourself during your stay.”
She was young, hair ashen blond and eyes large, sparkling like powdered silver. The lack of brand was no surprise, as old prejudices sat tight and Sanbrequois nobility would not soon tolerate a Bearer working so close to them.
None of this gave him any hints as to why she had come to him.
“Is something troubling you?”
“Quite the opposite, in fact,” she said. “His Radiance emphasized the point that you must want for nothing. Any grievance you may have, no matter how inconsequential…it would be my honour and highest duty to address it forthwith.”
“I…assure you I have no grievances,” Clive frowned in puzzlement. “His Radiance’s hospitality has been exemplary.”
It was no lie. The room he and Joshua had been given was luxurious, its spacious balcony had a view of the Sea of Grace and, on a clear day, one could even see the outline of Drake’s Breath far out in the horizon, again rightfully under Rosarian control. The servants were tactful and efficient, and Joshua had even finished his meals without coaxing Clive into eating the bits that didn’t agree with his delicate palate—this alone was a feat the imperial kitchens should be lauded for.
However, the response did not seem to please Lenna. Briefly, a look bordering on frustration crossed her youthful face before she schooled it back into something more becoming of her role.
“My Lord, if I may be so bold as to inquire you directly…are you unsatisfied with the quality of your bed?”
“My…bed?”
He stared at her, utterly confused, and it was as if a dam had been broken inside her, words suddenly pouring out.
“You see, I could not help but notice that although your bed is unmade each morning, the sheets are quite fresh, with barely any signs of use. I always endeavour to accommodate the wishes of our honourable guests, and it pains me to think that my lord the Marquess is suffering poor quality of sleep…”
“And? What did you tell her?”
Clive could feel the same flush creeping to his face again as he thought back to the conversation earlier in the day. It did not exactly help how Joshua was lying on his side quite leisurely, head propped against his hand and wearing a little grin that was the very picture of waiting for the climax of a highly entertaining story.
“I…told her I prefer to sleep on the bare floor, to keep my mind and body ready for duty.”
Joshua collapsed in a fit of laughter, the soft strands of his hair tumbling down as he buried his face in the feather-soft sheets. Witnessing a rare moment of such simple mirth from his brother was so charming that it almost made Clive forget the humiliating matter at hand.
The de facto sleeping arrangements of the Archduke and his First Shield were, in fact, not quite what they had described to their hosts. They had requested for the First to occupy the same room, which had been granted with no difficulty. There was nothing wrong with the bed specifically brought in for the purpose, either: it was made of sturdy, polished wood from the elder forests of eastern Sanbreque, decorated with beautiful dragon motifs, and equipped with bedding and linens fit for royalty. And yet, Clive had chosen to maintain the last line of his lord’s defense even closer, allowing himself to be beckoned into the large canopy bed reserved for the main guest each night. The Phoenix ran hot enough these days that Joshua hardly required a bed warmer, but it was a matter of comfort and…companionship.
Having had at least some presence of mind to keep up necessary appearances, Clive had made a point of disturbing the sheets of his own bed every evening before retiring, all the while offering a soundless apology to the servant who would have to remake the bed each morning. He had thought this to be enough. He had certainly never expected to be questioned about it.
“Do you suppose she believed you?”
“I’m…not sure. She sounded impressed. And she agreed not to speak of it to a soul.”
“Which surely means only the entire maidstaff will know by now,” Joshua said flippantly, turning on his stomach and starting to fiddle with the lace edge of his pillowcase.
Clive’s stomach filled with dread.
“Joshua…this is a serious matter. We can’t cause a scandal. If the Emperor–”
“I have a feeling His Radiance does not threaten us in this matter. He is of a…not dissimilar persuasion.”
Clive blinked. Dion Lesage had a secret lover?
“...How do you know this?”
Joshua tilted his head in Clive’s direction, a fond smile on his face as he reached out a hand.
“I know well enough the look of a man who fights for duty…and one who fights for love.”
The hand caressed a stubbled jaw, and the image of the Emperor’s right hand, leader of the Holy Order, sprang into Clive’s mind. A serious, quiet man who stood beside his master like a shadow; a man who had expressed his desire to spar with the Phoenix’s champion when a suitable opportunity could be arranged. It had not occurred to him to consider he and the Emperor would be involved in such a way, but if Joshua thought so, there surely was a grain of truth in the claim.
“Even if what you say is true…it’s not the same as us,” Clive said solemnly.
He could not help his thoughts wandering back to the added burden that ill tongues would be eager to heap on Joshua—still skirting marriage offers left and right and driving his diplomatic aides mad with frustration in the process—if the nature of their closeness came to light.
“No, it is not,” Joshua admitted, “but we do not need Dion Lesage to approve or understand. Only to not be willing to call undue attention to the matter of royal bedfellows.”
He shimmied closer and plopped on his back, nonchalantly claiming a spot in the crook of Clive’s neck and underarm.
“Two more nights, and we set out for Rosaria again.”
Joshua’s pleased declaration was followed by a suspiciously long pause, and Clive could hear the sly smile spreading on his brother’s lips.
“...Until then, I pray you won’t abandon me despite the wicked temptation of the splendid marble of our room.”
Rolling his eyes, Clive took a firm hold of the delicate head of His Grace and pulled it up for a kiss to signal it was time to put the topic to rest.