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Clive Rosfield did not think himself a jealous man. Although he had had more than his share of hardship in life, he did not have the tendency to covet the happiness of others, nor to push someone down to elevate himself. On the contrary, it was in his nature to fight for justice for his fellow man whenever possible.
Yet in one particular aspect he had to concede an exception: when it came to his younger brother, Clive Rosfield tolerated competition very poorly.
Already from boyhood, he always wished to be the one to play with Joshua, to carry him, to feed him, to hold him in his lap. Mother was quick to pluck such self-willed tendencies out of him, and thus Clive was forced to think of another avenue to sublimate his desire to be close to his brother in a way that would be special unlike any other. That was when he first heard of the position of the First Shield…and his path was set.
During the ducal tournament, he experienced a frightening animosity towards the other participants. Although he knew them to be loyal, trustworthy men and respected their skill and devotion to Rosaria and the Phoenix alike, there was a part of him that itched to tear every single one of them apart if he so much as imagined them standing beside Joshua in his stead. Despite his age and inexperience, Clive fought like a man possessed, and emerged triumphant. When the Phoenix's Blessing was bestowed upon him, anointing him with a duty so sacred even Mother would not be able to deny it from him…for but a moment, Clive felt at ease for the first time in years.
Then came Phoenix Gate, and it all went wrong.
For thirteen years, he repented his greed and folly—his earlier pride now but a sign of his hubris and unworthiness. On many a night, he begged Moon and Metia for a new chance even though he knew such would never come, promising to any higher power that may care to listen that if only Joshua could somehow return to life, it would be enough. Even if Clive never saw him again—if only Joshua could live.
Yet from the moment he felt his brother's presence in the crystal sanctum and awoke to a glimmering feather in his hand, it was not enough after all. Now, Clive wished for nothing more than to find him, to hold him, to see his face and hear his voice.
Clive Rosfield did not think himself a jealous man…but after a reunion eighteen years awaited, he was beginning to fear he may need to reassess his stance.
As Drake's Tail began to collapse and Clive reached for Joshua's hand—to take him to safety, to never let go again—Joshua evaded him to kneel beside the unconscious prince of Sanbreque instead.
"I owe him a debt."
A flash of heat ran through Clive's body.
When? Where? What kind of debt could Joshua possibly have accumulated with this man, who had been ready to kill them both mere minutes earlier? Clive would have had no qualms about leaving the unfortunate prince to his fate, but meeting Joshua's eyes, he knew it was futile to argue.
"…Fine."
He reached for the body to at least take the burden from Joshua, and the blinding pain of Eikon absorption burned everything else away.
That first incident could be excused—he was on high alert after combat, and it was rational to be cautious of a man with proven killing intent—but as the Phoenix landed onto the Hideaway deck and Clive caught Joshua's collapsing human form, he all but snarled at any who tried to give him a helping hand. He gathered Joshua into his arms, no matter how awkward it was with how tall Joshua had grown when Clive had not been there to see it, and took him to the infirmary himself.
If Clive ever believed that having Joshua under his roof would ease his heart, he was sorely mistaken. He filled his hands with work, anything to keep his hands in motion before they started to shake, slicing beasts apart and watching their blood spray on the ground to forget the blood trickling from Joshua's nose and mouth after the prolonged priming. Being apart was torture but being in the room was no better, when all he could do was to kneel at Joshua's bedside and hold his cold, cold hands, guarding his sleep until Tarja sent him away to stop him disrupting her work.
On the road to Tabor, Clive wondered at his unexpected shortness with Joshua. He could tell that the bitterness of his reaction had taken all of his companions—Torgal included—by surprise. After all, it had been Clive himself who had barely contested Joshua's decision to travel with them, Clive who had dreamed of this very scenario for years. It was the height of hypocrisy for him to rebuke his brother for taking joy in it.
The truth of it was that there was resentment in his heart, but not for Joshua. The way his brother had spoken so fondly of an attendant, a companion of many years as it were, had disturbed the slumbering beast within that Clive could not blame on Ifrit. It was a blade that cut two ways: wounding his pride as the one with the highest claim to the title of Joshua's protector, the proof of the duty etched upon his very soul—all the while reminding him of the precise reason why Joshua ever needed another to protect him.
When they eventually met Jote, Clive was able to swallow the dark mass inside him for long enough to express his gratitude, which was genuine enough. Yet, there was no denying the way his heart soared when Joshua dismissed her in favour of continuing to rely on Clive's protection—'as it has ever been my brother's duty'—nor the way it burned with black envy when a gentle kiss was bestowed on the Undying Knight's forehead, the gesture surpassing the bounds of master and servant.
This could not continue.
"The yearning in your heart, Mythos…do you not tire of it?"
Ultima's colourless voice penetrated the warped unreality he had pulled Clive into. Visions of familiar faces had appeared before him, reminding him of the innumerable burdens he had faced…and those that were yet to come.
"You long to possess the Phoenix, to unite with him. Yet fulfilling this goal cannot end your suffering—it is not the distance between you that is its origin, but your very will, desire itself."
Flames danced before Clive's eyes. Throughout the journey across Ash, he had barely slept. Even with Joshua in his embrace as they huddled for warmth in the Akashic-ridden lands, with no human nor dominant in sight to take an ounce of Joshua's attention, his treacherous heart was still not satisfied. Not when the night in the skies of Twinside had shown him a connection even more profound: mind and body become as one.
"Our goal is the same… The only difference is that we can free you from your chains. Give up your stubborn will, and it shall be done."
To become one with Joshua…and feel nothing. Such relief it would be…to be at peace at last…
"An eternity of nothingness? Forgive me if I say it sounds rather dull."
Who…?
There was a figure in the flames, but it was impossible to tell what it was. A man?
"I have a better suggestion. Would you like to hear it, Clive?"
Clive…that sounded oddly familiar.
"Yes, Clive. It's who you are—Clive Rosfield, my brother, my First Shield. My first and my last, in all things."
The figure was growing clearer, the voice ringing more strongly. It felt important to listen to it, to partake in its wisdom.
"Did you not promise to love me till you breathed your last? Did you not speak my name to call me upon this world, into your arms? Remember, Clive. No blade can cleave a flame in two—return to me."
He remembered. He remembered.
The false world was swallowed up by the flame.
When Clive's conscious mind caught up with him, his arms were already around Joshua, his mouth laying kisses all over his face and neck. Joshua tasted the salt on his cheeks and spoke softly.
"Have no fear, brother. Ultima cannot win against us."
That was not the reason for his tears. He was beginning to understand that Ultima had been right. The agony in his heart was only equal to the joy of having Joshua like this, each kiss and touch and swallowed gasp a gift and a curse. Suffering born of desire itself, a flame that grew more searing the more he approached it. And yet he knew he could never bring himself to relinquish it.
For as long as he lived.