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“Morning, my darling,” a husky voice greets, shortly followed by a kiss pressed to your temple. You try and bury your head further down the firm clothed-chest it was resting upon, to an amused chuckle.
“Must we?”
“I’m afraid so.” Clive rubs his hand up and down your back gently. “They’ll be queuing up with errands for us both if we don’t.”
“Mm,” you reluctantly agree, savouring one last second in his embrace before forcing yourself to sit up and looking at your beloved. “I suppose you’re right.”
You’d been a Bearer in Rosaria, coincidentally, but you'd only ever seen the Rosfields from what your master deemed a ‘respectable distance’. Despite Elwin’s wishes to improve the plight of Bearers, there was still hostility from the townsfolk towards your kin. Your master had been kind enough – no beatings, fed and housed properly, and having you learn the blade in order to defend him from beasts on the road. That is, of course, until the Night of the Flame and the Ironblood invasion. You’d managed to keep yourself and your master out of their clutches and escaped Rosaria itself, but away from home with no gil in their pocket, they’d soon sold you on to a slaver who’d then taken you to market – an experience you don’t like to reflect on - then purchased by a noble with a large estate, who a dedicated Bearer master who taught you your place.
You’d crossed paths with Cid when owned by your third and last master. Apparently being sick with fever was not an acceptable excuse for your inability to channel aether that evening for him and he’d retaliated with an assault of kicks. Cid had intervened, offering to buy you, to take you off his hands. When the two shook to seal the deal, his palm had contained lightning, rendering your former master unconscious and Cid offering you protection at the hideaway – a decision you would never regret taking, even if it had been made in a feverish state.
You’d crossed paths with Clive somewhat between Cid’s death and the destruction of the hideaway, but never exchanged more than a few pleasantries. You'd only really got to know one another when the both of you underwent Brand removal by Tarja’s hand a few months after settling into the new hideaway, meaning a few days couped up in the infirmary together under her watchful eye in fear of infection. You’d revealed your shared homeland, sparking up a friendship and, after a particularly perilous Cursebreakers’ mission, blurted out love confessions. You’d been together ever since.
Clive had slept in his undershirt - a much softer sight than his leather gear, his hair mussed up from the pillow and his stubble more prominent than the night before. You lean down and kiss him to an amused expression, his hand lightly clasping the back of your head as you do so.
“This, though pleasant, is not what I meant,” he mumbles in between kisses.
“I know…” You sigh, pulling back and getting out of the bed. There’s already chatter from the Tub & Crown below – the hideaway, with Byron’s financial support, had acquired quite the shipment of sugar recently, to the delight of everyone’s morning oats.
The two of you dress silently, finishing with your weapons. Like Cid, you too had been fond of two blades rather than one and each one was sheathed at your hip – Blackthorne priding himself on his work of making them both stronger, deadlier but also lighter.
As you buckled your weapon belt, there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Clive calls, heading towards his desk.
The door swings open and Gav saunters in, looking between the two of you with a cheeky grin.
“Well, hope I wasn’t disturbing anything, like…”
“Not at all, Gav.” You chip back. “I was just about to do the rounds. What’s that you’ve got there?” He’s holding a parchment in his hand. Unbeknowst to you, Clive shakes his head firmly at the scout.
“What, this? Erm, for Cid’s eyes only – under strict instruction.”
You look at Clive then, who shrugs half-heartedly. “You go ahead – I’m sure this won’t take long.”
“All right. I’ll go see to the Cursebreakers, then.” You nod, striding out of the chambers and shutting the door behind you.
Gav waits a moment to hear your footsteps descend the stairs before looking back at the Dominant.
“I’ve been sent to scout out a lot of things, Clive, but a recipe’s a first for me.” Gav waves the piece of parchment aloft.
“I take this means you found it.”
“Of course I bloody found it – have I ever let you down?”
“Never. May I see?” He holds his hand out.
Gav nods, handing it over. “What’s it for – we bribing our way through to Mothercrystals with pastries now?”
“Wouldn’t that be nice? No, I’m… I’m going to bake them.”
Gav places his hands on his hips. “Uh-huh. Didn’t take you as much of the baking kind, like.”
“I am definitely not, but…”
Clive lowers his voice, as if you might be loitering behind the door still after all. “Ever since the first crop of Martelle’s apples, all she’s spoken about is these apple pastries we used to have in Rosaria to celebrate Joshua's name day." It had always been a grand affair for the Phoenix, of course. Clive's eyes scan down the recipe. “It's her name day tomorrow, I just… I wanted to give her a taste of home again.” He knows it's not really your name day, that is lost somewhere in the record hall ruins of Rosaria. What use does a Bearer have of knowing their name day, masters claimed? Clive had suggested instead you celebrate the day you had your Brand removed, a fresh start.
“Why, you sappy bugger.”
“Hardly. Now, to convince Molly to permit me the use of her kitchen.”
“Aye, that’ll be harder than a coerl fight. Can’t Molly just make 'em?”
“I couldn’t ask that of Molly, she feeds the hideaway three times a day as it is.”
“True enough. Well, good luck to you. Unless there’s anything else, I’ll be off for my breakfast and then bed. Walked all through the night with that…”
“Actually, Gav, there is something...”
--
There had been a few stolas arrive in the night from across the land but nothing too concerning or need for immediate action. However, the rest of the hideaway seems particularly eager to keep you busy.
First, there’s an early morning shipment coming in on Obolus’ skiff – strong hands needed on the dock to help carry in the new timber, followed by a load of cloth for Hortense, who then asks if you have the time to help her sort through it and earmark anything that catches your eye as she’s desperate to make you and Jill new outfits. Gaute then asks you to help categorize the new reports coming in by location, and then a separate pile appears in front of you for Nektar’s hunt board, or you assume that's what they are. You suggest fetching Clive at that point, the only one who seems to be able to decipher the moogle’s squeaks, but Otto interrupts – there’s some newer Cursebreakers practicing their blade skills in the fighting pit this afternoon and he wonders if you’ll take them through the motions.
“Sure,” you nod, trying to sort the piles of paper in front of you. “I'll go after I grab some food from the Tub and Crown…”
“No need.” Jill’s voice comes from behind you, before a bowl of chocobo stew is placed besides the papers. “I saw how busy you were, so I thought I’d bring you some.”
“Thank you,” you smile. “I feel like the new Cid today, everyone’s after something.” You pull the bowl towards you and pick up the spoon. “Speaking of, have you seen Clive? Nektar wants me to do… something.”
“Clive?” Her voice goes up in pitch, slightly. “Not recently. I’m sure he’s running around completing errands too – you know the list is endless!”
“Mm,” you nod, savouring a mouthful of stew. “Oh, before I forget, Hortense wants you to look at some fabric. I suppose it might be nice to have a change of clothes next time we face a Morbol…”
--
After finishing divvying up the alliance reports by location, roughly grading beasts for Nektar’s hunt board – you’d hoped that was right – and taking a group of four new Cursebreakers through effective parrying for two hours, you were heading up the stairs towards the ale hall when Gav came jogging down the stairs, grabbing you by your arm and spinning you round towards the lift.
“Gav…!”
“Tarja needs more Errmonea Leaf for the new Cursebreakers getting their Brands removed. We’re the lucky volunteers.”
“I don’t remember volunteering.”
“I volunteered for us, like. Come on, we never get missions together. It’ll be a laugh.”
You sigh, feeling exhausted at the prospect of an evening trawling the swamplands, but, knowing how nasty Brand removal is, you know how important the ingredient is to Tarja’s painkiller.
“Fine. Let me just tell Clive-“
“No need. Told him already, and Obolus is waiting with his skiff.” Gav’s hand is on the small of your back now, pushing you towards the lift firmly and then pulling the lever before you can even blink. “And you know how he gets if he’s kept waiting.”
--
It’s late when you make it back to the hideaway. You thought you’d be back much earlier than this, but upon return to the dock Obolus muttered something about the current not being in your favour and he wouldn’t set sail until late in the evening.
“You look dead on your feet,” Gav chuckles as the two of you exit the lift at the top of the hideaway. “You head on off to bed – I’ll drop this lot off at the infirmary.”
“Thanks, Gav.” You smile and trudge up the stairs to the ale hall, finding only Blackhorne sat at a table still mulling over a pint of ale. Molly is in the kitchen, scrubbing away and muttering under her breath with what sounds like curses at Cid, of all people. You open your mouth to ask if she’s all right, when Blackthorne catches your eye and shakes his head. You know when Blackthorne gets involved in personal affairs it’s better to stay out of it. You nod back at him and make your way up the stairs to your shared chambers with Clive, hoping he’s in there after your paths hadn’t crossed since that morning.
You open the door and are immediately hit by an out of place smell – sugary, cinnamony apples, with a tang of smoke about it.
Clive is leant over his desk, fumbling with something out of sight. He’s dressed in only his undershirt and leather trousers, which is odd.
“Clive…?”
He spins round, apparently not hearing you enter and tries to block something with his back.
“There you are. I was wondering if you and Gav had decided to spend the night ashore.”
“Obolus said the current was… off. I don’t know, the water looked calm to me.” You pause, squinting at him. His black locks are speckled with a white dust. “What’s that in your hair?” Your eyes drop down to his shirt, realizing it’s covered in splotches. “What have you been up to?”
Clive’s smile falls. “I… I tried. I promise I did try.” He turns back round to the desk and grabs a plate, holding it out to you hesitantly. Upon the plate, there are four horribly mishappened pastries, contents spilling out, various shades of baked but somehow burnt at the same time. “Molly’s going to try tomorrow… after she’s got her kitchen back in order.”
You go to take one and he pulls the plate back slightly. “Ah, I’m not sure that’s wise.”
You ignore him, snatching one up and taking a bite, smiling as the taste settles on your tongue.
“Mmm.”
“You don’t have to humor me, love.”
You ignore him, taking another bite. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”
“I’d do anything for that smile.”
You hold the remainder of the pastry up to his lips. “Then take a bite.”
He complies and tentatively chews, a reminiscent smile gracing on his lips.
“It tastes like home, doesn’t it?”
“That is does.” Clive nods, placing the plate back down on the desk. “I’m sure Molly will still do them more justice than I.”
“Never.” You lean up to kiss him on his lips as the clock tolls from the ale hall.
“Happy Name Day, darling.” He mumbles, wrapping his arms around you and deepening the kiss, your tongues intertwining with the taste of apple and cinnamon.
You pull back after a few moments, a teasing smile on your lips. “I have a feeling you’re the reason why everyone had an errand for me today, meaning I missed my supper.” You lean around him, snatching another pastry off the plate. “These will have to count.”
“Well…” Clive smirks, swiftly picking you up in his arms to a squeal and striding towards the bed. “We can’t have you missing dessert either.”
Happy Name Day indeed.