Chapter Text
“You can’t just leave!” Clive insists, chasing after his father’s long strides. Even at 15 he is nowhere near the imposing figure his father makes, all broad shoulders and strong jaw. Clive always feels so small standing next to him, especially now that he’s geared up in his armor, ready to leave Clive behind once again.
“It’s only for a few days, I promise we’ll be home with all speed,” Elwin assures him, his heavy hand resting on Clive’s shoulder. “But I have pressing business that can’t wait.” He turns and continues walking. Clive follows him, hovering as his father inspects the tack on his battle chocobo.
“But Joshua is sick, what if he-“
“He will be fine,” Elwin insists, cutting off any further objections from Clive with a stern but gentle smile. Elwin stands up to his full height, turning to face Clive with hands on his hips. Clive sighs, the fight going out of him.
“Yes father… your grace.” Elwin leans down and presses his forehead against Clive’s.
“There’s a good lad.” There’s something strange in his father’s voice, something he can’t quite place, but Elwin’s hand ruffles his hair and the moment passes. “Now, go make your goodbyes, we leave as soon as Rodney gets here.” Clive walks away from his father to the carriage he’s going to be escorting, patting the birds hitched to it as he passes them on his way to the curtained door sitting open. The carriage’s lone occupant, his best friend he’s ever had, Jill sits there in a formal gown looking frightened, so small and alone. She straightens up when she sees Clive, hastily wiping at her cheeks.
“Clive, you came.”
“Course I did,” he nods, trying to put on a brave face like he isn’t upset about what is happening. “Father says he’s taking you north, back to where you were born?”
“Yes we- we’re going to arrange for my future,” she says, trying to keep her voice from wavering, sitting up straight like the ladies at court are always on her about. “To see if I am to be wed for an alliance.” The words bring a bubble of anger to his chest on her behalf, but he pushes it down, like his attendants are always trying to impress upon him how a little lord should do. He hates every bit of this, but there’s nothing he can do, and he’s never felt so powerless.
“I am sorry, I wish you didn’t have to go.”
She smiles sweetly at him, a cool breeze tossing her hair about her face. “I know, thank you Clive. Take care of Joshua, I know he’ll miss me.”
“I will,” Clive promises. He steps away from the door as Sir Rodney, Elwin’s Lord Commander walks up to the carriage. “May Fenrir protect you,” he says, offering her the saying of her own people. With a sad smile and a small wave, Jill is shut behind the carriage door, Rodney pressing his hand to Clive’s shoulder.
“Alright there, young master Clive?”
“Yes, Sir Rodney,” Clive says, standing up straighter.
“Good lad.” The Lord Commander climbs up into the driver’s seat of the carriage, taking the reins in hand from the chocobo keep. “Keep up your training, I expect you to actually win our duel when we arrive home.”
“Yessir!” Clive nods, holding his hands in front of him in the Rosarian salute. Rodney waves to his men, the 20 or so Shields of Rosaria who will be accompanying them falling into line as Elwin rides up on his chocobo. He gives Clive one final nod before digging his heels into his bird.
“Onward lads,” Elwin calls, and the group marches off, Clive chasing after them and standing at the gate, watching them go until he can't see them anymore.
“Farewell, father.”
With a deep breath he sets his shoulders, turning back to the castle to check in on Joshua. It doesn’t take long to find him, his brother is in the library, once again pouring over some old tome or another. When he looks up and sees Clive approaching there are tears in his eyes, looking every bit the ten year old child he is.
“Father’s gone then, with Jill.”
“Yes, Joshua, I’m sorry.” Clive ruffles his yellow hair, pouring him a cup of water as he starts in on another coughing fit. They’ve been happening more and more frequently, but the healers can’t seem to do anything about it but soothe the symptoms temporarily. Joshua drinks the water slowly, smiling up at Clive like if he just smiles enough maybe the tears won’t come, maybe everything will be alright. “You really should be in bed,” Clive insists, “you can bring the book with you.” With a small nod, Joshua lets Clive help him stand, leading him back through the castle towards his room.
“Mother says father will be back in a few days,” Joshua says, and Clive’s guard goes up immediately.
“Lady Anabella is correct. He will send a stolas when they arrive at Phoenix Gate tonight to let us know where he’ll be stopping next.”
Joshua nods. “Then I shall rest now so that I may be there when it arrives.” Clive can’t help but smile at his brother’s determination. Cough, fever, and all and he’s just still so eager.
“Alright, Joshua, then you better actually rest.”
The stolas never came.
Joshua is downcast during dinner, shoving his food around his plate listlessly, and while Lady Anabella voices concern and sends out scouts she doesn't seem too worried. In fact, Clive’s hair is standing on end through the whole meal at the way his mother is acting, like her husband was just in the other room and not mysteriously silent.
Something is wrong.
“My lady, forgive the intrusion,” a guard steps into the dining hall, bowing.
“It is forgiven,” she waves him in but he pauses when he sees the children there. “Come come, share your news. They may be children but they are your lords as well.” Clive flushes at the way his mother puts him above this guard, one of her many idiosyncrasies that make Clive hate everything about her. The man nods, dropping to one knee.
“I regret to inform you my lady… your lord husband was found slain, the entire company it seems was set upon by a behemoth…”
There’s a ringing in Clive’s ears, drowning out the rest of the words the man is saying. Blackness clouds the edge of his vision, the entire universe reduced to a buzzing white noise as his breath sticks in his throat.
His father… was…
“No,” Joshua’s voice quivers, yet is almost piercing in its intensity, drawing Clive back into his body and clearing his head. All the others in the room look over at Joshua as he pushes himself to stand, his chair clattering as it hits the floor.
“Joshua, my boy I’m so sorry,” Anabella says, her voice trembling, though she makes no move to comfort him. Joshua staggers a bit, his eyes slipping closed, and Clive leaps out of his own seat to catch him, nearly letting him go when he touches his skin.
“What the- Joshua you’re burning up!” It’s like his fever has doubled, nigh tripled, his brother’s temperature spiking as he trembles in Clive’s arms, actually starting to scald Clive’s flesh.
“No, Clive, no he- he can’t be-“
“Call a doctor!” Anabella shrieks. “Joshua my darling are you alright?”
Joshua’s eyes open, their normal blue turned a glowing orange. “Help me… Clive…” A sudden shockwave knocks Clive and Anabella across the room, pushing the dining table over with a loud crash before knocking the rest of the guards onto their backs. Clive can hear more soldiers approaching, but his eyes are transfixed on Joshua.
No.
NO!
“Joshua! ” Clive shouts, scrambling to his feet to try and get to him. Joshua is glowing, iridescent orange flames engulfing his body, two long thin wings protruding from his back, feathers that glow like embers falling from them as they stretch to their full length. He starts to hover off the floor, his gaze sweeping across the room until it reaches Clive’s. Joshua holds out a hand to him, and even with the flames dancing around him he looks so scared. “Joshua!!”
Voices are shouting, people running around, his mother is screaming, but all Clive can focus on is that Joshua is awakening, pulsing with aetheric power that washes across the room in waves, hitting Clive square in the chest each time.
The Phoenix has come.
“No, no, no Joshua please!” Clive is screaming, or maybe he’s crying, either way he still struggles in vain to get to his brother, but the heat of the flames keeps pushing him back. He’s almost reached him, a large iridescent feather coming loose to catch in Clive’s fingers, burning his skin from the inside out, like Clive is the source of the flames, not the feather.
“Sorry, Clive,” Joshua’s voice sounds strange, like a second person is using his mouth at the same time. “I didn’t mean to.”
Clive is grabbed by someone, he doesn’t see who before he’s kicking and screaming, fighting to get away and get to Joshua.
There’s a sharp pain in the back of his head and then everything goes dark.
Clive wakes to a dull ache in his head, blinking his eyes open to find himself in his room. It only takes a moment before the memory of Phoenix flame sinks in, and he’s on his feet, running for the door. He slams into it, the handle not budging when he tries to turn it. He’s locked in. Panic starts to grip him, his heart sinking with dread.
“Let me out!” he shouts. “My brother needs me, please , let me go!!” A sound floats up through his window and he rushes over to it, eyes searching the courtyard below. There’s an all black carriage sitting there, two horses equally black hitched to it, and the banner waving in the wind showed white and black colors, the outline of a six-legged horse emblazoned on it.
Only one man owns horses, and only one man carries that banner.
Clive’s stomach heaves, retching up what little is left in it, tears coming unbidden to his eyes as he dry heaves, his entire body rejecting the awful truth that carriage represents. He wipes at his mouth and face with his sleeve, his mind frantically trying to come up with any kind of escape plan or rescue attempt when his door finally opens. One of his personal Shields walks in as Clive rushes towards the door, Sir Wade stopping him just short of the threshold, pushing him back. Clive is prepared to fight, but between the panic and the disorientation from getting sick he’s hardly able to stand.
“Easy Clive,” Wade grunts, trying to get a hold of Clive, “calm down lad, so we can talk.”
“How? How is he already here?”
“You’ve been asleep for three days,” Wade says simply. “The last time you woke up we had to dose you with a draught to keep you from tearing up the infirmary.”
Three days. “Wade please-“ Clive doesn’t care about anything else right now, “you can’t let him take Joshua.” Wade’s eyes turn sad, quickly shutting Clive’s door behind him.
“You need to be careful what you say,” Wade sighs, and Clive walks back to the window, watching the soldiers in the Waloedian uniforms mill about like they own the place.
“Joshua is so young, Wade, he’s sick, he won't last a week with that monster you can’t just stand here!”
“I can and I will, Clive, because to do anything else would mean death.” The fight finally goes out of Clive, and he watches a fearful, cowering Joshua be led to the black carriage by two Waloeder guards.
“Wade, you know as well as I do the stories they tell about Barnabas as his… his collection. ” Clive spits the word out with venom, unable to understand how anyone could collect living human beings.
“There’s nothing we can do, Clive,” Wade presses a reassuring hand to his shoulder. “I’ll call one of the staff to clean the sick.” He walks away, leaving Clive alone to watch as his mother and Barnabas walk out of the keep together. He can see how she’s fawning and smiling at the King, when even the sight of him makes every nerve in Clive’s body light up with danger. His black hair, dark clothes, even the way he moves, it sets off every negative instinct in Clive’s body. Two large chests are unloaded off the back of the carriage and placed at Anabella’s feet, and when Barnabas turns back, he shouts loud enough that Clive can hear it up in his room…
No, that’s not right, he can hear it in his mind.
“All hail Lady Anabella, Duchess of Rosaria, and my chosen emissary in these lands.”
So that’s it, then.
Anabella sold her beloved son so that she could claim the Duchy for herself. Clive would be sick again if there was anything left in his stomach.
The door opens suddenly and two Rosarian soldiers Clive doesn’t recognize walk into his room, seizing him by the arms before he can even consider putting up a fight. Clive sets his jaw as he watches the carriage pull away before he’s removed from his window.
I will save you, Joshua, I promise.
He feels something at the back of his mind, a stirring of a presence there, but before he can chase it he’s dragged into the throne room. Anabella is sitting in his father’s chair all clad in red like he didn’t just pass a few days ago, and he’s made to kneel in front of her, as she looks down her nose at him.
“I expected more fight out of Elwin’s son,” she hums. “But it seems maybe you learned your place after all.” Clive keeps his gaze averted, staring at the floor, trying not to give her the satisfaction of reacting. She walks closer, her footsteps so quiet they can scarcely be heard under the noise of the court accountants tallying up the money Barnabas bought Joshua with. “The only reason I am going to allow you to stay here is because you are blessed with the Fire, and I might need a backup should something… unfortunate befall Joshua in Barnabas’ care.” Clive nearly panics, he had no idea she knew about him wielding the Fire, he thought only Sir Rodney and his father knew about that. “If you behave yourself, you may continue on with your little charade while living with the enlisted men. If you don’t- well let’s just say Barnabas has a way of keeping an eye on things.” She turns away and Clive is speaking before he even realizes he’s formed the words.
“You are but human, and you will die like all the rest.” The voice isn’t his, something about that echo, that consciousness he felt takes over his body, a burning ache in his chest threatening to overflow. She pauses, nodding to one of the guards. A heavy armored fist collides with his stomach, another with his face.
“I see he hasn’t lost all that fight after all. A week in the dungeon on half rations before he enlists, then.”
Clive is only half awake as they haul him away and lock him up, but when he’s finally alone, he reaches for that heat, that pulse that had filled up his chest while Joshua was transforming, and a small flame dances to life in his palm.
He extinguishes it quickly, but it still burns strong in his heart.
For the next 13 years Clive plays his part, training to fight, learning to scout, taking in as much knowledge of warcraft and spycraft as he can. He plays the good, obedient little soldier, not complaining when he’s assigned the dirtiest missions, not fussing when he’s forced to sleep on the floor in the barracks. All the men who were his Shields under his father have been reassigned to further parts of the duchy. Every piece of his father’s presence is slowly chipped away from the capitol until all that remains is his mother’s cruelty.
But Clive doesn’t fight it. He tolerates abuses, his mother’s humiliations, everything they do to him just so that when his day comes, he will be ready .
But that day comes at a cost.
There’s another carriage from Waloed, and he’s specifically called out for parade duty to greet it, his mother clad in black making her own way out to the courtyard with her little band of sycophants. She’s pregnant, some Sanbrequois Lord’s child in her belly, Clive hasn’t paid much attention to who she married.
Out of the carriage step two men, one lithe and fair haired, the other the largest man Clive has ever seen. Of the two of them, the smaller feels more dangerous, Clive watching him carefully as he approaches the steps where his mother waits.
“Condolences, Lady Anabella, on the passing of your son.”
The flames jump into Clive’s throat, and it takes all the military training he’s ever received not to cry out, pushing them down to burn in his gut. He can hear murmurs from the other guards around him, feel their eyes on his back.
Joshua.
“Thank you, my Lord Sleipnir. I do hope the King can find it in his heart to forgive me for bearing him such a weak dominant.” She cradles her belly. “While I strive to make him a new Phoenix, I have a small token I offer to ease the hardship his lord has gone through, and to assure him that Rosaria strives as always to serve His Majesty’s needs.” Clive swallows down the bile in his throat, knowing exactly what is about to happen. Where he would have fought and panicked years ago, now he doesn’t even react, bracing himself for what’s coming. For his chance.
“Oh, and what pray tell do you believe you may offer his majesty?” Sleipnir asks curiously. Anabella snaps and two of her men approach Clive, taking hold of his arms and hauling him in front of the two King’s men. When Clive doesn’t kneel fast enough his knees are kicked in from behind, dropping him.
“This boy is insolent at best, I’m afraid I was never truly able to break him, my skills are no match for the King’s. But he carries the Fire within him, and I believe with some work he could be a fine placeholder in your master’s household.”
“Interesting.” Sleipnir walks up to Clive, tilting his head back with a gloved finger. Clive’s fight or flight rears its head, but he refuses to flinch even when Sleipnir raises an eyebrow in challenge, unblinkingly meeting his gaze.
“You really think this whelp is a substitute for-“ the larger man starts but Sleipnir holds up his hand.
“I do believe there is something here my master finds… intriguing.” The way he says that like the King is right there is unsettling, Clive can feel it in the ranks of enlisted men behind him as they squirm. Sleipnir steps away from Clive, letting his gaze fall back to the ground, and the larger man walks up, grabbing hold of Clive’s arm and hauling him to his feet. “It seems you have bought yourself some time, Lady Anabella. You may continue to serve His Majesty… for now.” Without another word, Sleipnir steps into the carriage and Clive is bound by the large man, who makes no secret of the disdain he has for Clive. The manacles make Clive’s arms feel three times as heavy, something about them different, like they’re sapping Clive’s strength. Kupka practically throws Clive into the carriage, Clive falling hard on his shoulder before he can right himself. “Caution, Kupka, you do not want to harm his Majesty’s new plaything before he even gets a chance to use him.”
Kupka huffs a sigh as the carriage begins to move. “Apologies, my lord.” He doesn’t sound the least bit sorry. Clive can feel Sleipnir’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t look up, eyes trained resolutely downward.
“You know, you can play the passive little soldier all you like,” Sleipnir hums, “but I can smell the fight you have in you. Yes… yes His Majesty is going to enjoy breaking you.”
Clive still says nothing as the carriage bounces along the road to Twinside
Joshua.
His brother is dead.
He has nothing left, now, nothing but the fire in his chest that burns with one desire.
To kill Barnabas Tharmr.