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@secondflame-archive
Firstborn of the Archduke of Rosaria, First Shield of the Phoenix, blessed by the Eikon of Fire but claimed by another Flame, marked by fate and torn by tragedy.
• rules • muse • mun • verses • wishlist • memes
~under construction~
OOC: Operation revive my FFXVI blogs is a go! I have moved Clive and Barnabas over to my other account. they're now both sideblogs to @soulsalight. the blogs remain seperate and each have the same url as before. @secondflame and @darksteelreign respectively. I'm still in the process of moving things over and tidying stuff up, but feel free to give a follow if you're still interested in writing with me.
FINAL FANTASY XVI (2023) dev. Square Enix
They took his sword, but let him keep his clothes, his hood, his armor. He doesn't know why, fear perhaps, that he'd manage to shirk the restraints and burn them alive if they dared to touch him or even just remain in his presence for too long. He had had half a mind to when they found him, had fought a good portion of them down even, but belatedly realizing who they were, what they stood for, who they'd sworn servitude to, he simply gave up, gave in, took this as the sign he'd been looking for that this was to be the end of his miserable existence.
He heard footsteps draw nearer and then stop, the sound of leather and metal shifting quietly meeting his ears, as well as a rhythm of breath that seemed so familiar it almost hurt. Must be his imagination. "What do you want?" He growled, but it was a tired, barely there sound. He didn't even raise his head to meet his visitor's eyes, it remained hung low, his arms raised above his head, wrists clasped in shackles, the chain connecting them pulled through a big metal ring fastened to the wall. "I was promised death, have you come to give it to me?"
They told him he'd be put to judgment soon, spat it in his face, justice would be brought upon him for killing the Phoenix, for killing Joshua. A small pained sound escapes him at the thought, at the memory of his baby brother lying broken at his feet the Phoenix' essence leaving him, grief and guilt had persevered over the decade Clive spent wandering, spent running, spent hunting. The burning hunger for aether and years worth of nightmares he had endured the real punishment for his fratricide.
But he was promised relief when they caught him, was promised death. They know who he was, too, or at the very least said they did. They had yet to address him as anything other than Ifrit, the second eikon of fire, or the murderer of Rosaria's crown prince. Clive wasn't sure if they knew he was also Joshua's brother, doubted any of them would recognize him even if they had bothered pulling back the hood. Not with his features so far removed from the boy he once was, taller, his shoulders broader, resembling his father's stature more each day, the lines of his face sharper, his eyes a permanent eikonic golden color and his hair long and unruly.
He didn't care to inform them of the truth, either. It wouldn't change anything. The only thing he cared about was that they would soon put an end to the suffering, to the hunger. He endured a decade's worth of it, but also a decade worth of grief, of anger, and he was tired of it. Tired of running, tired of hunting. Nothing could quench the hunger inside of him, no enemy's aether was enough for him to stay sated for long. He constantly felt like he was starving and even if he wasn't, there was nothing keeping him in this world any longer.
His family was gone, his brother's blood on his hands, his father dead, his home and people swallowed by the Empire, sold out by his mother if he could even call her that now.
But no matter what contempt and hatred he held for her now. He'd never be able to wash himself clean of all he had done. He thought of revenge in the past, before the hunger got unbearable. He watched his home fall to ruin under his mother's rule, helpless to do anything but run from the Empire's forces at first, and then get ever stronger throwing himself at foes far outranking him, hoping for death, only to find Ifrit intervene each time he got close, keeping him alive, keeping his vessel alive. It didn't occur to him to question why the Eikon remained quiet now, had he at last accepted that Clive was not useful? Did Ifrit hope to emerge anew in a more fitting vessel in a few decades, or even centuries? Would the Phoenix do the same?
He abandoned the thought. It wouldn't do him any good to think of anything close to a legacy, any hope of it would die with him and even so he was no longer Clive Rosfield, firstborn son of the Archduke and First Shield of Rosaria and in truth it's been a long time since he's even been Clive.
He closed his eyes, hearing more footsteps in the distance. Probably more members of the Undying wishing to put him to the sword, they'd likely make an event of it, too, unless his visitor would think to do it first.
"Make it quick." He drawled, and closed his eyes. "...before someone else does it for you."
Yes -- this was the one. If there had been an inkling of doubt within Elwin's mind, it was erased by the weary words uttered in greeting towards his arrival.
There were no words spoken in return, at least not at first. His eyes, once upon a time full of warmth, had darkened with a mixture of anger and grief, while the fire within his gaze had frozen over into a cold stare. And of course that stare remained fixed upon the prisoner shackled and bound before him.
As predicted, or rather as feared, there was no relief to be found in this moment. There was no solace in knowing that the murderer was not long for this world. There was only that gnawing, aching void, so deep and endless and empty. Like a gaping wound that would not heal, could not heal, no matter how many summers dragged by. (If anything, all it had done was fester.)
The two of them had that much in common, the former Archduke would admit: a yearning for death. For in death, the man would be reunited with his sons, free of the guilt that bound and anchored his heart.
And yet as the moments ticked by, each one a miniature eternity filled to the brim with a dull sort of agony, something within Elwin shifted. The threads of restraint borne from decades as a soldier, which had until then been tenuously holding his emotions at bay, snapped under the strain of the grief of a father. The news of what had happened came almost as soon as he had come to, at his own behest -- a desperate plea to the members of the Undying that had been at that time looking after him. They had relented, not as an act of obedience to the Archduke of Rosaria, nor as a gesture of loyalty to the sire of the Dominant of Phoenix, but perhaps as an attempt at a last kindness to a parent whose child was lost. And oh, how Elwin had sobbed as he clutched his youngest son's broken, lifeless body to his chest. He had cried in a way that he hadn't done since his own father's untimely passing, and the tears weren't just for Joshua -- but for Clive as well, for their shattered family, and all at the hands of someone he had loved as dearly as he loved their children.
A gloved hand shot forward, slamming against the bars of the prison. Lips twisted sharply downward, the pulled back to reveal gritted teeth. "I have questions," despite the older man's best attempt at keeping a level, neutral tone, the anger he felt seeped out in every syllable of every word that he spoke, coating them in such uncharacteristically strong venom that he swore that he too might succumb to the toxin. "And you will give me answers."
The growing footsteps that signified the impending arrival of the Undying were more or less ignored by Elwin. His other hand abandoned its grip upon his weapon and, after a trembling pause, joined the first in holding tight to the bars, and he leaned in as close as he could -- until his forehead rested against them. Meanwhile, his face contorted in a mixture of rage and despair, both of which burned within his breast as if trying to set him alight from the inside.
"Mark well my words, Eikon slayer. Your end will come when I allow it -- not a moment sooner. Now tell me your name and your connection to the former Duchess and to Sanbreque, or I will burn the truth from your lips and give you a reason to long for the death that you so crave."
Questions? Clive huffed out a breath, resigned, of course. They went through the effort of capturing him, he should have known an interrogation would come before the end. He just hoped the man would make it quick and not drag out what they both knew was coming for him. His voice seemed oddly familiar, although Clive couldn't quite place it, his choice of words, his inflections, it all reminded him of someone, but who?
This escaped him like so many things from before. Before Ifrit took over, before the Eikon decided to shield him from his memories, before the hunger took over and Clive began living from fight to fight, from enemy to enemy. He wasn't sure why Ifrit chose to keep parts of his memory locked away, but suspected for the sole reason of not having his vessel succumb to grief and stupor that came with the trauma of killing his own brother.
Clive recoiled from that memory, mentally and physically, the chains rattled as he strained against them with a sudden winding agony settling in his chest. Ifrit remained awfully quiet in the back of his mind.
The other man spoke again and Clive got pulled back to the present by the man's anger, his grief written clearly within the words he spat into the space between them. It seemed personal. This raw edge of pain swinging with his words, like a blade sharpened over the course of an entire decade. Clive knew it well, wielded it himself in a way. Who did he lose that night? How many more people were burned by Ifrit's flame?
"My name?" He growled back. "Does it matter? It doesn't change what I did, nor will it bring back whoever you have lost."
And as for his connection to the Duchess... He wished their wasn't any, wished he could not recall her face or her perpetual scowl in such clarity, the words she uttered dripping with venom each time she addressed him, as if she was punishing him for a crime he didn't know he committed in the first place.
Now, she would be right to treat him with such disdain, would be justified in her hatred for him. Nowadays it was perhaps the one thing they had in common above all else. However, he didn't plan to tell this stranger any of this and so he kept his mouth firmly shut.
As expected, the man wouldn't have as much time as he had hoped. Footsteps drew closer still and soon more men stepped into the dungeon. The clinking of keys reached his ears. The door to his cell was opened. Clive didn't move.
There was hesitation in these people's steps, as if they were approaching a cornered animal and didn't quite know how to best go about it. He didn't care. If this was what form his death would take, so be it. He was tired, of the pain, of the hunger, of fighting for what amounted to nothing.
They took off the chains and dragged him away from the wall, only to push him to his knees a few feet further away. A hand roughly grasped at the hood still drawn deep into his face and pulled it back. Clive snarled on instinct when it also pulled painfully at a few strands of hair, eyes bright with a faint shade of gold as he turned his head, the glow of the torches around them casting dark lines unto his face.
He was a far cry from the boy that lost control over the Eikon of Fire he didn't even know existed back then. Maybe he was closer to the animal these people regarded him as than he was to the boy from back then. No human capable of slaying their own kin should be regarded as anything but a wild beast to be put down. What would his father say if he could see him now?
This is more mercy than you deserve.
Someone hissed at him, or maybe it was just his own mind welcoming the punishment that awaited him at long last. When he felt the familiar cold of steel against his skin he wondered what awaited him after. Would he see Joshua again? His father? Would he be able to apologize? What would he even say?
Would they forgive him?
"Don't strain yourself. I can do that myself—"
Except, he can't. The Phoenix won't answer his call, its powers barely a flicker as he reaches for them. Ifrit on the other hand is a constant humming in the back of his mind, near loud enough it is distracting him from all else.
As such he hisses when Theo lays his hands on him, adding pressure to what Clice knows would likely end up being a bruise to end all bruises. While the Phoenix cushioned their fall Clive can still feel the impact throbbing in his back, one of his ribs may even have cracked.
The pain eases when Theo's magic vashes over him, soothing the aches akin to warm water from a pleasant bath. Clive groans at first and then sighs in relief when the pain fades into the background, his hands resting on Theo's hips absentmindedly curling his fingers into the fabric of his clothing.
"Thank you," he says somewhat breathlessly when the glow of healing magic illuminates Theo's features in a way that has his breath stutter with something entirely different from previous discomfort.
A moment passes, but then he shakes himself from his revery when the magic flickers out, plunging them into darkness anew. Clive can see the stars above them, glittering faintly in the distance. Even with the Phoenix' help he's not quite certain how they survived this fall.
Ifrit grows more insistent in the back of his mind, demanding attention, demanding control. Clive shivers as the Eikon basically breathes down his neck and can't help but give in to the urge of conjuring a mage light. He finds that this comes easy enough, even though what follows is most definitely Ifrit's dark flames and not the Phoenix' blessing, just like before.
He lets the flame rise a little higher above them and cranes his neck as best he can to make out more of their surroundings in the dingy light around them, without him knowing his eyes give a breif flicker of gold. These ruins feel familiar somehow.
"What is this place?"
The glow of his magic casts Clive features into a soft light that, together with his position on top of the other, his hands against Clive's sides and Clive clutching at his hips, creates an illusion of intimacy which hits Theodore somewhere deep in the pit of his belly. Coupled with the groan that parts the man's lips as soon as the healing takes effect, the way his lashes flutter in relief, he cannot but feel a little breathless himself, firmly needing to remind himself they nigh fell to their death not a mere moment ago and that Clive is in pain.
Suitably shamed for briefly letting his own feelings get the better of him, Theo finishes his task and then pulls his hands away, plunging them back into darkness. Fortunately with Ifrit's flames helping along, it doesn't take too long for his eyes to adjust to it, finally giving him a moment to actually look around from where they landed, blinking at some of the familiar elements he recognizes from up top. Did the ruins truly go this deep? And why, when he's certain he has never ventured here before, does it feel like he somehow knows this place? " I━ am unsure, " He ventures slowly, gaze moving back down ere realizing he is still sitting atop the other. With a jolt and a short apology, he moves back to his feet and holds out his hand for Clive to take. " I can't shake the feeling I've... been here before, however. "
In fact, as he turns on his heel to get a better look what lays behind, 'tis almost like there is something calling to him. A presence tugging at the back of his mind urging him to wander in deeper rather than try and find a way back up. Like in a trance, Theodore takes a few steps towards what looks to be a large stone portal, etched with the same symbols and drawings as he has seen on the walls of the ruins on the cliff. " Have you ever seen something like this? " He reaches out, thinking to trace those etchings with his fingers, only to take a jerky step back when they somehow light up beneath his touch. " What in Greagor's name? "
Clive turns his attention back to Theo, eyes widened in surprise at his words. "You, too?" He asks and the wariness he feels triples in insistency. He still utters a thanks when Theo pulls him to his feet, still rattled from the fall and the fact that none of the other Eikons' powers seem to be available to him right noiw. Ifrit growls low in the back of his mind, but it's not because of anger or even fear.
He almost seems... rueful?
They stand close for a moment after Theo helps him up, Clive too preoccupied with the oppressing but somehow familiar atmosphere around them and Ifrit squirming at the edge of his consciousness to let go of Theo's hand just yet.
"It's the same for me, this place... It feels familiar, but I don't think--" Before he can finish his sentence however, Theo pulls back and he realizes that he held on to him for longer than he likely should have. The apology dies on his tongue when he watches Theo walk away from him as if in a trance.
Water drips somewhere in the distance, clearly an echo of some kind, suggesting the cave to be much larger than they can make out with the little bit of light they have, and yet, it reaches his ears as if it was right next to him, too. It's disorienting and Clive shakes his head.
Voices ring out in the distance, barely above a whisper, but agitated, hissing. Clive's head jerks around to make out their origin. He turns, his hand reaches for the handle of his sword, body readying for a fight. He feels Ifrit curl and coil beneath his skin, itching to take over. He fights him down. What is happeing?
You betrayed me?!
An ache shoots through him and he raises a hand to his temple as a sharp pain pulses there.
No!
Ifrit growls, an odd sense of deja vu grips Clive by the throat and makes it hard to breathe. Anguish, regret, hopelessness not his own sink their claws into his chest.
I trusted you.
I didn't know, please, you have to believe me. His mouth forms the words without him meaning to and it's not his voice that surfaces either. His eyes burn golden for a moment before he at last regains control.
A scream, piercing and furious, and yet so full of emotional pain that it threatens to bring tears to his own eyes rings in his ears. It nearly has his knees buckle.
And then...Silence.
"--What?" His own voice is breathless and rough. After an initial moment of dumbfounded confusion he turns back around and finds Theo standing near an old altar, a shrine? He thinks he sees a figure strung up across a magicked seal, something burried in its chest. But then he blinks and it is gone, replaced by a stone portal. Theo doesn't appear to have heard anything Clive just did, doesn't seem to have seen what may lie beyond the portal either.
They need to leave.
Clive rushes after him. An almost frantic sense of anticipation rings through his consciousness. But it's not his own, it's Ifrit's, and it is distracting enough that it makes him stumble on uneven flooring. "Theo wait!" Clive reaches for him, but to no avail. The stone lights up beneath Theo's fingertips and when Clive's hand closes around his wrist to pull him back his own hand brushes against the stone and just as with Theo it lights up, even brighter than before.
The entire cave begins to illuminate with the symbols they found carved into the stone before them, and just as Clive assessed the cave is indeed far bigger than they initially thought. It seems to stretch on forever into every which way and all of it is flooded with water aside from the stony pedestral on which they stand. Something reverberates in the deep, something ancient, something furious.
"Theo, we need to go." Clive tugs at Theo's arm, already moving, where to he doesn't know, anywhere but here. Yet, it is as if Theo is rooted in place and even with all his strength put into it Clive cannot hope to move him. "Theo!" He turns back around and finds the other man's eyes closed, one hand once again pressed to the stone below. Clive stares, then lets go to step around Theo, half infront of him, grasping his shoulders, shaking him. "Theo!"
The rumbling around them doesn't cease. Ifrit's influence grows ever stronger, too, warning him to be careful, to keep his guard up, but also he seems near hopeful, wanting for something Clive cannot hope to understand.
"Theo!" He calls him by his name again and this time Theo opens his eyes to look at him. They're alight with an eery glow, his features sharp and determined, his skin flickers, his hair gains strands of glowing and somehow, even this is familiar.
Once again, the voice speaking is not is own, but this time he recognizes it, if only for the heat of fire that seems to fill him with it, scorching his throat, burning him from the inside out as it growls in disbelief:
"Leviathan?"
OOC: <tentative> h-hi
OOC: I'll continue to not be active here for a while still, between exams, the start of the new semester, work and cosplay things for Fanfest life has been a bit hectic... On top of it all my boss just let me know today that I will be out of a job in november so I'm reeling a little. I'm not sure when I'll be back. I might write to distract myself or I might not. Right now everything feels kind of... overwhelming. Sorry.
I might open up commissions in november depending on how my searching for a new job goes...
Finally. After years spent scouring Storm, the search had at last come to and end, and the Dominant of this second Eikon of Fire had been apprehended by the Undying.
And now that the moment had come to face the murderer of his two beloved sons, Elwin wasn't sure how to feel. Was there supposed to be a sense of relief? Was he meant to gain some small measure of closure from this meeting? No, there was only a deep-rooted emptiness within his heart, as though a void had swallowed it and every bit of love within it, leaving him with nothing left.
Which felt appropriate, given Rosaria's fate -- because he really did have nothing left. Nothing except increasingly bizarre, unsettling, even distressing nightmares, offering him glimpses of things he couldn't understand or identify. Glimpses of things he shouldn't remember, and couldn't have seen from that night, leading to even more questions on top of the questions he'd already yearned for answers to.
Perhaps most of all, questions yet remained that demanded answers. How had this second Eikon of Fire managed to not only lay low the Phoenix, but outright kill him? A feat that had been thought impossible until then. As for the why... That question was self-explanatory: why had this Eikon shown himself then of all times? Was he working with Anabella? The Holy Empire?
Despite knowing that it was purely psychological, the scar around Elwin's neck felt as though it was burning anew, as if urging him to remember well his convictions, to reignite his righteous anger as he traversed the depths of the old abandoned stronghold that had thus far been serving as the Undying's base of operations. His pace was quick, gloved hand ever resting upon the hilt of his sword despite his tempered patience that kept him from drawing it. The members of the cult dedicated to protecting Rosaria's beloved guardian force already had their plans for retribution against the imprisoned man in the form of execution, and while the former Archduke would not interfere with their work, he would also not allow them to carry out their judgment without him first seeing the face of the one partly responsible for the deaths of so many good men during The Night of Flames.
As if to mentally brace himself, fingertips skimmed the twin Phoenix feathers attached to the sheath of his weapon. Then he continued on, passing through the corridors of the dungeon without a word, seeking one particular gaol cell -- and it would be simple enough to spot, considering it was the only one that housed a prisoner. Those green-blue eyes scanned each one in the row until he stopped in front of his destination, gaze immediately falling upon the inhabitant lurking behind the bars.
@secondflame
They took his sword, but let him keep his clothes, his hood, his armor. He doesn't know why, fear perhaps, that he'd manage to shirk the restraints and burn them alive if they dared to touch him or even just remain in his presence for too long. He had had half a mind to when they found him, had fought a good portion of them down even, but belatedly realizing who they were, what they stood for, who they'd sworn servitude to, he simply gave up, gave in, took this as the sign he'd been looking for that this was to be the end of his miserable existence.
He heard footsteps draw nearer and then stop, the sound of leather and metal shifting quietly meeting his ears, as well as a rhythm of breath that seemed so familiar it almost hurt. Must be his imagination. "What do you want?" He growled, but it was a tired, barely there sound. He didn't even raise his head to meet his visitor's eyes, it remained hung low, his arms raised above his head, wrists clasped in shackles, the chain connecting them pulled through a big metal ring fastened to the wall. "I was promised death, have you come to give it to me?"
They told him he'd be put to judgment soon, spat it in his face, justice would be brought upon him for killing the Phoenix, for killing Joshua. A small pained sound escapes him at the thought, at the memory of his baby brother lying broken at his feet the Phoenix' essence leaving him, grief and guilt had persevered over the decade Clive spent wandering, spent running, spent hunting. The burning hunger for aether and years worth of nightmares he had endured the real punishment for his fratricide.
But he was promised relief when they caught him, was promised death. They know who he was, too, or at the very least said they did. They had yet to address him as anything other than Ifrit, the second eikon of fire, or the murderer of Rosaria's crown prince. Clive wasn't sure if they knew he was also Joshua's brother, doubted any of them would recognize him even if they had bothered pulling back the hood. Not with his features so far removed from the boy he once was, taller, his shoulders broader, resembling his father's stature more each day, the lines of his face sharper, his eyes a permanent eikonic golden color and his hair long and unruly.
He didn't care to inform them of the truth, either. It wouldn't change anything. The only thing he cared about was that they would soon put an end to the suffering, to the hunger. He endured a decade's worth of it, but also a decade worth of grief, of anger, and he was tired of it. Tired of running, tired of hunting. Nothing could quench the hunger inside of him, no enemy's aether was enough for him to stay sated for long. He constantly felt like he was starving and even if he wasn't, there was nothing keeping him in this world any longer.
His family was gone, his brother's blood on his hands, his father dead, his home and people swallowed by the Empire, sold out by his mother if he could even call her that now.
But no matter what contempt and hatred he held for her now. He'd never be able to wash himself clean of all he had done. He thought of revenge in the past, before the hunger got unbearable. He watched his home fall to ruin under his mother's rule, helpless to do anything but run from the Empire's forces at first, and then get ever stronger throwing himself at foes far outranking him, hoping for death, only to find Ifrit intervene each time he got close, keeping him alive, keeping his vessel alive. It didn't occur to him to question why the Eikon remained quiet now, had he at last accepted that Clive was not useful? Did Ifrit hope to emerge anew in a more fitting vessel in a few decades, or even centuries? Would the Phoenix do the same?
He abandoned the thought. It wouldn't do him any good to think of anything close to a legacy, any hope of it would die with him and even so he was no longer Clive Rosfield, firstborn son of the Archduke and First Shield of Rosaria and in truth it's been a long time since he's even been Clive.
He closed his eyes, hearing more footsteps in the distance. Probably more members of the Undying wishing to put him to the sword, they'd likely make an event of it, too, unless his visitor would think to do it first.
"Make it quick." He drawled, and closed his eyes. "...before someone else does it for you."
cid “i know a shortcut” telamon & clive “sometimes i don’t know why i follow that man” rosfield
continued from here ft. @sharpnosedscout
Gav had barely gotten half a word out before warm, dyed leather pressed over his mouth. He was led by his jaw and elbow to a narrow alley, made even narrower by an attempt to hide both him and Clive behind stacked crates and sacks of grain. Were they not on their way back from a mission - well, more of an errand - he might've thought this was another of those pleasant yet embarrassing dreams his brain liked to pester him with. Still, better to focus on what or who they were hiding from, before he blushed too much. Whatever Clive had spotted had been to Gav's right, which these days meant he'd only heard footsteps before being manhandled. He trusted Clive's instincts so he didn't fuss, but there was questioning expectation in his stare.
Clive pulled Gav even closer against him when someone passed by their hiding place a little too close for comfort. A moment passed and when it was clear no one had spotted them he leaned in, keeping his own breathing shallow as he spoke lowly into his friend's ear. "Look," he whispered, nodding towards a rugged looking man they could just spy from inbetween the storage crates. "It's that slaver." He hissed, gaze sharp and cold as it settled on the man.
A few weeks back they had prevented a group of young bearers from being sold as slaves. They'd been abducted from their homes, treated little better than kettle. When they freed them they'd been dehydrated and malnourished, scared out of their minds, too. Clive felt the anger rise inside of him just thinking about it. Most of them had barely seen their 12th winter. However, the man behind the operation as well as a few of his cronies had given them the slip and managed to stay entirely hidden from their scouts since. Until now.
"We should follow him." Clive said with urgency when the man stepped out of their sight and it was only then that he realized that he still had Gav grabbed by the jaw and pressed to his chest. He let go immediately, pulling back his hands, bringing some distance between them again.
"Sorry—"
Gav tried hard not to think too much about Clive leaning against him, tried to remind himself it just meant the other man needed support... tried, but only had middling success. So instead, he dragged most of his focus away to the tea. It seemed to be helping, or at least tasting tolerable, with how quickly Clive drained the cup.
That shiver was a slight surprise, though he supposed it was only natural after one's fever broke. Now that Gav thought about it, even if he had some trouble telling through his clothes, Clive didn't seem as physically warm as usual. Was that part of the fever too, or...? Green eye widening a little at the weight of Clive's head on his shoulder, Gav's brow furrowed with renewed concern. A magic inhibitor, some kind of poison that fucked with a connection to aether... was it just precaution and coincidence, or was that slaver hiring people to target Clive? Gav could fix this. Well, maybe not fix it, but end the cause of it. He knew where the slaver was holed up for the night, presuming the bastard wasn't going to flee under cover of darkness. He'd already taken down the guard with the dart thrower, and hadn't seen any more in his tailing or examinations of the building. But it would mean leaving Clive's side again. Leaving a dear friend unguarded and in ill health, to take out someone who might have fled already.
For now, Gav remained where he was. Not least because Clive shook and leaned against him again, this time with a hand against his chest. Oh, Founder. His heartbeat stumbled beneath the other's palm, even as Gav's own hand slid further across Clive's back for a hold around the shoulders. Swallowing hard, he strove not to blush, but pink clung stubbornly to his ears and cheeks. This is just because he was poisoned. Stop thinking it's more, won't do you any good.
"Don't strain yourself," Gav insisted gently. His own free hand lifted; too afraid to rest it over Clive's like he wanted, he instead cradled the man's bent elbow. Another way of keeping that palm against his chest, without being too forward. "I know where that fucker is hiding. I can track him down once you're healed. And only then; I'm not leaving you again, Clive." Whether the other remembered that earlier distress or not, Gav's promise remained just as important.
The headache didn't ease as much as it faded into the background as Clive fought to gain a clearer mind, taking far longer to process Gav''s words than he'd like. A little while longer did he stay slumped against him before he found the strength to sit up properly.
Another shiver shook him then, and he was thankful for the arm still slung around his back, providing at least some warmth. By the Flames he'd never felt this cold before, not even back when he was still in service of the Empire and he slept outside more often than not. He should not be shaking like a leaf while tucked into a nice warm bed.
I'm not leaving you again, Clive. Gav's words made him smile despite the discomfort, despite the knowledge that they'd have to deal with the one that caused this sooner rather than later. Still, Gav's insistence Clive rest first served to have a different warmth spread through him, one that only another person's care could offer.
"Thank you." He mutters. He didn't realize how tense he'd been until Gav reassured him he'd be staying at his side. He felt way too vulnerable, too weak to remain in an unfamiliar place alone.
As the tension uncoiled a different thought made its way through the haze and to the forefront of his mind "You weren't hurt, were you?" He turned his head to search his friend's face, his own eyes only slowly regaining proper focus as he looked at Gav up close, his hand curling lightly against the fabric of his tunic. "They didn't get to you?"
While he kept his arm around Clive's shoulders, Gav let his other hand fall away when his friend sat up. Resting that forearm atop his own knee again, he turned his upper body inward a little more after Clive shivered. Maybe he should fetch another blanket... Later. When Gav wasn't pinned in place by that soft smile. For now, he'd make do with his own body heat, until the other man fell back asleep. Whenever that might be.
A brief, amicable squeeze to Clive's shoulder was his reassurance after the other's gratitude. Gav said nothing for the moment, mulling anew on the information he'd gathered about the slaver they'd followed - half to ensure there were no gaping unknowns, and half to stop himself from lingering on how close he and Clive were. Gav's gaze was drawn to his friend by those questions, only to find vaguely-bleary blues staring back. He felt Clive's fingers curling a little against linen, the only thing barring that bare callused hand from Gav's bare thrumming chest. Swallowing hard, he tried to keep his eye from wandering, but they were so close...
Gav managed a small shake of his head. "They didn't. I'm alright." His affable smile became a clumsy, nigh-desperate mask, dragged up before his expression could betray too much yearning. "Got to them first." He could feel that mask slipping already, and hoped Clive's vision wasn't yet sharp enough to catch any of his tells. Regardless, the regret and apology in his next words were earnest. "I just wish I'd been faster; might've spared you from... all this."
Clive took in his friend's expression, he seemed fine, a little more nervous than he was used to perhaps, but unharmed from what he could see. Then, hearing Gav's words, Clive shook his head, soon wishing he hadn't with how it caused the dull throbbing pain inside his skull to intensify. "You did all you could." He rasped at last, moving his hand to be able to squeeze Gav's arm. "And you saved me. I should have been more careful."
Once again, out of habit most of all, he reaches for the Phoenix' blessing, now finding it flicker stronger than before, if still weakened. He breathed a soft sigh of relief regardless. At the very least whatever was on that dart didn't seem to have a permanent effect. But the pain following each attempt at conjuring up any of his powers he could do without.
"I think I may be able to counteract the poison with the Phoenix blessing, if only I could grasp it proper." He let his hand fall, frustrated.
Held like this, with Gav a solid, warm wteight at his back it's tempting to just close his eyes and slip back into unconsciousness, sleep whatever remnants there were of the poison off and try to find the bastard responsible in the morn when back at full strength.
"We should leave," he realized suddenly, groaning as he tried to sit up in the wake of that thought. He managed with some difficulty, blinking as he willed the room to stop spinning around him. "We make an easy target here."
i am that look on cid's face
OOC: My collector's edition came in today and I'm so happy. 😭
Clive falls silent, at a loss of what else to suggest. He does not ket go of Dion's arm however, simply holds on as they keep sotting pressed close to eachother's side. A long contemplative but not uncomfortable silence having befallen them after Dion's statement. "I'll ask Tarja if she knows of anything that might help, too... Anything that might ease the aching at the very least." He concludes at last, a deep furrow between his brows. "She treated Cid's symptoms for the longest time before he —" He trails off, the memory of the man who's name and cause he has taken up turning into an ache that robs him of his breath. "...Maybe there is something she can do." He adds then, voice strained, gaze averted, falling silent again soon after, his throat turning tight.
He shakes his head at Dion's question, looking down at his own hand, his thumb still brushing idle circles over Dion's skin. "Not yet." Clive answers, although given time he isn't certain that it will remain that way. Maybe one day, maybe even sometime soon, he'd show signs of it too. He wondered sometimes where it would manifest first, if he'd even realize the beginnings of it were the petrification to start somewhere he could not see. On his back for example, or deep within his body even, or if it would just blend into the aches he already feels each passing day, maybe it has started to manifest and he simply doesn't know.
He fidgets where he sits and his hand withdraws from Dion and finds the small of his own back, the leather of his armor shifts over the old scars spanning its entirety, a reminder of the early days of fighting for the Empire, when the mark on his face still ached with how fresh it was and his superiors beat him bloody for the slightest disgrace or other, or simply because he was a former lordling and they didn't like the way he looked or talked. He doesn't even remember at this point, doesn't remember much from that time, which is likeky a mercy. It was before Tiamat found him and took him under his wing, making his life not necessarily better, but at the very least bearable from then on. And how had he'd thanked him for it? By striking him down in the end.
Clive startles from his thoughts not long after, realizing he's been lost in his head and in past aches for quite some time now. "Sorry," he says. "Maybe I'm more tired than I realized."
Oft does Dion's mind turn to the subject of mortality, his potentially limited life expectancy simply due to Bahamut coursing through his veins, possessing his soul. Often did he wonder just how quickly everything would take a hold in the end - if it would be a long and drawn out process like many of the bearers in which he had witnessed suffer over the years or if it would end up being quicker simply because he carried an eikon. He didn't know which he preferred - neither would be best.
His silence pulled onward, the discomfort that had blossomed within the very depths of his stomach claiming the majority of his attention for some few moments. If something could be found to help the spreading of the curse, would it help for long? Or would he be faced with the same dilemma before long? Would he eventually run out of relief to be found only to suffer more harshly for it? He ought not yet think of that, but Dion had always been one to attempt to plan ahead where necessary.
Dion only jostles back to the present when he hears Clive speak once more, a brow briefly raising upward ere his consciousness catches back up to what they'd been speaking of.
"---mayhap we both ought to get some sleep." He relents, not wanting to move - and such was clear in his voice albeit slightly - but he knew he ought at least attempt some sleep sooner as opposed to later. Did he truly think he was going to sleep well? Or at all? No---- no he didn't.
"You, especially." He smiles to his side, briefly returning his gaze to the heavens ere even beginning to think to move. "You're far busier than most of us. 'T is a wonder you find time to rest at all, Clive."
"Aye, we should." He agrees, but doesn't make a move to get up just yet either. He huffs out a quiet breath at Dion's next words. "Some days I wonder the same thing," he says and knocks their heads together gently in a display of trust and sympathy. "The truth is, most days I run myself rugged just so I pass out from exhaustion as soon as my head hits the pillow. It helps often enough... but not always."
But for all of Clive's restlessness, Dion's company has proven far more calming than anything else has in quite some time and against his better judgement he is reluctant to let this go just yet. He is about to tell Dion this, tell him that he hasn't realized until now that he has missed this, missed him. "I—" Clive hesitates for a moment but then he turns, pulling away far enough to meet Dion's eyes, still he doesn't finish the thought, instead opting to say another thing entirely. "We really shouldn't stay out here for much longer."
The cold is slowly but steadily catching up to him as well, tiredness mingling with the chill, no matter how warm the side against which Dion is pressed still feels. "...But we do not have to end this conversation here, if you still want company, that is."
"Bloody thing never works anymore." He curses under his breath as he tries to get his fire crystal to light, to no avail. His plan for the Mothercrystals involves the end of the usage of crystals like these, but he at least wanted to get a few more uses out of it before the aether within finally dimmed to nothing, and he frowns at himself for never finishing that schematic for a new lighter. The heavy thudding of Clive's footsteps entering his Solar draws his attention then, and he brightens. "Ah, Clive! Perfect timing. You mind giving me a light?"
Clive's brows raise at Cid's tone, then narrow for the same reason as he takes in the way Cid smiles around the cigarillo held between his lips. The crystal in one hand completes the picture, Clive is very aware of what he wants him to do before Cid even says anything and he's not exactly thrilled about being used as a human lighter... again.
Still, he draws closer, already preparing to conjure up a small flame. He is grumbling by the time he is close enough to reach for him. "Sometimes I think the only reason you keep me around is shit like this," he says, shoulders rounding, a small twinge of something he'd rather not consider too closely tightening his chest. He ignores it, as he usually does.
He huffs out a breath, focussing. Then, just as he is about to raise his hand higher, his gaze is drawn to Cid's lips, the cigarillo still resting between, the corners of his mouth curled into the beginnings of a smirk. Maybe it's just the fact that Clive has had a long day of people asking him to do all kinds of ridiculous things and that he had hoped to find some respite here at least, only to find Cid wanting one more thing, but it irks him in that moment, to see Cid look so smug.
So, out of pure impulsivity, Clive refrains from using his hands to summon forth a flame, and rather just steps further into Cid's space, eyes turning half-lidded as he keeps his focus on the small object between. Then, with a very gentle exhale through rounded lips a bit of aether leaves his body to light the very tip of Cid's cigarillo, leaving a sweet, yet familiar scent to fill the surrounding air soon after.
"There..." He breathes, looking up to find Cid's eyes after a moment of letting bis gaze linger on the glimming tip. "Is that all?"
It does not escape Clive's notice that the Duchess does not grace him with an answers to his question, instead continueing as if he had not spoken at all. It is frustrating but not uncommon, the norm even where conversations with her are concerned. If they could even be called that when she hardly tolerated any contribution from him at any given time.
The mention of his father has him pause and his expression gets away from him for a moment, gaze snapping up to hers, exasperation and hurt washing over his features ere he manages to rein them back in. The Duke had agreed to this and not thought to talk to Clive about it at all?
Clive blinks, confused, breathing in a little deeper to gather his thoughts. "You'd have me pursue a future wife while there are beastmen at our doorstep and the Northern territories are on the verge of revolt?" None of this makes any sense to him. Is this the true reason behind this farce of a festivity? He had already heard the mumblings of the commonfolk, they weren't pleased with the Duchy for holding a ball without proper seasonal reason.
"Surely my duties as First Shield far outweigh the need for marriage. My place is at Joshua's side." Especially in times of unrest like these. He is tasked to secure his brother's future and not his own. Clive had hardly ever stopped to think that while he wasn't the Phoenix' chosen it would still be considered one of his duties to continue the family line, to ensure the existence of another Phoenix once Joshua was gone.
He feels nauseous at the thought. The Phoenix' blessing did nothing but put strain on his little brother, on their family as a whole and his mother's obsession with it only served to make it worse each day. He wants no part in perpetuating this ... this curse, doesn't want to be the one to inflict it on another generation.
"No," he says. "I will take no part in this."
"This is not up for debate," Anabella replied in curt and made a step closer to her husband's son. When she had found out about his true parentage, she had accepted her husband's decision to keep the boy in the castle and with gritted teeth, Anabella had also agreed to tolerate him as part of their family despite his tainted blood. The moment he openly disobeyed her orders, all of these little choices that had made her most unhappy in her own home, seemed to crash down upon her at once—for the first time since the revelation, Anabella Rosfield regretted having been soft with her husband.
If she had been stricter with him and demanded the removal of the bastard from her home, perhaps she would not have to deal with this nonsense now, she reasoned and inhaled deeply to ease her own nerves. Anger boiled in the pit of her stomach, tugging at her brows into a mild frown at first. No, she had to watch herself.
She could not allow her emotions to get the better of her. "Your father wishes you to pick one of the candidates at the gathering and as his son, you will obey to his order. I do not tolerate anything less than perfection from you this evening." After all, he had been raised for this, even though it was not exactly the role he had been born for. It did not matter now, Anabella reminded herself, and brought up her hand to gently brush across her own lips with the side of her fore finger.
"If I had the authority to decide over your fate, you would remain with the soldiers and die for your Duke. Your impure blood would not stain the throne with a potential heir down the line."
In that sense, they were of one mind. Not exactly, yet neither of them wanted him to marry and produce an heir. In Anabella's mind, nothing worse could possibly happen than a competition taking place between her son and the bastard.
He knows of course, what his own mother thinks of him, even without her telling him. After years and years of this she doesn't have to, she never had to. Her usually quiet disdain chaves, her silence and disregard of all he is, of all he has accomplished is enough to have him grit his teeth on any given day, but this, the coldness in her words, in her eyes, it couldn't hurt more if she had plunged a knife into his chest and twisted.
"You have never tolerated anything from me. Perfection or otherwise." His voice is surprisingly even when he says this, although he can feel his hands tremble with the heavy mixture of emotion coursing through his veins. His fingers curl into his palms at his sides, squashing the flicker of fire that tends to surface when something upsets him to a point where his entire being aches. It's been a while since anything she has done resulted in this, it's not anger, not really. It's the by now instinctual use of the Phoenix' blessing trying to heal a pain it cannot reach.
"All I am, all I've become, all I've done has ever been motivated by the wish to serve this family, to serve Rosaria as a whole, to keep Joshua safe, to keep you safe." He squares his shoulders and sets his jaw. His brows furrow, the gaze of his eyes unyielding as it meets his mother's, mirroring her own anger, her own resolve back at her, looking in this moment for all his physical similarities with his father like her son most of all.
"If you'd have me die on the battlefield I will gladly do so. I will readily give my life to protect Joshua, you know this, but I will not help perpetuate this curse that has torn our family apart from the moment he awakened."
