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Chapter Text

Clive ran his hand through his messy hair, grimacing at the dirt and grime he felt there. What a fucking mess of a day. 

The battle between Rosaria and the North had dragged on much longer than anyone could have anticipated. What should have been a few years of skirmish had now spanned decades, and a war that he had heard about as a boy was now his. And it had only gotten more heated recently, what with their dominant now taking the field more regularly. It was all he and his men could do to hold their ground. 

They had been successful thus far at pushing the Northern invaders back into their home territory but now it meant that they were fighting on foreign soil and the Northerners had the advantage. 

How there could be so much snow in one place was beyond him. But if he had to take a guess it probably had to do with their dominant. She was probably to blame for the snow storm, the frigid cold, and now the ice. 

Joshua had done his duty valiantly, keeping the troops warm, using his fire to stave off the bitter cold. He had yet to do battle against this Shiva and Clive shuddered to think of how that battle would go.

No, best to wait to unleash the Phoenix when he could finally get Ifrit under control. That way they stood the best chance at defeating the North once and for all. 

And the best chance at protecting Joshua. 

Against all odds, the founder had blessed Rosaria with two Eikons. Now, if only they could have blessed him with the ability to control his Eikon. He had only been able to summon Ifrit once and that nearly ended in a disaster on both sides.

He couldn’t lose control like that again. 

He nearly stumbled into the water, so lost in his musing. He didn’t even know where he was. 

It was dangerous to wander off in foreign territory, he knew this. And yet, he needed some space. He needed to be alone. Needed to gather his thoughts before the next battle and the next and the next. 

It all just seemed like a never ending nightmare. 

He took in his surroundings, there was a small ravine not yet covered in ice which was curious. Plenty of trees surrounding the area. This place was well hidden.

He was just about to sit down against a large tree when silver caught his eye. 

He snapped to attention. He had fought enough Northerners to recognize their hair in an instant. He felt his hackles rise. 

It was a woman, dressed in the traditional Northern armor resting against the tree on the other side of the ravine. He began to reflexively reach for his sword until he noticed the most peculiar thing.  She appeared to be sleeping. 

But then his foot slipped and he cursed out loud. Her eyes opened and she looked over at him. 

Clive felt his heart stop. 

—--------------

The Rosarian was truly quite loud. She heard him coming for what felt like miles away. His boots crunching in the snow, his breathing echoing through the trees. 

How her father ever got pushed back to the North with such a loud opponent was beyond her. 

She could have left before he arrived, she could have avoided this whole confrontation. But she was tired. 

There had been so much fighting. So much strategizing. So many fires that needed to be put out, and who better to do that than Shiva. 

What did it matter that she didn’t believe in this war. That all she wanted was to put down her sword and never see another snowfall again. That she would rather be buried in the dirt along with the countless others that they had lost. 

What did she matter? 

She didn’t care anymore.

If this Rosarian who had stumbled upon her could do her the courtesy of ending her life, then she would only be too grateful. 

She heard him stumble, curse slipping from his lips and she looked over at him in curiosity. 

He wore black leather armor with red scattered throughout. How patriotic. There was a scar on his face and she couldn't help but wonder if she had been the one to give it to him. 

There was something about him that was familiar, something she couldn’t quite place. Maybe she had crossed swords with him before, maybe they had known each other in a different life.

She was too tired to think too hard about it. 

He was reaching for his sword but had paused, likely waiting for her to make the next move. 

She looked away from him, closing her eyes once more. “If you’re going to kill me, I’m all yours.” 

—--------------

Clive let go of his sword and slowly dropped his hand to the side. She had closed her eyes again. He was perplexed. Did she not care if she lived or died?

She had looked away from him, seeming disinterested in what she saw and some part of him clenched uncomfortably at that thought. Some part of him wanted her to look at him, and only him. 

He brushed it off. Now wasn’t the time for that kind of fanciful thinking. 

He could do it. He could kill her. It would be so easy. He could see the bottom of the ravine, it would take him all but a few moments to make his way to her. To slit her throat. It would be one less person on the battlefield.

Who knows how many of his countrymen she had slain? 

And yet, a part of him countered, who knows how many of her countrymen he had slain? 

He had come here to get away from the war. To find solace, to find peace. 

He would not bring the war here. 

Decision made, he gingerly sat down against the tree and stared off into the distance. Not feeling quite as bold as his counterpart who still rested with her eyes closed. She really was something to behold. 

He tried to place her. He knew that the war on the Northern front had grown more desperate in the past few years, that they had recruited both men and women to the cause. But he didn’t think he had crossed paths with her before. And yet….there was something about her that called out to him, something familiar. 

He coughed, trying to clear his mind of those thoughts. It was probably some Northern magic. Best not to fall prey to it. 

Despite his reservations about the woman across the ravine, there was something peaceful about this place. The gentle bubbling of the water next to him, the birds chirping in the distance, it was almost enough to lull him into a sense of calm. 

He looked back over at the Northwoman to see that she was staring at him. There was no malice in her eyes, only a quiet curiosity. One that he was sure was reflected in his own eyes. 

She stood up and began to walk in the opposite direction before sparing him a glance once more, almost as though she were trying to memorize him. 

And as her figure disappeared into the tree line, all he could hope for was that they would not meet on the battlefield. 

And they would not, for some time.

Chapter Text

“The southerners grow bold.” Lord Silvermane snarled, standing at the head of his war council. The other Northern Chieftains murmured in agreement. “We must find a way to push them back before they can release their Eikons upon us.” 

Jill sat in the corner, listening quietly. It was interesting that Rosaria had the power of two Eikons and yet neither of them had taken to the field. At least, not recently. 

It seemed like an obvious choice, one that would have been enacted much earlier if her father had been granted such power. 

Why have a dominant if you can’t use them. What other purpose would they serve? 

Her father had been on the verge of a major victory. Had marched his troops far enough south that they could nearly taste victory. The shields, as they called themselves, had been near defeat, holding up in their stronghold of Phoenix Gate. Her father would have won had it not been for the timely appearance of Ifrit. 

She hadn’t been there, hadn’t been recruited to the war effort yet, but she heard of the destruction that Ifrit wrought. How her father’s troops had been instantly overwhelmed. How they barely escaped with their lives. The Night of Flames they had called it. And ever since then, they had been on the run. 

That had been nearly ten years ago and since then the Rosarians had rallied. They were now emboldened by the knowledge of having two Eikons, and launched counter attack after counter attack and now, it was the North that was on the verge of collapsing. 

They were losing this war. 

She, along with countless others, had been recruited as a last effort to reinforce their troops and on the battlefield, sword in hand, staring down at men who seemed to be three times her size, certain that death was imminent, was when she found out that she was a dominant. 

That was eight years ago. She had been barely sixteen at the time. 

Her father had been most pleased of course. Seeing this as a sign from the founder for the righteousness of their cause. If Rosaria had been gifted two Eikons, it was only right that North had at least one. 

He gave no thought to how terrified his daughter must have been to realize that she had rained down a frozen hell upon the landscape. To see bodies strewn about and know that it was she who had that caused it. 

No, he didn’t care for that. All he cared for was winning this war. He wanted the capital of Rosalith and that was his singular focus. 

He could always have other children if he desired. What was one less daughter? 

It had taken her time to understand her powers. It had taken her years to truly master her powers. He had started her out in small skirmishes. Ways to explore her powers without exposing herself too soon. Her father didn’t want knowledge of her abilities to make it past the border. 

For a while her main focus was to keep the Rosarians from advancing any further. She only took on the forces that crossed the border. But over time, her mastery grew, and so did her powers. And now, she was actively pitted against the main forces time and time again. She was able to halt their progress, maybe even push them back, so long as Ifrit and the Phoenix weren’t on the field at the same time. 

Her father knew that. 

“...perhaps Shiva could do that.” One of the chieftains murmured while looking at the map. 

She looked up, having missed most of the conversation. 

The others nodded in agreement. Her father looked over at her, giving her a silent command.

There was a time when all she craved, all she wanted, was to please him, to have him look over at her and tell her that she was enough. But those days were gone, that man was gone.

She could barely recognize him anymore.

She stood up, walking over to the map, awaiting her marching orders. 

—---------- 

“Clive, I promise I’m alright.” Joshua said for what felt like the hundredth time. He watched his brother pace back and forth, hands fisted at his side, teeth clenched. “It’s just a scratch.” 

Clive’s head snapped over to his brother, eyes blazing. Today had been too close. They all knew the Northmen had the advantage but only now were they learning just by how much. 

Shiva had rained down an avalanche upon his men. They had barely any warning before the skies darkened and they were nearly suffocated by an endless barrage of snow. If it weren’t for Joshua…. 

His brother, his little brother, had been so clever. Not only did he manage to protect the majority of the men and melt most of the snow before it could cause much harm but had even managed to fend off Shiva. He had traded blows with her in his semi primed state and claimed that he even managed to wound her.  

But of course, she did too. 

And now, he had a deep cut along the length of his forearm that the physikier had been diligently tending to. Joshua had insisted that he could heal himself, save healing supplies for others, but he and his father put a stop to that nonsense. There was no need for Joshua to overextend himself in that way. He had done enough. 

If only he could have controlled Ifrit, then he could have been more useful. He could have protected his brother and maybe between the two of them, they could have put an end to Shiva and her onslaught. 

His eyes softened when he saw Joshua sitting there on the cot, bandage on his arm. When did he grow up from that cherub little boy following him around to this resourceful, intelligent, archduke in waiting. 

He walked over to him and ruffled his hair, Joshua halfheartedly pushing him away. 

They say next to each other in silence, neither one of them knowing what to say. 

“Shiva is a problem. Ever since she entered the fray, we have been at a stand still.” 

Clive turned to look at his brother silently agreeing with his assessment. 

They had first heard of Shiva a few years ago, but if their intelligence was correct, she had been fighting for much longer. And now, seeing her at the height of her power, he couldn’t help but agree. One did not simply have such control over their element if they hadn’t had years of practice. 

Lord Silvermane had clearly put in extra effort in keeping her hidden. 

“And yet…” Joshua’s voice cut through his thoughts, “I can’t help but wonder if her heart is truly in this fight.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Joshua paused, “It just seemed like she could have done so much more damage today and yet she didn’t.” 

Clive reached over and grabbed his brother's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “She didn’t only because you were there. Because you protected us.” 

Joshua let out a dry chuckle. Figures that Clive would attribute this victory to him. And in some ways it was true. He had managed to form a shield around his garrison, and melt the snow fairly quickly. His actions had bought the shields enough time to reassemble and fend off the raid from the Northmen who had accompanied Shiva. 

He had even managed to burn Shiva, enough to cause her to retreat and she had returned the favor of course, one of her icicles slicing through his arm. And yet….she seemed to be holding back. 

As he replayed his encounter with her, he saw all the mistakes he had made. 

He had fumbled as he advanced towards her, nearly tripping on his own feet. He didn’t have much experience being semi-primed, his father and Clive never wanting him to over extend himself. 

But Shiva, she had no such difficulty. The way she moved, the way she controlled her element, there was a sense of grace to it. Of ease. One that could only be accomplished with a mastery gained over time. 

For some reason, she did not take advantage of his mistakes. She allowed him to compose himself, staring silently at him. Some part of him wondered if she had even allowed him to wound her. 

“You should get some rest.” Clive said, pulling Joshua out of his musings. “Don’t think too hard about these things. You did well today brother.”  Joshua did not like the dark circles that he now saw under Clive’s eyes. War had taken its toll on all of them.

“Where are you going?” He asked when he saw Clive make his way to the entrance of the tent.

“I need some air.” And with that, he was gone. 

—------------- 

Clive’s mind was still racing from the battle today. How had they been caught so unawares? What had he missed? 

He felt the guilt building up in his gut, feeling it burning into his core. His men trusted him. Trusted him to lead them and keep them safe. How could he do that if he couldn't figure out the enemy's next move? 

He went over the skirmish over and over trying to figure out what had gone wrong. What could have gone differently. 

They needed to adjust their strategy, this much he knew. It was much easier to outmaneuver the Northerners, out flank them when they were still in Rosaria. That was his home, he knew every mountain, every creek. He had led enough stealth missions to cripple their forces. But here….everything looked the same. Everything was covered in the same blasted snow. 

His father had assured him that there was nothing they could have done. That this was the price to pay when fighting on foreign soil. That it would take time before they could gather enough information to truly be on equal ground. 

But despite those words, Clive felt that sense of shame and disappointment. He could almost hear the Duchess’s voice in his mind reminding him of his failures both on and off the battlefield. Reminding him of his place in the family. 

He let out a frustrated sigh. He needed to be alone with his thoughts. He didn’t want to burden Joshua with his guilt. He already carried so much, and before he knew it, he could hear the bubbling of the ravine again. His feet had wandered here of their own accord. 

He wondered if she would be there. It was foolish to think that she would. It had been at least a fortnight since he had seen her. And even if he did, after an encounter like today, would their interaction be as amicable as the last? 

Both sides had sustained casualties today and if she had been on the field, who knows if it was her sword that brought an end to one of his shields? Who knows how many people would have been saved had he put an end to her that night? 

But all his anger and frustration left his being when he saw her in the clearing. When he saw her kneeling by the river, dipping her hands into the water. When he saw the ugly red burns on her hands wrapping their was up her arms. When he heard the hiss of pain escape from her lips as the water touched her skin.  

She had been at the battlefield today. And it was clear that it was his brother who had given her those wounds. 

His heart clenched seeing her in pain. And before he could process why he felt the way he did she looked up at him, those steel eyes of hers made it hard for him to breathe. 

—-----

“It’s you.” Jill said. 

She hadn’t expected him to be here. She would have thought that he was with his men, celebrating after their victory today. 

What had started as a clever plan, had ended in disappointment for her people. 

The hope was that the avalanche would crush the majority of the Rosarian forces, and those who were left would be taken prisoner. They had received word that the Phoenix might have been with that particular group of shields and they had hoped that by capturing him, a ridiculous notion in her mind but who was she to say anything, they could force the Archduke’s hand. 

But instead the Phoenix, the Eikon of fire, had burned through her snow, her ice, and her hands. 

It was quite an impressive feat to witness. To see someone transform into a glowing pyre. But he was so young and so….inexperienced. He couldn't have been older than his early twenties if even that. She knew that younger ones had been sent to war, that younger ones had been sent to die. 

But that didn’t make it right. 

She had imagined the Phoenix’s dominant to look akin to those men who had towered over her. Who had sneered at her when she was on her knees that fateful night. Men who had wanted her dead. 

But instead he was a lanky child who looked terrified, tripping over his own feet in a desperate bid to protect those around him. And she could not bring herself to cause him more pain. He was a child, he didn’t belong on the battlefield. 

And so, she paid the price. Now her hands were burned. 

They would heal with time, the water already soothing the ache. 

She hadn’t come to this clearing with the intent of seeing this man again but it was a welcome surprise all the same. She would be lying if she said that she hadn’t thought about him every night since they had met. Hadn’t wondered if he was still alive, if he was still fighting. Hadn’t wondered what the scar on his face would feel like under her fingers. 

And now here he was, looking at her intently, standing on the opposite side of the water. 

“You’re hurt, my lady.” He commented while staring at her hands. 

She liked the sound of his voice. It was soothing. 

She let out a small laugh. She hadn’t been called a lady for some time. “I’ve heard about how polite you southerners were, but I didn’t expect to be on the receiving end of that.” 

He flushed. Jill assumed it was from her teasing, but instead it was her laugh that had sent a wave of warmth through his body. 

Clive fumbled through his words,”I only speak the truth…you are a lady.” 

Jill raised her eyebrows, feeling the unbecoming urge to smile. “Well done. Your eyes serve you well.” 

She began to stand. Her hands had soaked enough in the water for now. She wasn’t sure what it was about this Rosarian but just being around him made her feel….lighter. Made her feel like who she was before the war. Before all the deaths and killing. Before she felt…nothing. 

It was amusing watching this man sputter and run his hand through his hair, almost flummoxed. Did she really have that much of an affect on him?

He cleared his throat before gesturing to her hands. “I didn’t see you on the battlefield today. Was that from….” 

She looked down at her hand, the redness already fading. Shiva’s gift to her. She could lie to him, tell him that it was from something else. Give him the runaround, keep her secrets close to her chest. But what would be the point? 

She knew what she was, there was no point in hiding it. 

“A gift.” She finally said. “From your Phoenix.” She watched him flinch, a look of guilt passing over his face. How curious that he would feel anything for her. She was nothing to him. “But something tells me that if you had seen me on the battlefield today ...I wouldn't be standing here right now. “

He looked at her sharply, his eyes piercing. He was well built, his sword was large, and based on his physique, he could no doubt wield it with ease. She still had no idea who he was but if he had made it this far into the campaign, he must be a force to be reckoned with. 

She saw his jaw clench, as if he were holding back so much from her. Probably afraid to say too much lest he accidentally give something away. 

Such loyalty to his country.

But their time was up and she needed to head back to camp before she was missed. 

“I hope that we never meet on the battlefield Rosarian.” And she meant every word.

Chapter Text

He couldn't stop thinking about her. He should stop thinking about her but he couldn't. He didn’t know how long he had stood in the clearing after she had left. 

In his dreams since then, he saw her, always her. Her hands in the water, the burns on her arms. His eyes would follow her arms up to her body, to her neck, to her chest…. 

Founder, he was a mess. 

Somehow, despite not knowing her name, despite not knowing anything about her, she had wormed her way into his head. And now all he could think about was her. 

Was he really so desperate? 

Joshua elbowed him in the side and Clive finally snapped back to attention. 

His father was staring at him and he felt shame in knowing that he had been distracted when he should have been focused. They were discussing battle plans, he needed to clear his head. 

“I apologize your Grace, I was…lost in thought.” Lost in thought about the woman with silver hair that he wanted to comb his hands through more than he would care to admit. 

“That’s alright my son.” Archduke Elwin said, “It has been a hard time for all of us. But now we must make our move….” 

They had found one of the supply routes to the Northern army. It wasn’t well guarded and their wagons were slow. 

Clive volunteered to lead the mission. He and a small group of shields would ambush the caravans, fend off any guards in the area, and allow the other to steal what supplies they could.

 After that, they would set everything on fire. 

It never sat well with him how destructive war was. He understood the need, understood that in order to win one must make hard decisions. But he often wondered if there was another way. 

He wondered if Rosaria would ever find peace, wondered if he would ever find peace. Would peace even sit well with him?  

He had been a soldier for as long as he could remember. Taking up the sword as a child, eager to make up for being overlooked by the Phoenix, eager to please his mother, his father, eager to protect Joshua, eager to protect his country. He didn’t even know what peace was like anymore. 

He had fought so long that he knew nothing else.

How many nights had he poured over maps to figure out the best strategy to win on the battlefield? How many nights had he spent in the training field, fighting invisible enemies, honing his skills, until he knew that he was worthy of the title of First Shield? How much of his life had he dedicated to understanding his enemies, understanding battle tactics, so that when the time came he could snuff them out? 

He had risen in the ranks with each victory he won for Rosaria. He advanced from Captain to Commander, and now, he had a seat on the war council as one of his father’s main Generals. He had led skirmishes, he had led legions into battles, winning far more than he lost. 

War was all he knew. 

He was good at war. He was skilled in battle, his mind lending itself easily to strategy. 

But was that all he could be good for? 

He trusted his Father, he trusted Lord Murdoch, he trusted that this war was right, that it was just. The Northerners had invaded them after all, they had to protect their home. 

But now, they were on Northern soil, Rosaria far behind. Would that make them the invaders? 

Clive shook his head, uncomfortable with where his line of thinking was going. He never was one for philosophy, that was always more of Joshua’s territory. 

He donned his armor, nodded to the troops under his command, and they rode off into the dark. 

—----------

“You’re injured.” 

He turned quickly to the voice, his hand automatically reaching for his sword, ready to defend himself.

Their mission had been a success. They had managed to gather the supplies they needed and more. None of their troops were lost and if the wound on his left hand was the price to be paid for it, then so be it. The Northman who had dealt the blow had received much worse. 

His father had been proud, the other shields ecstatic. It seemed like things were finally moving in the right direction. And normally, he would have shared in their enthusiasm, he would have stayed for the celebrations of a victory well won. 

But he couldn't stop thinking about the war. About the Northmen who now lay dead by his hand. These people were just protecting their own, and now they had been slain by foreign invaders. 

He had needed to escape, to think, and he knew exactly where he would go, where no one would find him. Except her.

He knew she hadn’t been one of the guards with the caravans, he had checked all the bodies to be sure. That was the only thing that brought him solace for his actions. 

And now she was here, her hands held up in a sign of surrender in reaction to his reflexive actions and he lowered his arm. How did she sneak up on him like that? 

She looked down at his left arm, a grimace on her face at the macerated skin. He had done a poor job at dressing the wound, wanting to leave the camp sooner rather than later. 

Joshua had offered to heal it, he always offered. But he had brushed him off. He didn’t deserve any more blessings, not after what he had done recently. 

He wondered if it was because of her, the woman who stood across from him, that his thoughts on the war had changed recently. He had never given much thought to the cost of war. He had been taught to follow orders, to do whatever it took to win. It didn’t always feel right, but what did he matter in the grand scheme of things?  

But seeing the way she looked at him, seeing her in pain when she was wounded, she was not so different from him. Maybe the Northmen who faced him in battle were not so different from the Shields of Rosaria. 

She gestured to some foliage on his right, “The petals on the flower next to you can help ease the pain.” 

The flowers were light blue, almost silver like her hair. There was a glow that emanated from it. He looked at her suspiciously, holding back so many words.

It bothered him how much he thought about her. How much he wanted from her. It was unbecoming at best and traitorous at worst. He was loyal to his country, but would it be so wrong to indulge himself in her company, to indulge her in conversation? 

She scoffed, seeing the hesitation on his face, before she slowly pulled out a knife from her boot, he stiffened. There was still a ravine in between them, if she were to attack him….

But then, she made a cut on her upper arm with the knife and it was all he could do to stop himself from rushing over to her to stop her assault. To stop her from hurting herself. 

She tossed the knife to the side before reaching down to grab at the flowers next to her. They were the same as the ones next to him. 

She made eye contact with him, making sure that he was watching her. 

She plucked the petals, washed them in the river before applying them to her wound. “It’s not poisonous, I promise.” 

And then she sat down and leaned against the tree, closing her eyes. 

It didn’t sit well with him how little thought she gave to her own health, to her own wellbeing. That she would injure herself just to prove a point. 

He looked back at the flowers, and then back at her. He didn’t have to try the flowers, he didn’t have to trust her. 

But some part of him wanted to trust her, maybe already did trust her. He had come back here after all. Intentionally or not, he had sought her out over the company of his own men, over the company of his brother, the company of his father. 

Some part of him whispered that if he continued to seek her out, in this night and all nights to come, that he would not regret it. Some part of him just knew.

He shook his head at the absurdity of this situation as he bent down to pluck the petals. If they were poisonous, he could always cut off his left hand, he supposed. 

He washed the petals in the river like she had shown him and layed a thin layer on top of his wound, their cooling touch already relieving the pain. He returned to his seated position. 

He looked over at her, and seeing that her eyes were still closed, studied her a bit more intently. 

Her hair was down save for a braid. She always wore the same armor but there was nothing on them that could give away what rank she was in the army. He shuddered to think that she was a mere foot soldier. That she would be on the front lines, her life constantly in danger. 

Maybe that was why she had no fear of death, no self preservation. 

He thought back to the fight between the Northmen and the Phoenix. Those Northern troops had worn armor with Shiva’s sigil. They had been part of her personal guard. But she had been there, she had been injured. He scanned her clothes once more for that sigil, for a sign, anything to know more about her. 

But there was none. 

He turned away from her confused. Something wasn’t adding up and it bothered him. 

He shook his head, trying to clear them of those thoughts. “How are your wounds, my lady?” She had inquired about his injuries. He should return the favor. 

She opened her eyes once more before taking off her gloves. She lifted them up to her face, turning her hands back and forth, wiggling her fingers. It almost appeared….childlike. 

She shot him a small smile, and he felt his heart begin to race. “They are mostly healed, my lord . But they still burn from time to time.” her smile faded, and she put her gloves back on. 

She began to stand, their time was up. She gave a mock curtsey before walking off and leaving him alone with his thoughts once more. 

—----------

Her hands did still burn, the Phoenix’s fire was clearly hotter than most. Shiva’s power had been sufficient to soothe the ache, to bring it down to a mere simmer, but from time to time she would notice it, that uncomfortable stinging sensation in her hands. 

She had applied the petals, Frost Roses , they had called it for the cooling properties they held. The flowers were a remnant of Shiva from a time long past, when she had blessed the North with her gifts. 

Jill had no idea if this story was true or not but it was nice to think that Shiva could be used for something other than destruction. That she could give life rather than death. 

She wondered how the Rosarian fared since their visit two nights ago. She hoped that the petals brought him some comfort. No one deserved to be in pain. 

Their troops were at a standstill, her father’s generals trying to figure out what to do with their recent supply chain being disrupted.

Rumor was that the Shields had been led by Clive Rosfield. The ever undefeated, indefatigable Clive Rosfield. He had been a thorn in the side of the North since he took to battle and had only become more and more formidable with time. She had never met him, never fought against him, not yet.  

She brushed those thoughts aside. His distraction had bought some rare but much wanted time to herself. 

She wandered back to the clearing, secretly hoping that he would be there, only to find that he was already there. He was propped up against a tree, his eyes closed for once. How long had he been here? Was he waiting for her? 

She bit back a smile as she felt her heart begin to race, it tended to do that when it came to any matters revolving around him. 

But her eyes then trained on a curious brown item on her side of the clearing. There was something wrapped in cloth. Was it from him? 

She looked up to find him staring at her, his gaze leaving a fluttering sensation in her body. 

He looked down at the brown item, “It’s a salve, to heal burns. We use it from time to time, maybe it’ll help with your hands.” He attempted to sound nonchalant, as if he was just talking about the weather but she could tell that he was anything but. His hands were stiff, his legs were tense. His breathing was fast. 

He was clearly invested in seeing what she would do. 

She wandered down towards the item, feeling quite elated at the idea that he would bring her a gift, that he would bring her anything really. 

She sat and opened the package, a jar carrying a thick salve rolling into her hand. She uncorked it, the smell was unfamiliar to her, it must have been made in Rosaria. 

She took off her gloves and applied the salve liberally to her hands enjoying the way it softened her skin, the way it took away the sting from the burn in a way no other poultice or concoction her people had made could. 

She thanked him shyly, feeling quite touched at his concern for her. 

—---------

He had agonized over his decision. Had debated if he should or shouldn’t bring the salve. Would it be treasonous to give medication to the enemy? 

He had learned that the flowers she had shown him were called Frost Roses . They had certain healing properties according to his father’s apothecaries but they had not yet gleaned how to unlock this. It explained why the caravan they raided had so many of these flowers. 

The petals on their own were inactive. Only once they were washed in water, did they have the ability to soothe wounds. 

The apothecaries had looked on in wonder, amazed that something as simple as water could unlock such properties. They asked him how he learned this, how he came upon this knowledge and he shrugged, not knowing what to say. 

What would they say if he told them that a Northwoman had gifted him this knowledge? That he had been seeing her for the past few nights? That he wanted to see her again tonight? 

No, it was best to keep their meetings a secret. To keep her a secret. 

His men had benefited greatly from this new found knowledge. The petals soothing their wounds, taking away the aches of the battle. 

He thought back to her hands, to her comment about the burning sensation. He knew that the Phoenix's fire burned hotter than most, and if not treated quickly enough, it could leave long lasting discomfort. 

He had learned that all too well on the Night of Flames, when he had been so lost in Ifrit’s rage that he had fought the Phoenix, had fought his brother. He welcomed the pain then, feeling like it was a just reminder for the damage, for the pain that he caused. 

But she didn’t deserve to be in pain for defending her county. And so, he had brought the salve, and had arrived much earlier than normal to their secret hideaway spot to leave it on her side of the ravine to find. 

She had approached his gift curiously, almost cat-like in her movements. But the look of relief on her face when she applied the soothing salve to her hand made everything worth it.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He wanted to remember every detail of tonight. 

It may be the last night that he had with her like this. 

Their scouts had finally returned and now their plan was to move their base of operations to a different location. A more secure location where they couldn't be spied upon. Where they wouldn’t be ambushed. 

Tonight he would lead a company of shields to clear the way to this new campsite and prepare it for the arrival of the Archduke and the Phoenix. Assuming all went well, they would begin their new war campaign from there. 

A part of him mourned the loss of these meetings, the loss of this sanctuary. He knew the chances of seeing her again like this were next to impossible.

He continued to watch, unwilling to take his eyes off of her. Savoring every last moment, not knowing that the next time they did meet, the land would be scarred from their battle. 

Chapter Text

She was impressed, truly. Somehow, against all odds, the Rosarian war campaign had disappeared from under their nose. They had initially made camp near the edge of the southern border but overnight they had moved and now, they were nowhere to be found. 

It would have been amusing to watch her father’s war council scramble around, like chickens without their heads, if their ire hadn’t then been directed at her. 

If she had made it colder, if she had made the terrain less friendly, if she had only done more .   

Now she had been tasked with finding their party. Torgal sniffed ahead of her, seeming to pick up a scent before lowering his head back down. 

How hard could it be to find an invading army? 

Although, if she were to be historically accurate, her people were the initial invaders, so in some twisted world, this seemed fitting to now be invaded. 

“Do you think we’ll find him?” She asked her faithful companion, feeling foolish for asking. 

He must be with the missing Rosarian forces. It must be why she hadn’t seen him near that ravine the past couple of weeks, not that she had looked for him every single night. 

Torgul came trotting back to her, nudging at her legs. She leaned down to scratch at his ears. 

She was grateful that her father had allowed her to keep Torgal with her. He was her only companion nowadays, all her friends from childhood either dead or estranged from her since her powers had awoken. 

Sometimes she felt that loneliness. That isolation. 

She was not close with her father, not anymore. Most of her sisters lay in the ground, and her brothers who were still alive, were too focused on the war effort and the following line of succession to bother with her. 

She knew that deep down it would be best for her brothers if she died sometime during the war. That way there wouldn’t be any Eikonic contenders for the throne when all was said and done. Not that she wanted the throne anyways.

She just wanted to be free. Was that too much to ask? 

Torgul’s ears perked up and he took off in a direction, Jill trailing slowly behind. 

Sometimes she felt that loneliness, but not so much as of late. 

Lately her mind had been preoccupied with that Rosarian. The man who had the gall to have compassion for her wounds, who had cared enough to bring her a gift. It was…foreign to see someone care for her that way. 

She hadn’t seen him for a month now. Not since the Rosarian force had moved. There had been a few battles here and there since then. The Rosarians seemed to come out of nowhere to ambush their forces. But then they would disappear without a trace.

She had looked for him in the fallen, worried that she might find him there. But to her relief, she never did. 

A part of her wondered if he was secretly the Phoenix. What a cruel joke that would be. But the Phoenix’s dominant didn’t quite look like him. That dominant was too nervous, too un-bled. The man she met by the water had a silent confidence to him. He had fought in battles, he had been bled many times over. 

Perhaps if they had met in a different life, or under different circumstances, they could have become acquainted. Maybe they could have been friends or something more. Maybe if she was someone else, not his sworn enemy, they could actually get to know each other without the suspicion of treachery tainting their every encounter. 

If only. 

Maybe she was lonelier than she thought. 

She didn't know how long she had wandered with Torgal. It could have been the better part of the day if the sun in the sky was any indication. Since they weren’t engaged in a full out battle against the Rosarians, there had been no need for her to block out the sun. 

The sky looked so much nicer without her tempest. 

The Rosarians weren’t here, that much was for sure. She looked around, Torgal had disappeared off into the tree line. Likely off to find something of interest. He would return to her. He always did. 

She turned around and made her way back to camp, silently dreading the looks of disappointment that would be shot her way.  

—--------

Clive didn’t know what to make of this situation. He had been out gathering supplies with a few of his men when he suddenly saw silver out of the corner of his eye. 

He tried to ignore the disappointment he felt when he saw that it was just a wolf, knowing who it was that he had hoped to see. 

It was larger than most other hounds, and Clive had a healthy enough appreciation for wildlife to know that if this hound chose to be, it could be quite lethal. 

But instead it sat there a few feet away, head tilted to the side as if studying him.  

There was something about the way it looked at him that seemed familiar, a quiet curiosity almost reminiscent of someone else’s stare. 

The wolf started to slowly advance on him and Clive had half a mind to draw his sword. But something prevented him from doing so. He always did have a soft spot for dogs. 

He would have had one of his own if it wasn’t for his mother’s disdain for animals. Or was it a disdain for anything he wanted? He could never be too sure. 

The wolf came sniffing at him cautiously before it decided that Clive was safe and made a beeline for the satchel attached to his belt. 

He almost knocked Clive over with his enthusiasm and as an act of self preservation, Clive tossed his satchel over to the side, if only to get the hound off of him.

The wolf happily chased after the satchel and nosed around it until the opening came undone. Out poured Clive’s dry pork rations which the wolf happily ate without a care in the world. 

Clive chuckled. Figures that the wolf would only come to him for his food. He should count his blessings that it didn’t see him as food.

It looked like the frost wolves he had read about. He was almost convinced they didn’t exist and yet here one was, happily eating all of his rations for the day. 

“I hope you enjoyed that, because that was all of my food for the day.” He said dryly, not expecting the wolf to understand anything. 

But then its ears perked up and it stared at him. Intelligent eyes that caught him off guard. It let out a small whine and walked back towards him, ears slightly flattened, looking guilty before dropping the rest of the jerky from his mouth back at Clive’s feet. 

He hesitantly reached out to pet the wolf, a bit confused as to what was going on. He had read that frost wolves were more intelligent than most dogs but this was a whole other level all together. 

Something caught the wolf’s attention and he bounded off in a direction and soon was out of sight. He looked down at the half chewed jerky at his feet before turning back around to get back to camp. 

The next morning he awoke, belly emptier than usual, to surprised voices outside his tent. He leapt out of his cot and rushed out, worried that the Northerners had found them. 

But instead he found a slain deer on the ground, with puncture marks on its neck that looked like that of a wolf. 

“Who left this here?” He asked the men surrounding the carcass. 

“It was a wolf, my lord.” Sir Wade said. “I wouldn't have believed it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes. He just dragged that animal in and left it in front of your tent and then ran off. I can gather the men and search for the hound now if you want.” 

Sir Wade ran off before waiting for an answer. 

It was the logical choice of course. The wolf could belong to someone, someone likely not loyal to their cause. The wolf could bring the Northerns towards their camp. But his heart clenched uncomfortably at the idea of the wolf in chains, he hoped that they wouldn’t find him. 

“Let’s not let this meat go to waste.” He gestured to a few men to help him with the carcass. 

He silently thanked the wolf for its offering. 

—--------------

“You’ve been distracted.” 

Jill’s heart leapt to her throat. Her father’s voice sometimes still made her feel like that of a small girl. 

She slowly stood up and bowed, giving him the respect that he deserved. 

He scoffed before sitting down on the chair in the corner of her tent. 

She warily watched him before settling back onto her cot, trying to discern why he had decided to grace her with his presence.  They sat in silence, every second making Jill more and more anxious, not that she would show it anymore. 

“Your wounds are healed, I'm told.” He said matter of factly. 

Jill nodded. “Yes father.” 

She had been careless in a fight recently, Her mind too intent on seeking out the Rosarain on the battlefield to be focused on what was in front of her.  

One of the Shields had managed to land an arrow in her shoulder and another had nearly taken off her head. She had been taken back to camp and put on mandatory rest in order to recover. The war council had not been happy. 

“Whatever is on your mind, kill it now. You need to focus.” He said sharply. “We will not have our Eikon slain by mere foot soldiers. Not when there is the Phoenix and Ifrit on our doorstep. Do you understand?” 

She looked down at the ground holding back so many words. If they didn’t want her dying at the hand of foot soldiers then why send her at all? 

The Rosarians kept their Phoenix and Ifrit well protected and hidden and yet here she was being thrown around like a pawn. Being thrown into almost every battle to ensure the best chance of victory. There was a bitterness to that differential in treatment and it was hard to swallow. 

“Promise me that you will focus.” He said as he stood up, Jill following suit. If there was a hint of softness, of concern in his voice, his face did not show it. 

She nodded silently, unsure of what to say. 

“We have found the Rosarian camp and will be marching out to meet them with haste. Come.” And he walked out of her tent. 

She stared blankly at his back, she was afraid that he would say that. 

—-------

The Rosarian camp was in disarray. Somehow in the middle of the night, one of the haystacks had caught on fire and part of the camp was up in flames. There must have been enough smoke for all of the North to know where they were now. 

He swore under his breath and he ran to fetch another pail of water, all the men around him scrambling to do the same. 

Despite being the Eikon of fire, Joshua was unable to do anything but conjure fire. He had yet to learn how to diminish it. And so their only hope was to put out the fire with water, prevent it from spreading and then make haste to prepare for battle. 

No doubt the Northern army had seen their smoke signal. 

He heard his father call out his name in the crowd. The Archduke was on his chocobo, dressed in battle gear. “Our scouts have sighted the Northern army. They will be here by nightfall. Gather what men you can and make ready.” He rode off. 

Clive swore again. Just fucking great. 

—-------

They had barely gotten the fire under control, had barely gotten the troops ready before the Northerners descended upon them. 

It was as if all the North had come, a sea of blue rushing towards them. 

He rode out with his Father to meet them and on the fields not a few leagues away from the Rosarian basecamp, they clashed. 

At some point, he had been thrown from his chocobo onto the ground, some footsoldier having spooked Ambrosia. He was barely able to dodge a blow to the head before returning the favor to the unlucky Northman before attempting to locate his father. 

The Archduke was still on his steed and surrounded by his personal guard. That was good. So long as his father was safe then the campaign could continue. 

He dodged yet another blow before stabbing his sword into the offender's belly, the man fell to the ground. Using the power of the phoenix he rushed at another group of men, preventing them from advancing towards one of his downed shields. He helped Sir Tyler back onto his feet, the man nodding thanks before picking back up his sword. 

The fighting seemed to last for hours. Swords clanging against one another, blood sprays painting the field from friend and foe alike. 

The Northmen were fierce but the Rosarians were well trained. They were at a stalemate. 

But then snow began to fall from the skies and Clive felt a sense of impending doom. 

—------ 

Joshua watched impatiently from the sidelines. At the age of twenty and two he had seen his fair share of battles. Seen many, but taken part in very few. He had fought against his father, against his brother. Clive had been sent off to war since he was ten and five, it would be a disservice to his nation if he were not given that same responsibility. 

But Clive was a fighter. Had always been the more stalwart of the pair, the more physically able. He was skilled with a sword and had a mind built for strategy. He could best most men by the time he was ten and five and had led Rosaria to more victories than he could count. 

He was a Rosarian in every way that mattered, a shield through and through. He heard the men whisper in awe about him saying how Clive was the war effort. He was the reason why Rosaria had made it this far.  It was no wonder that he held such respect. 

And Joshua was the Phoenix. His duty was to be the final defense for Rosaria. His mother had lectured him countless times about how much his life was worth, how important he was, how part of his duty was to sit idly and allow others to die for him so that he may stay standing. He was the king on the chess board and he was not allowed to fall. 

But his people were not pawns. Clive was not a pawn, despite what his mother may think. 

What was the purpose of being the last line of defense if there was nothing worth defending anymore? It pained him every time he was forced to sit on the sidelines knowing that his brother, his father, his countrymen were risking their lives. 

How could he be of service if he was never allowed to serve? 

He had been certain that this time, with so much on the line, with the Northmen at the doorstep of their camp, that his father would allow him to join the fray. 

But he had thought the same thing when the Northmen had descended upon Phoenix Gate. 

That had been nearly ten years ago and he still remembered it like it was yesterday. It was the day the Phoenix failed. The day that he failed. The day that Ifrit awoke and did what he could not. When Clive was forced to do what he could not. 

He had been but a boy, barely ten and two, making a pilgrimage to Phoenix Gate, despite his mother’s protest, despite the danger of knowing that the Northmen had entered their territory. Rosaria was losing the war and they needed the blessing of the ancestors, of the Phoenix, to guide them through. 

They hadn’t expected the Northmen to have been that aggressive, that sacrilegious that they would ransack a place as sacred as Phoenix Gate. 

And yet, they had. 

He didn’t remember much of the fighting, only the sounds of his countrymen dying as they fought to keep him safe. Clive had found him cowered up in a corner and had attempted to lead them to safety. But everywhere they turned, they were met with resistance. 

He had tried to summon the Phoenix then, he really had. But he had been so young, so inexperienced, that all he could do was conjure a small flame. 

They had barely made it out to the courtyard. His brother had placed him on Ambrosia and ordered him to ride, to get away, to get to safety. That he would hold them off. 

He hadn’t wanted to. He didn't want to leave his brother behind, but Ambrosia took off, obedient to Clive, and as he rode away, Joshua thought it was going to be the last time he saw his brother. 

He had never felt so helpless. 

But Joshua wasn’t good at riding chocobos, he wasn’t like Clive. He didn’t get very far before he was surrounded by the Northmen. Surrounded by Lord Silvermane and his men. 

He was a tall, intimidating man. Eyes silver and piercing. Hair tied behind his back in a simple ribbon that was streaked with blood. His men had their swords raised, ready to strike the final blow to Joshua, to Rosaria. 

And then the world erupted in flames. 

To this day, they couldn't figure out just how Clive had been blessed to possess Ifrit. How there could be two Eikons of fire. But one does not question a blessing, even one as destructive as Ifrit. 

Ifrit had laid waste to the Northerners, had decimated their army and had nearly decimated his own men in his rage. 

It was only witnessing the havoc that Ifrtit wrought, the pain in knowing that his brother might be lost within the Eikon forever, that Joshua was able to channel the Phoenix. 

He had to save Clive. 

They had fought, Joshua trying to bring sense back to his brother. They dealt blow after blow, the ground trembling beneath them. He had clawed at Ifrits face, trying to get him to submit, to release his brother, and by the end of the night, Phoenix Gate was in shambles. Clive had been freed, but now left with a scar that he would carry for the rest of his life. 

Clive had been inconsolable. To know that he had nearly killed Joshua, that he had destroyed what had been a fortress of sanctity, that he had almost killed his own men. And since then, he had struggled to channel Ifrit, afraid of the devastation that he could bring.  

Joshua only felt guilt. If he had been able to step up sooner, to do his duty, then Clive wouldn’t have had to carry all these burdens. Wouldn’t have these nightmares plaguing him, wouldn’t have this scar upon his face. Perhaps things could have been different. 

And yet, here he was once more, ordered to be on the sidelines while everyone else fought on the battlefield. 

White flakes began to fill his vision and Joshua looked up, eyes scanning the horizon. 

In the sky an ice crystal had begun to form. 

As Joshua began to take to the skies, he swore that he would not fail his brother again.

Chapter Text

Jill always felt out of her body when she became Shiva. Almost as if she were floating just watching things happen. Perhaps it was because Shiva had control over her or perhaps she just couldn't bring herself to acknowledge the full weight of what she was doing. 

It was easier to pretend that it was another who swung the sword, another who took all those lives. At least that was what she whispered to herself in the bitterness of the night, when she was alone, her mind forcing her to relive every moment. 

She had arrived a few hours after the main troops had started their onslaught and from what she could tell, it was a stalemate. Despite her people having the element of surprise, the Rosarians had always been a bit more organized, a bit more regimented. 

She scanned the battlefield, watching red clash with blue. She couldn’t make anyone out in the mess of bodies but part of her foolishly hoped that the Rosarian she had met was far away from this. That he was safe. 

She didn’t want to hurt him, she had never wanted to hurt anyone. 

How many battles had she fought now? How many lives had ended before their time because they dared lift a sword against her, against her father? 

She could still hear the deafening sound of her first victim hitting the ground, the accusing eyes that stared at her, forever frozen in time. 

She had run away then, horrified at what she had done, horrified at what she had become. But this was the price of war. This was the price one must pay to serve their country. 

How many eyes would she close today? How many on the battlefield would be forever frozen in time because of her? 

There would be no more running, no more hiding. Not for them and not for her. 

As she primed, she heard her Father calling out to the troops to withdraw. Shiva was to take to the field, and if things went the way they had planned, there would be nothing left behind.   

Some part of her hoped that there would be nothing left of her after this battle. 

The sky began to darken as she called upon her powers. The wind picked up and the temperature plummeted. 

A flurry of snow began to materialize in front of her and something that she once considered to be beautiful now left her numb and cold. 

As she descended towards the battlefield she heard a bird’s cry call out from the opposing side. 

The Phoenix had finally risen. 

Let this be the end . 

—-----

Something wasn’t right Clive thought, as he saw the Northmen begin to fall back. It was snowing, their Eikon was here, why retreat now? 

Just what were they planning? 

He could see his father, still mounted on his steed, still protected, look around in confusion as well. 

Something was wrong. 

And then he saw her. 

Shiva, in all her crystallized glory, was floating above them. And above her, was the eye of the storm. The clouds continued to gather, the air around became more frigid and soon mountains of ice began falling from the sky.

She meant to destroy everything and everyone on the battlefield. There would be no survivors. 

His father sounded the retreat, there would be no way to take on an Eikon in the open battlefield. But there was nowhere to run.

They would all be crushed here.

But then he heard it. The cry of the Phoenix and Clive could only watch in horror from the ground as his brother soared above the skies to confront Shiva. 

That had not been part of the plan. Joshua was to stay safely away from the battlefield. He wasn’t ready to take on Shiva. 

And soon, that truth became apparent to everyone who watched. 

Despite having wings, Joshua did not have the dexterity that Shiva did. He dove at her, trying to grab at her with his claws but she dodged him effortlessly. She didn’t need wings to maneuver in the sky, she didn’t need to double back around like Joshua did. For her the sky was an extension of the ground, an extension of herself. 

And everytime Joshua propelled his fire at her, a simple wave of her hand would disintegrate those flames into small sparks that flickered out as they fell to the ground. She had clearly learned from her previous fight with him. 

It was almost as though she were toying with him, waiting to see what he would do before dealing the final blow.

Clive gritted his teeth. He tried to focus on Ifrit, on that raging fire he felt those many years ago. But it was for naught, had always been for naught. Ifrit did not listen to him, did not obey him like the Phoenix did Joshua. 

But then he saw Joshua, in an act of desperation, hurl his whole being at Shiva. Hoping that by giving his all, he may be able to injure her, to push her back so that his people had a chance. 

But she simply stared at him, uninterested, unmoving. Until the last moment where she easily side stepped his claws and appeared behind him. The Phoenix attempted to turn around quickly, to counter her, but she had wrapped her hands around his neck in a strangling grip and was now forcing him towards the ground. 

She was going to kill Joshua. 

—-------- 

She was fast, Joshua had to give her that. Or was it that he was slow? 

She had this ability to dodge his every move so effortlessly as if she were a dancer and he the bumbling fool. 

He had attempted to hurt her, to burn her once more. But whatever weakness she held in the past, whatever hesitation or reservation she held, was now long gone. None of his flames even touched her. 

There was something about her eyes. There was no fight in them, no anger, no determination. 

They reminded him of his mother’s eyes everytime she stared at the Archduke. Emotionless, unfeeling, uninterested.  As if all of this were beneath her and she was only here because it was the proper thing to do. Because it was what she had been taught she needed to do. 

Did Shiva even want to fight? 

He had gotten better, slightly better, at minding his openings, at being quicker to avoid taking damage up close. He had asked Clive to help him, to work on his stance, on his footwork, so that he would be better the next he faced Shiva. There had been some improvement, but clearly it wasn’t enough. 

And yet, everytime he did get close to her, every time there was an opening, she could have stuck him down but did not. 

Her ice was starting to cover the field, and his men, Clive, his father, were all still down there depending on him to protect them. If they lost their camp now, they would be forced back to Rosaria and the Northmen could invade them once more. 

This was their final line of defense, and he would do his duty. 

He flung his body at her, hoping that by doing so the speed at which he would come at her would be enough to tackle her to the ground. 

But it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough. 

She had easily dodged, and was it a look of disappointment that she had on her face? She had swung around him, and before he could even get a chance to turn around to face her, her hand was at his neck and she was forcing him down. 

Her hand was cold but her grip was light. She wasn’t hurting him. It reminded him of the small hounds that Lord Murdoch used to have around his estate at Eastpool. How when they got too unruly, too wild, their mother would knock them onto their backs, to get them to submit, to teach them before they could hurt themselves in their lack of coordination.  

There was no force in her grip, no malice in her eyes. And even as he hit the ground, there was little to no pain, almost as if she had softened the blow for him mid fall. 

Just what was she playing at? 

The snow and ice erupted around them when they fell, hiding the two of them from the view of both armies. 

This close to her face he finally saw the sadness, the resignation in her eyes. And he knew.

She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to fight. 

LIke him, she must have been pulled into a war that she had no say in. Fighting at the behest of their betters, not knowing any way out, not knowing anything better. 

HIs heart ached for her, for them. Maybe someday, in another life, perhaps even in this one, he thought optimistically, they could have been friends. They could have understood one another. 

He watched her straighten out and stare at him, unmoving. He knew she was debating what to do next. It wouldn't do for her to spare him, not when she had him on his back. She would be labeled a traitor. 

And yet, she continued to hesitate. 

She didn’t want to hurt him. 

But then the battlefield around them erupted in flames, like that night at Phoenix Gate. Ifrit rushed towards them, his battle cry shaking the foundations of the mountain. 

All of this was wrong. 

He saw Shiva look towards Ifrit’s menacing form, taking in his claws, his horns, his teeth, before she closed her eyes and let her hands fall loosely to her sides. 

She was going to let Ifrit kill her and Joshua felt his heart break. 

—------

When Joshua hit the ground, when the world was covered in a flurry of ice and snow, Clive felt his heart stop. 

He couldn't see his brother. Couldn’t tell if Shiva was hurting him. Couldn’t tell if Joshua was even still alive. His brother, who was the best part of him, the best part of his life, could be dying and all he could do was stand by. 

What was the purpose of his life, if not to defend his brother? He had become his sworn shield, had been given the blessing of the Phoenix, and now had the might of Ifrit inside him and all he could do was stand idly by. 

What was the purpose of the strength he had been given if he couldn't use it to protect that which mattered? 

He had been terrified of Ifrit after the Night of Flames. Terrified of his inability to control him.

He could still remember how he became Ifrit out of desperation to protect Joshua. How he laid waste to the Northern army. 

But Ifrit wasn’t satisfied, Ifrit wanted more, and Clive was helpless to stop him. 

He remembered how he attacked the Phoenix. It was as if he had been forced out of his body, forced to watch as Ifrit assaulted the Phoenix, unwilling to listen to reason, to listen to his commands. 

He had nearly killed his brother and since then he had been terrified of history repeating itself. 

Everytime he looked in the mirror, he saw that scar on his face. That disfiguration. A permanent reminder of the monster that he had become that cursed night, of the monster he could still become. It was no more than he deserved. 

It had spurred him on to train harder, to become better. In hopes that if he had mastery over his own body that perhaps one day he would have mastery over Ifrit. 

But no matter how much he accomplished, no matter how far he had come, that fear remained. 

But what did his fear matter? What did it matter if he became a monster if it was for the sake of protecting his brother? 

What did anything matter if his brother was dead? 

Clive sheathed his sword and began advancing with purpose towards the center of the chaos, ignoring the frightened calls of his men, of his father,  as they tried to stop him from walking towards what would likely be his death. 

He would be willing to become a monster, to let the fires of Ifrit burn away the man he had worked so hard to become if it meant that he could save Joshua, if he could protect what mattered, if he could do his duty. 

He could hear the creak in his leather gloves as his fists clenched, his hands now burning hot with the fires of Ifrit. He could feel the weight of his footsteps become heavier as he began to transform. He could see the ice and snow evaporate around him as he burned hotter with every passing moment. 

He would be willing to do whatever it took if he could save his brother, monster or not. 

His fear did not matter. 

He was a shield of Rosaria, and he would do his duty. 

And then the world exploded and he emerged as Ifrit. 

He charged into the fray, fully in control of his body, desperate to save his brother. 

He did not understand what he was seeing when he broke through the snow. Didn’t understand why Shiva was standing so still. He only knew that he was so relieved to see that the Phoenix still breathed. 

He launched himself at Shiva, tackling her to the ground before she could mount any defense. He knocked her into the mountain side before grabbing her by the hair and throwing her back across the field, her body hitting the ground a few times before finally sliding to a stop. 

He chased after her quickly, not wanting to let her gather herself. He bit her arm and clawed at her legs, hearing a hiss of pain escape her lips. Some part of him thought that hiss sounded familiar, like a ghost from a distant memory. He wanted to place it but forced that urge down.

There was an Eikon that needed to be dealt with.

He shoved her head against the ground, her arms laying still at her side making no attempt to defend herself. She stared blankly off into the distance, she had no fight left in her. 

He heard Joshua cry out to him, he was back in his human form. He was vulnerable. 

He grabbed at Shiva once more, her figure now limp in his hands and threw her off the mountainside. He should have killed her, he should have ripped her head off. But he feared that in the process she would explode into a thousand shards of ice and that Joshua would be wounded in the process. 

He hoped that the fall from the mountain would finish her for him. 

He turned his eyes towards the Northmen, some in shock at the sight of their Eikon being bested, some starting to flee. 

He would deal with them soon enough. 

He changed back, feeling the flames lick at his skin, before rushing towards Joshua who was now surrounded by his father and a garrison of men. 

They raced to bring him back to camp, both sides silently agreeing to retreat for now. 

—------- 

Clive sat next to his brother’s cot watching him breathe. A sense of relief in knowing that his brother was still alive. 

It was fear, he thinks, that prevented him from controlling Ifrit. Fear of losing control, fear of Ifrit, fear of what he would become. And only when he overcame that fear, when he accepted Ifrit for the gift that he was, was he able to bring him into the fray. 

Joshua had been tearful after the fight, saying nonsensical things, babbling about whether or not Shiva was still alive, how they should find her, how they should send a look out party for her. 

He had reassured Joshua that even if she still lived, she wouldn’t live for long. That he would hunt her down, find her dominant, and end her and thus ending the nightmare that clearly plagued Joshua. 

But that only seemed to cause him more distress. 

In the end, the physikier had to give him medicine to calm him down. He had never seen his brother so upset before. 

That had been a week ago. 

His men had recuperated. Their spies had not seen any sight of Shiva or the Northern army as of late. They were likely hiding, biding their time, figuring out their next move now that their dominant that they had relied so heavily on was out of the picture. 

His father’s council had also reformed, now figuring out how to put an end to this war once and for all. 

He hadn’t had time to think about anything else other than Joshua but now that things were finally starting to calm down, now that he could breathe easy knowing that his brother was out of harm's way, he felt his mind begin to wander. 

And they wandered right back to her. 

To that woman in the forest, her silver hair, her curious gray eyes. 

He hadn’t seen her in what felt like months. Not since their camp had moved. It was strange that someone he had only seen a handful of times could have such a hold over him. 

He wanted to know more about her. He wanted to know her name. He wanted to know if she was safe. He wanted her to be safe. 

And if his mind wandered in the late nights, indulging him in the want of her being next to him, of her laughing with him, of her hand in his, her hair on his pillow as she lay next to him ...well he just chalked that up to exhaustion. 

When he transformed back from Ifrit to jettison his brother to safety his main priority was to protect his brother, to get him off the field. But part of him also knew that he had done it for her.

He could have gone after the army as Ifrit, he could have decimated them like he had back at Phoenix Gate. But he feared that she was there with them. That she was one of the footsoldiers staring up at him in fear. 

He didn’t know if he could live with himself if he had hurt her, if he had killed her. 

Maybe it was best for him if he never saw her again. Never knew of what happened. They were on opposing sides of the battlefield and such stories always ended in tragedy. 

He took one last look at Joshua before he walked out the tent, needing some fresh air. 

And as he walked through the camp, a flash of silver caught his eye and he turned quickly, his heart racing. 

Was it her? 

—---------

The frost wolf stared at him, unmoving. 

A part of him was glad to see that the wolf was still around but another part of him, a much larger part of him, was disappointed. He missed her more than he was willing to admit.

But something was wrong. The wolf let out a low whine and he could see  blood on its fur.

Was it hurt? 

He looked around, none of his men were in sight. He slowly walked towards the wolf. 

It took off running and Clive stopped, maybe he had spooked it. But then the wolf came back to him, staring at him intently before running off again. 

Clive got the message, the wolf wanted him to follow. 

The sun was setting, and the wolf was setting quite the pace. He could barely keep up. 

He thought about turning back a few times, he had left camp at least an hour ago and he had no idea how much further he had to go. But every time he stopped, everytime he wanted to turn around the wolf would stop and stare. It had once even come up behind him and nudged him forward, impatient for them to continue moving. 

He was at the bottom of the cliffside now, his camp at least a two hour hike away. He hoped he wasn’t being led into an ambush. 

The wolf let out a distressed bark up ahead and then dashed off. He sprinted up the small hill to see where he had gone. 

And there, half propped up against the tree, was the woman with silver hair. 

Chapter Text

Jill was in a world of hurt, which was unfortunate. She had hoped that she would be dead by now but it would be too kind for Ifrit to have finished what he started. 

The Phoenix had been underwhelming, like he was the first time around. He had improved somewhat, but was still nowhere near ready to face off against anyone. He was still a child. 

But Ifrit, the way he rushed at her, the way he held no hesitation in his assault on her body, he was clearly a warrior. He had killed before. He had wanted to kill her. Something about him felt familiar, something about the confidence in which he carried himself as he launched towards her, but she couldn’t put the pieces together, not right now. 

Wouldn’t it be ironic if that Rosarian she met had been Ifrit. That the man who had sought to heal her was also the one who had thrown her off the mountain side to her death. 

But what did it matter if they were the same person? She wouldn’t hold it against him. He was merely doing his duty, protecting his prince, protecting his people. It wasn’t his fault that she had no interest in doing her duty anymore. The only thing she could fault him for was not finishing the job. 

She didn’t know how long she had laid at the bottom of the mountain side. Her people probably thought that she was dead and maybe that was for the best. 

She hadn’t been found by any search party and maybe she never would. She was too close to the Rosarian base camp for anyone to venture out to find her anyways. Not with the Phoenix and Ifriti still about. 

It was Torgal who found her, always Torgal. 

He had dragged her to this spot in the middle of the woods, brought her berries and nuts.

It wasn't the first time that they had done this. Before when she had been injured and left for dead, Torgal would bring her rabbits, deer. Except she couldn't eat them. She couldn't eat raw meat like he could. 

But Torgal was smart, he learned, and adapted. And if it weren't for him, she would have perished many moons ago. 

Her wounds were getting worse though. She wouldn’t last much longer on her own. She normally didn’t mind the cold but she felt herself shivering. That was how she knew that she wouldn't recover on her own.

Not this time. 

Torgal, sensing this, ran off in the morning and she hadn’t seen him since. Maybe he had run off to get help. Maybe he had decided to leave her to die on her own. 

She had gone in and out of consciousness, a fever starting to make her delirious. She wondered if her father would miss her. If he would mourn her. Would he be angry that she did not deliver him all that he wanted? 

Would the Rosarian mourn her? Was he celebrating her death? 

She felt something wet nudge her face. She grimaced trying to push it away. Death shouldn’t feel this wet. 

But the wet came back again and this time was accompanied by a whine. It was Torgal. 

She opened her eyes , staring into his yellow eyes and slowly lifted her hand up to pet him.

He hadn’t abandoned her afterall. 

“Now where did you run off to? Do anything fun boy?” She asked mockingly, before a fit of coughing took over her being. She groaned and clenched her side. She had broken a few ribs. 

She heard leaves rustling, someone running towards her before halting and she looked over at the sound. 

It was him. The man who had haunted her dream. The man who she had prayed to Metia against all odds that he would be alive, that he would be safe. 

Was he here to finally finish the job? 

—----- 

Clive felt his heart seize. 

Not her, not here . 

She was wounded. She was bleeding. Had she been left here to die? 

Without thinking he rushed towards her, assessing her wounds. 

There were deep cuts along her leg, gouges in her left arm that lay limply to her side. It looked like she had been mauled by an animal.  

“Can you stand?” He asked her urgently. He couldn't take care of her here, it was too exposed. The Northmen could find him, his people could find her. They needed to be somewhere safe. 

She let out a dry laugh before groaning again in pain. “No.” She took another breath, her eyes fluttering closed as if every word drained her of her energy. “But if you would like to finish the job, that would be very nice.” 

He ignored her attempt at dark humor. He had to get her help. He silently cursed the fact that he had left camp without any of his supplies. But how was he to know that this was where the wolf was leading him to. 

The wolf in question began whining in earnest now. Nudging at her arm that had slid off of his head and now rested on her lap.

This wolf was hers. 

She gently shushed the wolf. “Torgal calm down. It’s ok.” Her eyes remained closed.

She was certainly not ok, her breathing was becoming more shallow. 

She wasn’t going to make it much longer being exposed to the elements. 

For once in his life, Clive stopped listening to the voices in his head. The voice of reason, the voice of doubt, the voice of sanity, and instead did what he wanted to do, what he felt was right. 

He could not let her die. He would not let her die.

The idea of a world without her was not one he could contend with. For some reason, and it no longer mattered why, she had become precious to him, and he would keep her safe.

He picked her up, one arm around her back and the other under her legs. Her head lolled against his chest. 

“Torgal.” He addressed the wolf, whose eyes snapped to attention. “Take us somewhere safe.” And the three of them went off further into the woods. 

—-----

By the time Clive arrived back at camp, the sun was just starting to peak behind the clouds. He hoped that enough people were still sleeping so that he could slip in and out unannounced. 

He felt like a fugitive in his own war camp, and perhaps he was. A criminal trying to save the enemy. 

Just what was he doing? 

But none of that mattered. He didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was her, the woman with the silver hair, who with every second that passed by, was slipping closer to death. 

He ran into the medical tent, relieved to find no one was there and began to gather supplies. 

He needed cloths, medicine, poultices, and salves. He needed to save her. 

So frantic in his supply gathering he missed the sound of someone else stepping into the tent. 

“Clive?” His father called out to him. 

He turned around quickly.. He hadn’t expected anyone to come in.  

Elwin took one look at his firstborn's face and could see that something was wrong. Clive had always been stoic, not easily rattled. But right now, there was panic clearly all over his face. 

“What is it my son? Is Joshua hurt?” 

The only person that he had ever seen Clive fret this much over had been Joshua. It was heartwarming when they were young to see how doting Clive had been. But as they grew older, that doting became intertwined with duty and as proud as Elwin was that Clive sought to serve his brother, his country with such vigor, it pained him to know that Clive had given up all other aspects of his life for duty and country. 

Clive shook his head. “Joshua is fine.” At least he had been when he had left his side last night. 

Elwin looked at the myriad of healing supplies that Clive had stuffed into his satchel. “If Joshua is fine, then who are those for?” 

He watched Clive look down at his bag, he alway was a terrible liar. He had so many tells, from the twitch in his eye, to the way his hand would clench and unclench, and of course to how he always looked down at the ground while trying to concoct some story. 

“It’s for….a wolf.”

Elwin stared at him silently. That was unexpected. “A wolf….” He repeated back at him. 

Clive ran his hand through his hair. He was running out of time. She was running out of time. It was at least a two hour hike back to where he had left her and if he delayed any longer…. 

He didn't have time for this. 

His father saw the look of distress, the look of desperation cross Clive’s face and he understood. 

He may not know what or who this wolf was, but whatever the case, this was of importance to Clive. And he would trust Clive with his life. 

“Let's make sure we get enough supplies then.” And he began to help his son. 

—------- 

The next time Jill opened her eyes, she found herself staring up at rocks. She slowly took in her surroundings and came to the conclusion that she was in a cave. How did she get here? 

She had a dream that she saw that man again. The man with the dark hair, with the scar, with the blue eyes that she wanted to stare into forever. 

How desperate she must be to desire to see him in what was likely her last moments. 

She should feel guilty for thinking so much about a man from the opposing side. But there was something fascinating about him, something intriguing. Something that made him feel like ...home. 

“You’re awake.” A voice said from her side, and she turned. 

He wasn’t a dream and she said as much unintentionally. His face flushed, almost as though he was embarrassed. How charming. 

Torgal was curled up next to him looking quite content in his position. 

“I see you’ve met Torgal.” She commented, the frost wolf was usually not so friendly with strangers. Whatever this Rosarian had done had clearly won him over. 

The Rosarian scratched behind Torgals ears. “He took all my jerky one day and then brought me a stag in recompense. We’ve been friends ever since.” 

She scoffed, it figures that it would have been food that bonded the two of them. 

That was when she noticed that her ribs didn’t hurt quite as much, that her arm was not throbbing like it had been before. She looked down, she was covered in swathing. There were ointment jars littering the cave. 

“You saved me.” She said in awe and confusion. “Why?” 

He looked away for a moment before looking back up at her. “It didn’t seem right to let you die out there on your own.” 

She slowly sat up, feeling too vulnerable, too confused, to lay on the ground anymore. She swallowed a few times, trying to ride out the wave of gratitude, of emotion, that she suddenly had for this man. This man who’s name she didn’t even know. 

“You saved me and I don’t even know your name.” 

She watched him look down, a flash of something crossed his face, too quickly for her to discern what it meant. 

“Wyvern.” He said at last. “ My name is Wyvern.” 

She nodded. “Thank you, Wyvern. For saving me. And for taking care of Torgal.” She paused, debating her next move before finally deciding to give in. “My name is Jill.” 

She tried to sit up more, her back aching from laying down for so long. He came over to her side, placing a hand on her back to assist her. 

He lifted his water bladder to her lips and she was only too grateful for the water. 

But she was still weak, still wounded, and the effort it took to sit up had been too much. She sagged against him, her hand clenching the front of his tunic in a desperate bid to stay upright. 

He sat down, adjusting to her weight, understanding her desire. 

“Are all Rosarian’s this warm or is it just you Wyvern?” She had no filter to her thoughts anymore. He was a furnace. It was pleasant. 

She felt his chest rumble as he laughed, was it relief she heard in his voice? “I think you’re just cold Jill.”

Her name sounded nice on his tongue. She wanted him to say it more often. 

She shook her head, unintentionally rubbing her face against his chest, against the muscles that adorned his body. “I’m not cold.” She was slurring her words now, exhaustion taking hold. “I am the cold.” 

He chucked, clearly not taking her words seriously. “Go back to sleep Jill. I’ll take care of you, I promise.” 

It was the first of many promises that he would keep to her. 

—------

Her wounds had been extensive, it was surprising that she had lasted for as long as she did. Whoever or whatever did this to her had not held back.

He grimaced as he gently washed out the gouges in her arms. He had never known the shields to have hurt anyone this way. It was odd. 

There was something tugging at him in the corner of his mind. Something just on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t quite figure it out. 

He was grateful that his father hadn’t asked too many questions and had given him leave for the next few days. He didn’t know how he would have explained it. Maybe his father had bought the story about a wolf, but he doubted it. 

The Archduke was no fool. 

He knew at some point he would owe his father an explanation. A reason for why he had betrayed his people for this foreigner, but he hoped that day lay further yet in the future. He hoped he wouldn’t live to regret the consequences of this decision. 

She looked so peaceful as she slept. He could see the circles under her eyes, some old scars on her legs, her hands. He saw the faint marks from where she had been burned by the Phoenix a few months ago. 

She had such beautiful skin, such a fair complexion. He had touched her hair when she had all but pillowed herself on his chest. It had been soft like he had expected and if she had given him permission, he would have buried his hands in her hair, maybe his face too. 

He wondered if her children would have silver hair or if their hair would be silver by the mere chance that her future partner would also have silver hair. There seemed to be plenty of silver haired people in the North. 

Some part of him, the same part that didn't like seeing her hurt, the same part that had driven him to save her, didn’t like the idea of her being with someone with silver hair. That part of him  wanted that person to be him. 

  He let out a frustrated sigh. He was pining over a woman he knew nothing about. A woman who by all rights should be regarded as the enemy. It was unbecoming of him. 

Perhaps his father and Lord Murdoch were right. He had poured so much of himself into the war effort that he never took time to think about what his needs were. What the needs of any man were. 

He had been to brothels, not as many as others, but he had. Seeking release, seeking some way to cope with the adrenaline and the horrors of the field. But that had been years ago. When he was young and confused, desperate to seek solace in something. 

The experiences had been pleasant, he supposed, but they wouldn't help now. What he desired from this woman was more than a roll in the sheets. He wanted to touch her, yes, but he wanted more from her. He wanted everything from her. 

She never looked at him with disdain, only curiosity. He never felt threatened under her gaze, never felt like he was lesser than. He felt safe when she looked at him, like she saw all of him and only wanted more. She felt like home, and he never wanted her to look away. 

And now with her head resting on his chest, he never wanted to leave her. 

What he would give to stay like this forever. 

He had been taken aback when she asked for his name. It was tempting to tell her his true name, to tell her everything. But those voices that he had ignored were back. And they were filled with warnings. 

He still knew nothing about her. She could be dangerous. It was one thing to not let her die, it was another to give any information that may betray his country. 

His name was infamous amongst the Northmen. It wouldn’t take long for her to piece together that the Clive from the woods, the Clive from the cave, was Clive Rosfield. The man who had been leading the war effort against her people. 

He didn’t know how the name Wyvern popped into his mind or why but it was too late to take it back now. 

Jill was a beautiful name though. And the way she said it, he knew that she was telling no lies. That only served to make him feel worse. 

He never did like lying. 

—------------

She woke up to her pillow moving up and down rhythmically. She didn’t want to be awake, she wanted to stay cocooned in the warmth surrounding her. 

She adjusted her limbs, trying to burrow further into the warmth before she came to the realization that the warmth was actually a person. 

She slowly opened her eyes. She was still upright, pressed against Wyvern’s chest, his cloak now adorning her shoulders. He had scooted them towards one of the walls in the caves, him resting against the wall and her resting against him. 

His hands were awkwardly pressed against the cave floor, almost as if he were afraid to touch her.

It was a rather compromising position she supposed. And if the stories about how ruled by decorum and modesty the Rosarians were had any truth to them, this would probably cause quite the scandal. 

She slowly righted herself, a bit embarrassed by how easily she had fallen asleep in the arms of the enemy. 

He was awake, a slight blush adorning his cheeks as he coughed awkwardly and slowly scooted away from her. Giving her some space. She missed his warmth already. 

“I trust you slept well?” He asked, a teasing tilt to his voice. 

Now it was her time to blush. She had slept well, very well. 

It was nice to see that he was letting his guard down around her finally . He had crashed through all her defenses since the first day she met him. There was nothing she wouldn’t tell him, nothing that she wouldn’t do for him. 

But he had remained stoic. The perfect soldier, the perfect man. But now, maybe, just maybe, they could be more than enemies, more than strangers. 

How she wanted to be something more to him. 

She gently pushed her hair back, wanting it out of her face and hissed as her muscles pulled against her newly closed wounds. 

She saw him stiffen, realization flooding his eyes, before abruptly standing. His posture now closed and guarded. Torgal lifted his head, unsure of why there was a sudden change in the atmosphere in the cave. 

All it took was one look at his shocked, horrified expression and she knew. 

He had figured out what she was. 

Chapter Text

He had draped his cloak on her shoulders not long after she passed out on his chest. Her wounds were still healing, some were still infected, she needed all the heat she could get. 

It has been hard to keep his hands to himself. They itched to touch her, to brush the hair out of her face, and it was all he could do to push them against the cave floors to keep them still. He would not take advantage of her. He would not touch her unless she gave him explicit permission to. 

He didn’t know what to make about her comment of ‘being the cold’ other than the nonsensical babbling of a delirious person. The North was cold, maybe the Northerners felt like it was their birthright. Rosarians definitely took the metaphor of a burning fire to heart. 

It would explain why their Eikon was one of ice, and his was one of fire. 

Could fire and ice ever truly get along? Joshua certainly seemed to believe so. His brother was always the dreamer, always the one willing to look for the good in everyone. But sometimes, people were just terrible. Sometimes they could be selfish, greedy, uncaring, and cruel without any redeeming qualities. Sometimes they could smile to your face while planning to stab a knife in your back. It was always best to be vigilant. 

Clive had learned that the hard way both from his dismal life at court and out on the battlefield  and since then he always sought to protect his brother from that truth. Joshua deserved better. 

But the woman in his arms was not cruel. She was kind, she gave freely to him without asking for anything in return. She had many redeeming qualities, he was sure of it. Not that she needed them. 

Maybe his brother was onto something after all. 

She slept soundly on his chest, making no noise, making no movement. She must still be so exhausted.

He longed to give her a safe haven to rest, a place for her to recover. 

He wanted to take her back to camp with him. Maybe he could convince his father to give her diplomatic immunity. Maybe he could hide her in his tent. At least that way he wouldn't have to be parted from her again. 

He promised that he would take care of her and he meant it. He had cleaned and wrapped her wounds as best as he knew how. He had watched over her while she slept. He had made sure she stayed hydrated and gave her what rations he had. He would stay with her until she was strong enough to venture back out on her own.

And If she chose to come back with him he would make sure that she was well fed, that she never went hungry. He would ensure that she had a safe, warm bed to sleep in and was never left wanting for anything. He would stay with her every night, would wake with her every morning if she allowed it. He would even take her back to Rosalith after the war if she let him. 

If she wanted him. 

Perhaps this was all premature. He didn’t even know if she felt the same way about him and maybe it would take time to build that bond and trust that he craved, but he could be patient. He would be patient if it was for her. 

It was charming to see the way she flushed when he asked her how she slept. It gave him hope that perhaps she shared his sentiments. That he did mean something to her.

He was about to ask her to come with him, to be with him, but then she hissed when she went to touch her hair and he froze. 

He had heard that sound before. He had heard it from Shiva when he injured her. He had heard it from Jill when she dipped her burned hands in the water. 

Suddenly the wounds on her body made much more sense. They were the work of a rabid animal. Those were his claw marks on her legs, his teeth on her arm. When Joshua had burned Shiva, he had burned Jill. 

She was the cold and she had been on death’s door because of him. She had told him so many times who she was, he was only too blind to see it. 

He stood, suddenly so unsure of everything. The person he had been pining for, had been dreaming of every night, had wanted to bring back home with him, was Shiva’s dominant. 

The person that he had hurt and almost killed was Jill. 

She looked over at him as he stood and that look of hesitant vulnerability, of curiosity became a look of resignation and sadness. 

And that was all the confirmation that he needed.

—-----------

He looked terrified, the warm look in his eyes now one of horror. 

It seemed just, that the one person who had treated her like a person, like someone worth caring for, would be horrified when they learned that she wasn’t truly human at all. 

It made sense. But it hurt nonetheless. 

She lowered her eyes back to the ground, that look on his face cutting through her being, wounding her more than Ifrit ever could.  

He saved her life. He had taken care of her the past few days. She wondered if he regretted doing so now. 

“If you still want to end this, I’m all yours.” She echoed back what she had told him all those moons ago. 

And it was true, despite only knowing his name, despite knowing nothing else about him, she was all his if he wanted her. 

She didn’t see his look of uncertainty, didn’t see the way he stared down at his hands as if he wanted to tear them off. She only heard him stumble out of the cave before he took off running. 

She closed her eyes bitterly, feeling the sting of tears as they made their way down her face. She tried her best to steady her breathing, to quiet her sobs. 

She failed. 

—-----

Her father’s search party eventually found her, laying in the middle of the forest. 

She didn’t know how long she had wandered or even where she had wandered to. Only that she couldn't stay in that suffocating cave for a moment longer. 

She couldn’t stay there without him.

She had left his cloak behind, she didn’t deserve to have anything from him, she didn’t deserve his kindness. 

Some of her wounds had reopened as a result of her actions, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything anymore. 

She had been rushed back to camp and tended to by a multitude of healers. In her exhausted state she thought she heard her father’s voice. 

She thought she heard him pray to Metia, begging her in her infinite power to not let his daughter die. That even if Shiva never took to the battlefield again, to let his daughter be spared. 

She may have said something to her father in her delirium, she wasn’t sure. 

She must have imagined it though. Because when she finally awoke days later, when she finally opened her eyes, her father was nowhere in sight. 

—----------

Clive had not said much the past few days. Joshua was getting worried. 

Clive had a tendency to keep things close to the chest, to keep things from him in some misguided attempt to spare him further burdens, despite Clive always carrying the majority of the weight. 

But something was bothering him, something was eating away at him. 

He saw him staring out into the woods more often than not, almost as if wanting to go out into them before a look of anger and disgust would cross his face and he would march back towards the camp, hands clenched.

Something or someone was out there. But who? 

He had tried to prod at him, to try to figure out anything, a clue. But he was tight lipped and when he pushed too far, Clive would just leave. 

It reminded him of when they were younger and back at court. Joshua knew that he received preferential treatment from their mother, from the other Lords and Ladies, from everyone really. A perk of being blessed with the phoenix. And despite everything that Clive had done, he saw how that preferential treatment did not extend to him. He saw what people said to Clive’s face and what they said and did behind his back. He saw the way people mistreated Clive. 

Clive never spoke to him about this, preferring to suffer in silence, not wanting to cloud Joshua’s view of the world, of the people he associated with, for his sake. 

It frustrated Joshua to no end. He wanted to be able to support his brother, like he had for him all this time. He didn’t want Clive to suffer alone, or suffer at all. But there was only so much Joshua could do to protect Clive against their mother and her slanders. He was still a boy at that time, and there was only so much influence he could have over the other Lords and Ladies. And so, Clive continued to suffer. 

But Clive had gotten better with time at steeling himself against cruel remarks. He had gotten better at letting things go without internalizing them into some innate failing of his own. He hadn’t been bothered by something so much that he had needed to retreat into the silence like this for a long time. 

Whatever was on Clive’s mind must have weighed heavily on him. If only he would confide in someone. 

Finally, one night, Clive came into his tent and just stood there. 

Joshua turned around from his writing desk. It was late, why was he here? 

He still had that troubled look in his eye but there was also determination. Something that had been missing as of late. 

“You once said that Shiva didn’t want to fight. That her heart wasn’t in it. What did you mean?” The words spilled out of him, as if he had been holding onto that thought for a while. 

Just what had happened in the past few weeks? Everyone had always been so quick to dismiss his ideas that Shiva might not be the monster they all thought she was, even Clive. It was easier, he thinks, for them to believe that the enemy was a monster even if it was a lie. 

But now Clive was here, asking for more information, and Joshua was so relieved that someone might finally listen to him and take him seriously. 

In his eagerness to share, he told Clive how Shiva could have hurt him many times but refrained from doing so. That during the Battle of the Three Eikons she never sought to harm him and how even as they crashed to the ground, her grip held no strength. 

He even told Clive how when she saw him rushing towards her as Ifrit, she had lowered her hands and closed her eyes. She had never intended to fight him and likely had wanted him to kill her. 

Who was her dominant? Why didn’t she want to fight anymore? What was her name? Did she even feel pain or did her power of ice numb her to everything else? What would she be like in person? Was she frigid like her eikon, was she a stoic foot soldier, or was she something else entirely? 

He asked those questions in rapid succession, so elated to be able to share. He turned back to Clive, hoping to get his thoughts on the matter. Clive had always been the more analytical one. If anyone were to piece together this mystery of Shiva’s Dominant, it would be him. 

But Josha had been so caught up in sharing that he had missed how still Clive had gotten, how quiet he had become, how his face had become ashen. He had expected some disbelief from his brother, some further clarification questions. His story sounded crazy even to his ears. But he didn’t expect to see his brother look so devastated.  

He didn’t expect him to start crying. 

He went up to his brother, pulling him into an embrace. He was confused why this conversation about Shiva brought on such emotion. 

But then he remembered that his brother had disappeared for a few days, his father had given him leave but never said for what. And when he came back, he had a haunted look in his eye and had closed himself off from the world.

Is this what had been bothering him? Had he found Shiva’s dominant? Had he killed her? 

“Did you find her? Is she dead?” He whispered, afraid to hear the answer. 

Clive only shook harder. 

—--------- 

Jill paced her tent restlessly. Her father had gone out onto the battlefield without her. She had healed too slowly for the war campaign it seemed. 

She had never known the war party to be so restless, to be willing to commit their forces without her backing. They had rarely ever done that before. 

Although perhaps this was for the best. She had yet to come to terms with what had been said to her in her delirium but the healers had confirmed her suspicions. Her father had not left her side for the better part of the week. He had brought her water, had washed the grime off her body, had changed her bandages. 

For days, she had single handedly brought a halt to their war effort, her father unwilling to talk about anything other than her welfare. The other chieftains had been upset, they needed to plan and plan soon, but Lord Silvermane would hear none of it and they eventually relented. 

It was touching in a way to know that deep down he still cared for her.

Touching and confusing. 

It was hard to reconcile the two conflicting images she had of her father. The cold, logical, fearless, war hero who would not hesitate to throw his own daughter onto the battlefield with the doting father, who cried and begged the gods to spare his child. 

She didn’t know what to say. 

It was a small blessing in a way, that her father would be so confusing to her. It prevented her from thinking too much about him. It prevented her from thinking too much about the heartbreak she felt knowing that he now knew what she was and had run away. 

She couldn't blame him. She wouldn’t blame it. He was loyal to his country, that much she was certain of. It spoke volumes that he had saved her to begin with. He was probably horrified at the magnitude in which he had betrayed his people. That he had unintentionally saved the dominant of Shiva. That he had saved a monster. 

He probably thought it was a kindness he had bestowed upon her to continue to let her breathe. And perhaps that was his final gift to her, the chance to live. 

She sat down on her cot, frustrated and confused. She looked down at her hands wishing with every part of her being that she could have been born someone else, someone who wasn’t cursed to be a dominant, cursed to fight battle after battle, cursed to be forever alone. She didn’t want to be alone anymore.

A foolish part of her had hoped that maybe Wyvern and her could have had a life together. That they could have had a life away from all the bloodshed. A life that was their own. He had saved her, he had stayed by her side. One wouldn’t do that unless you cared at least a little about someone right? 

But she wasn’t just “someone” now was she. She was a dominant, a monstrosity. And who could ever understand what it was like to feel like a monster was living right under your skin? 

She was brought out her musings by the war horn. The troops were back. 

She ran out of her tent, saw her father riding in with the rest of the chieftains, he didn’t see her as he rode in. 

A page ran up to her excitedly. “We crushed them, commander.” 

She looked at the boy, a few years younger than herself. He looked elated. 

“What do you mean?” She felt fear begin to grip her heart. 

“Lord SIlvermane was so clever. We ambushed a group of the shields and we crushed them.” 

—---------

Clive had not been focused. How could he be? 

After hearing what Joshua had to say, the guilt that had been gnawing away at his core now ripped through him and left him feeling hollow. 

He had heard her cry when he left the cave. He had heard her choked sobs as he ran away. Each sound cut him deep. But he could not turn back. 

He was mortified at what he had done to her. That he had caused her so much harm. He had nearly killed her. She wasn’t safe with him around.  He couldn’t stay around her any longer. 

He had replayed his fight against Shiva over and over in the nights since then. He remembered finding it strange that she hadn’t fought back but at the time, filled with rage and adrenaline, he had simply thought that he had the upper hand. That she was simply no match for him. 

But now, after hearing what Joshua had to say, he knew better. 

She had asked him to kill her the first time they met. He had thought it was done in jest, something to lighten the mood. But then in that cave, when she realized that he knew, when she was at his mercy, she offered him her life yet again. 

It didn’t sit well with him to know how suicidal she truly was. 

She was not the enemy he had painted her out to be. She was not a frigid Eikon hell bent on destroying his home, his family, everything he held dear. She was the woman who taught him how to ease wounds, who had been willing to wound herself to gain his trust, who had been unwilling to kill his brother. 

She was Jill. 

He felt like he knew so much and yet so little about her. She was human, she did feel pain, she wasn’t just a stoic soldier, she was so much more. And perhaps, he could have gotten to know her more had he not fled the cave like the coward he was, unable to face his own mistakes and misgivings. 

He had gone back to find her, hoping to see her, hoping to apologize. Hoping to tell her that he hadn’t run away because she was Shiva’s dominant. That didn’t matter to him. 

He had run away because he couldn't stand to see what he had done to her. He couldn't reconcile within himself the fact that the woman he longed to be with was also the woman whom he had ripped through her flesh without a second thought. He couldn't stand the idea that he had nearly killed her. 

But she was gone. 

He had searched the woods for her, hoping to find any sign that she had survived, but there was nothing to be found. 

He hoped that it was a good thing, that maybe she had been found by her people, that she was safe. But her wounds were still healing and despite his best efforts in the cave, he knew he had only temporized the situation. She needed a physikier. 

He had listened closely to any news about Shiva, to see if she had appeared in any battles, to see if the Northmen had found her. But there was nothing. There was no news. No one knew where she was.  

And so he was distracted every moment of the day. Wondering if he had indeed dealt the final blow to Jill. If he had killed the woman who had spared his brother time and time again despite having no reason to do so. If he had killed the woman who he had dared to dream to spend his life with, who he still wanted to spend his life with if given the chance, if he was still deserving. 

He felt so lost.  

It was no surprise then, when he and his garrison were ambushed that he would be injured. The Northmen had come out of nowhere and the shields had been overwhelmed. 

He had managed to fend off a group of them long enough for some of his fellow shields to sound the alarm, to escape, but the Northmen were angry. They were out for blood. 

He could have called on Ifrit, his Eikon would obey him now if he demanded it. But he could feel that he was at odds with Ifrit and he wasn’t sure what the Eikon would do if set free.

For reasons he could not fully comprehend, his Eikon was disgusted with what had transpired in the cave. He wasn’t sure if Ifrit was upset to find that he hadn’t killed Shiva when he had the chance, or that he had harmed her to begin with and that he had dared to leave her behind when she was still vulnerable. It all left an uncomfortable churning sensation in his gut. 

But it didn’t matter, nothing seemed to matter anymore. 

As a sword pierced through his armor, as his vision began to fade, as he felt himself fall over the edge of a rocky hill, he hoped that in death, he would see her again.

Chapter Text

The sound of chains clinking together filled the air as the shields were marched towards their holding cell in the center of the camp. Jill stood to the side, trying to appear nonchalant as she watched them. They were all battered and bruised, their eyes filled with anger as they glared back at everyone around them.  

They wore armor of black and red. They all had dark hair. Did everyone in Rosaria have dark hair? She scanned their faces again hoping to find him.  

Her father had taken prisoners in hopes that one of them would be of value. But none of them were the Phoenix, that much was clear. 

The shields continued to trudge into the holding area before being forced into a kneeling position but one of them resisted. He pushed back against one of her father’s guards, knocking him to the ground. The shield’s eyes flashed with anger, his teeth snapping.

More of her father’s guards rushed to subdue the man and before she knew it, a full out brawl had broken out between the two groups, the shields doing their best to protect their own, and her father’s men eager to exact their vengeance for their fallen comrades.

Bodies were shoved to the ground, noses were bloodied, curses and slanders were shouted at one another. In the midst of all of this, the guard who had been knocked to the ground reached for his sword, preparing to strike down the unarmed shield who had dared to attack him. 

The shield in question stubbornly stood his ground, ready to meet his end, but the sword never made contact. 

A crackling sound pierced through the air, and the Northerns body was suddenly encased in ice, his sword frozen above his head. The shield immediately backed away and looked around nervously, unsure of where the ice had come from. Her father’s men looked at the frozen guard before slowly turning towards her in muted shock. 

There was nothing but silence now. 

Jill clenched her hands at her side. She knew she wasn’t supposed to interfere. She wasn’t supposed to take their side. But seeing the shields grouped together, seeing their armor, their dark hair, it was hard not to see Wyvern in their place. Hard not to see him there in the crowd desperate to protect his own. 

One of the northern soldiers opened her mouth in protest but with one look, Jill silenced her before she could speak. The shields may not have known who was responsible for the ice, but the Northerners knew. They knew who it was that wielded that devastating power. 

Jill drew herself up to her full height, becoming every inch of the commander that she was. It would not do to be indecisive now.  

“The prisoners are not to be harmed. On my order. Is that understood?” Her voice held no hesitation, leaving no room for disobedience.

The soldiers looked at each other for but a moment before they stood at attention, nodding in confirmation. It would not be wise to disobey an order from a commanding officer, much less an order from the dominant of Shiva.

Jill took one last look at the now frightened shields before nodding at one of her personal lieutenants knowing that he would ensure that her order was carried out.

She turned around sharply, walking away from the scene. Wyvern wasn’t here. 

With a quick flick of her wrist the ice shattered around the frozen guard, releasing him from his icy prison. 

The shields looked on in horror. 

—------

Jill marched into her tent, grabbing her traveling bag.  

Wyvern wasn’t with the prisoners but she knew he was out there. She knew he was wounded. Every fiber of her being pulled at her, desperate to find him before it was too late. 

She grabbed at some poultices, some wrappings, and shoved them into her bag. 

Jill did not know what her father was planning to do with the imprisoned shields and she did not care. The shields would be safe for now. The soldiers would not disobey a direct order from her and neither would her father. 

He may not have held any regard for her as a person or even as his daughter, but he respected her decisions, her commands. He saw her as an extension of Shiva, and it would be reckless to blatantly disobey a god. 

She snapped her fingers at Torgal, the wolf immediately sitting up in attention. 

“We need to find him.” 

Torgal nodded in understanding. 

Wyvern had saved her once, and despite what misgivings he may have about her, she was going to return the favor. She would not let him die.

And if, after the fact, he still wished to be left alone, to no longer be associated with her, then she would honor his wish and disappear from his life forever. 

—------------ 

Everything was heavy and wet. He wasn’t sure if it was from the rain that had relentlessly pelted him or if it was from his own blood at this point. 

He had fallen quite a ways from the ambush point. He had heard the northerners looking for survivors to take back to their camp but clearly they didn’t look hard enough because here he was, still alive, covered in grime, dirt, and founder knows what else. 

He had tried to move, even crawl, but everything hurt and his body would not listen to him. 

He had to save his men, he had to get up, he had to — 

Clive felt himself being hauled out of the marshes. Felt frantic hands search his body for a pulse. Heard someone calling out for Wyvern. Who was Wyvern? 

Why did that voice sound so familiar? 

He forced his eyes open, a momentous task given how heavy his eyelids were. It took him a while to get his bearings, for his eyes to adjust to his surroundings, for him to try to locate where the voice was coming from. They sounded worried. 

But the sheer act of looking around sapped him of what remaining strength he had. As his vision began to blur once more he saw silver and he knew that she had been the one calling out to him. 

She was alive. He hadn’t killed her. 

That knot in his stomach, the tightness in his chest, finally released. For the first time since leaving her behind, he could breathe easy again. He felt so relieved that he could cry, maybe he already was. 

No matter what happened to him, so long as she lived, so long as she still drew breath, he knew everything would be alright. 

It was the last thought he had before darkness overtook him once more. 

—-------

The next time he awoke, it was to her cooling hands touching his wounds. They felt nice. They took away the pain. He saw Jill leaning over him, eyes furrowed in concentration, her hands glowing blue. 

If he were more lucid, he would have been embarrassed to be shirtless around her. But right now, all he could focus on was the fact that she was alive, that she had come for him.  He lifted up his hand to touch her hair, to see if she was real, or if she was just a fever dream conjured up to soothe him through the last moments of his life. 

Her hair felt like silk, just like he remembered it. 

She turned to face him, and he saw the concern in her eyes, the exhaustion in her face. He wanted to sooth that furrow in her brow. 

She gently grasped his hand, his own tightening around her reflexively. He didn’t want to let go.  “Go back to sleep, you need to rest.” She whispered to him, a hand coming up to touch his face, brushing his hair out of his eyes. 

He clutched her hand even more tightly, “Will I see you again?” He felt like a child but he needed to know. 

He couldn’t be lost without her again. 

She caressed his cheek, her eyes filling with affection for him before nodding. “I’ll be here when you wake, I promise. It’s my turn to take care of you.” 

And with that he closed his eyes and allowed himself to fall back into the darkness. 

—-------

She watched as his eyes closed. Felt his hand slowly loosened its grip on hers. 

He had been near death when Torgal had found him. He had a deep gash in his side, bruises and scrapes all over his body. 

It was all she could do to haul him out of the water. He was much larger than her, much heavier. And for a moment she feared that all hope was lost. 

But he still had a pulse, his skin was still warm. He still had a chance, and Jill would be damned if she let that slip away. 

She had called upon her Eikon to give her the ability to carry him away to safety, to give her the strength to save him. 

She couldn’t lose him. 

She stayed by his side for three days while he fought off his fever using what skills she had learned tending to others to keep his infection at bay, to temper his fever. He called out for his father, for Lord Murdoch, for Joshua. She wondered what relation he must have to the Phoenix to call out for him in this condition. 

He even called out for her, many times. 

In his fevered state he apologized over and over. Saying how he never meant to leave her. How he was a coward for doing so. That it didn’t matter to him that she was Shiva’s dominant. That he was so happy to see that she was alive. 

He even ridiculously tried to take the blame for her injuries and it was all she could do to reassure him that everything was alright, that she held no misgivings against him, before he worked himself up too much. He needed to rest, not to expend his energy on apologies that needn’t be said. 

It was still nice to hear his words though, to know that at least somewhere deep down, he didn’t think her truly a monster. Maybe there was hope for her after all. 

She felt a gentle tug on her scalp hair and looked down to see him blearily staring up to her, barely conscious. She gently touched his forehead and ran her hand through his hair a few times, watching his eyes close in response to that soothing touch before falling asleep once more. 

She smiled to herself, gently shaking her head. Everytime he awoke with her close by, his hands would find their way into her hair. 

He would gently tug at it, rub her hair through his fingers as if savoring the sensation, sometimes he would wrap her strands around his hand. He was fascinated with her hair.

It felt nice to feel that tug against her scalp and part of her wanted more. She would let him grab more of her hair if he wanted, would let him pull at it, to guide her where he wanted. But only if he wanted that. 

She scooted back towards the cave wall, watching him breathe from a short distance away, tucking her legs into her chest as she felt her mind begin to wander. 

She knew she was attracted to him. Had known that from the moment she laid eyes on him from across the river. 

She had never been with a man. Being the daughter of Lord Silvermane necessitated certain maidenly expectations. And when she went to war, she learned to fear men. To fear their rage, their hands, their proclivity for destruction. 

But she was capable of destruction too and so was Wyvern if the multitude of scars on his body were any indication. 

Yet, she never felt fearful around him. He made her feel safe. 

In nights past, her mind had wandered off in wanton directions, wanting to indulge herself in the mystery that was Wyvern, wanting to see what it would take for one so tightly wound to unravel in her hands. 

She wondered what it would feel like to have his hands on her skin, what it would be like to be with him. 

She looked up when she heard his breathing shift, becoming more shallow as he started to wake up. She saw him start to sit up and begin looking around the cave.

A flash of panic seemed to cross his features until his eyes settled on her. 

And for the first time, in a very long time, Jill Warrick felt like she was seen. 

—--------

He thought she had left him. That she had been insincere in her promise to be there when he awoke. He felt panic seize him, had he lost her forever? 

But then he saw her, sitting off to the side, staring at him with nothing but patience and curiosity, always curiosity. 

There was no anger, no resentment in her eyes. Despite how he had left her, she did not seem to hold it against him. 

“You saved me.”

She nodded her head, silent. 

“Why?” He rasped out, his heart hoping against all odds that perhaps she felt the same way about him that he felt for her. That this wasn’t just her returning the favor before she disappeared from him forever. 

A small smile flitted across her face, “I think Torgal would miss you too much if you died. He seems to be quite fond of you.” 

At that he let out a small laugh. Torgal lifted his head and trotted over to him before flopping onto his side, exposing his belly. 

“Thank you Torgal.” He rubbed at his belly, Torgal’s tongue lolling out happily. “What a fine hound you are.” 

They were silent for a while, neither one of them knowing what to say.

He looked over at her, seeing her sitting there, knees tucked into her chest. She looked so human, it was hard to imagine Shiva in her place. 

“I’m sorry I left you. What I did…” he stumbled through his words, not knowing how to convey the depth of his remorse for what he had done, not knowing how to explain who he was. 

She waved him off while shaking her head. “Please don’t. There is nothing to apologize for.” 

He leaned forward, mouth open, about to explain to her that there was much to apologize for, that he was Ifrit, that he was the one who put her in that precarious situation but she cut him off.

“You saved me. There is nothing to forgive.” She paused, a dark look crossing over her features. “It’s not your fault that I turned out to be what I was.” 

Clive frowned, it was hard to miss the way in which she referred to herself, hard to miss the way her features hardened almost in self disgust. 

To be a dominant was a blessing, at least that’s what Clive had been raised to believe. Was it different in the North? She acted as if she were some sort of beast, that her status as a dominant somehow made her less than human. 

But beasts kill without second thought. They don’t show restraint. They don’t spare the enemy on the battlefield and yet she had. 

“You could have killed the Phoenix but you did not. Why?” That question that had been on his mind for the better part of the past month. He had his theories and Joshua certainly had his, but he needed to know. He needed to hear it from her.

She closed her eyes and let out a sigh, her shoulders sagging in the process. It appeared that the Phoenix had seen right through her facade. 

“The Phoenix is a child.” She stared into the small fire she had lit in the cave, lost in a memory. “I didn’t want to hurt him. He should be home and safe. He shouldn’t be fighting in a war.” Her voice trailed off. “None of us should.” 

He stared at her silently, watching her grapple with her emotions.  

“I was a child when this war started and I want no part in it.” She whispered. “I don’t want to be a monster.” She finally looked back up at him. “But I have a duty and I don’t know what else I can do.” 

Clive nodded silently. He knew what it was to be chained to duty. To feel like there was no other choice but to follow blindly the orders that he was given, to live a life on someone else’s terms. 

But her words rang true. 

How many of them were children when this started? How many of them truly wanted to continue fighting? 

“I meant what I said. If you want to kill me, I won’t stop you. It’s better to be a body in the ground than this.”

She looked so small. So broken. He imagined her as a child, sword in her hand, eyes filled with fear as she marched on the front lines. How many like her had he slain for lord and land? How many more needed to lay down their lives for something they didn’t believe in? 

He sat up a bit straighter before wincing, his wound had reopened. 

—---------

Jill scrambled to his side, seeing his bandage begin to stain red. He had pushed himself too far. 

She urged him to lay back down as she began to put pressure on his wound, calling upon her powers to slow the bleeding. 

“You’re still in no condition to move.” She chided him before freeling a familiar weight in her hair. He must have done it unconsciously, for when she looked at his hand now entangled with her hair, he flushed in surprise and quickly removed it, almost mortified. 

She chuckled under her breath, such a curious man. But who was she to deny him such simple pleasures in life? 

She grabbed his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before lifting and pressing her cheek against it, making sure that his fingers could tangle up with the strands on the side of her face. 

She watched his eyes widen with awe as he began to comb through her hair in earnest. Repeatedly pushing the hair back from her face before combing it down the length of her hair. She struggled to stay focused, trying to ignore the pleasant sensation that was shooting down her spine from his ministrations. 

After a while, she slowly released the wound, satisfied that the dressing wasn’t getting more saturated. She would need to redress it later. 

The hand that had been running through her hair now rested on her lower back, a comforting warmth radiating from it. 

She prepared to move back, to follow his sense of decorum and give him some space, but as she started to move that hand on her back stiffened and clenched onto the fabric of her shirt. She looked down at him in surprise. 

He looked back at her, silent, but his intentions were clear. 

Stay with me.  

She paused. She could refuse. She didn’t have to. But would it be so bad to lay next to him tonight? Would it be so bad to give in just this once? She may never see him again after this, would she regret it if she didn’t take this chance? 

She began hesitantly scooting forward, telling herself that by laying closer to him she could keep a closer eye on his wounds, that this was for his healing and nothing more. 

She ignored the part of her that was rejoicing at the proximity that she had craved for so long. 

She reached over to pull his cloak over his body, making sure to disentangle his hand from her shirt so that she could tuck it under the covers. She slowly laid down next to him, trying to keep a sliver of space between them. 

His eyes remained trained on her, staring intently as if she would disappear the moment he closed his eyes. 

She knew he was afraid of her leaving. He had begged her not to go so many times in his fevered state. 

She reached out and rested her hand upon his covered arm, “Rest Wyvern. I promise I'll be here when you wake.” 

It was her turn to make promises now. 

—------- 

He watched her fall asleep, her hand still resting on his arm, a comforting weight that anchored him to her. 

He didn’t know how long he stared at her, his mind still reeling from the events that had transpired. 

A draft blew through the cave and an involuntary shudder ran through her body. She must still be recovering, not yet fully healed from their encounter. 

The fire had died down a while ago, the night had crept in. It wouldn’t be safe to light a fire now.

He slowly began to turn his body towards her, careful of his wounds, before draping his cloak over the two of them. There was barely any space between them anymore. 

He could feel his body heating up, his Eikon eager to keep their new companion warm. It seemed that their goals were aligned once more. 

Clive chuckled quietly to himself, who knew that Ifrit had a soft spot for Jill as well? 

—----------

She stayed with him for four more days in that cave and since that night there was an unspoken agreement that she would lay next to him when they slept and when they awoke, tangled up in each other's arms, neither one of them would say a word. 

Sometimes they talked late into the night. When his body was too tired to move but his mind too alert for him to rest. 

He learned that she liked apples, that Torgal was her closest companion, and that she had never had a pie before but was intrigued by the concept.

He told her about his chocobo Ambrosia, about the multitude of baked goods that were made in the kitchens back in Rosalith, and about Mann’s field, his heart fluttering with fondness when he saw her eyes widen in awe about so many flowers being in one place. 

If the war ended, if they were given the chance, he swore that he would bring her there. 

She drew him maps on the cave floor of her childhood room. Showing him how her and all her siblings had stayed in one room. It made it easier for her mother to keep vigilance on all of them and it made it harder to sneak out when all the siblings were eager to tattle on one another.

He had wanted to ask her where her siblings were now, if she was still close to them like he was to his brother, but he saw the bittersweet look in her eyes as she stared down at the drawing in the sand and thought better of it. He knew she would tell him more with time. 

He had tried to draw her a map of his bed chambers in return but he was nowhere near as skilled as she was with her drawings, his just looked like some scribbled mess. He saw the way her lips twitched, the way her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to follow along with his descriptions, before she shot him an incredulous look and they both broke out in laughter over the ridiculousness of his attempts. 

“I don’t know in what world you think that that would look like a bed, but that certainly is not it.” She said through peals of her laughter. 

He feigned being insulted before attempting to fix that blob on the ground once more, only serving to make it worse. Now even he couldn't tell what it was. His laughter soon joined hers. 

He liked laughing with her. He liked hearing her voice. He liked the way her eyes would focus on him and only him, how she hung onto his every word as if everything he said was worth saying. 

He liked how she made him feel. 

On the seventh day, he awoke with her head pillowed on his chest, her leg slotted between his, his arm wrapped securely around her back. She was still asleep. They had stayed up late talking again. He could easily talk to her about anything for hours.

She looked so beautiful in his arms now especially without the lines of worry etched across her face. If it were up to him, he would do everything in his power to prevent those lines from crossing her face again. 

She began to stir as he combed his hand through her hair, brushing it out of her face.

She tilted her face up, their eyes meeting, a small smile across her face. It all felt so natural, so right. 

He wanted this forever. 

“I don’t…” he started. “ I don’t want to fight you. I don’t want us to keep fighting.” 

It had been on his mind the past few days, what she had said, what the implications of it were. 

He had not known how to respond, too focused on his recovery, too distracted by her to truly form any coherent thoughts. 

But now, having been tucked away into their own private hideaway for the past few days, having spent precious time with her, he knew the truth in his heart. This war had to stop. If the dominants of ice and fire could find peace with one another then perhaps their countries could too. 

A look of sadness crossed her face and she nodded. “I know.” 

He clasped her hand in his and she intertwined their fingers. He wondered how long she had come to the same conclusion only for her words to fall on deaf ears. 

She laid her head back onto his chest and he instinctively pulled her closer, as if they had done this a thousand times over. 

But then, Torgal’s head shot up, he had heard something. 

Dogs barking, the sound of voices. He recognized Joshua amongst them. 

They had been found. 

They both sat up in a panic. “You need to leave.” He said to her, she could not be caught. 

She hastily gathered her things, Clive assisting her where he could. 

And as she began to head out, he grabbed her hand. “Will I see you again?” 

She looked at him for a moment before nodding her head. 

In a moment of desperation, he kissed the back of her hand, his eyes never leaving hers. Hoping that she would understand what she meant to him. 

He let go and watched her disappear into the woods with Torgal, already missing her presence. 

Chapter Text

Joshua was so relieved to find his brother alive. He had feared for the worst when he heard that the garrison Clive had been traveling with had been attacked, that their people had been taken prisoner. 

His father had immediately worked to broker a transfer of prisoners in hopes that Clive may have been taken by the Northmen. It was a long shot, the Lord Silvemane not often replying to any missives or letters sent his way, but anything would be worth a try if it meant getting Clive back. 

And to their surprise, Lord Silvermane responded in kind. 

They had traded prisoners but Clive was nowhere to be found. No one knew where he was and they had all feared the worst. 

Joshua, unwilling to accept the idea that his brother could be gone, had led the hunting party to find him. Clive couldn’t have died. He couldn’t have left him alone in this world. 

They had looked tirelessly for three days, barely sleeping, barely eating. Their hounds sniffed at every corner to catch even the faintest of scents and for a moment Joshua feared all was lost. 

But by some blessing of the founder, they had found him in a cave, tucked away by the mountain side. How he managed to end up there was a mystery, it was leagues away from where he was last seen. 

They had immediately carried him back to camp on a stretcher. Clive not saying much about how he had gotten there or what had happened. 

Joshua had chalked it up to fatigue or dehydration. He couldn’t imagine what trials his brother must have gone through the past few days. But something about the way Clive stared longingly at the cave as they left, almost remiss at having to leave it behind, struck him as odd. 

He tucked it away in the moment, needing to focus on getting Clive back to safety. 

Their father had rushed to the tent when he got word that his first born was alive, eager to see his child. 

And now, after a tearful reunion between the Rosfield men, they sat in silence. Clive stared down at his hands, tight lipped as ever. Joshua sat next to him on the cot and their father sat across, curiously eyeing the wrappings that Joshua had removed from Clive. 

Joshua had intended to heal Clive now that they were back in the safety of their camp. He would not take no for an answer. He would take care of his brother like he had done for him all this time. It was the least he could do.  But to his surprise he found that Clive was nearly healed under his bandages. 

His bruises had mostly faded. His wounds had been stitched closed, the skin underneath now reformed. All that was left to do was to remove the stitches and he would essentially be fit to return to battle. 

“How is this possible?” He asked, hoping that now they were alone, Clive would tell him the truth. He was clearly holding something back. 

Someone had taken care of him, but who?  

Their father shifted in his seat, a thoughtful look on his face, before muttering something about the ‘remarkable nature of wolves’. 

Clive’s face flushed before he looked away.  

Joshua was lost. Why were they talking about wolves? 

He felt like he was a child again, back when his father and Clive would have talks that he wasn’t privy to. Sometimes it would be about the war effort, the two of them deeming Joshua too young to understand, and other times it would be about Clive’s missions, seemingly mundane affairs that Joshua was secretly glad to have been excused from.  

One time, when he had eavesdropped, he overheard his father educating Clive about the responsibilities of ‘manhood’, of the restraint one must have when it came to the farrier sex, of the urges that one might possess and how prudent it would be to not act on them. Joshua had been mortified, his ears still burned when he thought back to that conversation. 

But that was a long time ago and there were only so many coming of age talks that one could receive in this life. It wasn’t like Clive was on the verge of manhood once more… right?   

He looked back and forth between his brother and his father, hoping that one of them would give him a clue, some inkling, as to what they were talking about. 

But then his father looked at him, gave him a meaningful stare and Joshua sighed, tamping down on his frustration, before reluctantly leaving the tent. 

—---------- 

Elwin watched his second born leave, a pout on his face. Despite him being a man of nearly twenty and three, he still saw that little boy every now and then.

He felt some guilt for asking Joshua to leave, it was never his intention to leave his son out of these issues, but he needed to speak with Clive alone. Especially regarding such….delicate matters. 

Elwin wasn’t a fool. Although he may not have been around his sons as much as he would have liked, they were both still his children, no matter what Anabella said. 

He could tell when they were happy, when they were sad, and when something was troubling them. He could tell when they needed space and when they needed comfort.

He looked back at Clive who was still determinedly staring down at the ground. “Speak freely my boy, there is no one else around.” 

Clive’s shoulders slumped forward but he remained silent. 

Elwin moved to sit next to him, their shoulders now touching. Clive had always been the stoic one. The one to bear all his burdens silently. It was one of his major regrets in his life, to not have been able to shelter Clive more, to protect him. 

It broke his heart to send his first born out into the battlefield at barely the age of ten and five and yet he knew he had to. It wouldn’t do for the Archduke to not commit his own family to the cause that he had asked his own people to do. 

And Clive, sweet, brave, dutiful Clive, had accepted all the burdens of war, of leadership without so much as blinking. He always rose to his duty gracefully, superseding all expectations, earning the respect of his men and superiors alike. He was the perfect soldier, the perfect commander, the perfect son. 

Now that they had a rare moment alone, Elwin sought to be the father that he wished he always could have been for his child. 

He gently nudged Clive with his shoulder, “Come now, tell me about this wolf. She must be quite remarkable.” he guessed at. 

At that, he got a reaction. Clive’s eyes widened, he slowly turned towards him, looking at him uneasily. 

It wasn’t hard to guess that Clive had been seeing someone given how often he had been disappearing in the middle of the night into the woods. At first he had thought that his son simply needed to clear his head, to have some space; founder knew that they all needed that. 

But there were some nights when he came back disappointed and other nights where he came back with a dreamy look upon his face. 

He saw the way that Clive stared off into the distance, almost as if searching for someone on the horizon. He heard from the shields about Clive’s strange propensity to search the bodies of the dead as if looking for someone, and when he saw how desperate he looked when rummaging through their medical supplies, he just knew. 

Someone had caught his son’s eye. 

He had debated whether or not to put a stop to it. Clearly this person was not Rosarian or his son wouldn’t have been so quiet about the whole affair. He feared that his son would be taken advantage of. That this person sought to use him, that they would hurt him. He had agonized over that decision feeling torn between his duty as Archduke and his duty as a father.  

His fears were clearly unfounded if the state of Clive’s wounds were anything to boast about. 

Whoever had tended to him had cared for him greatly. They cared enough to save his life and for that Elwin would be forever grateful. 

“Do you care for her?” he prodded at his son who still stared at him. 

Clive looked back down, his fists were clenched, conflict making its way across his face. 

Elwin shook his head at this whole situation. 

Clive had never shown interest in the ladies at court or anyone really. He had tried on multiple occasions to arrange a good match for Clive and worried that if his son did not act, he would eventually be married off to someone of Anabella’s machinations. 

But, as the founder would have it, of course he would find someone for him on the battlefield, someone from the other side. 

How ironic. How romantic. How….unpatriotic. 

And, if Elwin had to guess, that was probably one of the things bothering his son the most. He knew how duty bound Clive was, how much he loved his country and his people. To fall for the enemy must have been quite alarming and yet it spoke of how completely this person had captured his son’s heart for him to stay so quiet about the whole affair, to seek to protect her even now. 

“You would not be the first person to fall for someone from the opposing side.” Elwin tried to give his son the reassurance that he was not upset, that he did not think any less of him. 

He wanted to give Clive the courage to speak his mind without fear of repercussion. 

“And from what I can see, she clearly feels strongly for you.” Elwin teased, hoping that it would be enough to crack through the guard his son had put up.

Clive looked back up at him, insecurity now clouding his features, “How-” He started before he could stop himself. He sighed, his father clearly knew, there was no point in hiding anything now. 

“How can you tell?” 

Elwin smiled. Oh to be young and in love.  

“She stayed by your side didn’t she? She took care of you, wrapped your wounds, fed you.” He paused. “You don’t do that kind of thing unless you care about someone.” 

He watched his son swallow heavily, nodding slightly, a tentative smile making its way across his face. It warmed Elwin’s heart to see that his son had finally found someone. Clive had been alone for too long. 

He wrapped his arm around Clive’s shoulder, pulling his son into an embrace.  When had he grown into this fine young man? Where had the time gone? Elwin swore not to miss so much this time around. 

“Do you know where she is now?” Maybe they could find her and bring her back to camp. Offer her safety from the war. It would be the least that he could do for his son after all the hell he had put him through. 

Clive silently shook his head. He had no idea where she could have gone. 

—-----------

He kissed her hand. He kissed her hand. 

Those words kept replaying itself in her head. She was grinning like a fool. It was a good thing it was dark. 

She barely avoided the search party looking for him and after making sure she wasn’t being followed, had immediately made her way back to camp. It had been a week, her presence was likely missed. 

It was night now. Most of the guards were asleep making it easy for her to sneak in.

She couldn't help but trace where his lips had touched her skin over and over again. There was a pleasant burning sensation left behind, but unlike the fires of the phoenix, she didn’t want this to ever go away. 

She pushed open the flap to her tent, her heart still singing. His lips had been so soft, so warm so - 

“Where have you been?” 

Jill’s eyes widened when she saw her father sitting in her tent. She had been so distracted, so wrapped up in reliving that moment over and over in her head, that she had completely missed the fact that her father was already in her tent. 

Of course, she had no reason to believe that he would be here. He barely ever graced her with his presence anymore. 

She bowed hastily, it wouldn't do to forgo decorum. 

“Apologies father. I was looking for…someone.” She said, hoping that it would satisfy her father. 

He stared at her for a moment, eyes unreadable, before he nodded to her cot. “Sit.” 

She slowly moved towards her bed, unsure of what it was her father wanted. 

—-------

Lord Silvermane was a disciplined man. He had to be. 

He was born into nothing. A poor family with little to their name. He had earned favor amongst his clan with his prowess on the battlefield and when he struck down an opposing clan’s chieftain, he was finally granted a position of power. 

He fought clan after clan, all bowing to his strategy and his fierceness in battle. And before long, he had united the North under his leadership. 

When his children were born, he swore that he would do everything in his power to make sure that they wanted for nothing.

He had spent most of his life fighting for the right to live, for the right to be acknowledged, and he swore that they would never face that same hardship. 

But promises were hard to keep when you were a leader. There were many needs, many wants that he had to attend to and in the end, he was ashamed to admit that he did not keep his promise to his children. 

After fighting each other for so long, the idea of peace was foreign to the Northerners and so they sought out a new enemy. They had invaded Rosaria in search of greener pastures, for more land. They had been greedy. 

He had hoped that they would have conquered the Rosarians without much difficulty but instead they had faced defeat on the Night of Flames.

He should have realized that the war was over then and there but rather than admitting defeat and protecting his children as he should have, he thrust a sword in their hands and sent them off to war. 

How many of his children lay dead now because of his folly, because of his greed? 

When the Rosarians began to launch their counterattacks and pushed the Northern forces back, the other chieftains rebelled against him. 

Suddenly this wasn’t their war. It was his. He was facing mutiny. Everything he had worked for was slipping out of his fingers. He had never felt so lost. 

But then Jill, his darling Jill, awoke as Shiva and the talk of mutiny faded. It was now divine right that he would be their leader, that his child would be granted the power of an Eikon. 

She was the reason he was able to stay in power, the reason that they had been able to fight for this long. 

She was fierce and determined. She was like him in so many ways. She was his pride and joy. 

But somewhere along the way, he lost sight of what was important to him. So desperate to win, so desperate to prove to his people that he had not lost his touch, he had been willing to sacrifice his family. 

Child after child died. How many funerals had he attended? How many bodies had he buried? He had grown numb. And in the dark of the night, when his doubts crept in, he would tell himself that this was the price of war.

It wasn’t until his Jill had pleaded with him and had begged him to kill her, that he finally came to his senses. 

He could still see her on the cot, feverish, wounds fresh on her body. 

She had been gone for days after the disastrous fight with Ifrit and he had feared for the worst. She was barely clinging to consciousness when he walked in, the healer informing him that there was a chance she would not survive the night. 

He had sat by her side, unsure if this would be the last time he would see her in this life. If he would be forced to part with her like so many of her siblings. She looked so much like her late mother. 

Her eyes were groggy from the medication but her words were clear. She begged him to kill her. To let her die. She didn’t want to be a monster anymore. She didn’t want to be his monster anymore. 

She didn’t want to fight. She didn’t want to kill anymore, she never did. And if he had any shred of love left for her, if he had ever loved her, he would kill her now and spare her. 

It was in that moment he realized that he truly was the worst father to have ever lived. 

He had broken every promise he had made to himself, every promise he had made to his children. He had let them suffer. He had let them fend for themselves. He had let them die.  

And on that night, he swore to never fail his children again. 

He prayed to Metia, for the first time in a long time. He prayed that Jill would be saved, even if it cost him Shiva. He promised that if she lived, he would do whatever was in his power to right his wrongs. That he would seek peace with Rosaria, if it meant that his children would no longer have to fight, that they would be spared. 

And she lived. 

He had meant to talk to her when he came back to camp after his excursion. To tell her of his plans to sue for peace but she had disappeared shortly after examining the prisoners. 

He didn’t know where she had gone. He had sent out search parties looking for her with no success. But when he received a missive from Archduke Elwin for an exchange of prisoners, he began to piece things together. 

It was rare that he and the Archduke would exchange letters. Rarer still for them to exchange prisoners. But that had been the point of his recent excursion. To capture Rosarians so that he would force the Archduke’s hand to communicate, to start this process. 

Clearly someone of importance must have been missing for the Archduke to reach out so quickly. And per his intelligence, the Archduke’s first born, Clive Rosfield, had been caught in the skirmish and no one had seen him in days.  

He knew of Clive Rosfield. He knew that he was one of the senior members of the Archduke’s war council. He had lost many men to Clive. He had been outmaneuvered by Clive many times.  Rosaria rarely lost a battle when he was on the field. Despite his age of twenty eight he was an indispensable part of the war effort, an indispensable part of Rosaria. 

And of course, he knew that Clive Rosfield was the dominant of Ifrit. He had seen him transform that night. Had seen a boy, in a desperate bid to save his brother, transform into a great beast. A beast of fire, ash, and dust. 

Yes, he knew of Clive Rosfield. Some part of him even begrudgingly admiring the boy but there was no Clive Rosfield among the men that he had captured. 

Then the most peculiar thing reached his ears. Clive Rosfield had been found in a cave one night ago and had returned to camp, somehow mysteriously surviving his wounds and coming out better for it. 

And now, not one day later, his daughter had returned to camp after looking for ‘someone’. What peculiar timing indeed. 

“Did you find Clive Rosfield?” 

—------

Clive Rosfield? Why would she be looking for him? What was her father talking about? 

She shook her head. He raised a silver eyebrow, not seeming to believe her. But Jill had nothing to hide. She truly had not been looking for him. 

“I assumed you two were acquainted.” 

There was something in the tone of his voice. Almost as if he were testing her about something, as if he knew something she didn’t. But she hadn’t the faintest idea what he was going on about. 

He began to stand, “Well, you may meet him soon.”

Jill looked sharpy at her father. What did he mean? 

“We are suing for peace. This war has dragged on long enough and it is time that we ended it.” 

Chapter Text

The Rosarian war council was in an uproar, their unease palpable in the large tent. A simple parchment lay in front of the Archduke. An otherwise unassuming letter save for the contents written on the page.  

“This must be a trap. ”

“Why would he sue for peace now?”

“This makes no sense.” 

Elwin knocked twice on the table, trying to corral his war council who all seemed more frightened at the prospect of peace than that of their ceaseless war. 

He re-read the letter trying to discern any hidden meaning. 

Archduke Elwin, 

This war has dragged on long enough. In two days time, let us discuss terms of peace so that our future generations may look forward to a future without war. 

Lord Silvermane 

Elwin sighed, he could feel a headache beginning to form. It figures that Lord Silvermane would catch them off guard like this. He always was most unpredictable. 

He had brought this letter to his council hoping that together they would find a consensus on how to proceed but it had only added more confusion to the already complicated situation. 

They all looked to him now, deferring to his judgment. Things were much simpler when they had a common enemy. There had been an easy consensus then. 

He looked over at Clive and Joshua who stood a few feet down from him. Both of his sons had voiced their desire for peace. 

Our future generations 

He read that line again. He knew Lord Silvermane still had some sons and a daughter or two but most of his children had fallen to the sword. Most of his children were dead. 

There was a time where Elwin could have feigned ignorance to the grief that accompanied the loss of a child, but no longer. When he had thought Clive had perished this past week, he had been unconsolable. 

He had barely slept, barely ate. The guilt gnawed away at him leaving him hollow. He couldn’t focus on anything else. His dreams were filled with visions of a child he longed to see and his days haunted by his missing presence. He had tried to take solace in the fact that Joshua was still safe and alive but he knew that nothing could ever fill the void Clive left behind. 

He would have willingly traded places with his son a hundred times over if only to see him alive once more.

No child should ever have to die before their forefathers. 

Perhaps he and the Lord Silvermane were finally in agreement about something 

Elwin put the parchment down, mind made up. He would not let this opportunity slip through his fingers. He owed it to his future generation. 

—------- 

For the first few meetings, both leaders arrived with all of their forces, each side clearly not trusting the other. 

It seemed like war was inevitable until Lord Silvermane rode out only with his personal guard towards the middle of the field and Archduke Elwin, in an act of reciprocation, followed suit. 

Surrounded by the might of their armies, the two leaders discussed peace. 

Not much headway was made in the beginning, the atmosphere too tense for productive conversation. But it was a start. 

Soon each side began to bring fewer and fewer troops until it was just their personal guard. 

Clive had hoped that he would see her during those meetings. That he would catch a glimpse of her in the Northern Army. But he never did. 

It was probably for the best. He still hadn’t told her who he was and there would be no hiding his identity if she saw him out on the field donned in his full regalia, part of the personal guard to the Archduke. 

The next time he saw her, he swore he would tell her who he was. He had held off for far too long and she deserved to know the truth. If she chose to reject him after the fact, he would accept her decision, no matter how much it would hurt him. 

That is of course, if he ever saw her again. 

It had been a month since he had been found by Joshua. A month since the talks for peace had begun. Maybe he had scared her off, maybe his father had been wrong, maybe she had no intention of seeing him again.

That thought caused him more distress than it should have. 

He paced around in his tent, trying to distract himself. His sword had been sharpened, his supplies replenished, he had even scrubbed down his armor, thrice. The leather hadn’t shone this bright since his father first gifted it to him years ago. 

How long would she keep him waiting? 

But then he heard a quiet whine outside his tent and he rushed out to see Torgal standing there, tongue lolling out happily. 

He couldn't help the smile that stretched across his face. 

—-----------

She heard him coming, heard the crunch of his footsteps on the ground, heard his breathing echo through the trees. He really was very loud. 

She wasn’t sure if he would accept her invitation, but hoped that his fondness for Torgal would earn his forgiveness for her taking so long to reach out to him. 

It had taken her a while to understand the sudden change of heart her father had towards the war. It didn’t make any sense to her. But he was firm in his stance. He was firm in front of the other Chieftains. 

They had protested his decision but when he said that Shiva would no longer do battle, everyone had been stunned into silence, including her. 

He told them that if they should still seek out war against Rosaria, he would step down from his position and they would do it without him and without the might of Shiva at their backs. 

That put an end to any opposition rather quickly. 

The initial few meetings were fraught with tension. True to his word, she was not required to attend. Her father did not want her to be caught up in the war effort any longer. 

But even when the meetings became more fruitful there was something else that held her back from reaching out to him. 

Did you find Clive Rosfield? 

When her father had asked her that question she had brushed it off without a second thought. But it never strayed far from the forefront of her mind. 

She had her suspicions that Wyvern wasn’t who he said he was. When she initially found him in the marshes, bleeding to death, he didn’t even recognize the name. She thought it was just his delirium speaking but even as he got better, he never seemed to answer to Wyvern. She often needed to repeat it multiple times before he would realize that she was talking to him. 

She chose not to give it too much thought, preferring to enjoy every moment she could have with him instead. She could accept it if Wyvern wasn’t his true given name. They were at war and it wouldn't be the first time false information was given for the sake of safety. 

But for Wyvern to be Clive Rosfield, well that was another matter altogether. 

Clive Rosfield was the Dominant of Ifrit, the first born of the Archduke, and despite never having fought him face to face, he was the one she had been pitted against time and time again. 

He was clever. He was resourceful. He was tireless. 

He was annoying. 

Clive the Fearless. Clive the Swift. Clive the Strong. She had gotten tired of hearing all the praises her people heaped upon him. Everything he did was right, everything she did was wrong. Sometimes it felt like everyone preferred him over her. 

How many hours of sleep had she lost because of him? How many nights had she spent studying what he had done in battles past, trying to figure out how his mind worked and where he would strike next? And just when she thought she understood him, that she finally had him figured out, he would change his tactics and leave her confused once more. 

Both Wyvern and Clive frustrated and confused her to no end. They both felt so familiar and yet continued to surprise her at every turn. She knew so much about the two of them and yet nothing at all. 

They both occupied her mind. They both robbed her of her sleep, of her sanity. They were an enigma and…they were clearly the same person. 

How distracted she must have been to have missed all the signs.

It explained why Wyve- Clive felt the need to apologize over and over again for the wounds she sustained from Ifrit. Why he felt the need to take responsibility for her near death experience. It explained why the armor she tore off his body to get to his wounds had been made of the finest leather, not something any ordinary soldier could afford. 

And of course, it would explain how Clive Rosfield had been found alive and well in a cave tucked away in the side of the mountain not too far from where she and Wyvern had been sequestered.  

It had been hard for her to come to terms with these facts. It hurt to know that he had lied to her. It hurt to know that he didn’t trust her. It hurt to feel so foolish. 

She had mulled over his newly discovered identity for nights on end. If he had lied about his name then what else had he lied about? Was his chocobo not named Ambrosia? Did he even have a chocobo? Did he actually want to see her again? 

Was everything they shared a lie?

In her anger, she tried to convince herself that he meant nothing to her. That if he couldn’t trust her with something as simple as his name, then he was undeserving of her presence. She didn’t need him. She didn’t want him. She didn’t feel anything towards him. 

But she was only lying to herself. 

She knew why he did what he did. It wouldn’t have taken long for her to figure out his true identity even if he didn’t give her his full name. And if she were like any of her brothers, she would have outed him immediately, captured him for her father, used him as a pawn to swing the war in their favor. He had no way of knowing that she wouldn't do that. 

He lied to protect himself but that still didn’t take away the hurt.  

Perhaps she meant nothing to him. Perhaps she didn’t matter to him. He was a Marquess and a war hero. She was nothing. Why would he ever tell her the truth? 

It was when she was drowning in the depths of her confusion and self doubt that a voice reminded her that he had still saved her, he had still kissed her hand. He had still kept her warm every night in that cave, waiting until he thought she was asleep before wrapping his cape around her. 

Even if his name wasn’t Wyvern, even if all of his words were lies, his actions alone demonstrated one important thing; he cared for her. 

And she cared for him. 

She knew, despite all of her hurt and anger, she would have still saved him. She wouldn't have let him die no matter if he was Wyvern or Clive. What did a name matter, if the man behind it was the same? 

So now here she stood, in a clearing surrounded by her mist to keep herself hidden from everyone. Everyone except him. 

She had decided that it mattered not the secrets he kept. She would continue to call him Wyvern so long as he wished for it. And hopefully one day, she would prove herself worthy enough to earn his name. 

She only hoped she wouldn't have to wait too long. 

She saw Torgal appear from out of the treeline, Clive soon following suit.  She couldn’t help the smile that began to form on her face. 

“You came.” 

—----

Clive slid down towards the clearing where she stood, still slightly out of breath from his jog in the woods with Torgal. 

She looked as beautiful as ever bathed in the moonlight. 

They stood a few feet from each other, a slight awkwardness in the air. 

“You look well, my lady.” He cringed at how foolish he sounded but it was the first thing he could think to say. She did look well. At least, more well than she had been when tending to him every night.

A small laugh bubbled out from her and he watched her bite down on her bottom lip to keep more from spilling out. 

“Thank you, my lord .” Jill didn’t think that she could ever get tired of his southern manners. She looked pointedly at his torso, concern crossing her features. “How are your wounds?” 

He lifted up his shirt, showing her the faint red line that was left behind after her care. “It's all healed. The physikiers were quite impressed at your abilities, my lady.”

She walked forward, the urge to inspect his wounds overcoming what little decorum she had. She needed to make sure that he was truly alright. 

Her fingers lightly traced over the scar tissue and Clive knew he wouldn't soon forget the feeling of her fingers on his body.  

She took a small step back, removing her hands from his body, satisfied with her inspection. “I’m glad I met your physikiers expectations.” 

She still stood close to him, the cloud from their breaths mingling in the air.  He felt his heart begin to hammer in his chest, his hands opened and closed nervously. 

He swore that he would tell her his name the next time they met and now was his chance. He had to do it. But he was scared that she would turn him away afterward. He was scared that this would be the last time he would see her. 

“I have to tell you something.” his voice shook from his nerves. He would be a coward no longer. 

He saw her eyes widen, surprise evident on her face. He continued to look at her, trying to memorize every last detail about her just in case this was the last memory he would have of her in this life. 

He tried to steady his breathing.  “I’m not who I said I was…My name…” his voice caught, a lump now in his throat. 

Why was this so hard? 

He had fought battles, he had faced death more times than he could count. But all of that paled in comparison to what he felt now.

He didn’t want to ruin what he had with her. He couldn’t bear to lose her. 

His mouth opened and closed a few times, he had never been so terrified.

Jill slowly reached out, her fingers wrapping around his tightly fisted hand at his side. She slowly unfurled his fingers and clasped his hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. She looked back up at him with all the patience in the world. 

He was still unable to find his voice. 

She gave him a small reassuring smile, “It’s ok Clive. I know who you really are.” 

—-----

She hadn’t expected him to tell her who he was today. It had taken her by surprise when he began to stammer through his words. 

She had wanted to give him the space to find his words, to let him tell her himself, but he looked so frightened. It broke her heart to see how he stared at her with desperation, almost as if he was afraid that she would disappear. She didn’t want to prolong his suffering. 

Now he stared at her, his eyes wide, his jaw slack. “You knew? When did you…?” 

“I had my suspicions back in the cave. You aren’t exactly the best liar.” He grimaced at that. Clearly she hadn’t been the first person to tell him this. 

He looked down at his hand, still held within hers, before looking back up, guilt written on his face. “Are you upset that I lied to you?”

Jill stared at him for a moment. She had been upset. She had been hurt. But she had made peace with all of it already, she wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t. 

“I probably would have done the same if I was ‘Clive the Undefeated’ .” she jested, hoping to lessen the tension between them. 

—--------

Clive blinked in confusion. Clive the Undefeated? He had been defeated more times than he would have liked and more often than not by the woman in front of him. What was she talking about? 

“Clive the Victorious? Clive the Indefatigable?” She listed names off as if they should mean something to him. 

He continued to blink at her, head tilting to the side.

He had expected her to be upset at hiding his true identity from her. He had been prepared to be screamed at, to be ridiculed, even to stand still if she wanted to throw things at him. It wouldn’t have been the first time something like that had occurred and it would be no more than someone like him deserved.

He was a liar and a coward. He was a failure, had been a failure since birth. He was undeserving of forgiveness. He was undeserving of affection. He was undeserving of her. And yet, he would have done anything to remain in her favor. 

He had been prepared to do anything she asked, but somehow she already knew his secret and by some miracle, held no animosity against him. 

She held his hand when he faltered, she was patient with him when he stumbled on his words and now, she was trying to humor him to bring him out of his self flagellating state.

He was used to being treated with scorn and disdain. He was used to weathering the glares from his mother and her ladies. He had come to expect nothing more from the women in his life. Afterall, if his own mother didn’t care for him, what woman could? 

But Jill surprised him. She was understanding when she did not have to be. She was kind when she had every right to spurn him. She was gentle towards him, when all he deserved was her rage.  She treated him like he was important, like he was of worth, like he was enough.

No woman had ever treated him like that before. 

She laughed, unaware of the inner turmoil she had unintentionally caused within him. The sound left a pleasant fluttering sensation in his body.  

“Do you know how difficult you made my life, Clive Rosifled ?” She emphasized his name before looking down at their hands, shaking her head in disbelief. “You were so clever, so brilliant. I was always one step behind you, barely keeping up.” She looked back up, a wry smile on her face, playfully swinging his hand. “Did you have to be so perfect all the time?” 

Clive’s eyebrows furrowed. What was she talking about? “My lady, you must have me confused with someone else. It was I who could barely keep up with you.” 

When they had first started to breach the Northern border they had been hindered many times. He had spent months studying what maps they had, scouting the area with his men, trying to find safe passage so that he could eventually lead the rest of the troops into the Northern territory. 

But everytime he thought he found a solution, some way to get everyone across, there would be some act of nature that pushed him back. A wall of ice conveniently blocking the path, a snow storm in the middle of summer, a snowy avalanche on mountains that had previously been bare. 

He hadn’t known at the time that Shiva had joined the fray. But there were only so many ice storms one could brave in the summer months before he started to suspect that something was amiss. 

And even once they did manage to make that treacherous journey and establish a foothold, he continued to be thwarted by her. It was like she knew exactly what he was planning, where he wanted to go, what he wanted to accomplish before he even knew it himself. 

Jill shook her head, refuting what she thought was his false modesty but he wasn’t done. “ You were the brilliant one. You kept me on my toes, you kept me guessing. You trapped me in your mist for days.” 

A guilty smile formed on Jill’s lips. It had been earlier in the war, when the Rosarian army finally breached their borders and her people needed time to regroup. She had gone by herself to buy her father time, leaving her personal guard behind to help prepare their defenses. 

The mountainous path the Rosarian army was traveling through was not the easiest to navigate and she had taken advantage of that, surrounding them in a mist so thick that they couldn’t tell which direction to go in. They had wandered around aimlessly for days. 

She gave him a sheepish smile.  “Sorry about that.” 

They both shared a small laugh. Clive slowly closed the gap between them, his other hand moving to grasp hers. “I’m sorry for lying to you. I should have told you the truth sooner but –” 

“But then I would have easily figured out who you were and you didn’t know if you could trust me then.” She finished for him. 

It should have surprised him how well she understood him. How well she knew his thoughts, how easily she followed along with his rationale. But if her battle strategies against him were anything to boast about, and they most certainly were, she knew him better than most. 

“There is no need to apologize. Anyone would have done the same.” she said quietly.

“But you didn’t.” He countered. She had given him her name freely, without reservation. She had just as much as him to lose and yet she had chosen not to lie. 

He saw a flash of vulnerability in her eyes before she looked away, trying to hide her thoughts. But he knew.  

He had studied her movements carefully for the past few years. Tired of always being outmaneuvered by her, he had sought to understand the enemy better. He saw how her movements went from calculated and precise to chaotic and near suicidal. At the time he had thought that it was a reflection of how desperate the Northerners had become but now he knew better. 

She hadn’t needed to lie about who she was. She didn’t have anything to protect. She had no self preservation left. What was a name if the person behind it was already dead? 

He didn’t like that she had wanted death. He didn’t like how close she had come. He didn’t like that she had nearly died because of him. 

“How are your wounds?” his voice was barely above a whisper, “If it hurts, you can tell me.” 

She may have forgiven him for lying about his identity but that didn’t necessarily mean that she forgave him for what he did to her as Ifrit. Not that she should. He would willingly spend the rest of his life making it up to her. 

She opened her mouth, about to respond, when the sound of birds chirping began to fill the air.

Dawn was coming. Their time was up. 

She looked away from him, her head instinctually turning towards the sound, her eyes searching for the soon to be rising sun. He wasn’t ready to let go of her. 

“If I bring you something sweet next time, can I see you again?” He asked, not above bribery, if it meant he could spend more time with her. 

He could help but laugh at the way her eyes lit up at that prospect. 

Chapter Text

The next time they met, Clive brought more than just something sweet. 

Jill couldn’t help but gasp excitedly every time he pulled something new out of his satchel. There were breads of different shapes and sizes. Some round, some braided, some triangular. She had never seen a spread quite like it. 

The North was a cold and barren land. Bread was hard to come by. 

Torgal came trotting up to them, interested in the smells that were coming from Clive's bag. 

It warmed her heart to see how Clive interacted with her wolf, scratching him in just the right spot to get that tail wagging, making nonsensical sounds at him as if he and Torgal shared their own language. 

And perhaps they did. She had never seen Torgal take to anyone else so quickly. The wolf rolled over onto his back, exposing his belly to Clive, allowing him to rub that one spot that got his leg thumping. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight. 

It was strange to find joy in something as seemingly simple as bread after feeling so heavy for so long. It was strange to feel anything after feeling nothing for so long, 

Her future had been bleak, trapped in endless battles, fighting in a never ending war. She had seen no way out. She had wanted death. She dreamt of it, even prayed for it, and Torgal knew. 

He knew that when she left him with her brothers, that she was going off to do battle against insurmountable odds. He knew that whenever she sent him away, she didn’t expect to return.

But he would find her. He always did. 

She used to be mad whenever he brought her father’s search party to her. She used to be mad whenever he brought her sustenance to keep her from dying. She had been mad when he brought Clive to her. 

She wanted to be free from her prison. She wanted to be free from the nothingness that plagued her day and night. Why couldn’t he see that? 

But he did. Somehow he knew that in time, she would find her freedom. In time, she would find herself again. All she had to do was survive until then.

She saw Clive fish out some dried jerky from his pockets before feeding it to Torgal, the wolf now happily munching away. 

Having had his fill of attention from Clive, Torgal meandered over to her. He laid down on the grass and placed his head in her lap, eyes trained on her, a silent request for pets. She gladly indulged him, his happy pants filling the air.  

She didn’t long for death as much anymore. There were some days when the void still threatened to consume her but it wasn’t as many as before. And maybe, if Clive and Torgal stayed by her side, things would continue to get better.

Maybe one day, all of this would be a bad dream, forever tucked away in the past. 

She didn’t want to go back. 

Clive looked up at her and gestured to the blanket, inviting her to partake in his offering. 

Jill eagerly dug in. 

—------

She flopped down onto the soft grass beneath her. Her belly was so full, it was hard to breathe. She gave an exaggerated sigh of contentment 

“Are you alright?” Clive asked her, unable to keep his laughter down. She seemed so free, so happy. 

It had been quite endearing to see the look of childlike excitement she had towards every baked item he produced, as if he were performing a magic trick. It was even more amusing when he saw the way she attacked the bread. She and Torgal shared the same propensity towards food, he didn’t know who had learned it from whom. 

She looked over at him, sharing in his laughter. “Sorry, just being with you, I feel like a child again.” 

He nodded in understanding. He felt a certain lightness around her as well. As though the skies had brightened and his burdens not so heavy. He didn’t want that feeling to ever go away. 

Clive reached behind him pulling out a jar that he had saved for last. “I hope you’re not too full for this last little bit.”

Jill immediately sat up, her eyes honing in on the item in his hand, already scooting towards him in curiosity. 

He had not been able to acquire a pie for her like he would have liked, that baked delicacy unable to survive the journey from Rosalith without spoiling. He had, however, been able to get his hands on a jar of jam and hoped it would be a suitable alternative in the time being. 

He spread some of the thick dark purple liquid onto a piece of bread and held it up to feed her, a sly look on his face. “Allow me, my lady. So that your hands don’t get dirty.” 

It was a flimsy excuse and they both knew it. But she had fed him so many times when he lay ill in the cave. She had done so much to keep him alive. It would only be right that he returned the favor.  

She narrowed her eyes playfully before slowly leaning forward and opening her mouth obediently. He gently pushed the bread in, his fingers burning where her lips brushed his skin. 

His heart skipped a few beats. He forgot how to breathe. He thought his chest would burst into flames from the warmth that flooded him. But the look of euphoria made everything worth it; the way her eyes opened wide, the way her pupils dilated. He would feed her whatever she wanted, every day even, if it meant that he could see that look of joy cross her face. 

“I take it you like it then?” He asked, chuckling. 

She nodded her head vigorously before taking the rest of the jam covered bread from his hand and rapidly consuming what was left. 

He leaned back against the tree and she soon followed suit. They were now shoulder to shoulder. 

They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the sensation of a full belly and each other's company. 

“Clive.” He looked over at her. “Is it wrong of me to enjoy this?” She stared out into the darkness, a look of doubt marring her features.

They had been at war for so long and so much had been lost. So much could still be lost if the talks fell through. This could all be premature. This could all be temporary. The void began to pull her under. 

Clive reached out to tuck her hair behind her ears and she turned her to look towards him. “No Jill.” She leaned in, seeking his comfort and reassurance, trying to stay afloat. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. “This is how life should be. How it will be once the war is over.”

She nodded quietly against his chest but said nothing more. 

“Can I see you again?” He murmured the question into the crown of her head. 

She tilted her face up to look at him, their position reminiscent of how they were back in the cave. A saucy smile crossed her lips. “Only if you bring me more bread.” 

—-----

They began meeting nearly every night. 

He continued to bring her a variety of different breads, some sweet, some savory. It was easier now for him to get more delicacies from the capital since the tentative peace had begun. 

She quite enjoyed his gifts and one night decided to give him a gift of her own. She brought her hair brush with her and shyly asked him if he wanted to learn how to braid her hair. 

She thought his head would fall off from how quickly he nodded. He always did have a fascination with her hair. 

He was not very good at first, his fingers clumsy and stiff. But he was an excellent student and soon he became adept at twisting her hair back, forming a braid as good as any she could have done. 

It became a ritual for them, where every night he would brush her hair and dress it in any way that he saw fit. 

And it was when she sat in front of him, his fingers pleasantly scratching at her scalp that he asked, “Where do you see us when all this is over?” 

“I don’t know.” She said after a pause. “Not here though. I think I’ve outgrown the North. I want to see more of the world, spread my wings as it were.” 

He hummed in acknowledgement and continued combing her hair, “What about you? “Where do you see us?” 

His fingers stalled, and in his moment of hesitation she felt her heart squeeze uncomfortably. 

Maybe she had read the signs wrong. Maybe he didn’t feel the same way for her. 

She slowly turned around to face him. 

—------ 

Clive didn’t know how to answer her question. How could he tell her that he wanted to be with her in any way that she would allow? That he longed to sleep next to her every night and wake up to her in the morning. That if he had it his way, he would never be parted from her ever again. 

She turned to look at him, and his heart clenched to see the look of insecurity on her face. 

He quickly cupped her cheeks, wanting to sooth her. She leaned into his hands, patiently waiting for his answer. 

“I want to watch you spread your wings.” He whispered, afraid to voice his desire too loudly for fear that it would be taken from him. “I want to be by your side when it happens.” 

She opened his eyes to possibilities that he never thought possible, she gave him courage when he had none, she saw him for who he was and accepted him fully. She soothed him with her very presence, brought peace to his being, and he could not be without her anymore.

He would do anything to stay by her side. 

Her eyes filled with tears from his confession and he wiped them with his thumb when they began to overflow. A smile crossed her face and he felt pure happiness thrum through his being. He never thought a smile could bring him so much joy. 

Their faces inched ever closer. He hesitated, a breaths distance from her lips, wanting to give her the final say in whether or not she wanted him. 

But she held no such reservations and crossed that line without a moment's hesitation. And under the watchful eye of the moon and Metia, the two finally shared their first kiss. 

—------ 

Time seemed to move quickly then, or was it slowly? He wasn’t sure anymore. The days were long, each moment agonizing, every second longer than the last. 

But the nights passed too quickly. 

They had been working on treaty after treaty for the past three months. Everyday getting closer and closer, every day bringing the promise of eventual peace. 

It had been a grueling process, full of long meetings, letters sent back and forth and late nights, although he was probably to blame for just how late those nights went. 

“What would you write about?” 

Clive opened his eyes and looked up at Jill, admiring her profile from where he laid pillowed in her lap, her hands expertly scratching at his scalp. She parted his hair in different directions, playfully pushing it one way or the other, he was going to look like a chocobo by the time he got back to camp.

They had been talking about the future, about hypotheticals, about who they would be if they weren’t fighting in a war. He had let it slip that he liked reading and writing when he was younger, not expecting her to fixate so keenly on it. 

He looked up at the canopy of trees above him, imagining himself when he was younger pouring over every play and adventure book he could get his hands on. What would he write about? 

“I don’t know. I never really gave it much thought.” He paused, a teasing smile making its way across his face. “Maybe I would write about unsuspecting men being ensnared by silver haired beings in the woods.” 

She lightly tsked at him, tapping him once on the nose before threading her hands back into his hair. He closed his eyes once more, enjoying her touches, savoring every moment.  

“I would have a library dedicated to your works.” She stared out into the tree line as if imagining the library in question before looking back down at him smiling. “What do you think?”

“A library?” His eyebrows furrowed. 

She nodded eagerly, ignoring the dubious nature of his voice.

He opened his eyes, blinking a few times. “What if my writing is terrible? What if no one wants to read them?” He unconsciously reached up and tangled his hands in the tail end of her braid,  seeking out more contact with her. 

She scoffed in disbelief at his self disparaging comments. “That’s impossible. I, for one, am going to buy each of your works at least four times over.” 

He snorted at that thought. “And what would you do with so many copies of my works?” 

She leaned down and kissed his forehead, “I will hoard them like a dragon hoards gold.”

She said it like it was the simplest thing. As if it were the most obvious thing. Of course he would be a writer, of course people would be interested in what he had to say, of course he could do anything he wanted. 

It was the first time anyone had ever believed that he could be something other than a soldier. The first time anyone listened to his dreams without scrutiny or judgment or words of caution. 

Clive closed his eyes, trying to force back the tears that threatened to spill. 

He knew the likelihood of him becoming a writer was slim, what with his position in the army and his sworn role to protect Joshua. He knew it wasn’t realistic. It was a fool's dream by all rights, and yet she encouraged him without hesitation, enthusiastically going along with him, making it seem like it was all possible. 

Everything felt possible with her. 

He slowly sat up, wrapping an arm around her waist before giving her a tender kiss on her forehead, silently thanking her for believing in him. He tucked his head into the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent that was uniquely hers, trying to temper the wave of emotions that now threatened to overwhelm him. 

She wrapped her arms around him, understanding his need for silence. He always had been the more emotional of the two. 

“What about you? What would you be?” He said after a while, still buried in her neck. 

She made a non committal sound, “Maybe I’ll be a baker. That way I can eat all the things I make.” 

He chuckled, she did have quite the sweet tooth. There hadn’t been a single baked good he had brought her that she hadn’t enjoyed immensely. 

He could see how baking could be a tempting career for her. But baking involved slaving over hot stoves and ovens. He didn’t know how she would do with the heat. 

He lifted his head, “Baking would be - “ 

“Hot.” She finished for him, a grim look on her face. But then her eyes lit up, “Maybe I'll make frozen desserts. ” Her eyebrows wiggled suggestively. “I don’t think it would be too hard for someone like me. Do you?” She had the cheekiest grin on her face.  

He laughed, shaking his head. 

He knew that her status as a dominant was a sore spot for her. She had told him in so many different ways how she wished that she could have been spared that burden. It was hard to hear how she had longed for death if only to be free from the prison her powers had created for her. 

But something changed over the past few months. She smiled more, she laughed more, she talked about the future more. Sometimes he would still see that familiar shadow cross her features, but it was fleeting now, never staying for more than a moment. 

And when conversations inevitably took a turn towards their positions in the army, their roles as dominants, she didn’t talk as disparagingly about herself anymore. 

It gave him hope that whatever darkness plagued her was finally starting to abate. He wanted her to keep smiling and laughing. He would do anything. She was deserving of everything in the world. 

He leaned forward to give her a kiss on the lips for good measure. 

Whatever she decided to do in the future, he wanted to see it through with her. 

—--------

It had been four months of back and forth between her father and the Archduke. Treaties were now being finalized and the hope was that it would soon be ratified. 

But something was missing, she could tell by the way her father poured over the paperwork night after night. She could tell by the unease of her father’s council.  

There was a certain dissatisfaction with the treaty. Something was needed to bind the two countries to ensure that each side would hold up their end of the bargain. If she had been paying more attention maybe she would have predicted the inevitable outcome.  

But she wasn’t. She was distracted at all times. Always yearning to be somewhere else, yearning to be with someone else. She had given enough of herself during the war, surely they could handle peace without her contributions. 

They were now waiting for the Archduke’s input on the most recent draft and so the council had been dismissed. 

The sun was starting to set, it wouldn’t be safe to meet Clive yet despite how much she wanted to. She rolled over on her cot. 

She could try to get some rest, she supposed. She hadn’t been sleeping much these past few nights, a small smile passing over her lips at the memories they had recently made. 

They had become much more intimate. Taking the time to explore each other’s bodies. Always pushing the boundaries but stopping before they got too far. 

She could still feel his hands on her skin as they explored, leaving no part of her body untouched, his lips whispering filthy praises to her as she brought him to completion with her mouth, the warmth of his spend coating her throat.  

He had returned the favor of course. His fingers deftly finding that one spot that made her back arch. His mouth nipping and kissing wherever he could find. She didn’t think she had ever been so breathless before. 

She closed her eyes, reliving those memories. 

So wrapped up in her daydreams, she missed the way that Torgal’s head shot up from his position on the floor, sniffing the air suspiciously. He darted out of the tent but she paid him no heed. 

She rolled over, trying to tamp down on her thoughts but then Torgal rushed back in barking insistently, jarring her out of her thoughts. 

She slowly sat up. 

He darted out of her tent before darting back in, barking a few more times. She began to follow, allowing him to lead her out of the confines of the camp. 

Just where were they going? 

She saw a flash of white out of the corner of her eyes. Was that a white chocobo? But why would it be here unless…

Clive walked out from behind the tree holding the chocobo’s reins, panting, sweating, a wild on his face. 

She felt her eyes widen. He shouldn't be here. He couldn’t be here. No matter how well the talks were going, for him to wander onto their camp could be seen as an act of war. 

She hastily grabbed his hand and led all of them deeper into the woods. Something was clearly wrong, she had never seen him look so rattled. 

He knew better than to come here. It wasn’t safe, especially not for him. Just what was he thinking? 

When they finally got far enough from her camp to be safe, she turned around ready to berate him for his carelessness. The sun would set soon enough, just what could be so important that he would risk his life by coming here? 

“What were you thinking? Are you mad are you - “

He grabbed her by the shoulders, kissing her firmly on the lips with a desperation she hadn’t felt before from him. He pressed his body into hers as if trying to engulf her very being, his lips frantically seeking contact with hers, and by the time he pulled back, Jill could barely catch her breath. 

“Please tell me by some miracle that you are the daughter of Lord Silvermane.”

Chapter Text

Jill stared at her father. He stared back. Neither of them said a word. 

Torgal’s head lay in her lap, his eyes closed, appearing relaxed as his mistress combed through his fur. 

Her father finally blinked, his voice dubious. “...marriage” 

Jill nodded her head. “ If the Rosarians propose marriage tomorrow, I would ask that you offer my hand.” 

Her father sharply exhaled from his nose, “So long as it was to the eldest son, I presume?” He raised an eyebrow, daring her to refute his statement. 

Jill fought the urge to squirm in her seat. She knew her father had his suspicions of who she had been seeing and now she had shown her hand. There was no turning back. 

But she was not here to apologize for her secrecy. 

Clive had told her that a marriage proposal was imminent from his side.  He would agree if she was the one he would be wed to, but she could not guarantee that would be the case. 

The North would not easily part with Shiva and she had a younger sister who would be the much easier choice. As it stood, the odds were against them. Come tomorrow, she would either lose Clive forever or risk them all returning to war. 

Of course her happiness wouldn’t last. Of course to obtain the one thing she longed for, she would need to give up the one person she wanted. Of course, her status as a dominant would imprison her once more. 

He had offered to run away with her, to take off in the middle of the night, forsaking their countries and live a life of their own making. He could write, she could bake, they could be happy. But the look on his face said it all. His heart wasn’t truly in it. Torn between two impossible decisions, he was desperate, clinging onto anything to stay afloat. 

No matter where they went, no matter how far they ran, there was nowhere they could go where their guilt wouldn’t taint every moment of their lives. They couldn't run away. They were trapped, pawns on a chessboard being moved around by the whims of others. 

She had never seen despair so clearly on his face before. It cut through the ever dimming light of the sun that was setting on the day, setting on their time together. Was this the end? 

It was tempting to give into that suffocating feeling, to accept that they just could not be. The sun would be gone, night was coming, it would be easy to give up and drown in the darkness. She was used to drowning, she was used to the dark. It was how her life was before Clive and how it would be without him. 

He was the sun in her sky, the light in her life. The dawn that had brought an end to her dark and dreary existence. And now that she had a taste of what life could be like under the warmth of the sun, she could not go back. 

She would not go back. 

She would not let the light set on them. She would not let this be their end. 

She had been trapped before by her father, by her duty to her people, even by her own mind, and she would be trapped no longer. She would not let them be trapped. 

She wielded power. She commanded respect. She was the dominant of Shiva. 

She had spent so long feeling sorry for what she had been forced to become, apologizing for the monster that she was, apologizing for her very existence but no more. Her status as a dominant had been a curse, forcing her to serve the needs of others, but now, it would be her blessing and hers alone. 

No, she wasn’t here to apologize to her father. She would not apologize anymore. 

She was here to negotiate. She was here to secure her future. 

—-----

Lord Silvermane studied his daughter. She seemed relaxed, her hand leisurely petting her wolf. Her face was a perfect mask of calm but in her eyes lay a tempest. Despite the facade she and her wolf were putting on, he knew the truth. 

His daughter was here to fight. 

He had been surprised when she requested an audience with him. She didn’t often visit. He had granted it, curious to see if she would finally tell him of her nightly escapades, but he certainly hadn’t expected this. 

There was no question from whom she could have received this news from and given her not so secret companion’s rank in the Rosarian army, there was no reason to doubt her information. 

Rosaria sought to bind their nations through matrimony with Clive Rosfield, and Jill wanted them to accept. 

Arrangements like this had worked in the past. So many nations had risen to prominence through this sort of unification. Jill was his oldest remaining daughter, Clive was the eldest son, they would be the obvious choice for matrimony.

But, as was all things related to this daughter, things were never that simple. 

He knew she had been sneaking off every night to see that boy. He wasn’t blind. He saw her tired looks in the morning, the yawns she tried to hide. He saw how her mind was always elsewhere, never fully present. 

But he also saw her smile. He heard her laugh. He saw how happy she was and so he had looked the other way, excusing her unexplained absences, ignoring the comments from his advisors about how unfocused she seemed to be during their meetings. If he could not make his daughter happy, the least he could do was to not take her happiness away. 

If it were up to him, he would bless their arrangement. He had no qualms with their match. If his daughter felt like this Clive was worthy of her, then who was he to stand in the way? 

He had married of his own free will and had promised his late wife that he would give their children that same choice. He could advise and recommend which life partner to choose, but the final decision would be theirs alone. After all the promises he had already broken to his children, he would not break this one. 

But why, of all the people in all the realms, did it have to be him? 

Clive had duties to Rosaria, he could not remain in the North with her and his chieftains would never willingly part with their greatest asset. Many of them had already proposed arrangements of their own, each one hoping to bind Jill to one of their sons so that they could have a claim over Shiva. 

Things would certainly be much easier if his daughter had found someone from the North to be with. There were plenty who would gladly stand by her side. But of course, she had set her eyes upon the dominant of fire himself, deeming only him worthy of her.

She never did make things easy. 

He sighed, something he did too often around this child, “It is not I who stands in your way.”

He knew she was smart. He knew she was capable of staying multiple steps ahead of everyone else, predicting and preventing outcomes long before they even had a chance to unfold. It was one of her greatest strengths. And so, she must have known that the council would be her greatest hurdle. 

But Jill was never one to beg. If she wanted something, she would see it done. She would not have come here if she didn’t already have a plan. 

“Tell me how I am to convince the council to give you what you want.”

—----

Jill mulled over her father’s words. He did not oppose her match, which was promising and relieving. She would need his support if she were to have any success in this arrangement. 

She knew he was right, the council had always been more particular about her ever since her powers had awoken. They had wanted a say in how she was trained and how she was used on the field. Naturally, they would want a say in how she lived her life. 

They had honed her mind and her skills until she was the perfect soldier, the perfect dominant, the perfect pawn. She was their sword and their shield, ready to be used however they saw fit. 

But for all the time they had spent observing her, watching her grow and change, she had also been observing them. She had sat in on their meetings, knew enough about how they thought and acted that she could discern what the council truly valued above all else, what they would give anything to have; strength. 

And she would give them exactly that. 

“If I marry the Dominant of Ifrit, he would be bound to me and I to him. The Phoenix will follow where Ifrit goes, everyone knows this.”

It was no secret the bond held between the two Rosfield brothers. The Twin Flames they had been coined for one was never far from the other. Wherever the Phoenix was, Ifrit was surely not far behind and wherever Ifrit went, the Phoenix was sure to follow. 

Her father nodded, following along with her train of thought. 

“If I am bound to the Rosfield’s, Shiva will live in and defend Rosaria and in return for that service, Ifrit and the Phoenix will aid the North if the need should ever arise.” She paused, “Both countries can have the might of three Eikons but only if I marry. I doubt the Archduke would settle for anything or anyone less.” 

In any other situation, trading one Eikon and expecting two in return would have been laughable, a mathematical joke. But Jill knew her worth. The Phoenix was untrained and Ifrit undisciplined. They both emanated raw power, but what was power without control? 

She was trained. She had discipline. She had control over her Eikon and Shiva could rival both the Phoenix and Ifrit. Rosaria would stand only to benefit from this trade and as for the North… 

Jill leaned back in her seat, watching her father process her words, watching him come to terms with her reasoning. She sighed, giving the appearance of nonchalance before delivering the final blow, “The North would have three Eikons in lieu of one. I’m sure the council will find that most agreeable.” 

—-------

As his daughter stared him down from her seat across the table, as she continued to pet her wolf who sat obediently at her feet, she looked every bit the embodiment of the ice goddess that lived within her. 

Despite whatever misgivings she had at being granted Shiva’s power, she wielded it with ease and he could see why the founder had seen fit to give it to her. 

Although he knew she had her own motives for pushing forward this arrangement it was difficult not to agree with her logic. Three Eikons, two armies; only a fool would dare to oppose that, only a fool would dare to reject that. Both Rosaria and the North would benefit greatly from such a union. 

He rang his bell, summoning a footsoldier into the tent. 

Shiva may have once belonged to the North, but she belonged to Jill now and Jill wanted Clive Rosfield. 

His daughter wanted to leave the North. His daughter wanted to live a life of her own choosing and it was high time that he fought for what she wanted. 

“Summon the council. We have much to discuss.” 

—----

Joshua rushed towards his father’s tent. Clive had returned. 

After much deliberation, the council had decided the only way to ensure that the treaties would be upheld was through matrimony between Clive and Lord Silvermane’s daughter. His brother’s face had been stony and cold when the decision was made and had asked for one night to decide before immediately taking off.

No one had seen him since. 

Nobody had ever seen Clive disappear like that before. Nobody had ever seen Clive do anything but immediately accept what was asked of him. He had never hesitated in the name of duty. It had been most uncharacteristic of him. 

Joshua had offered to marry Lord Silverman’s daughter. He would do it for Clive. What did it matter which son was married to her so long as one of them showed up to the altar?  

But, the Phoenix was to marry someone of Rosarian heritage to ensure that the line stayed pure. And besides, one of the council members had snarkily said, the Duchess would never approve of her darling boy being married off to a Northerner, and so the offer lay firmly with Clive. 

It had been most frustrating. 

It wasn’t right that Clive would be forced to sacrifice his future for Rosaria after having sacrificed so much. He deserved to be with the one he wanted; the woman with silver hair and kind eyes from the woods. The woman who inspired him to write poetry, who encouraged him to read, who gave him the courage to just be himself.  She made him happy. Very happy. 

She was probably the one Clive had rode off to in such haste.

Joshua had secretly hoped that Clive would run away with her. That he would finally see that he too was deserving of happiness and sought to take it, regardless of the consequences. Clive was more than just some pawn to be used at the behest of others. 

But he had returned at the break of dawn and had requested a private audience with their father. Rumor had it that he came back with a scroll bearing the mark of Lord Silvermane, apparently amendments to their most recent treaty. The crowd around the Archduke’s tent grew ever larger.

Just what was happening in there? 

—--------

Clive stared at his father. His father stared back. 

The rest of the Rosarian council waited outside, their hushed tones of confusion heard through the thin walls of the tent. 

He had spent the majority of the night waiting anxiously for Jill. Waiting to hear what had become of her council's decision. 

His conversation with her had been tense. Yes, she was Lord Silvermane’s daughter. No, she wasn’t the only daughter.  No, she did not have faith that the arrangement would work in their favor.

She had been certain that they would be torn from each other, that the peace they sought would separate them, that she would be chained to the North and he would go back to Rosalith with another to take his side.

But what could they do? With so much at stake, did they really have any say in the matter? 

In a moment of desperation, he had offered to run away with her, to live the life they had talked about, but even as the words left his lips, he knew that it wasn’t a viable option.  

He too was chained in his own way. Chained by his duty to Rosaria, his duty as the first shield, his duty as the first born of the Archduke. There would be no running.

He had never felt so trapped. He had never felt so resentful. 

He had always put being a shield first. His duty to his land, to his crown, to his people came before all else. His duty as a shield was what had given his life purpose. It was what had given his life meaning. Being a shield made him useful. It made him belong. It justified his existence in the world. 

He ignored the man behind the shield. That man was undeserving. He couldn't have wants, he couldn’t have needs. It would have been selfish to think otherwise. He had spent the majority of his life ignoring that man, pretending he didn’t exist. 

But that man would be denied no longer. 

For the past few months, that man had basked in the safety and warmth of Jill’s embrace. He had become accustomed to, even expectant of, her gentle touches, her undivided attention, her unreserved affections. She made him feel accepted, she made him feel important, she made him feel deserving. She lit up his world in a way he never thought possible and he could not go back to a life without her. 

That man wanted Jill. That man needed Jill. Would it be so wrong for once in his life, to live simply as a man and not be bound by the duties of a shield? 

A man could stay with her in the North. A man could leave everything behind to remain by her side. A man would not have been forced to decide between his country and the woman whose presence he could not be without. 

He had been torn, paralyzed even. He could not abandon his country, he could not forsake his duty, but he could not survive without her.

She was the moon and the stars in his night sky. A light that shined through the dark just for him, leading him home, showing him the way. He could not go back to that darkness. 

And when she came back with her father’s stipulation, he knew what he had to do. 

She had fought for him, now he would fight for her with everything he had as both man and shield. 

He would convince his father, he would make his council see reason. He was a general. He was a marquess. His words carried power, he just had to be brave enough to use them. 

He would not let her go. He would not let her be parted from him. 

He presented Lord Silvermane’s stipulations to his father. He explained the terms. He spoke ad nauseum about how beneficial it would all be for Rosaria. How Jill’s Eikon was more than worth the trade for Ifrit and the Phoenix. Their nations would be united after all, their fates tied together, at least in this way Rosaria would have an additional Eikon at their behest.

He had rehearsed his speech over and over in his head, trying to counter any objections or answer any concerns that his father and his council might have had. He may not have had Joshua’s mastery of the spoken word but he was determined. 

He would not fail.

—------

This was certainly not how Elwin had expected to spend his morning. 

He had spent all night wondering if he had made a mistake, wondering if there was any way to undo the damage that had been done to Clive. It was never his intent to force his hand in marriage, especially when he knew that he already found another. 

His son had not been very subtle in his courtship. Squirreling away more bread than any one man could ever eat, coming back in the early morning with his hair in disarray, braiding every rope he could get his hands on for practice; Elwin did not want to know just what his son was practicing for.

It was obvious to anyone just what was going on. 

Elwin had hoped to meet this mystery woman once the war was officially over. He had hoped to welcome her into his house. She made his son happy and that was all that mattered.

He had tried to avoid an arranged marriage. He knew which of his sons would pay that price. But the cost of war had been heavy and the price of peace even more so. In the end, he could not stay his council’s hand. 

He had been worried that Clive would silently accept the arrangement, pushing aside his own needs and wants for the sake of pleasing others. It wouldn’t have been the first time. But instead he had been surprised, and secretly proud, when Clive had asked for time to decide before riding off into the night, likely to be with his mystery woman.

And when his son returned at the break of dawn, requesting a private audience with him, Elwin had fully expected that Clive would refuse the arrangement or at the very least lobby for another option, one where he would not be forced to give up his lady. 

But he certainly had not expected this. 

“The woman you have been seeing is Lord Silvermane’s daughter.” He echoed back this information at his son, disbelief seeping into every word. 

His son nodded before answering. “Yes father.”

“And she is also…the dominant of shiva.”

“…Yes”

“And this dominant, this Jill Warrick is now to be married,” he peered back down at the parchment once more, looking at the line that had been underlined multiple times, almost over emphasized as if afraid it would be overlooked.” Jill Warrick is to be married only to Clive Rosfield. ”

His son had the gall to look away, appearing abashed as if he hadn’t been the one to take the quill to the parchment, underlining and bolding the words in an effort to make it stand out. He could recognize his son’s penmanship anywhere. 

Clive coughed, slightly embarrassed at having been caught, “Yes father.”

Elwin read the contents of the letter once more. In truth, Clive needn’t have waxed poetically about the benefits of these terms. It was an admirable effort but unnecessary all the same. This was a more than generous offer from Lord Silvermane. 

Shiva was battle tested. She was consistent, she was reliable. She would be the crown jewel to anyone’s army. If she was willing to defend Rosaria, then of course they would reciprocate in kind. She was indeed, as his son had put it, more than worth the cost. 

It would not be hard to convince the council to agree.

He ran his finger over that bolded line once more, trying to process all the information his son had so generously bequeathed him oh so early in the day.  

He knew his son wanted to be with the woman from the woods, this Princess from the North. He wouldn’t be standing here in front of him otherwise. And if what Clive said was true, she wanted to be with him too. 

If the Dominants of Ice and Fire wanted to be bound together, under one banner, in holy matrimony who was he to stand in the way? 

“I’m sure you two will make quite the pair. I do hope though…” He stood, making his way around the table to move towards Clive, “...that there will be no unintended surprises for me to explain in a few months?” 

His son looked at him confused before Elwin lightly punched him on the belly, his eyebrow raised suggestively. 

Clive began spluttering. His face turned a shade of red that rivaled the color of the Rosarian flag. “We haven’t… she’s not….father!” 

Elwin chuckled as he summoned his council members, each one curious to see Clive’s mortified face in the room. 

Elwin clasped his hand on his son’s shoulder, before announcing to everyone gathered in the room, “My Lords, congratulations are in order. The Lord Marquess has finally found himself a bride.”

Chapter Text

Clive’s heartbeat was strong and steady. A soothing marching rhythm that pulled her into a sense of calm like no other. Jill could listen to it forever. 

Her eyelids felt heavy, her limbs loose. She readjusted herself on his chest, wanting to be as close as possible, and just breathed. 

His hand came up and tangled itself in her hair. “Do you think you’ll miss the North?” 

Jill opened her eyes and sighed, slowly drawing herself out of the trance she had fallen into. “I don’t know.” She honestly hadn’t given it much thought. 

This past week had gone by in a blur. Once her father received favorable word from the Archduke everyone had been whipped up into a frenzy. The ratification of the treaty would occur in one week at their encampment and then the Rosarians would march home, the Northerners more than eager to have their land back to themselves again. 

The encampment was nothing short of utter chaos as they all scrambled to get everything prepared for the signing ceremony. It was a miracle that she had any time to sneak out to see Clive. 

With everything going on, she had barely any time to herself, much less to think about what it would be like to leave the North.

She had never left the North before, always just assumed that she would die here never having the chance to see the world. Leaving had been a dream for so long but now, in a few weeks, it would be her new reality. 

But would she miss the North? She wasn’t sure she would. There was a stifling feeling being here, almost suffocating. Maybe with some time, there would be elements of the North she would miss. But there were too many memories here, more bad than good. She was looking forward to leaving them behind. 

She was looking forward to starting a new life with Clive. 

“I’ll miss the cooler weather and the woods I suppose.” She answered. The trees had always been one of her favorite places to retreat to. Somewhere quiet and peaceful, where no one would find her. If anything, she would miss that. 

Clive combed his hand through her hair. “There are forests in Rosalith. I can show them to you if you’d like.”

She smiled into his chest and nodded. 

“I can’t do much about the climate though. The castle is usually pretty cool in the summers and kept warm in the winter. Though I suppose you won’t have much issue with the cold.” 

She heard the smile in his voice and she couldn’t help but grin. No she wouldn‘t have any issues with the cold. 

“There’s a courtyard and a balcony that overlooks it. On clear nights….” 

She listened to Clive describe the castle grounds to her, occasionally throwing in some anecdotes about him and Joshua into the mix. There was a fondness in his voice whenever he talked about Joshua, a fondness that warmed her very being.

She felt her body loosen once more, soothed by the sound of his voice and the sensation of his hand in her hair, and her eyes drifted shut once more. 

—---

Clive continued combing his hand through Jill’s hair, having just finished telling her of the time he had been scolded by the castle chef for trying to steal some cookies for Joshua. It felt nice to share these stories with her. It felt nice to share his life with someone. 

He felt her stifle a yawn. She was probably exhausted. He was too. 

Everyone had been busy packing all week knowing that the moment after the ratification they would be expected to leave.  But despite the impending deadline, there was a certain infectious joy throughout the camp, more laughter, more chatter. Everyone was eager to go home. 

He had been swept up in it too in some ways but…

“Are you looking forward to going home?” Jill asked, almost as if reading his mind. 

And at that, Clive paused. He did not know how to answer that question. Of course he was looking forward to being back in Rosaria. He missed his country, how could he not? But he couldn’t deny the feeling of trepidation that seemed to grow with each passing day. 

He hadn’t been in Rosaria proper for years now and Rosalith Castle for even longer than that. He could scarcely even remember what his quarters looked like, having spent so many years on the battlefield and rarely any time back on castle grounds.

Would he recognize the castle? Would things even be the same after so long? Or would the Duchess have redecorated everything to her liking? 

And with that thought, his trepidation turned into dread. Dread that pooled in the pits of his stomach, churning and vile like acid. 

He hadn’t written to his mother nor her to him for the duration of the war. Had it not been for the missives that Joshua and his father received, he would have had no idea what she had been up to these past few years. 

She was well, he heard. She stayed mostly in the castle, only occasionally leaving the grounds. She had been upset that the war dragged on for so long, lamenting at having to be parted from her darling boy but Lord Murdoch was certain that it had more to do with the lack of funding that was available for her more formal events. Hard to ask for a ball to be thrown when half the populace was away at war. 

And now, she was taking charge at preparing Rosalith Castle for their return. But he wanted no part in it. 

He wasn’t looking forward to seeing her again. 

The Rosalith Castle of his youth was filled with empty rooms, closed doors, and silent tears. He felt more welcome with his shields, more at ease in the traininfield. He felt more comfortable here in the grass with Jil than he ever felt in the castle. 

At least here he didn’t have to endure the glares from his mother and her ladies. At least here, he didn’t have to turn a cheek to the rumors of his inferior birth and his father’s supposed infidelities. 

At least here he was wanted. Here, he wasn’t alone. 

Joshua had tried his best to keep him company during their younger days but his brother had his duties too. Duties to the Duchess. Duties as the Phoenix. Duties to the Duchy. And more often than not, he would find himself alone, wishing that he could just sink into the shadows and disappear. 

But, he reminded himself, he wouldn't be alone anymore. 

Jill would arrive soon and she would be there with him. She would eat her meals with him, she would be at his side at every public gathering, she would be with him every night. She wouldn’t be expected to cater to the Duchess or be by the Archduke in a seat that might as well have been leagues away from him. 

No, she would be there with him and he wouldn’t be alone anymore. That thought loosened that uncomfortable knot in his chest, making it easier to breathe. 

He peered down at her silver hair that lay splayed out on his chest. He welcomed the comforting weight of her on his chest, the way her rhythmic breathing soothed him like no other. 

Maybe with Jill things would be different this time. Maybe with Jill, they could make Rosalith Castle their home. 

She tilted up her head, a concerned look on her face at his delay. “I’m looking forward to you being there with me.” And he meant it. There was so much he wanted to show her. So much he wanted to share with her. 

She smiled. 

“Now…” he said, wanting to change the topic. “Remind me again what it is I am supposed to do tomorrow.” 

—-----

Jill stood up, pulling Clive up with her. He had told her how uncomfortable he was being the center of attention, having made a fool of himself in times past, and so she had made it her mission to prepare him as best as she could. 

She waved her hand, creating a replica of the stage and their seating arrangement for tomorrow from ice. 

“We will be seated next to each other during the ceremony.” She sat down on one of the chairs and beckoned him over. He made a show of gingerly sitting down in his seat and she shot him a playful glare. “It’s not that cold.” 

“Not for you maybe.” 

She shook her head in playful exacerbation. “After my father and your father are finished signing the accords, then we will need to go up on the stage and sign together.” 

Clive stood first, as was expected, and offered her his arm, silently thankful that his backside would no longer be subjected to her ice. He was convinced that she made his seat extra cold. 

She took his arm and they walked towards the makeshift table where the treaty would be. “You sign,” Clive made a show of signing the imaginary paper with the flourish of his hand, garnering him a giggle, “Then I sign,” Jill repeated his overly floral gesture. “Then afterwards you may kiss my hand.” 

She presented her hand to him in an exaggerated gesture of what she had seen done at court. Her head was tilted back, her arm outstretched, almost as if she were about to swoon. He took her hand and placed a slow kiss making sure to overemphasize the sound of his lips on her skin. This was certainly a more playful rendition than what was likely to come tomorrow.

He looked up when she paused. “And then?” He prodded, despite knowing well exactly what would come next, they had rehearsed this many times already. 

Jill blinked a few times. She hadn’t been aware that she was staring. He gave her a small smirk. She cleared her throat, was her mouth always this dry? “And then you guide me back to our seats, and that’s it.” They walked back to their starting positions and Clive eyed her ice chair skeptically, standing in front of it making no move to sit back down. 

She rolled her eyes, waved her hand, and dismissed her icy sculptures. Honestly, It was just a little bit of ice. 

“After all of that, then you and the rest of the Rosarian company get to go home.” 

It was a simple ceremony for all intents and purposes. Shortened intentionally for the purpose of allowing the Rosarians enough daylight to make decent headway on their journey. Once she and Clive signed, he would be on his way home. 

And she would have to stay. 

Her heart sank at that. She had tried to ignore that thought all throughout tonight wanting to keep things light hearted but it never strayed far from her mind. 

She knew there were things that needed to be finalized, things that needed to be prepared before her departure for Rosaria. She still had much to do and much to learn if she were to integrate herself into Rosarian life. She knew all of this. But she couldn’t help but wish that she could go with him. 

She didn’t want to be here alone. 

—----

Despite her best intentions, he heard the dismay in her voice. He saw it in the shadows of her eyes. He knew it had been looming over them for the better part of this evening. He didn’t want to leave her here. If he had it his way, they would depart for Rosalith together tomorrow and never be parted again. 

But there were rules they had to follow. Rules that even they couldn’t break. 

He drew her into his arms and pressed his face against her hair, “In one month, you’ll be in Rosalith and I’ll be waiting for you there. And we’ll finally get to live the lives we talked about.” 

She smiled weakly at that, trying to temper the emotions that threatened to overcome her. This was the last night they would have together like this, she didn’t want to ruin it. 

Her arms came up around his waist and she buried her face into his chest. 

“I’ll show you the kitchens in Rosalith and you’ll have a proper pie. One that has fresh fruit and maybe some whipped cream. It’ll be much better than what you’ve had here.” 

His heart ached when he felt her tears on his chest. He hugged her tighter, trying to memorize the feel of her in his arms. 

“Thank you Clilve.” Her voice was thick with her tears. He kissed her crown once more. 

Her hands loosened around his waist and came up between them. They went to caress his face and he leaned into them, enjoying the sensation. She stared at him trying to memorize every second of this moment and he knew he was doing the same. It would be all either one of them had to tie them over for the next few weeks. 

She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his forehead, a sign of affection that made his heart heavy with emotion. 

He had wanted this so much as a child. To have someone care for him unabashedly. To have someone who wasn’t embarrassed to be with him, who would fight to be with him. And now, in his arms, he held the woman who was the answer to every wish and hope that he hadn’t dared to utter. He closed his eyes, afraid of his own tears that had begun to form.  

“You’re going to do great tomorrow Clive. You have nothing to worry about.” she whispered reassuringly to him. 

He nodded his head silently, not quite trusting his voice. 

He may never feel fully comfortable in the eyes of the public and while rehearsing helped take the edge off, it would never quite be enough to remove any fear he had of scrutiny or embarrassment. 

But so long as he had Jill with him, then everything would be alright. So long as she was by his side, he could do anything. 

He held her tighter, enjoying these last moments that they had. 

—---

“You did well today.” Elwin clasped his son on the shoulder as they rode off, the Northern encampment growing ever smaller in the distance. 

Clive gave him a small nod of appreciation. “Thank you, father.” 

Indeed, his son had done well. He had been nervous, as was to be expected. Everyone had been nervous to be at the center of the North encampment, surrounded by so much silver and blue that in times past would have been a death sentence. 

But his son had held his composure. He did not falter under the scrutiny of many eyes. He stood resolute, every bit the Marquess and General that he was. He had made his country proud. 

He had made him proud. 

He heard a cheer from a garrison of men to his left, joyous toasts to a war ended, excitement at the prospect of peace that was to follow. Elwin couldn’t help but smile. 

And yet, despite how cheerful of an occasion today was meant to, his son looked forlorn. 

It wasn’t hard to guess why. 

He saw the looks he and the Lady Jill shared during the ceremony. How they stood just slightly too close for formalities, how his kiss on her hand lasted just a moment too long. 

And after the ceremony, when they were to bid their goodbyes, she clutched his hand tightly before tying a blue ribbon to his arm. 

A blue ribbon that his son had not stopped staring at. 

Yes, they may be making the journey home, but for Clive, home was behind him, growing farther and farther away with each step. 

His home was with Jill. 

—---

Lord Silvermane stood next to his daughter as they watched the Rosarian company march off, their profiles growing ever smaller. 

They too would leave soon, head back for the capitol, begin making arrangements for Jill’s eventual journey to Rosalith. 

Her hair blew free in the wind, no longer tied together. 

He had his doubts about that boy. The spare son of the Archduke, spurned by his own mother. A Marquess with no true inheritance to his name due to awakening with the wrong Eikon. A dominant who, despite his Eikon’s unparalleled power, had only been able to channel it twice thus far. And yet, after what he witnessed today even he had to admit, his daughter had chosen well. 

Lord Rosfield’s eyes never left her for a moment. His whole body responded to her presence. The way he guided her onto the stage, the way he hovered over her protectively as she signed her name on the treaty, the soft smile they shared upon seeing their names upon the paper, anyone could see that he was utterly devoted to her. And his daughter would need someone like that in the coming days. 

The path she was on would not be an easy one. In a month, she would go to Rosaria with nothing more than a few handmaidens to accompany her. She would need to adjust to court life in Rosalith and deal with all the difficulties that came with being a foreigner on unfamiliar soil. 

She would be expected to integrate herself into the Rosarian army and would need to find a foothold in their political landscape, all while playing the role of the perfect lady. It was no easy feat by any means. 

He knew Jill could do this, he would never doubt her, but one could not deny that it would certainly be easier if she had someone on her side. 

And who could be a better ally than Clive Rosfield. A man who had to fight to earn his place at the table. A man who had risen through the ranks and proven his worth through his own merit.  A man who had eyes only for her.

Jill continued to stare out into the distance. 

His daughter would never have an easy life but she had found herself a stout ally, a life long companion, and as her father, he could ask for nothing more.

Chapter Text

Rosalith castle was in an upheaval. 

“This way lads!”

“Careful of the furniture, don’t want to cause any damage now do you?” 

“My Lord, where should this be placed?” 

Lady Hana watched the chaos unfold from the courtyard. Furniture being unloaded from wagons, decorations being donned on the castle walls, everything was abuzz in preparation for the Northern princess. 

And the focal point of all this chaos was the Lord Marquess’s chambers. She dodged a pair of laborers moving a pew as she made her way up to Clive’s residence. 

She had always doted on Clive. A shy, quiet boy who was eager to lend a hand. He had spent a few summers with her at Eastpool, helping her out around the house while receiving some private lessons from her husband. He was Rodney’s favorite, even if her stubborn husband would never admit it. 

So of course, when he sent her a letter asking for her help with preparations for his betrothed, she was only too happy to make the trip over. She hadn’t seen him in nearly half a decade, not since he had marched North to fight against the invaders. Rodney had written her letters, keeping her informed of the passings on the front lines. It was a small comfort in his long absence. 

She wasn’t surprised to hear how Clive thrived on the battlefield. She always knew he would do well once he was in the right environment. One where he was entrusted with responsibility and encouraged. One where people relied on him. One where the Duchess could not get her hands on him. 

She heard the praises that the shields sang for him now that they had returned. How he was a leader amongst men, how he led them to one victory after another, how they would all favor him to be the next Lord Commander once her husband decided to retire. Assuming he ever retired. 

But she had also heard about his engagement. All of Rosaria had. Their beloved Marquess, defender of their nation, now to be wed to the Ice Dominant, harbinger of death and destruction, all for the sake of peace. She had been aghast to say the least. 

Imagine her surprise when Rodney informed her that it was anything but. That Clive had wanted this arrangement, lobbied for it in fact. That he was absolutely taken with her and overjoyed at the prospect of her joining him here. 

She didn’t quite believe him. Her husband always had been the romantic. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking, willful denial of the gravity of the whole situation. 

She had heard the stories about Shiva from the wounded who had been lucky enough to return. They described her as a frigid being with eyes cold as steel whose very presence was enough to turn flesh into ice. She was incapable of feeling fear or pain. How could Clive ever be taken with someone like that? 

But now, she was starting to see what her husband meant. 

Immediately upon his return to Rosalith Castle, Clive had set his mind to renovating his quarters, determined to make it suitable for his new bride. He had new furniture brought in, made room for her belongings, even consulted with the local kennel owner on how best to incorporate a hound into the space. 

He had been enthusiastic, personally involved in every step of the process, not something anyone would have expected from a purely political arrangement. 

It would explain the predicament that she happened upon in his room. 

“Let me help you with that.” 

“It’s very heavy General, you don’t have to –” 

Clive waved the man off, stepping in to help the two laborers lift the chaise through the narrow door. They set it down in the corner with a loud thud. 

Clive took a step back, surveying the room, a look of concentration on his face. “Maybe this should be over there. But then the dresser…” 

It was amusing to see how focused Clive was on every single detail. Nothing could be out of place. Everything had to be perfect. He had never been one to fuss about the state of his room or his things. A simple man through and through. But he clearly wanted to impress his new lady and nothing short of perfection would be suitable. 

He must truly be quite taken with her. 

“Lady Hana!” Clive came over to her, gracing her with a bow. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. I apologize for not greeting you at the gates. I hope your journey was alright?” 

“It was, quite.” She nodded before taking a brief look around. 

His writing desk had been moved to the side to make room for another table right next to it. His old bookshelf had been torn out from the wall and in its place a much grander shelf that spanned from wall to wall. It looked like the ones she had seen in Archduke’s library. And off to the side, a new bed had been brought in, pillows and sheets hastily tossed onto it for the sake of temporarily making more space. 

“You’ve certainly made quite the changes to your quarters.” 

He nodded, running off to quickly assist another laborer in handling a large dresser before coming back to her, gesturing for her to sit in one of the new chairs he had procured. “Jill will be moving in soon and I wanted to make sure that everything would be up to par.” 

She couldn't help but raise her eyebrows at the familiarity in which he spoke of her. They obviously were more than well acquainted. 

Clive blushed and scratched the back of his head when he realized what he had said, “I mean, Lady Warrick will arrive soon and I wanted to make sure she would be comfortable.” He cleared his throat. “I just want to make sure that I can provide what she needs.” 

Hana felt her eyes soften at the sincerity in his voice. He had always been so eager to please, so eager to do right by others, and his new bride clearly was no exception. 

He brought over some sketches of boudoirs, mirrors, and lounge chairs. “I was hoping to get your opinion on what might be more pleasing for a lady. I haven’t the foggiest when it comes to these things and I am certainly no expert in fashion or design. My Uncle has kindly offered to fund any and all costs but….”

Lady Hana studied the sketches making sure to carefully evaluate each and every one before making any recommendations. 

Nothing but perfection for her dearest Clive. 

—-----

Clive sank further into the chair and pushed his hair back from his face. He would need to bathe soon. He could feel the sweat on his skin from all the exertion of earlier today. 

His quarters were coming along nicely. Most of the furniture was in place, the craftsmens of Rosalith more than eager to help create pieces for his room. He was most grateful. 

He would still need to move things around, the set up not quite what he wanted, but it was a start. Jill would arrive soon and after a brief period of public courtship, she would move in here with him. 

Everything needed to be perfect. 

He looked around his quarters, imagining Jill sitting by the vanity brushing her hair, her clothes hung up in the dresser, her side of the bed rumpled from use. He reached out and touched the sheets, that image bringing a small smile to his face. 

Someone knocked on his door. “Permission to enter General Rosfield ?” 

Clive turned in the direction of the sound and saw Joshua standing there. He had left the door open to air out the room, the smell of freshly lacquered wood had been overwhelming. 

He scoffed, “Permission granted Lord Rosfield .” 

Joshua smiled and walked in, taking in his surroundings. 

—------

Joshua liked the title General Rosfield. He felt like it was befitting of Clive. Or perhaps he had heard that title more frequently than not these past few years and had simply become accustomed to it. He wasn’t sure. 

Clive’s status as General was not something he had left Rosalith with but it was his now and people had taken notice. 

Courtiers who had avoided him in the past now greeted him in the halls, eager to regain favor. Castle staff addressed him as General and now even he had taken to that name, if only to poke fun at the whole situation. 

“Your renovations are coming along quite nicely.” Joshua ran his hands over the wooden carvings of the vanity, impressed at the details that had gone into it. His brother’s room had transformed from one of meager means, a bed, a desk, a drawer, to a room fitting of his station.

“There's still some work to be done.” Clive said, gesturing to some boxes that lay stacked in a corner. “And I’m waiting on the fabrics from town to make the canopy.” 

Joshua looked at the bed, laid bare without any overhanging. A simple ah escaped his lips, meant only to acknowledge his brother’s comment but there must have been something in the tone of his voice for Clive looked at him, his eyes narrowing. “The fabrics aren’t coming are they.” 

Joshua sighed and sat down on the chair opposite Clive. They never could hide anything from one another. “No.” The fabrics weren’t coming any time soon. They probably would never come if their mother had anything to say about it. 

They sat in silence for a while, a heaviness setting itself between the two brothers. They hadn’t had much time to spend together since returning to the castle a fortnight ago. Clive had been busy with his renovations and preparation for the wedding and he had needed to attend to state affairs, everyone eager for the Phoenix’s blessing. 

This was the first night since returning that they had any time at all to chat without one or the other being pulled away. He missed his brother.  

“I’m sorry about what happened at the feast.” It was something Joshua had meant to address much sooner, the night of ideally, but he had been pulled away by their mother once the festivities ended. She was determined that he would spend time with her after being away for so long, and also determined to keep him from Clive. 

At that his brother sighed. He didn’t want to think about the feast. 

Their mother had been in charge of celebrations upon their return and had arranged for a feast to be thrown on the night of their arrival. She had seated Clive next to her, front and center in the great hall for all to see. A far cry from his usual position on the far end of the table or even standing on the floor. 

She had publicly doted on him, resting her hand on his arm, speaking at length to everyone in the hall about how proud she was of both of her children. How grateful she was that the founder had seen fit to bring them back from the war. How they were now a family reunited, an example of the unity and strength for all of Rosaria. She did not let Clive leave her side all night claiming that they had been separated for too long already. 

Public sentiment had shifted heavily in Clive’s favor and the Duchess knew that. 

She knew it would no longer be in her best interest to shun or mock Clive. At least not in public. And so she had shifted her tactics, becoming every bit the adoring mother gladly taking credit for Clive’s accomplishments as if they were her own.

After all, Clive wouldn’t be here without her. 

It had been painful to watch his brother be paraded around by her. Needing to cater to her ego, needing to express thanks for all that she had done for him, lest he appear ungrateful. The people may favor Clive, but the Duchess was still the Duchess and it would be frowned upon to openly disregard her. 

Clive had wisely avoided their mother afterwards and she had done everything in her power to make his life miserable. 

A few days ago she casually told Joshua over her afternoon tea, one that she absolutely insisted he must be present for, that she needed laborers, materials, fabrics , for the royal wedding. Resources that Clive surely would be happy to sacrifice, it was for his own wedding after all. 

With all the setbacks their mother had orchestrated it was a miracle that Clive had managed to get anything done in his quarters.

To his brother’s credit, Clive had appeared relatively unbothered. Almost indifferent. Playing the dutiful son in public when necessary and retreating when able. Stoically weathering whatever the Duchess had planned. 

But still, Joshua saw how it wore on his brother. They weren’t at war anymore and yet, he had never seen him more tense. Never fully relaxed in the castle halls, never truly letting down his guard. 

He must be exhausted.

—-----

Clive hated the feast. He hated everything about it. 

He hated that he was the center of attention. He hated that the Duchess kept touching him and there was nothing he could do but endure it. He hated that he was forced to lie. 

He hated that night. 

There was a time where he would have given anything to have the Duchess show affection for him, even if it was just for show. He would have gladly taken any scrap she threw his way and begged for more had she asked. 

But he was not that boy anymore. 

He did not need her anymore. He did not want her anymore. He ignored the hollow feeling that accompanied those thoughts. 

He could stand on his own two feet, on his own merit, and not even the Duchess in her infinite power could take that away.

But she still took what she could. His peace of mind. His sense of ease.

He preferred it when she left him alone.  

At least during the war when he returned to camp he could breathe easy. He knew his men would look out for him, he knew who was on his side. But he found no such reprieve here, always looking over his shoulders, always keeping his wits about, never knowing who was friend or foe. 

He did not know how much longer he could put up with it. 

He had forgotten how suffocating it was to be under her foot, unable to get away and it would only get worse when Jill arrived. He knew the Duchess would only double her efforts once she had a captive audience and he only hoped that he could prepare Jill for what was to come. 

Clive looked up and saw the dark rings on his brother’s face and that familiar feeling of guilt rose to the surface. He knew Joshua had been busy. Now that they had returned, his duties as heir had only increased in magnitude. He was no longer a young boy who could be so easily excused. And here he was, his sworn shield, too busy dodging the Duchess and hiding in his quarters to be useful. 

He would need to do better. He leaned forward and placed a hand on Joshua’s knee. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much.” 

Joshua laughed softly and moved over to his brother’s new bed, flopping down onto it, staring up at the ceiling where the canopy should have been. “If I was getting married, I too would be quite preoccupied. Perhaps you’d like to switch places brother. I certainly wouldn’t mind.” 

Clive moved to lay next to his brother. They were shoulder to shoulder now, a position reminiscent of when they were children. “That’s not bloody happening.” 

They both laughed. 

“Now, tell me of all the exciting plans you have for this room. I don’t remember that book shelf being there before, are you planning to start your own library?”

“Uncle Byron agreed to bring some books over and…”

The two of them talked late into the night. 

—-----

Clive walked through the courtyard, enjoying the last bit of sunlight before the sun set. Jill would arrive in two days and he could scarcely wait. 

He wondered if she would like it here,  if she would enjoy life here with him. It would certainly be different from the North and a change of scenery from their respective war camps. 

Honestly he was still adjusting to being back after so long. There were times when he woke up in the middle of the night confused to be in his chambers and not in a tent. Other times where he was sure it was his turn to take the night watch. Despite having been back for a month, there were moments where the castle felt foreign. 

He was sure things would be easier once Jill was here with him. 

He had already picked out a few taverns that he thought she would enjoy, each one specializing in some form of bread or dessert. They might not be able to make it there until after the wedding but maybe he could sneak her out. 

Of course, nothing could compare to what the castle cooks could make, and he had already made arrangements regarding certain pastries. He smiled just imagining the look on her face when his plans came to fruition.  

A voice jarred him out of his thoughts. “Clive, come here and say hello.” The smile faded from his face, his elation turned to ash. 

She wasn’t supposed to be here. By this hour she was usually getting ready to retire for the day. It was the only reason he had ventured out here to begin with. He cursed his carelessness and slowly turned around. 

She walked over to him with her entourage, her lips a thin pleasant smile, but her eyes anything but.

He gave a small bow, “Duchess.” 

She tsked, “ Mother Clive, no need for such formalities, we are family are we not?” 

Her hand came forward to touch the scar on his face and it took everything in his being not to pull away. He would not give her that satisfaction. 

Her hand eventually left his face but remained outstretched in front of him. Her intentions were clear, she meant for him to kiss it. 

His mind flashed back to the feast. The one where he was trapped. The one where he could do nothing but have his strings pulled like a puppet. He could feel the cage doors closing in on him once more. 

He could refuse, he tried to tell himself. He didn’t have to. He certainly didn’t want to. But with so many eyes upon him, what choice did he have really? He slowly bent forward once more. 

“Such a good boy. I raised him well, wouldn't you all agree?” 

Clive swallowed the acid that rose to his throat. 

A chorus of yes your grace, such a fine mother you are, your grace rang out. Of course her cortiers agreed with her. He could barely hear them though, his heart was pounding too loudly in his ears. She blinked coyly at him, that damned small smile still playing on her lips, daring him to contradict her. 

But he stayed silent. He had learned from experience that words would only fail him in these encounters. No matter what he said the Duchess would find ways to twist his meanings and intent into something unrecognizable. 

He was never good at words, always struggling to convey what it was he truly meant, but for the Duchess words were her weapon of choice and he knew he would never win against her. 

Better to stay silent than give her the very tools to maim him with. 

“Now won’t you be a darling and accompany me to the gates to bid our guests farewell?” 

She sauntered off knowing he would have no choice but to follow her. Clive began counting down from ten and then a hundred. He would count down from a thousand if that was what it took to maintain his composure. 

One of the Lords spoke up, “General, you must be so excited that your betrothed is to arrive soon.” 

Clive gave a tight nod not wanting to elaborate further. 

The Duchess chuckled up ahead, a harsh unpleasant sound that set him on edge. “I heard the most curious rumor about your betrothed, perhaps you could enlighten us, Clive.” All eyes turned to him. “I heard she had another lover in the North, one she met with in the woods but he was a jealous man and in a fit of rage tore her limb from limb, even throwing her off a cliff.” 

Horrified gasps came from the group and Clive felt his heart drop into the ground. He knew exactly what she was referring to. 

“She must be so thankful to be with the General now. How horrifying. What kind of man would do such a thing?” One of the ladies in waiting spoke up. 

“A pathetic one to be sure.” The Duchess continued on, not missing a beat. “Indeed she must be so grateful. The Lord Marquess is such a gentleman. I’m sure he would never lay a hand on her, now would you Clive?”

His heart continued to pound in his ears. Images of Jill barely breathing as he unknowingly scrubbed her caked blood from his fingernails came roaring back to life and it was all he could do to keep walking. 

“And those renovations of yours are certainly coming along.” The Duchess peered back at him, not bothering to hide her glee at the ashen look on his face. “Very tasteful arrangement , wouldn’t you all agree?” 

Her ladies laughed at the backhanded compliment. 

They finally arrived at the gates and he stood there silently as the Duchess bid everyone farewell. 

There was a reason he avoided his mother. There was a reason each interaction with her chipped away at who he was. He knew she was cruel. He knew that she spoke with the intent to harm. But no matter what it was she said, there was always a layer of truth to it, something that even he could not deny, and that was the worst part. 

He may not be a jealous lover but he had been the one to hurt Jill. And he had stupidly hoped that a few tasteless renovations would be a means to start making amends for what he had done, as if anything could ever take away the damage he wrought on her body…he truly was pathetic wasn’t he. 

His mother finally turned back to him. “I always enjoy our conversations, Clive. I find them to be most enlightening.” She patted him on the cheek once more and he couldn't help but flinch. “I am very much looking forward to having these little chats with your bride once she arrives, I’m sure she will find them most enlightening as well.” 

She began walking away, leaving him alone by the castle gates. 

He didn’t know how long he stood there.

Chapter Text

Clive had not been sleeping well. 

That was the first thing Jill noticed when she had exited her carriage. There were dark rings under his eyes, the crows feet that had faded in the past few months were prominent once more. 

There wasn’t much time for introductions or re-acquaintances as a storm had delayed her arrival and she had been rushed off to make ready for the dinner tonight. 

She and her entourage had been traveling for the better part of the past two weeks. It had been a slow, mind numbing process made worse by her eagerness to arrive. 

She wasn’t used to such slow travel. Had it been up to her, she would have arrived in Rosalith in half the time. But her traveling companions were not used to long distance travel. They required frequent breaks and stops and thus she was subjected to the slow meanderings of their chocobo drawn carriages. 

It wasn’t all bad, she supposed. The trip itself had been relatively uneventful save for a few storms here and there. And camping in Rosaria was very much similar to camping back in the North, a small comfort all things considered. 

Her last few weeks in the North had been spent with tutor after tutor, each one educating her on different aspects of Rosarian culture. She learned about the royal family, the lineage of the Phoenix, Rosaria’s political alliances, the duties that she would be expected to perform as the future Lady Marchioness and as an eventual member of their army. It all made her head spin.  

She would be lying if all that information had not made her the least bit anxious. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself. She didn’t want to make a fool of Clive. 

She had missed him terribly these past few weeks. She saw his profile in strangers. Heard his voice in the crowds. A part of her even foolishly hoped that she would happen upon him in the woods whenever they camped. But she never did and despite how silly it all was, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed. 

She had been eager to arrive in Rosalith, if only to be put out of her misery, and she had been overjoyed to finally see the capitol. But that all changed when she saw Clive. 

There was a tightness to his features, a stiffness in his gait that set her on edge. Something was clearly wrong. 

And now at dinner, she could see exactly what the problem was. 

The Duchess was a hateful woman, that much was clear. Despite the beauty she seemed to so effortlessly possess, she was an ugly person. A haughty demeanor, an unwelcoming attitude, a toxic presence that poisoned any room she walked into. 

The Duchess had taken it upon herself to educate Jill about her future husband. It is important that you two be well acquainted is it not? But she knew she would not like what the Duchess would have to say, and she was right. 

The Duchess began by lamenting on how difficult it had been to carry Clive. How she could barely eat or sleep for months and languished in agony for a day and a half in labor. How he selfishly nearly took her life in his bid to come into this world. Joshua had been a much easier child, more pleasant to carry and to hold. Nothing like Clive had been. 

She told Jill of how Clive had a stutter when he was a child. An absolute mortification for everyone to hear and how fortunate they all were that she had slapped some sense into him, metaphorically speaking of course.  

“And when Clive was twelve…” 

“Enough Anabella.” The Archduke warned, stepping in once more on Clive’s behalf. He and the Phoenix had tried to intervene a few times, but the Duchess had been unperturbed, continuing on her relentless diatribe. 

The Duchess huffed, “I am only preparing your son’s intended about what to expect in her future. Lest you would have her go into this marriage under false pretenses and wonder how her future children turned out to be simpletons.”

The Archduke shook his head waving off his wife, clearly showing his disagreement with her actions but otherwise allowing her to continue unhindered. It didn’t miss Jill’s notice how she had referred to Clive as ‘your son’.

“Now Clive, do you want to tell her ladyship about what you did when you were twelve or shall I?” 

Jill looked at Clive who for the entirety of the evening had stayed silent, staring down at his plate, barely eating. He looked absolutely miserable and he had every right to be. 

He had told her that he hated formal events, that he hated court life and honestly, it wasn’t hard to imagine why. Clive wore his heart on his sleeves. His emotions laid bare for the world to see. People at court, Rosarian or Northern, would have gladly torn him apart for that. 

But it wasn’t the people at court who had traumatized him so. It wasn’t their scrutiny that had wounded him so deeply that he was unable to mount any defense. It was the Duchess, his very own mother, who rather than shielding and protecting him like she should have, had inflicted the greatest amount of damage, tearing him open and leaving him raw and exposed for the world to see. 

She could see how his childhood played out. How his younger brother would try to step in but would be easily dismissed by the Duchess, a woman who treated people, including her own children, like puppets. How the Archduke, in his infinite responsibilities, was unable to be present to protect his son from his wife’s viciousness. How the hierarchy in this country left everyone silently pitying Clive, all unable to help him, as he took on the brunt of the Duchess’s ire. 

But enough was enough.

—-----

Rodney never liked these things. 

His clothes were always a little too tight. The room a bit too stuffy. The company far from desirable. 

When Elwin had been made Archduke there had been an implicit understanding between them that he would spare him from as many of these events as possible. He would take a pint of ale at a tavern over a royal feast anyday. 

But then of course, he went and became the Lord Commander and here he was once more, slowly suffocating to death in his outfit, struggling to remember which of the six forks to use. 

But if there was one thing he absolutely hated about these things it was how the Duchess, without fail, would use these events to publicly humiliate Clive and he hated that no one, not even he, could do anything about it. 

The feast had been bad enough but to do this in front of Lady Warrick was just barbaric. Had she no shame? 

He had no idea what story Anabella was trying to bring up and honestly it probably didn’t matter. Things that all young boys did, mistakes that all children made, were magnified under her gaze. A small error, a simple blunder, now deserving of a death sentence. 

Clive continued sitting there, silently resigned to his fate. 

Anabella opened her mouth but it was another’s voice that rang out. 

“When I was twelve I was afraid of the dark and stood too close to a torch. I set my hair on fire and ran through the halls with my hair setting the tapestries alight. I think I scorched the better part of the western wing that night.” 

Everyone looked at Lady Warrick in stunned silence.  

“And when I was eight.” She continued, not letting the Duchess get another word in. “I was forbidden to go to a ball by my mother but went anyway. I was so busy avoiding anyone who might recognize me that I knocked over the cake they had prepared for my sister’s sixteenth name day and ruined the evening for everyone.” She laughed a bit at the memory. “I don’t think anyone was pleased with me that night.”

“How embarrassed your mother must have been of you.” The Duchess cut in, not used to losing control of a conversation.

Lady Warrick shrugged and smiled, unaffected by the Duchess’s comment.  “We all have our stories, your Grace. Some are more entertaining than others.”  She placed her hands in her lap and fixed her eyes upon the Duchess. “I look forward to hearing some of your stories soon. It is important that we all be well acquainted, is it not?” 

There was a deafening silence as Anabella glared at Lady Warrick, her mouth agape from the sheer audacity of it all. But Lady Warrick just smiled, a small smile not dissimilar to the one Anabella had been wearing but a few moments ago, and batted her eyelashes.  

Rodney did not think he would live to see this day. 

He shared a look with his wife, both of them secretly delighted at how things had turned out. 

For the first time, there was someone willing to challenge the Duchess. Someone willing to throw themselves in her way to protect Clive.

And it was about time. 

“I do apologize, I find myself quite fatigued. Travel has been difficult on my sensibilities.” 

A hasty retreat after dealing a blow, an excellent strategy if he did say so himself.  

His wife quickly spoke up, “How terrible of us not to notice. You must be exhausted. I myself am rather tired too.” She kicked him from under the table. 

“Uh yes, very tired. Long day. Rest would be good. ” He faked a yawn. It wasn’t very convincing based on the look his wife shot him. 

“Yes, we should all get some rest.” Joshua chimed in. “Perhaps Clive could escort Lady Warrick back to her chambers?”

“What an excellent idea, My Lord. We’ll be their chaperones won’t we Rodney.” His wife said, her arm already linked with Lady Warrick’s as if they had been long time friends.

He could only nod, it wouldn’t be wise to disagree with his wife. 

—----

“Well, here we are.” Lady Hana said, releasing Jill’s arm and taking a few steps back, not so subtly pushing her husband back with her. 

The Lord Commander and Lady Hana had chaperoned the two of them to Jill’s quarters as promised and were now beating a hasty retreat, eager to give the two of them a moment alone.

“My Lord. My Lady. Have a good evening.” Lady Hana dragged her husband off, the Lord Commander barely being able to get in a “You two behave,” before his wife whisked him away. 

Now they were alone. 

Clive stared at Jill’s feet, still not quite able to meet her gaze. 

Dinner had been nothing short of a disaster. He was embarrassed. He was ashamed. He wanted the ground to swallow him up whole. 

He had hoped that things would go differently. That he would have been prepared for what his mother had to say. That he would have been able to ease Jill into the complicated dynamics of his family. But instead, he sat there like a simpleton as he was forced to relive everything that he had tried so desperately hard to forget about his childhood. 

Jill had stood up for him, making enemies of his mother for his sake. And what had he done in return? 

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Pathetic. 

“I’m… sorry about dinner.” A feeble apology was all he could muster. He couldn't see her reaction, his eyes still fixed on the floor. 

He saw her feet shift and her hand came up to touch his arm.  “You have nothing to apologize for. What she did in there, what she said about you, it was -” 

“The truth.” 

“Cruel.”

He continued to stare at her feet, her words echoing in the hallway.

Her hand slid down to take his and he couldn't find it in himself to pull away. “What she did to you was cruel Clive and you did not deserve it. You have nothing to apologize for.” 

But he did. He had so much to apologize for. He had so much that he did not deserve and so much that he did. His mind continued to spiral. He was exhausted. He hadn’t slept in two days and yet he knew sleep would likely elude him tonight. 

Maybe it would elude him for all nights to come. 

He thought he was better than this. He should be better than this. It shouldn’t take just a few words from his mother to make him feel so small. He wasn’t a child anymore. 

And yet, despite all he had done to better himself, despite all the ways he had sought to protect himself from her, it was not enough. It was never enough. 

He had never felt more helpless. 

The cobblestones on the ground began to blur as the emotions he had fought so long to keep under wraps finally bubbled their way up to the surface.

Jill’s arms came up around him and she pulled him into a tight embrace. 

“You do not deserve this Clive.” 

He shut his eyes tightly and felt his shoulders shake as he tried to hold back his sobs. 

He didn’t know how long she held him or how long they stood there, all he knew was that it wasn’t long enough. He knew that when she began to pull away, it was too soon. That when she looked questioningly at her door, wondering if it was time for them to bid their goodbyes, he wasn’t ready. 

But they couldn't stay here. It was too exposed. Anyone could find them.  

He took her hand and led her away. 

—---

The doors closed with a quiet click. Clive had taken her to his quarters, a place that was soon to be theirs. Lady Hana had told her on their walk back to her quarters how much time Clive had put into redecorating and renovating his quarters. All it needed now were the final touches before it was ready.

But the room was a mess. 

The dresser sat in the middle of the floor almost as if it had been hastily pushed there before being abandoned. The vanity mirror had been removed, now propped up against the wall. Most of the seating had been pushed to the far side of the room with a white cloth thrown over them as if Clive could not bear to stare at them any longer. 

It looked like he had been in the middle of dismantling everything he built. She wondered what the Duchess had done to bring him to take such action. 

She would have liked to explore the room with him, to undo the damage the Duchess had wreaked on him and his hard work but now was not the time. 

Right now, Clive needed to rest. She pulled him over to the bed which thankfully had been relatively untouched. 

There were pillows strewn about, a tell-tale sign of his restlessness. She made quick work of them, arranging them into a pile that she could comfortably situate herself on. Turning back around she grabbed his hands and pulled him down, guiding his head to rest on her chest, a reversal of the position they had been in on their last night together. 

She pulled the sheets up, making sure to tuck in his shoulders. 

Her arms wrapped around him in a protective embrace and she kissed him on the crown. Her left hand rubbed soothing circles onto his back and her right combed through his hair in slow rhythmic caresses. This is what her mother had done for her all those years ago after that disastrous incident with the cake when all she could do was bawl her eyes out.  

This is what his mother should have done for him all this time. 

Her heart ached when she felt his tears on her chest. He had been strong for so long. 

“Get some rest Clive. I’m here now. I’ll take care of you, I promise.” 

It was a promise they made to each other in a distant land so long ago. Back when they were strangers, before they knew what they would become to one another. But it was a promise made that still rang every bit as true today. 

Clive took a deep breath, surrounding himself in every way with Jill’s presence. He felt his shoulders begin to relax. 

He didn’t know what he was going to do come morning. He didn’t know how he was going to deal with his mother in the days to come. But here, in Jill’s arms, he was safe. Here, nothing could harm him. 

His eyes began to close and for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to truly rest. 

Chapter Text

Clive awoke to darkness. He was warm, he was comfortable. Just where was he? 

He could open his eyes and find out but who knows what he would see. Maybe a tent, or a canopy of frosty trees. Either way, none of those options seemed appealing enough to leave the comforting haze he was in. 

He wanted to stay here forever. 

His mind slowly became aware of the weight of an arm on his back and the soothing sensation of fingers in his hair. Birds began chirping, a tell tale sign that dawn was coming. Wherever he was, he would soon need to greet the day. He slowly opened his eyes, steeling himself for the disappointment to come. 

But it never came. 

Silver pooled around him and his heart soared. It was her hand in his hair, her touch on his back, her arms that he lay in.  She was here with him, at last. 

He slowly tilted his head up, following the train of her hair, searching for her face, the previous trepidation to start the day fading away with each moment. Blue met gray and she smiled.  

“Good morning.” She whispered. “How did you sleep?” 

He pillowed himself back on her chest before grumbling, “Too well. I don’t want to move.” He felt her chest shake as she laughed at his antics, the sound bringing a smile to his face. 

He closed his eyes for a while longer before he slowly sat up, stretching his arms and back. He felt stiff after laying in one position for so long. His dress clothes were wrinkled, hers were worse.  He pulled one of his knees to his chest while his other leg lay outstretched in front of him. “We need to get you back to your room before anyone notices your disappearance.”

Jill moved close to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. She nodded but said nothing. 

The events of last night settled uncomfortably over the two of them, dampening the mood on an otherwise pleasant morning, but sensing his need for space and time, Jill said nothing. She knew they would talk about it when he was ready. 

He saw the way her eyes curiously wandered around the room taking in its disorganized state. He had frantically tried to make last minute changes to see if anything could be done to make the room better but he just made everything worse. 

“I wanted to make the room nice for you. I wanted it to be perfect.” His voice dropped off. He had worked so hard to make sure everything was ready for her the moment she moved in and instead she happened upon this mess. 

She rested her chin on his shoulder and looked up at him. “It is perfect.” He gave her a dry look. This was far from perfect. 

“You’re all I need. You’re all I want.” She kissed his shoulder before she chuckled. “Well, you and this bed are all I want. It is much preferable to the hard dirt.” 

They both laughed quietly. 

She pressed her cheek back against his shoulder and after a moment of silence spoke once more. “I’m meeting the shields today aren’t I?” She had memorized the dizzying schedule down to the last letter, not wanting to be surprised by anything, but she couldn't help but hope that she was wrong. 

Clive felt her stiffening up and he shifted. Her arms released him as he pulled her onto his lap.

Now she was settled between his legs, her back pressed against his chest, his arms around her waist. He pressed his cheek against hers, his stubble tickling her skin, and sighed deeply. She was nervous. Anyone would be. 

“It’ll be ok.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her chin. “The Shields will behave and I won’t leave your side for a moment.” She had taken care of him last night, now it was his turn to take care of her. 

She looked over to him, uncertainty still clouding her features. He caressed her cheek and her eyes fluttered closed, a content sigh escaping from her. His thumb wandered towards her lips and he began leaning forward.  

He tilted her face up and lowered his mouth to hers, his lips eagerly seeking out contact. It started as a chaste kiss. A soft press. A re-acquaintance of their lips after their period of separation. He forgot how well they fit together. 

Her arms came up and curled around his neck. He deepened their kiss, savoring the taste of her on his tongue. He didn’t want to pull away. 

Their first morning together was a quiet one but it was everything he needed to find his center again. It was everything he needed to greet the day. 

She was everything he needed. 

—---

Joshua was struggling to breathe, each breath more difficult than the last. 

He lifted up his sword once more, resuming his stance as he marched forwards and backwards under the watchful eye of Lord Murdoch. Were swords always this heavy? 

He hated the training field. He used to come here a lot as a child to watch Clive train but he learned to hate it the moment their father had decreed that he too should receive an education in the physical arts. 

His legs began to wobble as he struggled to maintain his stance, his lungs were on fire. 

Today, Lady Warrick was to meet some of the troops as a means to gradually integrate her into their forces. It would be a slow process to be sure, years of fighting and mistrust would not be so quickly forgotten even with the distraction of a royal wedding, but she and Clive were certainly making leaps and bounds from what he could tell. 

He heard a group of shields laugh at something Lady Warrick had said, probably something to tease Clive given the bashful smile he had on his face. 

His brother and Lord Murdoch had spent these past few weeks pouring over their roster trying to figure out which shields would be best to have present today. They didn’t want anyone too antagonistic lest they cause a scene and it seemed distasteful to have her visit the wounded so soon.

They decided that a mix of newer recruits and more experienced shields would make for a good crowd. The newer recruits would have heard of Shiva but not fought against her and the more experienced shields would know better than to assign all their blame and losses to one person. Both sides had committed atrocities and dealt devastating blows, it would be important that everyone remember that.

But perhaps his brother needn't have worried so much.  

The events of what transpired last night had spread through the capitol like wildfire, likely from a combination of whispers from the castle staff and, what he suspected, efforts from Lord Murdoch and Lady Hana, both of whom now seemed quite taken with Lady Wrarrick. And while he was sure it hadn’t been Lady Warrick’s intention, her actions at dinner had won her favor amongst the populace, especially the shields. 

No one really liked the Duchess. They respected her but no one liked her. Her years of mistreatment towards Clive had turned the public against her and no amount of doting or public affection now could change that. 

Clive had always been the people’s favorite, something that had stung a little back then and still stung now, but it was well deserved. His brother had spent more time amongst the common people than he ever did and through his services as a shield, defending small towns from goblin raids, guarding livestock, helping rebuild settlements that had been damaged from storms, he became the people’s prince. 

Lady Warrick standing up to the Duchess would have been an impressive feat in and of itself, enough to get the gossip mill churning, but to hear that it had been done in service of their beloved Marquess, well that had garnered her more goodwill than anything anyone could have orchestrated.

It would still take time and much effort to fully bring the people around, but Lady Warrick was certainly off to a good start. 

Clive looked better rested today than he had been in a while. He wasn’t sure exactly what transpired last night after Lady Hana and Lord Murdoch had escorted the two of them out of the hall, and he did not want to know, but whatever it was, it had brought back that spark in his brother's eyes. 

Their mother was not here to ruin things today thankfully. She had been confined to her chambers as a result of what had happened last night. Not that she would have wanted to come here, she hated the training field more than he did. 

Father had been irate after everyone had left dinner. He heard the castle staff talking about the shouting that had transpired between him and mother. Even behind closed doors, their argument could be heard throughout the hallways. 

Father had not been aware that mother had been tormenting Clive after the feast, thinking that night had been the end of it. Joshua was not surprised. Clive never did like to ask for help, preferring to suffer in silence rather than inconveniencing anyone and father had been busy dealing with the fallout from the war, trapped in endless meetings. Of course what mother did would have gone unnoticed. Father always found out about these things after the fact, when there was little he could do and the damage already done. 

But mother’s behavior last night had been unacceptable.  He had known that she had changed over the years but he did not realize the magnitude of it until last night. 

Usually one or two subtle jabs would have been enough to satiate her but she had been absolutely relentless. He had tried everything he could think of to placate her, affirmations, distractions, attempts to change the conversation, but his mother had come to dinner with the single minded determination to bury Clive and nothing he did would make her stop. 

It was terrible to watch. 

He was immensely grateful to Lady Warrick for stepping in when she had and so thankful that she possessed the tact and wit to effectively silence his mother.  Even if they never progressed past mere acquaintances, she would forever have his gratitude. 

He took a moment to study her from where he was on the field. She had a blue ribbon in her hair today, something that hadn’t been present last night. It looked like the one Clive had been wearing every day since they returned from the North. 

She didn’t seem nervous, her face a perfect mask of calm and charm, but there were moments when Clive would look over at her and see something that would cause him to move a few steps closer or gently touch her back reassuringly.  They seemed to draw strength from one another in a way he couldn’t quite describe. 

His brother had been most apologetic for keeping Lady Warrick’s identity as a dominant a secret from him, apologizing over and over after their arrangement had been announced. Clive had not wanted him to be implicated should things have gone poorly. And indeed, if peace had not been achieved, to have knowingly associated with the dominant of Shiva, to have even been aware that such meetings had taken place, would have been an act of treason that not even their father could have protected them from. 

Of course, Joshua had his suspicions about her true identity for a while. His brother was never good at hiding things from him. He had kept his thoughts to himself for a similar reason. The truth was too dangerous to admit outloud. 

But now that they were at peace, now that she was here, he had so many questions that he wanted to ask her. There were so many things that he wanted to know. 

Clive had told him that she awoke as a dominant at the age of ten and six but what was that like for her? Did she know before that she was something different? What did it feel like to be fully primed now compared to before? How did she come to have such mastery over her element? Did she see Shiva as an extension of herself or a separate entity entirely? 

There was an excitement in knowing that there was someone who he could share his thoughts and questions with without it being a political misstep. Clive never liked to talk about Ifrit, his Eikon bringing up too many painful memories for the both of them, and he couldn’t very well talk with King Barnabas about his experiences as a dominant. These things were meant to be a secret, hidden away, lest anyone seek to use it against them. 

He hoped that since Lady Warrick was to become his sister by law, they could share these things with one another and he wouldn't have to be alone with all these thoughts. Maybe they could sort through the complexity of their Eikons together. 

He had hoped to be able to speak with her, or at least be acquainted, during the ratification but he sat with his father and the other Rosarians while Clive and Lady Warrick were seated in the middle of the gathering. And when the ceremony came to an end, she had been whisked away by her father before he had the chance to say anything. 

During last night's dinner, they had not spoken for obvious reasons. 

“Focus, your Lordship. Your stance is sloppy.” 

Joshua sighed. He had accompanied Clive and Lady Warrick to greet the troops today, and had secretly planned to steal her away to chat, but Lord Murdoch, upon seeing him, had decided that he should join the troops in their drills and thus here he was, slowly dying on the field. 

“Perhaps a break is in order.” He tried hopefully. 

Lord Murdoch shook his head. “Your brother was able to master this by the time he was ten and three. You will master it too. You just need practice.” 

Joshua took a deep breath and slowly breathed it out. He wasn’t getting out of this one anytime soon. He silently cursed Clive and his stupid mastery as he resumed his drills. His arms were numb. 

He tried to listen in on his brother’s conversation now that he and Lady Warrick had moved a bit closer. 

“In the North, we say that all Rosarians are born with a sword and shield in hand and that fighting comes as naturally as breathing.” 

“That was probably true for the General.” Sir Tyler spoke up. 

“How else do you think he got such large arms?” Sir Wade made a show of squeezing Clive’s upper arms, his brother batting him away. “Best to avoid his bed chambers once you two are married, My Lady.” 

Clive mocked affront, “Sir Wade, after all we’ve been through, you would convince my intended to deny me her presence?” He turned to Jill. “I was only born with a sword, the shield came much later. There is no need to avoid my chambers.” 

Everyone laughed. 

Lady Warrick looked over at him and he gave a weak wave. There was a curiosity in her eyes, one he was sure was also reflected in his. But her attention was drawn away by something Clive said and they all began moving away from him once more.

He sighed. Lord Murdoch gave him a stern look before disappearing with the rest of them and Joshua reluctantly picked back up his sword and shield and began marching once more. 

There would be time to get to know her later. 

—----------

“I think the shields really liked you.” Clive commented. 

They were walking back to her chambers, their engagements concluded for today. 

Jill gave a small laugh. “I think they were only so welcoming because you were there.” She looked over at him. “Your men really respect you.” 

Although respect did not quite capture the enormity of it all. In truth, the shields worshiped Clive. They looked to him on how to act, what to say, what to do, and implicitly trusted that he had their best interest at heart. 

If it weren’t for the incredible sway that Clive had, things would have gone very differently today. 

From the moment Jill arrived, she had felt the wariness from everyone around her. The castle staff was frightened of her. The guards eyed her uneasily. Everyone was afraid to look her in the eye. She could hardly blame them. 

She knew what she was. She knew what she had done. 

Today was no different. The Shields were all hesitant to interact with her. Their shoulders stifferend the moment they saw her appear, their hands clenched their swords a bit more tightly, some of them eyeing their shields. They were ready for battle.

She could tell that Clive and the Lord Commander had done much work behind the scenes, hand picking certain shields to be present to help ease the tension, Sir Wade and Sir Tyler to name a few. 

Clive had been most supportive today. Never leaving her side for a moment, dispelling any uncomfortable silence with pleasant conversation about how the soldiers were adjusting to being home, asking if everyone had received invitations for the wedding, taking note of where their favorite places to eat were. She wouldn’t be surprised if all of Rosalith now knew of her sweet tooth. 

And she had been most grateful. She could hold a conversation on her own. She could weather cold stares and silence. But it was hard to contend with her guilt. 

She saw the blame in their eyes. She saw the anger they tried to hide. She had taken so much from them and she would never be able to give it back. They would learn to tolerate her for the sake of Clive, but she would never be welcome amongst them.  She would never be truly accepted. 

She had been a monster and nothing she ever did could change that. 

She knew all this before coming here. She knew people would only interact with her for political or military purposes. She would spend her life making reparations and likely never reap the benefits of it. She knew and accepted this but it didn’t make it any easier. 

“They’ll all come around, you’ll see.” Clive said as if reading her thoughts and she gave him a small smile. He always did see the good in everything. 

They arrived at her door and stood there, neither of them quite ready to part ways. Clive cleared his throat and shot a meaningful look over at the two guards who had been accompanying them. The two of them saluted before turning around sharply and walking away.  

“Later tonight…” Clive paused, his voice now low and hushed. “What do you say we go into town? Just you and me.” 

Her eyes brightened up at the prospect and she nodded. She had seen glimpses of the town on her way in and had been most intrigued. 

Clive took her hand and gave it a small kiss. “It’s a date then.”

Chapter Text

The sun had set, it was dark now. Clive donned his cloak, getting ready to grab Jill. She truly had done well today with his men despite her reservations. 

He knew his men had been uneasy about the whole ordeal, many of them voicing concerns about having the dominant of Shiva join their ranks. Some of them believed that she should be locked away. Others wanted to deny her access to any weapons, she was dangerous enough as is. They feared for his safety, even going so far as to say that he should have a pair of crystal fetters nearby just in case she turned coat and tried to hurt him.

In those moments, he had to remind himself that he too had mistrusted her in the beginning. That there was a time the mere sight of her hair made his hackles rise. His men did not have the privilege of getting to know her for the past few months. They did not know who she truly was. If they did, they would have never suggested such horrifying things be enacted upon her. 

But they would come around. It was only a matter of time, he was sure of it. And until then, he would stay close to her side. He would not let any harm come to her. 

He descended the stairs as he made his way to her quarters. 

She had been nervous meeting his men. He could tell by the way her breathing was almost too slow, the cadence in her voice slightly off, the way her eyes would widen ever so slightly when his shields came too close. It couldn't have been easy to be so surrounded. 

At least when he and his men were at the Northern encampment for the ratification they had each other. They had strength in numbers if things suddenly went south. But she didn’t have that luxury. Here, she only had him. 

And he would not let her down. 

Under the cover of darkness, the city of Rosalith would be a nice escape for the two of them. They could blend into the crowd, pass off as two commoners visiting the capitol for the royal wedding. It would be a good reprieve from the prying eyes and scrutiny they had both faced these past two days. 

He knocked quietly on her door, looking around to make sure no one was around to see them. She slowly opened it and he took her hand, the two of them slipping out of the castle under the cover of darkness. 

—----

Rosalith City was alive at night. 

Despite the late hour, the streets were crowded. Merchants were standing outside hawking their wares, bakers calling out trying to sell off the last of their bread, and the taverns were full with people celebrating the end of yet another day. 

The sound of bards singing, children laughing, and the smell of meat sizzling over the roasting pits filled her senses. Her eyes were wild like a child as she took in everything that she could. 

The North did not have settlements as large as this. At least, not anymore. The war had changed much of their landscape. Towns that used to be bustling were empty, most of the people away at war and those left behind were unable to sustain the town on their own.

The Northern Capital of her childhood could have once boasted a vibrancy like this, but that was a long time ago, before all their resources were pooled together for once singular purpose. She hoped that in peace, perhaps her people could begin anew. 

A drunken man nearly bumped into them, but Clive expertly maneuvered them around him. He guided her down a side street, a clear destination in mind. 

She was pressed up against his side, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist. Their cloaks were cinched tightly upon them, effectively hiding their identity from the public. It was a blessing that it was early spring, the air crisp with the last bits of frost from the winter, thus allowing for two cloaked individuals to pass by relatively unnoticed. 

“Is the city always this busy at night?” She asked, after a crowd of people had passed them by in the alleyway. 

“Not always. I think the people are still excited at the prospect of peace and being home.” They walked by yet another tavern, where a group of shields were gathered still donned in their armor reenacting something. Jill thought she recognized a few of them from earlier today. 

“Joshua and I used to sit over there.” Clive pointed out some benches by the fountains in the center of the square. “Sometimes when we were lucky, the bakers would give us some bread or sweets that they had just pulled from the oven. Once Joshua had been so excited that he accidentally fell into the fountain.”  

Jill smiled imagining the two brothers, young and full of laughter, not a care in the world.

“And over there…” He pointed to a blacksmith’s shop. “That’s one of the best places to get customized armor. After the wedding, I’lll take you to get you fitted.” 

He told her of Lord Murdoch’s favorite tavern to visit and of the elderly cooks on the corner who were sweet on the shields and always threw in extra portions when any of them stopped by. They walked past a bookstore that Clive used to frequent before he began training in earnest as a shield and he showed her Joshua’s favorite confectionery shop, apparently he too had a secret sweet tooth. 

“He never ate his vegetables but you should see the way he would devour candied corn. Terrifying sight. ” She could hear the laughter in his voice. 

He whispered these words like a secret meant just for her ears. Sharing a part of himself that she hadn’t been privy to before. A glimmer into the man he was before the war, before her. She clung onto every word, each one a treasure trove in and of itself. 

“I went to that pub on the corner with Sir Wade after a long day and he drank me under the table. Lord Murdoch had to drag my sorry self back to the castle. Never heard the end of that one.” 

“I didn’t know you were such a lightweight.” She teased. She hadn’t partaken in spirits in a very long time. She too might be as light as a feather at this point. 

Clive gave an exaggerated shudder. “Never again.”

They finally stopped behind one of the inns. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” He gave her arm a quick squeeze before he ducked behind a doorway and disappeared. 

Jill took in her surroundings, feeling the cold creep back in where she had been pressed up against Clive not so long ago. There were some children a block down gasping in awe as an entertainer breathed fire. They clapped and cheered, so completely enthralled by what they saw. She wondered if Clive had been like that as a child, full of wonder and joy. 

She ducked her head as a few people walked by.  

Her eyes were drawn to the sound of clapping coming from the center of the square. There was a stage with performers dressed up in costumes. 

“It is I, Sir Crandall of Camelot, loyal servant to her serene holiness, Saint Sybil the Unshod.” One of them announced while dramatically unseathing their sword and raising it up to the sky. “Madou, thou vile sorcerer! For thy crimes against church and crown, I shall have thy head.” 

She felt herself take a few steps closer, interested to hear more. She hadn’t seen this play before. 

A dark hooded actor began to speak. “Curse thee infectious flax wench. Even in death must thou plague me still?” 

The audience booed and hissed making it clear just who they favored in the story.  

“Very well…” The hooded figure continued. “I shall open the gates of hell that thou mighst see thy charge once more.”

There were two voices she heard at the end, one from the performer on the stage and one from behind her. 

She turned around quickly, so caught up in the play that she had ignored her surroundings and missed the sound of footsteps coming up behind her. 

—-----

Clive didn’t think he had been gone that long. He had made arrangements earlier in the evening with the kitchen cook to prepare a meal for him to share so that when he came by it would be a quick stop. He didn’t want to leave Jill alone for longer than necessary.

But as with all well laid plans, things had gone slightly awry. The cook, an elderly man who had doted upon him and Joshua back when he used to work in the castle kitchens, had assumed that he was here with Joshua and insisted that his brother come inside to say hello as well. He hadn’t seen him in so long. 

However it soon became clear that Clive was in fact not here with his brother but with someone else entirely. And only with the promise that he would have the honor of meeting said guest after the wedding was he willing to let Clive go unbothered. 

“The rumors are true then. You are quite taken with her.”The cook said good naturedly as he reached into his oven. “She must be a remarkable woman.”

“She is.” 

“That’s good to hear.” The cook wrapped something small in a cloth and placed it into the basket before handing it to Clive. “A little extra something sweet for our future Lady Rosfield.” He gave Clive a wink. “You let me know if she likes it and I’ll be sure to make some more when you bring her around to meet us.”

Clive thanked the man and quickly ducked back out eager to get back to Jill. 

He didn’t think that he had been gone that long but apparently it was enough time for Jill to have wandered off. He panicked for a moment when she wasn’t right where he had left her, worried that something had happened to her. The sound of clapping drew his attention and he saw her figure, pressed up against the wall, watching what looked like to be a play. He let out a sigh of relief. 

He made his way towards her and heard the dark hooded figure speak, his lines immediately sparking a familiar memory. He began reciting Madu’s lines, out of habit and fondness, and Jill turned around. 

—----

Clive had returned. “I thought I lost you.” 

She gave a sheepish smile. She probably shouldn’t have wandered off like that. “Sorry. I haven’t seen this play before and got distracted.” She turned back watching the two performers now engaging in a ridiculous sword fight full of flashy and impractical movements. 

“This was my favorite play as a child. I used to watch it every time they were in town.” 

She watched the evil Madu deal a blow to Sir Crandall, the actor falling to the ground. Did this play not have a happy ending? 

She felt Clive wrap his arm around her waist one more, pulling her flush against his side. “Come on, we should get moving lest our food get cold.”

And with that, Jill snapped to attention. 

“You have food?” 

She felt him laugh before raising his left arm showing the basket he had been holding. How had she not noticed it before? She tried to grab at it to see what was inside but he lifted it out of her reach. 

“If I let you see what’s inside now we’ll never get where we need to go.” 

She pouted, she wanted to know what was inside now. “Is it a pie?” Maybe he would give her some hints. 

“No.” 

“Is it bread?” 

“Maybe.”

“Is it bread pudding?” 

He cocked his head towards her. “Have you had bread pudding before?” 

She shook her head. “I heard some people talking about it just now. It sounds sweet.” 

He pressed a kiss against her cloaked temple. “It’s not bread pudding but we can get you some later. Come on.” 

Jill nodded, satisfied with that promise. She sighed as they continued walking through the streets. Her eyes drifted back to the basket. Clive said there wasn’t a pie but there was bread. What else did bread go with? Soup? Cheese? More bread? She almost tripped on her own feet and focused back on their path once more. 

She could be patient, she supposed. All good things to those who wait, or something like that. They turned another corner and walked up some stairs. 

“....is there meat?” 

—-----

Clive continued to chuckle to himself as he good naturedly humored all of Jill’s questions. 

There was something about her when it came to food. Something about her that just came alive. Her eyes lit up and her face filled with wonder and joy. It was a stark contrast to the stoic facade she had worn for so long and he would do anything to continue to nurture this side of her. 

They made their way up the hillside, the town growing smaller with each step. 

“Are there potatoes?” 

He paused momentarily. “I actually don’t know.” He had been in such a rush to get back to her that he hadn’t taken the time to inspect all the contents of the basket. They continued to cimb. 

There was a small clearing at the top of a hill that overlooked the city proper. He and Joshua used to hide there as children and watch the people go about their day. It would be a safe spot for them to relax. 

They noticed a small bonfire in the distance. People were dancing around it cheering as they made their way around the fire. 

“They look so happy.” She whispered. She watched a group of children all laughing as they chased each other around, their parents watching from the side. 

“We’ve been fighting so long. So many of us never thought we would live to see the day we were at peace.” 

He pulled some branches to the side revealing his secret hiding spot. 

“And now, because of the Lord Marquess, shield of Rosaria, peace has come at last.” She repeated the words she had heard so many times when she was traveling to Rosalith. 

He scoffed, releasing the branches as he passed through. “If I remember correctly, there was a certain Northern Princess who was also a very important part in bringing peace.” 

She gave a noncommittal hum. “I don’t remember that part.” 

“No?”

“Nope. Never heard of her.” She gave him a playful smile. “What about pepio nuts? I read about those on my way here. Are those in there?” 

He took off his cloak and set it down as a blanket inviting her to sit with him. “I don’t even think I’ve had pepio nuts before.”

He opened the basket and unwrapped a loaf of bread before reaching back in.  

——-

Jill could hardly contain her excitement with each item that was revealed. Their walk through the city had left her ravenous. 

She had done her research on Rosaria before coming here, it wouldn’t do to be unprepared, and unsurprisingly the thing that intrigued her most was the food. 

She read about their stews, the flour that they used to make their bread, the spices that they were known for. She wanted to try them all. 

Food had been hard to come by in the North during the war. By recruiting both men and women, their army had grown substantially but it left few people behind to tend to the crops and livestock. They all survived on meager rations and when the Rosarians breached their borders, their supplies dwindled all the more. 

At the peak of the Rosarian invasion, it hadn’t been uncommon for her to go days without food and if it weren’t for Torgal, she would have eaten far less. It had been hard at first, her mind constantly fixated on when her next meal would come, if it would ever come. There were days when she would just stumble through the motions, barely able to focus on anything around her. And whenever there was anything of sustenance, it would never be enough. Everyone was hungry. Everyone was desperate. 

But as with many things, the longer the war stretched on, the less she felt and soon she no longer registered her hunger pangs, so numb to everything around her. 

Things changed when the truce was called. Their supply chains were no longer disrupted by raids and their rations improved. Clive also never failed to bring her something enjoyable to try and every night with him meant a full belly and a good night's rest  Now, food was inextricably tied with happiness and with Clive. 

Clive who never failed to provide her with both. 

She bit her lip excitedly as he finally laid out the last parcel of food. “Ok, tell me what I am looking at. Are portions always this big in Rosaria?” 

—-----

The cook had prepared a hearty meal of bread, thickly sliced smoked ham, and the finest goat cheese this side of the twins. Jill had dug in most eagerly making the happiest sounds with every bite. In the end she even eyed his unfinished half, he had been quite distracted watching her, and he gladly split the rest with her. 

She now lay on the grass, her arms and legs outstretched not unlike those five limbed oceanic creatures his Uncle Byron kept telling him about. Fish of the skies? Stars in the sea? He couldn’t quite recall. 

“I’m so full.” She giggled, her arms coming to wrap around her belly. 

He leaned down on one elbow and slowly took out the dessert the cook had placed just for her. “Too full for dessert?” 

She gave an exaggerated gasp and sat back up reaching for the item. It was a small tart that fit in the palm of her hand. It looked to be covered in a raspberry jam. He touched it, warming it back up with his inner flames, trying to ignore how Jill's sounds of awe at his action made his stomach flutter. 

They split the tart, the jam now oozing just a little, and he sat back as he watched her enjoy her sweet treat. “What do you think? If you liked it he said he would make more the next time we came.” 

“Well, you can tell him I love it.” 

“You love it?” He pulled her sideways onto his lap. “High praise. I don’t even think you’ve said those words to me.” 

“Are you a tart?” Her eyes never left the dessert. 

“No.”

“Then that’s the problem.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple. “You know, sometimes I think you’re with me just for the food.

She shot him an impish smile. “I mean it certainly is a very important part of our relationship.” 

“And pray tell, what relationship might that be?” 

She took a bite of the tart, another happy sigh escaping her, before she turned back to him. “A purely transactional one. You bring me food and I eat it.” 

“Is that so?” Clive buried his face into her neck as she continued to enjoy the baked good. If this was a transactional relationship, he certainly was getting the better end of the bargain. 

He nuzzled his face against her neck before he found that one spot behind her ear. He playfully nipped at it with his teeth, enjoying the way her breath hitched from the sensation. If she was getting her fill, then it was only right that he should get his. 

His lips continued tracing their way around the shell of her ear before going back down to that one spot and Jill bent her neck to give him better access. 

After one particular hard nip, she whined. “Clive…my tart.” 

He chucked against her neck, his breath tickling her skin. “You can continue to eat your tart, My Lady. I’ll just be enjoying my own snack over here.” And with that his mouth latched onto her pulse and she gasped. 

Her hips pressed into his and they both groaned and that sensation. Her right hand grasped onto the pants for purchase as he continued his onslaught of her neck, sucking and bitting and licking wherever he could get his mouth to. He knew better than to leave a mark but a part of him didn’t want to care, a part of him wanted everyone to see. 

She called out to him once more. “Ah, Clive.” 

Her breaths were coming faster now and he knew they both wouldn’t last very long. He reluctantly pulled himself away from her skin and took her tart away, placing it on top of the basket for safe keeping. Jill was so distracted that she hardly noticed. 

She eagerly clambered onto him, now sitting directly on his lap and pressed their mouths together in a desperate kiss. 

—----

Jill did not remember what she was doing before and it hardly mattered now. All she knew was the heat of his breath on her neck, his teeth against her skin, and that she wanted more. 

She ground her hips into his feeling his hard need pressing up against her and swallowed his moan with her lips. 

She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling on it, using it as leverage to gain better access to his mouth. She watched his eyes flutter closed at that sensation. He tasted like berries and something unique to just him. She couldn’t get enough. 

His hands began greedily kneading at her backside and one of them slipped under her tunic and made its way upwards on her back. She couldn't help the whimper that escaped her throat as his hand grazed the side of her breast before he palmed that fleshy globe in his hand and squeezed whole heartedly. 

He groaned. “Jill…” 

She acquiesced to his silent request and leaned back, allowing both their hands to come up and undo her ties. Her tunic came loose, exposing her to the night air. His mouth latched back onto her neck as his hands came up to play with her, the roughness of his fingers creating a delicious sensation on the softness of her skin. 

She closed her eyes enjoying his ministrations and before she knew it, he had her on her back. 

—----

Clive could not get enough. He would never get enough for her. A part of him, one that was buried deep beneath the haze of lust and want, was glad that he had chosen such a secluded spot for their night outing. He did not want to be interrupted. 

His lips traced the graceful column of her neck before they latched onto her breast leaving marks that would last for days to come. His other hand continued to work the other mound of flesh, squeezing and toying with that dusky peak. He switched sides, making sure to give her  other breast the attention it deserved. She was so soft, so pliant in his hands. So good.  

She tugged impatiently on his own shirt and he grunted as he pulled himself away once more to remove it. 

She looked absolutely debauched under him. Her hair a glowing halo around her head, her perfect breasts heaving with every breath, her lips puffy and red. But it was her eyes, the look of desire, of pure adoration that was there solely for him, that seduced him like no other. 

She reached back up for him and he eagerly returned to her lips as his hands slowly made their way down. 

He had missed her so much these past few weeks and he needed her to know just how much he needed her. 

He tugged on her pants and she lifted her hips up in silent approval of his request. He pulled it down just enough before he gently cupped her sex rocking his hand back and forth slowly, further stoking the heat that had already begun to build. 

“Ah Clive, please don’t tease.” She begged and who was he to deny her. 

His fingers traced themselves to that nub that never failed to bring her to the peak of pleasure. He rocked into it with his thumb before inserting one and then two fingers into her tight channel.

She arched into him, mouth open in a silent scream. He loved it when she let go like this. 

He began to move his fingers in and out making sure to continue applying pressure with his thumb. He enjoyed the way her warmth coated his fingers, the way her muscles clenched down on him with every movement, the way her breath would catch when he hit that spot inside her. He would have been happy to watch her, satisfied to know that he had brought her to completion, but Jill wasn’t a selfish lover. 

She grabbed his hand, stilling his movements, just long enough to give her a chance to catch her breath. 

“Wait…wait. What about you?” Her other hand was now tugging at his pants. 

He swore and between the two of them, they undid his strings and fished out his prick that was now hard and drooling,

She wrapped her hand around him, twisting her wrist just the way he liked and kissed him once more. 

“Together?” He asked against her lips. 

She nodded. “Together.” 

He could feel her breaths coming faster now, her cries muffled in his shoulder, her walls clenching down on him as she began to reach her peak. He was close too. She rubbed the head of his prick, smearing his precum over her hands. Her hands now slid faster and faster over his shaft. Another jolt of pleasure shot through his spine and he knew that he wouldn’t last much longer. 

“I’m close.” he whispered harshly in her ear as he rutted into her hand, desperate to chase that high. She nodded. She was close too. 

They pushed their foreheads against one another, panting into the other's mouth, and together, they climbed to the precipice of pleasure. 

He didn’t know how long he stayed kneeling above her. He didn’t know how long it took for him to come down from the high. But by the time he did, by the time he was able to feel his toes again, his spend had begun to cool down on her body. 

There was something about seeing his seed on her that made his gut dilate with pleasure. He wanted him to coat her. He wanted her to wear nothing but him. 

She blinked up slowly at him, still coming down from her own high and he leaned down to give her a slow, languid kiss. His inner beast was satiated for now. She sighed contentedly into his mouth. 

Using a cloth he wiped her down and did up the ties on her shirt, his eyes shamelessly taking in the view before it was covered once more. He tucked himself back in and laid down next to her, the breeze cooling down the sweat from their bodies.

“I should get you back soon.” His voice was barely above a whisper. He didn’t want to break the comfortable silence that had come over them. 

Jill rolled over and tucked her head under his chin before giving a disapproving groan. “I haven’t even finished my tart yet.” 

Clive laughed. Figures that now the haze was beginning to lift, her mind would go straight back to food. He tucked her hair behind her ear and she closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation. “Alright, tart first then home.” 

She gave a hum of approval and buried herself deeper into his chest, making no effort to move from her position. They had a bit more time, the sun wouldn’t rise for a while yet. 

“I don’t want this night to end.” Her voice was quiet and slightly muffled in his shirt. 

He continued carding his hand through her hair. “Soon we’ll have sunrises and sunsets and all the nights we could ever want.” 

“Ok.” She said, seemingly reassured by what he said. 

He looked fondly down at her, committing this night to his memories. Soon they would have all the time in the world. Soon they would have forever and he could not wait.

Chapter Text

Jill watched the Phoenix shoot arrow after arrow in the courtyard, each and every single one missing its mark. He was distracted, making no obvious effort to correct his blatant mistakes. 

The past few days had been a blur of dinners, meetings, luncheons, and outdoor parades. She had been introduced to so many lords, ladies, and pillars of society that she could hardly remember their names. They all stared at her equal parts curious and fearful. All eager to meet her, all eager to boast that they had looked the ice dominant in the eye and walked away intact. She felt very much like an animal on display. 

But it could have been worse.

Clive and the Phoenix had barely left her side. They stood close by, never an arm’s reach away.  Whenever she was faced with animosity or hostility, they stepped in, shielding her as best they could.  And when things got out of hand, which they rarely did, they would spirit her away under the guise of one of them needing fresh air or a break from the stuffiness of it all. 

She was not used to being so taken care of. It was…nice. 

The Duchess, however, had been eager to even the score from her slight during dinner. She would pounce on her the moment Clive or the Phoenix were distracted, sometimes even sending them away for the most mundane things. 

“Joshua, be a dear and fetch me a glass of wine won’t you? I’m positively parched.” 

“Lord Marquess, I do believe one of your generals was looking for you. For what he didn’t say. You best hurry along now.” 

And thus, despite the brother’s best efforts, she has been alone with the Duchess on more than one occasion. Clive had been most apologetic about each and every encounter but she waved him off, the Duchess didn’t affect her like she did him. Their conversations were actually quite boring, it was always the same thing. 

“ You looked a little stiff out there on the floor just now. Do take care to put your best foot forward. This isn’t the North. People here aren’t so easily impressed.” 

“Your dress is looking quite tight on you today. Eating too many sweets are we? Be careful now, no one wants a bride who can’t fit into her wedding dress, not even the Lord Marquess.” 

The Duchess would find something to fixate on, something that she felt absolutely obligated to comment upon. And without fail, her words would be some form of an insult masquerading as friendly advice or seemingly innocent commentary. 

But Jill was not interested in playing her games. They were childish at best. What were words compared to swords and arrows? She had seen worse and had been through much worse for something like this to affect her. She opted to stare blankly at her instead, her silence frustrating the Duchess more than anything. 

“No words for me? You were so eager to speak when we first met. Perhaps I misjudged you, perhaps you are as simple as you look.”

And the one time Jill did stoop to her level…

“You’re looking quite exhausted today, Lady Warrick. A word of advice, a woman’s worth is in her beauty. Many husbands abandon their wives once they lose their luster and I would hate to see that happen to you. 

“Are you speaking from personal experience, your Grace?”  

Jill bit back a smile. She probably shouldn't have said that but it had just been too tempting. Poor Clive had returned from his wild goose chase to see the Duchess’s gaping face and he looked over at her with both curiosity and apprehension. 

The Duchess was dangerous and Clive was worried that something would happen. He wanted them to get through to the wedding and afterwards he would have a conversation with his father about the possibility of moving the two of them off castle grounds. They could build their own cottage or even move to Eastpool, he said one day after a particularly nasty encounter, the Duchess would never make the trip over there. 

Distance would be helpful, if not for her then certainly for Clive. But it was a big decision, one that would not be without its own hardships. She knew it would pain Clive greatly to be parted from his brother and if they were to go down this path, she wanted him to be absolutely sure. She had encouraged him to take his time, to think things through, to talk it over with his brother. There was no need to rush. 

Clive was busy tonight, saying he had something to attend to, but said that if she should want to stretch her legs after her long day of fittings, the courtyard at this hour would be a nice change of scenery. And so here she was, happening upon the Phoenix himself. 

She wondered if Clive had planned for this. 

She had only met the Phoenix twice during the war. He had been a child then, stumbling over his feet, barely able to channel his own element. And the last time she saw him, she had him on his back, completely at her mercy. She wondered if he thought about that day. She wondered if he held it against her. She wouldn’t blame him if he did. 

She watched as he halfhearted launched another volley, his aim progressively getting worse and worse. He was distracted. 

—-----

Joshua stood in the archery fields, firing off arrow after arrow, each one missing its mark. He sighed. He was never going to get the hang of this was he. 

Today had been the first day that they had a break from their constant barrage of meetings and introductions. Clive had offered to help him with his footing, his stance, his arm work, everything essentially, as thanks for helping him keep watch over Lady Warrick these past few days. It was wholly unnecessary, he would have done that regardless, but he knew Clive wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

Despite the long hours that had gone by today, it didn’t feel like they had gotten very far. His stance was still sloppy, his footing a mess, and now he couldn’t even land an arrow anywhere near the target. 

Clive had tried to help, he truly had, but he had alway been the more physically able of the two. Things that others struggled to master came easily to him. Even when he was younger, it never took him more than a few attempts before he would figure out the movements, the right rhythm, the correct stance and before long, he would be on his way to perfecting his skills. He made everything look so easy. 

But he wasn’t like that. His body didn’t listen to him. His legs were too weak, his arms too long, and his lungs uncooperative. No matter how hard he tried, footing and fighting just made no sense to him. And despite both of their best efforts today, their progress, or lack thereof, had been nothing short of frustrating. 

There was a reason his training had stalled during the war. Everyone was too busy trying to stay alive to bother with his uncoordinated self. Even Clive, who would have done anything for him, could only spare the briefest of moments before he was inevitably called away to deal with something more important.  

He knew he had to get better. He couldn't always rely on Clive and his men to keep him safe. Even their father, who was certainly not the best swordsman in the Duchy, that title likely a toss up between Lord Murtdoch and Clive, could hold his own in a pinch. And while he knew that there was more to leadership than one's ability on the battlefield, sometimes he wondered if it was a sign. 

His claim to the throne rested solely on the luck of having been chosen as the Phoenix's dominant. He was not the first born, he was not the people’s favorite, he was not the shield of Rosaria. He was not Clive. Had they been born in any other country with any other rules, the throne would have belonged to Clive and perhaps it still should. 

There had been a moment, when it was discovered that Clive possessed Ifrit, that some of the lords had questioned the line of accession. Perhaps the discovery of a new Eikon of fire was a sign that new leadership was in order. Perhaps Clive should take on the mantle afterall. 

It was a difficult time for them. A time neither of them looked fondly upon. Clive was already struggling with the devastation that he had wrought at Phoenix Gate and he was struggling with the damage he had inflicted upon his brother by failing to do his duty as the Phoenix. But Clive had stood his ground, saying that he would abdicate if the throne were thrust upon him. The Phoenix had the birthright to Rosaria, not Ifrit, and he swore that he would never ascend to the throne before Joshua. He had been grateful for his brother’s support back then but he couldn’t help but wonder if they had made a mistake. 

Clive was strong, fearless, and selfless. He had become one of the finest shields Rosaria had to offer, if not the finest. He had proven himself time and time again during the war and there were more than enough people in Rosaria who would gladly follow him to the death. 

And now, he was marrying Lady Warrick, a woman who in many ways was similarly accomplished in both skill and achievements. The two of them would usher in a new age of peace and certainly make quite the example for anyone to follow. 

Joshua lifted up his bow once more, firing off arrows half heartedly. He wondered what she thought of all of this. 

He still didn’t know much more about her despite her arrival a little more than a week ago now. They had traded greetings, chatted about the weather, even shared a dance at a ball when Clive had been otherwise preoccupied. But she kept her guard up, her words polite and even, betraying none of her inner thoughts. Her face was a perfect mask, one that only came down for Clive. 

He could hardly blame her. For the past few days, everyone had been watching her closely, hoping to see her stumble, hoping to see her fail and his mother had been no exception. 

Mother had been allowed to return to the public eye after a few days of mandatory rest. Father had wanted to ban her from all courtship proceedings until the wedding but it wouldn’t have been a good look. The Royal Family needed to present a united front, and thus his mother had been allowed to be present. 

She had thankfully been a bit more reserved about Clive, keeping her thoughts to herself, but she had no such reservations for Lady Warrick. He never knew what his mother would say to her in the brief moments he was away, but given the look of triumph in her eyes and the small smirk on her lips, he knew them to be cruel words. 

“Don’t worry about us Joshua. Lady Warrick and I were just having a friendly chat, weren’t we?”

A part of him had hoped that maybe a couple days of rest would have shown his mother the error of her ways but it only fueled her anger. Anger that was now channeled fully at Lady Warrick. He couldn’t help but feel like something was on the horizon, a dam that was about to burst. 

Lady Warrick could handle herself though. She had proven that from the first night she arrived. She was like Clive in so many ways, fearless, selfless, unwavering, it was no wonder they got along so well.

He reached for another arrow only to find that his hand came up empty. All his arrows were on the field now, scattered, aimless, and useless. 

Joshua sighed in frustration. A strong gust of wind blew his bow out of his hand and it tumbled onto the ground, coming to rest at someone’s feet. 

“Lady Warrick.” He said, surprised at her presence. Clive told him that this part of the courtyard was usually empty this time of night. How long had she been there? 

She picked up his bow and curtsied. He bowed. “I apologize for surprising you, My Lord. Clive had said this courtyard would make for a nice walk and after being cooped up all day I was eager to stretch my legs.” She offered him back his bow. 

Joshua shook his head in disbelief. He should have seen this coming. He accepted the bow from her. “No need to apologize, My Lady. You are most welcome here at any time. And please, call me Joshua.” She walked with him over to his arrows, the two of them pulling them out of their various locations. 

“Then I must insist you call me Jill.” She collected some arrows from the ground. 

They worked together in silence for a moment before he spoke again. “How was your fitting today? I hope everything is to your liking?” 

She reached down to pull another arrow out of the dirt. “The seamstresses of Rosalith are most gifted and the wedding gown is quite lovely. I am very grateful.”  

They walked back to place the arrows in the holders. “How goes the archery?” 

Joshua gave a harsh laugh. “Poorly.” He answered honestly. “Perhaps you would like to give it a try? My arms could use the rest.” 

He handed his bow to her and she took it from him. “This bow isn’t the best. So if you don’t get an arrow into the target it probably has nothing to do with you…” 

She picked up an arrow, nocking it, and straightened her back. Her eyes narrowed.

Thud.  

The arrow sat in the center of the target. She lowered the bow. 

Joshua sighed. Of course. Of course she would be good at this. Of course she would be just like Clive. 

“Very impressive.” He said weakly and went to sit down on the bench to the side. She stared at him for a moment before coming over to sit next to him. 

He rested his elbows on his knees, not quite able to meet her gaze. 

“I wasn’t always like this.” She said, reassuringly. “I missed plenty of targets too.” 

But she didn’t miss them anymore. That went without saying. “I wish I could say the same.” He gave a small laugh. “Clive tried to help me today and Lord Murdoch has tried to teach me, many times. But alas…I am not Clive.” 

—---

Jill stared at him for a moment. He looked so defeated sitting there. So small. She could feel his frustration coming off him in waves. From what little she had seen of his abilities, he was no soldier. His footing was still a mess. He was uncoordinated and unfocused. His body was not built for war. He was tall and lanky with barely any muscle to him. Had she not known of their relation, she would have never guessed that he and Clive were related. Joshua took after the Duchess in both frame and features and Clive the Archduke. 

He spoke the truth though, he wasn’t Clive. Not in mind, body, or skill. But then again, neither was she, no matter how much her father had wanted her to be. 

Clive was a force of nature, his skills renowned amongst her own people. Everyone wanted her to be like him. Everyone needed her to be like him. But no matter how hard she tried, no matter what she did, her accomplishments were but a candle to his pyre. And there were nights where she dreamt of extinguishing her own light if only to free herself from his chokehold. 

She had painted Clive Rosfield out to be the devil.  A demon of fire and ash, who’s very blood was the molten lava upon which mountains bled. She wanted him to be a monster, to be evil incarnate. That way, it was easier to blame him for all the pain she had suffered. 

But he wasn’t a demon. He didn’t have fangs any more than she had claws. He wasn’t evil. His hands were gentle, his words soft. He had saved her life. He was human like her, lost and wandering blindly in the fog of war. She couldn't hate him, no matter how much she had wanted to.

They had both been tools, morphed and mangled, for their nations, children thrust into a war with no choice but to kill lest they be killed. They were sharpened and used at the behest of others, to live and die only for the sake of others. Their lives had not been their own and only now, after what seemed like an eternity of darkness, were they finding their humanity once more. 

No, Joshua was not Clive and she hoped he never would be. 

She looked over at him seeing him still hunched over, still very much that child she had seen all those moons ago. 

“Well… I may not be Clive but I know how to shoot a bow and I know how to wield a sword.” She offered him back his bow and he took it questioningly. She stood, “What do you say we give it another try?” 

—---

“Straighten your arm and drop your shoulders.” She pushed down on his shoulders. “Now hold this position. Do you feel the difference?”

He nodded in acknowledgment. “Good. Now keep your stance there. I will let you know when to relax.” 

Jill had offered to help him with his bowmanship, and he being so surprised at that notion, could only nod in agreement. She was a strict teacher but she was patient. They would focus only on his stance for tonight, his aim would come at a later date. But later was good.. Later meant that they would have more time together. 

“Shoulders.” 

Right, he relaxed them once more. 

“Good. It will take time before we stop fighting against your body. We will need to unlearn the old before we learn the new. Straighten your arms.” 

Joshua took a breath, focusing on the position of his arms and his shoulders in relation to his chest. He had never been so intentional about such things, often too impatient, too focused on trying to land an arrow on the target. But the basics were important, Jill had said so, and so they would start from scratch, building his way up slowly. 

“Relax your arms for a moment.” 

He dropped his arms, shaking them out, trying to get rid of the stiffness that had now settled in his shoulders. 

“You’re going to be sore tomorrow.” She looked at him, hesitating for a moment. “May I? It will help.” She lifted her hands in offering. 

He nodded and moved closer to her, allowing her to place her hands on his shoulders. There was a light blue glow and then a coolness. The soreness quickly abated. 

He stared at the targets once more, her arrow still embedded in the center, “How did you learn to do this?” 

“There’s plenty of snow in the North, even without Shiva. My people had always gathered up snow to ease our wounds. Being Shiva’s dominant just gave me an advantage.” 

He nodded silently but that wasn’t what he had meant to ask. He wanted to know how she had become like this . How did she, someone who was only two years his senior, come to rival Clive in every way that mattered on the battlefield?  He knew many attributed it to her status as a Dominant, believing that one’s Eikon granted them powers and skills beyond imagining, but he knew that to be false. If it were true, he wouldn't be like this . 

She removed her hands from his shoulders. “Formation again.” 

He lifted his arms once more, trying to remember the position he had been in before. She walked around him before nodding. 

—--

Jill knew what he was really asking. He wanted to know her secret, as if there was something other than blood, sweat, and tears that could ever lead to one becoming like this. She had easily side stepped his question unsure if she wanted to share such details with him. They weren’t the happiest of memories. 

But there was no point in secrecy, not anymore. They were to be family soon and if Clive trusted him with his life…maybe she could stand to share a little too. 

She stood next to him, continuing to watch his stance. “It took me a while to learn how to shoot an arrow and even longer to get the strength to lift a sword over my head.”

He looked over at her curiously, “Watch your shoulders.” He faced forwards once more and corrected his stance.

“My father worked with me in the mornings, my brothers sparred with me in the afternoons, and at night I would be sent on raids to put into practice what I had learned.” During the first few years, she would come back with more cuts, bruises, and burns than she cared to remember. 

“I didn’t have the luxury of time. The Rosarian army was marching closer and closer each day and we were desperate. Your brother certainly didn’t make things any easier.” 

—------

It was strange for Joshua to hear about the war from the other side. For so long he had only known his own terror from the Northern invasion, the mind numbing fear of losing the war, the grief of his own countrymen’s losses. But now, to hear how desperate the North had been, how terrifying the Rosarian army had been to them, how Jill had struggled, it put things in a different light

“Release your arrow.”

It flew forward, further than before, but still missed the target.

“Nock another.” He assumed the position once more, she adjusted his arms. 

He remained silent, hoping that she would tell him more.

She sighed. “Clive was winning victory after victory, gaining more ground with each passing day. He was nigh unstoppable and my father wanted me to be like him.” There was a hint of bitterness in her voice, something that he understood intimately. 

He loved Clive. He would die for Clive, even kill for him. But he was jealous of Clive. How could he not be? Clive was everything that he was not and could probably never be. No matter how hard he trained, he would never best his brother. And no matter what he did as the Phoenix or the future Archduke, it would never measure up to what Clive had already done and would soon do in service to their country. 

He knew Clive harbored similar feelings about him too, both of them dealing with their own feelings of inadequacy, but neither of them dared voiced such thoughts to the other. They would never seek to harm each other in this regard.

“Release.” His arrow shot forth, this time hitting the edge of the target. “Good. That’s enough for today.” 

They sat down on the bench, her hand coming up one more to sooth his aches. 

“I enjoyed archery much more than I ever did swordsmanship. But one cannot defeat Clive with a simple bow and arrow. ” She lowered her voice, imitating someone who he could only guess was her father. “And so it had to be a sword. I did so many push ups I thought my arms were going to fall off.” 

It was hard to imagine the picture she painted for him. To see her as a girl, struggling to keep up with others. Struggling with the weight on her shoulders. Weight that his brother, and likely he, had put on her. And yet, the way she said it, the way her eyes glossed over as if reliving those memories, he knew them to be true. 

She had been just like him. Someone struggling to deal with the weight bestowed upon them by others, some who didn’t even know of her existence.

He wondered what other invisible weight rested on her shoulders that he wasn’t privy to. 

She stood up, it was late. They needed to rest.

She gave him one last look, one that he wasn’t familiar with yet. One that he would come to know as affection. “Not everyone can be Clive Rosfield.” She reached out and squeezed his arm reassuringly. “And not everyone should.” 

Chapter Text

“I thought I was supposed to meet Joshua tonight.” Jill teased as Clive led her through the hidden corridors. She had come upon the archery field fully expecting to see Joshua already there but instead saw Clive, leaning against one of the posts, waiting for her. 

He guided her through a particularly narrow passageway before turning back to her. “You’ve been spending so much time with Joshua, I was worried you might have forgotten which Rosfield you were supposed to marry.” 

“Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Lord Rosfield?” 

He paused, turning around, gathering her up in his arms and pressed a quick kiss to her nose. “No.” He kissed her lips. “I’m not jealous.” He kissed her once more. “Not anymore.” 

She smiled against his lips before pulling back. “Where is Joshua tonight? He should still be practicing.”

—----

Clive continued leading Jill through the passages. He had discovered these pathways through the walls when he was a child, back when he was desperate to hide from any and everyone. It had become an escape for him of sorts, allowing him to travel through the castle unseen. Joshua had been quite confused as to how Clive moved so quickly through the castle unhindered by the Lords and Ladies that wandered the halls, and only after weeks of begging and pouting did Clive finally show him these halls. 

It had been his own secret, one that he had wanted to keep for himself. But he never could keep anything from Joshua and now, with Jill trailing behind him, eyes curiously wandering the halls, he would never keep anything from Jill. 

“Joshua is watching Torgal tonight.”

Jill snorted. “You mean Torgal is watching Joshua.” 

The hound had been excited to meet a new friend, knocking over Joshua the first time they met. He clearly hadn’t been expecting Joshua to so easily fall over, despite the fact that he was more than half Joshua’s size. He had been much more cautious around him since then, slowly walking up to him with licks on the hands as greetings, guiding Joshua around any objects that Torgal might fear would knock him over once more, almost herding him like one would a sheep. 

But it would be good for them regardless. Joshua would have someone looking out for him and Torgal would be able to move around freely. The hound had frightened the majority of the castle upon his arrival, no one expecting Jill to arrive with a hound the size of a large wolf. Jill had tried to keep him in her quarters for the first few days, worried that he might spook someone and unintentionally cause some incident but the poor hound had become restless. 

And so the decision was made that he would take Torgal, for now anyways. His quarters were larger and no one would bother Torgal or even think of harming him so long as he was around. It had worked out quite well in the end. He had needed Torgal for his preparations for tonight. His nose had been most useful. 

“What have you been up to the past few nights anyways?” Jill asked. Clive had been busy nearly each evening but he was always cryptic, never saying for exactly what reason he was leaving the castle grounds. 

They came up to a door and Clive could barely tamp down on his excitement. “You’re about to see.” 

—----

Jill pursed her lips, trying to figure out what she had just put in her mouth. It was sweet but also bitter, some small seeds sticking to her teeth. She had never had anything quite like it. 

“Well?” Clive asked, bestowing a small kiss to her cheek. 

She smacked her lips a few times for good measure before giving up, “Some kind of berry, I suppose?”

She heard him chuckle from her right. He slowly took off her blindfold so that she could look at the item in question. 

It was a black squishy fruit, with multiple different bulbous segments. She had never seen something like that in the North. 

“It’s a blackberry.” He said as he went to reach behind her, likely to retrieve yet another dessert for her to try. 

The passageway had led them to a private area in the castle kitchens. The Archduke had given the castle cooks a night off as thanks for their hard work preparing for the wedding and Clive sought to take advantage of this. 

He had worked with the cooks to prepare sweets for her to try and had apparently taken Torgal out to find all the ingredients they had needed. It explained why he had been so busy these past few nights. 

There was an array of pies and fruits for her to try but there was a catch he said as he had walked back towards her with a red ribbon in his hand. He wanted her to try them blindfolded . She thinks that he did this just so that he could kiss her face as much as he liked. He kissed her other cheek when he came back with another covered plate. 

She began to reach out for the plate, eager to see what surprise lay under the covering. He moved the plate out of her reach with a look of mock seriousness. 

She lowered her hands back to her lap obediently, crossing her right leg over her left, looking like the perfect lady from where she was seated on the counter top. 

He had been most insistent on feeding her tonight. She was not to lift a finger. 

She watched him closely as he uncovered the plate, revealing yet another pie. 

“Does this pie have blackberries in it?” She asked cheekily. He had a pattern of presenting her with some new fruit before giving it to her in pie form. 

He kissed her nose, “So clever you are, my lady.” He broke off a piece of the pie with a fork before lifting up the bite sized piece to her. She obediently opened her mouth, happily eating out of his hands.

“Which one do you like the most?” He asked as they finished that last slice. 

She had been presented with strawberries, cherries, apples, and blackberries and was now surrounded by plates. “I think I enjoy the apple pie the most.” She said at last, after a moment of contemplation. 

He gave her a chaste kiss on the lips before moving to collect the dishes, moving them to another table. It appeared that their tasting session was now over. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

He walked back towards her and she uncrossed her legs so that he could settle in between them. 

His arms wrapped around her waist and he pressed his forehead against her, their eyes closing to enjoy the sensation of being wrapped up with each other. 

She hummed contentedly for a moment before opening her eyes, surprised to see the troubled look on his face. 

—------ 

Clive’s hand rested on her thigh, his thumb running soothing circles. 

He had planned this night for a while now, the idea starting back from when they were still in the North.  He wanted to make tonight special. 

She had put up with so much the past two weeks. She deserved a night dedicated to just her. He wanted her to relax. He wanted to pamper her. He wanted to take care of her. 

His thumb ran over her thigh, the fabric thin enough for him to feel the ridges of the skin underneath, the scar tissues that had been left behind by him. He felt that familiar guilt bubble back up to the surface. 

Her hand came to rest over his, pulling him out of his thoughts. He looked up at her, she was staring at him. She knew what he was thinking about. 

She lifted his hand and kissed its palm before rubbing her face against it. “Do not belabor these thoughts Clive. We were at war. You did what you had to do.” 

He still had nightmares of her dying, of him standing over her body, her eyes forever closed. There were nights when it took all of his self control to keep from barging into her room if only to reassure himself that she still lived. He would spend the rest of his life making it up to her, he swore on this. 

He reached behind and fished out the potion bottle he had stashed in his pocket, using his powers to heat up the oils inside. 

He had spent a long time working with his uncle to procure these oils and they finally arrived yesterday. An early wedding gift, his uncle had said, when giving him the package. 

It was rumored that these oils had special properties to soften scar tissue, to heal wounds unseen to the eye,  lessening their burden on the body. It was the least he could do for Jill. 

—-------

The oil was warm and slippery between her fingers. She didn’t recognize the smells, but it was earthy with a hint of something spicy. It was soothing.

Clive stared at her patiently, awaiting her answer. 

She knew that he still felt guilty about their fight, and the scars that he had bestowed upon her. But she did not hold it against him, she never had. 

If these oils truly had the ability to ease the pain of scars as he claimed then perhaps…

She lifted her fingers and applied the oil to his face, to where his scar lay. Oil or not, how many scars would they carry for the rest of their lives? 

His hand came up to clasp hers, gently removing it from his face, kissing her palm in the process. 

Jill leaned back, slowly inching up her dress to expose her legs, silently giving him permission.

—----

Clive slowly knelt between her legs, worshiping at her feet. His face now at the level of her hips. Her eyes widened, a surprised gasp escaped her lips. 

He pushed her dress further up and kissed the inside of her knee, where one of his scars started. The skin had healed well, now a silver ridge, a far cry from the red, angry wound he had left behind. 

He traced each scar with oil ladened fingers , making sure to work it into the tissue. He kissed the skin as he went, each one a silent apology. A kiss on her calf, a kiss on her knee, a kiss on the inside of her thigh. 

He spread the oil liberally onto her legs, her skin now glistening in the candle light. 

Her breathing was becoming more labored as he massaged her legs and her hands grabbed onto his shoulders for purchase as his lips moved their way up her thighs. 

He spared her a quick look. Her pupils were blown wide, her mouth open. She unconsciously spread her legs apart further and he pulled her closer to the edge of the table. Her dress was bunched up around her waist now, but neither of them paid it any heed. There were much more important things to focus on.

He nibbled on the inside of her right thigh, earning him another small gasp. Her hip twitched, as if trying to move away from him but he pinned her thighs down. There would be no escape for her tonight. 

His fingers came to join his mouth, squeezing gently at her supple flesh, spreading her legs ever further apart. He kept the pace slow. He wanted to take his time. He sucked another bruise onto the inside of her thigh, before slowly making his way up to her core. 

She tugged on his hair impatiently and he put her out of her misery. 

He pushed her undergarment aside and pressed a finger into her heat and he heard a muffled cry. 

—----- 

  Jill could not think straight, her mind completely overwhelmed.  

Her legs were spread impossibly apart, her knees dangling uselessly over the table edge, her hands desperately grabbing onto Clive to stay grounded to this world. 

He sighed contentedly, the heat from his breath on her core causing her muscles to tighten up in anticipatory pleasure. Her skin was so sensitive. Every nip, every lick, every suck sent her skin a blaze. 

It was hard to stay quiet, to keep her moans to herself. Clive had always been the loud one, the more vocal of the two. She was a bit more reserved. Whether it be due to her upbringing or just her inexperience in this arena, she wasn’t sure. She bit down her lip trying to keep another cry to herself. 

He sucked hard on her thigh, so close to where she wanted his mouth to be and she tried to move her hips to guide him. But he kept her pinned down. He would set the pace. 

Founder, he was driving her crazy. 

He slowly licked his way upwards. His teeth teasingly grazed her flesh with just enough pressure to drive her up the wall but never enough to hurt. And when he finally acquiesced to her needs, his finger pushing deep into her, it was all she could do to cover her mouth to tamp down her cry. 

—------ 

Clive wanted to hear her, he wanted to hear everything. 

She had always been quiet, biting on her lip to hold back her moans, covering her mouth with the back of her hand to quiet her cries, almost afraid to make too much noise. And when they were in the North he allowed it. It wouldn’t do to be too loud, lest they be found.

But now, they were safe. They were alone. And he wanted to hear her. He wanted to hear everything. 

He slowly stood up, keeping his fingers in her core, slowly pistoning in and out, slowly driving her mad. 

With the other hand he removed her offending hand and kissed her. She responded enthusiastically as he swallowed her moans. 

“Let me hear you.” He murmured against her lips before pulling back, seeing a shy look on her face. 

He removed his hand from her body and she jerked forward, almost as if to chase it. 

“No wait, don't…” 

He gave her another kiss, reassuring her that he wasn’t done with her, that he wasn’t going to leave her. And as he distracted her with his kisses, he slowly reached for the red ribbon that had been left on the table. 

He hadn’t intended to use the cloth in this way but if it meant that he could hear her sweet cries, then he certainly wouldn’t be complaining. 

She looked at him curiously as he pinned her hands behind her back before tying them together with the ribbon. It was just tight enough to keep her there but not enough to hurt. 

He gave her another kiss, gently guiding her down towards the table until she lay on her back before him, her legs dangling off the table. 

“I want you to be loud for me.” He grabbed her hips and yanked her down the table so that her bottom was nearly hanging off the edge. “Don’t hold back.” 

—-----------

“Clive…ah…ngh…” Jill gasped for air. 

It wasn’t fair, she thought to herself through the haze of pleasure that was threatening to overcome her.  There was nothing she could do now to stem her sounds. The sounds she made would have been absolutely mortifying if she had any ounce of sanity left.

She writhed in pleasure as his tongue traced her outer lips, sucking on that sensitive flesh before going back to his gentle teasing ministrations.  He continued to pin her down, not letting her escape, not letting her hips move away from his sinful mouth. 

She was completely at his mercy.  

She couldn’t help but arch her back as his tongue finally delved back in between her folds reaching impossibly deep within her. The heat of his breath tickled her clit, his tongue pushed against her own undulating walls. He let out a long, satisfied sounding moan, the vibrations causing her to cry out and tighten. Her actions seemed to please him based on the near animalistic grunt he gave in response.   

His thumb came up to press down on her bundle of nerves and her breath caught. Her legs wrapped around his shoulders, clinging to him for dear life. 

“Please…Clive…don’t…ah…”

She wasn’t even sure what she was saying at this point. Likely nonsensical babbling from a woman who was about to lose her mind. Her hips jerked from his onslaught but he kept her pinned down, seeming to almost double his efforts. 

His fingers replaced his tongue, spreading her nether lips apart. He eased two fingers in and then added a third. The wet sound coming from between her legs was obscene to her ears. He curled his fingers inside of her and she could feel her toes go numb. He tongued her clit, slowly circling it a few times, teasing the poor abused flesh, before he wrapped his lips around it and sucked. 

Hard. 

Jill never stood a chance. 

—--------

Clive slowly lapped up the gush of fluid that came from her as she reached her peak enjoying her taste. The way she called his name, the way she begged him for more, it was everything that he wanted. ‘

He felt the tightness in his pants, his prick was still hard, wanting for release. He ignored his own needs for now, tonight was about her.  Clive gently massaged her hips, allowing her legs to fall loosely to the sides before standing upright.  

She lay still on the table, her eyes clouded over in a haze. Her chest continued to heave, there was a flush to her cheeks. Her hair pooled around her, wild and unbound from her earlier thrashing. 

He slowly helped her up into a seating position and untied her arms. Gently massaging at her shoulders before resting his hands on her lower back as her arms wrapped around his neck. 

And for a while they held each other in silence. 

—---

They stood in front of her door now, it had taken her a while to regain her senses and even now her legs felt wobbly. 

The sun would be up soon. She needed to at least give the pretense that she had been in her own bed and somewhere else, spread out on a table. Her face heated up at that thought. 

As if reading her mind, Clive chuckled. He kissed her temple before slowly encouraging her face to turn up to his. She had been a bit shy after the whole affair, needing many, many kisses from Clive before she would remove her face from his neck. Jill wrapped her arms around his neck and they pressed their foreheads together. 

“Thank you, Clive.” She said after a moment of silence. She couldn’t imagine how much effort it had taken him to arrange all of that. 

She kissed him once more, their tongues slowly intertwining with each other. She would have been happy to stay in his arms forever but then the bell rang. People would be up and about soon. 

She put her hand on the door as Clive moved back towards the secret entrance in the walls. They spared each other one more longing glance before going their separate ways.

Chapter Text

Jill sighed. Maybe this wasn’t her brightest idea. She looked around. Everything looked the same. 

Were she in the North, she would have known which direction to go in or at the very least known how to figure out which direction to go in. But she wasn’t in the North, not anymore. 

She contemplated climbing one of the many trees that surrounded her to get a better vantage point, but her gown was rather constrictive. At best she would make it to the first branch, at worst she would come tumbling down and break an arm. Neither one of those seemed like appealing options. She wandered around aimlessly for a while longer hoping to see something familiar. 

The Duchess had requested her presence for tea early this morning, sending four guards to escort her at the break of dawn. They had loaded her up into a carriage without so much as a word and taken her quite far into the woods. The Duchess clearly did not want their meeting to be interrupted. 

Jill had not been amused. 

She knew the Duchess had wanted her to arrive frightened and disoriented. She had wanted her to sit there meek and quiet, too terrified to say anything. She had wanted to exert her power, to remind her of her place in Rosaria, to cow her into submission,  all before the majority of the castle awoke. She likely planned to return her to her room before anyone knew any better. Before anyone could do anything to stop her. She knew what the Duchess had wanted. 

But Jill had things she wanted too. A good night's sleep for one. And looking back on their time together this morning, neither one of them had come away with what they wanted. 

By the time Jill arrived after her prolonged carriage ride, she had become quite irritable, her temper especially short. She was tired and she was hungry. She did not have the patience to play any games. Out in the woods there was no one watching her, there was no Clive to rein her in and that was a dangerous thing indeed. 

 The Duchess said words, she said words. She did things she probably shouldn’t have done… things like going off on her own. 

“No need for your escorts. I’ll be perfectly able to find my own way back.” 

Jill scoffed at her hardheadedness. She had now wandered around for the better part of the day and was no closer to making it back to the castle than when she started. The sun was setting. Clive must be worried sick. 

She could use her powers, fire off some ice into the air, hope that someone would see it. But she had already done more with her powers than she should have today. She shouldn’t push her luck. 

She heard some rustling in the bushes behind her and quickly turned around. 

—----

Elwin paced his room, his hand clenched, his head throbbing. Of course something like this would happen. Of course it would happen the day before the wedding. He shot a scathing look over at the culprit, the one who was the cause of this problem. The one who was always the cause of his problems.  

“Tell me again what happened.” He said, teeth gritted, trying to regain his composure. “Tell me again how you lost Lady Warrick.” 

Anna huffed, “I didn’t lose her Elwin. She went off on her own.” How many times did she have to say this? 

Elwin looked over at her disbelievingly. “And you let her go off by herself after you took her from the castle at the break of dawn for your little tea party out in the woods. Have you no sense?” 

Anna shifted uncomfortably. Her plan today had backfired quite spectacularly. 

She had meant to take that girl out for a little chat just to remind her of her place in this family. She had grown too bold, speaking up when she shouldn't, refusing to cower when she should. That could not be allowed. 

She wanted to intimidate her, just a little. That was all. But things didn’t go as planned. That brat had shown up less than impressed, teeth snapping, eyes flashing. She didn’t like being awoken so early and would very much appreciate it if her grace refrained from such impulsive acts in the future . 

She spoke to her as if she was a child. The insolence. 

In hindsight, Anna may have said some things that she shouldn’t have said. Threats about soldiers doing her bidding, promises of a miserable existence, casual remarks about prisons and cages, ones built to hold savages like her. She only meant to remind that girl of where her place truly was, that was all. But that girl didn’t take kindly to those words, her eyes narrowing before they flashed gold. 

And for a moment, the whole world had been frozen still. 

“ If you ever threaten me like this again, if you ever come for me like this again, it won’t matter how many soldiers you have at your command. You could have all of Rosaria behind you and it would not be enough to keep you safe.”  

And with that, she stalked off, stating that she would find her own way back. 

Anna had been too frightened to say a word, too frozen in her place to even consider chasing that girl down to escort her back to the castle.  

But Elwin didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to know how terrified she had been. He didn’t need to know how every scrape and bump against her carriage had spooked her beyond reason. 

No. Nobody needed to know. Lady Warrick wasn’t going to say anything, right? 

“I didn’t lose her.” She repeated again. It was the only thing she could say in her defense. 

Her husband turned around, eyes filled with anger. “Clive and his men are out there looking for her right now and all you can say is that you didn’t lose her ? Do you know how precarious a position you have put us in? If she does not walk down that aisle tomorrow, we may all be going back to war.” He began pacing the room once more, frustration coming off of him in waves. “Is that what you want? For Joshua and Clive to take to the field once more? We were lucky they came home this time, they might not a second. 

“Elwin….” She tried to cut in but he wasn’t done. 

“Maybe when the North marches down on us, I’ll put you out on the front lines instead. Maybe then you’ll learn not to interfere with matters you know not.” 

Anna pursed her lips together but otherwise stayed silent. She had made a mistake, that was clear now. She thought she would have easily cowed that girl into submission, most people terrified at the sight of a fully armored guard and she had brought four. But Lady Warrick wasn’t most people, Anna wasn’t even sure Lady Warrick was a person anymore. She felt herself shiver just thinking back to that moment. 

Anna hadn’t realized just how close she had come to death today. 

Elwin ran a hand through his hair, exacerbation now seeping through his being. “You always do this Anna.” He chided. It wasn’t the first time his wife had put him in such a position. “You always make a mess of things.” He shook his head. “You better pray that Lady Warrick returns safe and sound or else it’ll be your head I send to Lord Silvermane.

He walked out and slammed the door. 

—----

Clive ran a hand through his hair. What a mess. What a fucking mess. He followed the sound of the hounds barking hoping that maybe this time they would have picked up Jill’s scent. 

He hadn’t known that his mother had taken Jill out of the castle this morning. He hadn’t known that Jill had been missing.  He hadn’t known anything until it was too late. 

It was the day before the wedding. He wasn’t supposed to see Jill today and so he hadn’t sought her out. He had assumed that she would be safely sequestered in her room, doing whatever ladies did the day before their wedding. He never could have imagined this. 

Sir Wade had found him early this afternoon. Four of their new recruits had been ordered by the Duchess to bring Jill out of castle grounds and just now, they had returned without her. 

Clive had felt his heart drop then. 

He immediately went to his mother, demanding answers from her, but she had been absolutely useless. 

I don’t know what you’re talking about. 

It wasn’t my fault. 

She went off on her own. 

She made threats against me. My life was in danger.

And yet, his mother had returned without a scratch on her being and Jill was missing. There were many things he wanted to say to his mother. Many things he wanted to do to her. But she wasn’t worth his energy. She didn’t matter right now, Jill did. 

He had gathered what men he could, forming a search party. He could only hope that he wasn’t too late. He sent some of his men to fetch Torgal from his room. He knew that hound would be their best chance at finding Jill. But Torgal was missing, no one able to locate him. In their hasty search of his room, his men hadn’t noticed that one of his windows had been pried open, teeth marks littering the frame. 

And so he had to settle for the castle hounds. Hounds that had now gathered by the river, sniffing up and down the banks. They had lost her scent. 

He sighed in frustration. 

“General, I’ll circle the hounds back around.” Sir Wade said. “We’ll find her I promise.” 

He took a look at his men. Their torches burned low. They were exhausted. He swallowed uncomfortably. “Circle them around one more time, just one more time.” 

He could only hope that this time they would find Jill. 

—----

Lady Marleigh brought in some tea and set it down on the table watching the young lord pace around the room. He had been absolutely restless. 

Her Jill had been taken out of the castle early this morning. Taken by these young boys who looked to be playing at soldier more than anything else. Jill had given them a dry look before going along with them, not seeming to be the least bit concerned. 

Marleigh hadn’t thought a second more about it. Jill had a tendency to disappear at odd hours, coming and going as she liked. She knew if those boys tried anything, Jill would be more than capable of putting them in their place. 

And so she had gone about her day, preparing as best as she could for Jill’s return. She laid out another set of clothes, prepared a bath, and made sure her hair brushes were at the ready. Jill had a tendency to return with her hair in disarray, her clothes wrinkled, and she couldn’t very well call herself a proper lady’s maid if she let her charge wander around looking like that. 

She hadn’t given Jill’s disappearance a second thought until this young lord had come pounding on her door. He was breathless. His eyes were wide. He was terrified. 

He had rushed off after confirming that Jill had indeed been escorted away at dawn and Marleigh heard the sound of barking hounds disappearing with him as he left the castle grounds to look for her. Now he had come back, hours later, his shoulders slumped, his eyes hooded.

Has she returned, Lady Marleigh? 

The poor lord was exhausted. 

She invited him in, knowing he would find no rest tonight and since his entry, he had paced up and down the floor, always in constant motion. 

“Come drink some tea.” She said, “Jill will return soon, you’ll see.” 

He looked like he was about to refuse but she gave him a look, one that not even Jill had the gall to refuse, and he reluctantly came and sat down next to her. 

“This is all my fault.” He said, his head now in his hands. There was a heaviness in his shoulders, a heaviness in his words. “I should have known my mother would do this. I should have stopped her. I should have…” 

Marleigh felt her heart ache for this young lord. This boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders. This child who tried to take the responsibilities for actions that weren’t his own. It wasn't his fault that the Duchess had decided to act brashly. One should never blame a child for the fault of their parents. Marleigh knew this only too well. 

He reminded her of Jill in so many ways. Both of them bearing the weight of things that weren't theirs to bear. Both of them taking responsibility for things out of their control. She frowned. 

“Now you listen here, your lordship.” She said with all the sternness she could muster, interrupting his self deprecating spiral. “There wasn’t aught you could have done against your mother. What could a small lad like yourself do against a Duchess? She is to blame for her own actions, not you. I will not hear any more of this ridiculous talk of things being your fault.” 

Clive blinked momentarily stunned. No one had called him a small lad in a long time. 

“Jill can take care of herself and if that hound of hers is missing you best bet that he’s out there looking for her too.” 

She took the tea cup and firmly placed it in his hands.  “Now you and I are going to sit here together and wait. And when Jill comes back, and believe me she will, you’re going to wear this blindfold.” She pulled out the cloth that she had tucked away in her dress. 

He blinked at her confused. “You’re getting married tomorrow, Lord Marquess.” She chided him as if he were her own child, and he might as well be if he was going to marry her Jill. “I can’t very well have you laying eyes on your bride when she comes through the door. It would be bad luck.” She nodded to the tea. “Now you best drink up.” 

—----

Jill steadied herself as she nearly tripped over yet another root, her companion stopping momentarily to allow her to gather herself. 

Torgal had found her. 

He had burst out of the bushes somehow knowing exactly where she was and without a beat had begun to guide her back home. Back to Clive. 

Now if only she wasn’t so slow. 

He came up to her, licking her hands, cleaning off the dirt that had gathered on the shallow cuts she had sustained. It was dark now. He turned around, satisfied at his work, and she continued following him. 

The two of them had met like this, back when she was a little girl. 

She had gotten into a fight with her mother and impulsively taken off into the woods. She didn’t even know what their disagreement was about anymore. All she knew was that she was never going back. She had run so far and so fast that by the time her senses had caught up to her, she had become utterly lost. 

She had cried then. 

The woods were a dark and scary place, even more so to a girl of barely five who was terrified of the dark. There were monsters that lurked in the shadows, monsters that would gobble up little children who ran away, at least that’s what mother had said. And when she heard the rustling in the bushes, she had been certain that she was about to meet a monster.

But instead she met Torgal. A small pup with more bark than bite and somehow she just knew that he had come for her. 

She had immediately picked him up, holding him close, feeling comforted for the first time since leaving her mother’s arms and together the two of them wandered the woods. He had tried to guide her but she was young and frightened. It took a while before she could understand what his barks and yips meant. 

They had wandered the woods for the majority of the night, her little legs stumbling over branches and bushes that she could not see. And when she got too tired to go any further, he stayed with her, keeping her company, keeping her safe, licking at her face until all her tears had dried. Her father found her the next morning, alerted to her presence by the constant barking of Torgal. 

And since then, he had never left her side, always coming to her aid when she needed him most, always guiding her when she was lost. 

The two of them made it to a clearing and she saw the lights of the castle. There were shouts from up ahead. The guards had spotted her. 

Her knees buckled from exhaustion, from relief, from gratitude. Torgal sniffed at her worriedly and she pulled him in, burying her face in his fur. 

“Thank you Torgal. Thank you for always looking after me.”

Chapter Text

Clive shifted his arms around Jill, pulling her tighter into his body. She had fallen asleep not too long ago, the events of the day finally catching up to her. He adjusted her legs that rested across his and she tucked her head further into the crook of his neck before her breathing evened out once more. 

She must be exhausted. 

The guards had found her by the gates and immediately helped her to her room. Lady Marleigh was now busy preparing a bath and they finally had a moment alone with each other. She had insisted that she was fine, that she was unharmed, but he could feel the way her body sagged into his, how quickly she fell asleep, he could feel the toll the day had taken on her 

He tightened his hold. 

They were getting married tomorrow and yet their wedding was the furthest thing from his mind.

The events of today should have never taken place.  Jill should have been safe in her room, she should have been preparing for their wedding. She should not have been dragged out at the break of dawn, exposed to the elements, and been left behind to fend for herself. 

His world should not have stopped today and yet it had. It stopped when his mother came back without Jill. It stopped when the hounds couldn’t find her. It stopped for every moment she wasn't in his arms. He had been frozen and trapped in a fog, one that was only now starting to lift with every breath she took. 

His fingers snagged on a tear in the dress and his features darkened. 

The four guards had spilled everything to Lord Murdoch. They spoke of the Duchess’s orders, of the secrecy they had been sworn to, of the threats the Duchess had made to Jill during their encounter. Clive wished he could say that he was surprised. He wished he could say that he never saw this coming, that his mother would never do such a thing. 

But he couldn't. No one could. 

His mother had long been a thorn in the side of every person who had the misfortune of coming across her. She was cruel and she was vicious. He had long endured her, believing that there was some fault within him, something that warranted such treatment. How else could he explain it? But after what had happened with Jill, he could ignore his mother no longer. 

Jill deserved better. She did not survive battles and sieges to be tormented by the likes of his mother. He knew that Jill could hold her own, that she could bear anything that came her way. 

But she shouldn't have to, not anymore. 

Rosaria was her home now. She deserved to be safe in it and he would do everything in his power to ensure that she was. 

—-----

Anna stared into the darkness. 

There was silence now. Elwin had left not too long ago and now there was no one left to yell at. No one left to hear her rage.

She was to apologize to the girl after the wedding. She was to grovel at her feet. She was to make herself scarce in the upcoming months and stay out of the public eye until such a time Elwin deemed it appropriate for her to return. And if she did anything disagreeable, if there were any complaints about her at all, Elwin would send her to the most remote parts of Rosaria where she would be forgotten, lost to the history books, if even that. 

Anna was no fool. She saw the writing on the wall. In the upcoming months of her departure from the public eye, Elwin would begin transferring her duties and obligations to the new Lady Rosfield. By the time Elwin decided to free her of this ridiculous punishment she would have nothing left to come back to. She was to be nothing better than a glorified figurehead, a wall flower in her own court. Elwin would strip her of all her power and there was nothing she could do. 

Her husband was a spineless fool and he would regret this. They all would. 

She heard the guards cough outside her door. 

She was to be watched now too. Her every activity, her every conversation reported to Elwin and the Lord Commander. She was to be made a prisoner in her own home. 

Actions have consequences, he had said. This was the only way forward. This was her lesson. 

How tragic. How cruel. How wrong this all was. 

After all she had done for Rosaria, after all she had sacrificed for this backwater country, this was how they repaid her. This was how they repaid the one who had brought forth the Phoenix, the one who had brought forth their precious little Marquess, the only one in this family who had done their duty. 

She was the reason this family endured. She was the reason the Rosfield line continued. She was the reason Rosaria had a future. Not that it mattered anymore. Everyone had betrayed her. She was alone now. 

She heard the door open and for a moment she thought that Elwin had come back but as her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw that it was Clive, the very source of all the problems in her life. 

There was a time when she thought she would have been rid of this child forever. Rid of the stain that he was on her legacy. 

When the North was near victory, when her fool of a husband thought that prayers to their ancestors would solve their problems, she had colluded with Emperor Sylvester. She knew that Sylvester had wanted to expand his empire, that despite how cordial he appeared to be with the Archduke, he secretly wanted Rosaria for himself. 

The plan had been to allow the Rosarian and Northern forces to wear each other down and then the Imperials would march in at Phoenix gate. They would defeat whoever remained and claim Rosaria and the North for their holy empire. 

Everything was perfect. She would have been an Empress, free to start over, finally to have what she truly deserved. She would have been happy. But then that failure of a child decided to awaken as the monster Ifrit and in his rampage the Imperials had retreated.  

It was ironic really. But it made sense. That child had always taunted her. He had always mocked her. Of course he would find a way to turn any happiness and joy in her life into ash. 

Sylvester had accused her of lying to him. Of leading his troops into a trap as a means to weaken him and after that, all her allies had fled. She had been stuck in Rosaria with no way out and she knew exactly who to blame that on. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Lord Marquess?” 

—--

Clive looked at his mother sitting alone in the dark

He had spoken at length with father and with Johusa and they had all agreed that mother was a problem that needed to be dealt with. They were lucky that nothing happened to Jill today, that she found her own way back. They were lucky that Jill was still willing to be bound to him after all that had happened.

But luck was a fickle thing and Clive was not about to wait and see what would happen when it inevitably ran out. He had pushed for his mother to be stripped of her titles, of her power, of anything that she could wield to harm others. This wasn’t the first time his mother had acted out and it certainly wouldn't be the last. She had proven today just how far she would go and she could not be allowed to continue any further. Clive would not be able to look himself in the mirror if he stood idly by while Jill was treated thusly. He may have been content to suffer in silence, but he would not allow Jill to suffer that same fate.

It would take time to fully remove her from her position of power. It would take months if not years to disentangle her from court and render her harmless but this was a start, and that was all Clive needed for now.  

“Come to admire your handiwork?” His mother’s voice cut through his thoughts. She glared at him, her eyes ever full of disdain and contempt. “Come to see what you’ve done to me?” 

Her hair was a mess, her usual kept bun now frayed with strands escaping it in all directions. Chairs and candles had been knocked over, signs of his mother’s rage apparent in the room. 

He had meant to return to his room. He had meant to try to get some sleep before the wedding. He had meant to stay away from his mother, to avoid her until things settled back down. But there was one question that kept repeating itself over and over. One question that would not leave him alone.

He locked eyes with his mother, blue meeting purple. 

“Why Mother? Why did you do it?” 

—---- 

Anna laughed. What a ridiculous question. What an absurd thing to ask. Why? As if he didn’t know. As if everyone didn’t know. 

“Why did I do what Clive? You’ll need to be a bit more articulate than that.” She watched as he clenched his jaw, as his hand flexed uncomfortably, a trait he had picked up back when he was a sniveling child who cried more than she could imagine. “Why did I take your little bride out today? Why did I leave her in the woods? Why did I do this to you the day before your wedding?” She shot him a condescending look. “You of all people should know the answer to that, Clive.” 

There was no point in holding back anymore. No point in hiding, in playing nice. Come morning everyone would know of her fall from grace. What more did she have to lose? 

“It’s because of you.” The answer was simple, if only he had the brain to comprehend it. “You failed to awaken. You made me a laughing stock. You trapped me here in this miserable life. And now you would pollute our noble line with that savage instead of taking her head as you ought to have done during the war.” She scoffed in disbelief. “You left me no other choice. Everything that I have ever done was because of you.” 

She had been miserable in Rosaria because of him. She had been laughed at and mocked because of him. She had been unable to start a new life because of him. She had been forced to watch as her popularity, as her respect, diminished with each of his great and heroic efforts. Every fault of his was hers. Every success of his was in spite of her. She could never win, she could never shine. And now, because of him, she would be silenced. 

The founder had cursed her the day she bore such a child and now she would be a curse upon him. She would never let him know peace. She would hound him forever. She would make him suffer in every possible way that she could, even if it brought her misery in the end. 

“You made me do this. You made me do everything. You are the reason why .” 

—---

There was a time when the woman in front of him had cared for him. There was a time when he knew what her arms felt around him, when she had smiled upon him, when she called him her darling. 

There was a time when his mother loved him. 

But she disappeared one day and he had spent his entire life looking for her since. He looked for her in her disdain, in the sting of her hands against his skin, in the words meant to make him bleed. He had searched for her every day hoping that by some miracle, by some grace, she would come back to him and she would love him once more.

But as he stared at the woman in front of him, at this shell of a being who held nothing but hatred and bitterness, he knew. His mother was dead. She was gone and she was never coming back.

He had come here with a fool's hope of seeing her again, if only a glimmer, if only to understand why she had left. But the woman from his childhood lived only in his memories now. Memories that grew dimmer with each passing day.

And in that moment of realization, Clive finally found it in himself to walk away. He found it in him to leave behind what hopes and dreams he had of ever seeing his mother again, to leave behind all this cruelty and malice. He finally found it in himself to walk away and leave this woman behind forever. 

—----

Clive didn’t know where his feet had taken him. He felt light. He felt heavy. He felt everything and nothing all at once. 

He looked up. His feet had stopped moving. Wherever he intended to go, he must have arrived. He stared blankly at the door in front of him. He noticed the woodwork, the engravings on the door, the shiny metal of the door knob. He stood there unsure of why his feet had taken him here. 

Should he knock? Would it be wrong? Should he leave?

But then the door swung open and Clive could only stare. 

—---

Marleigh nearly had a fright when she entered Jill’s room near dawn. 

Somehow, and she did not know when, the young lord had snuck back into bed with Jill, his head now pillowed quite comfortably on Jill’s chest. It was most indecent. Jill looked up at her, a guilty look on her face. 

Marleigh put her hands on her hips. “You’re not supposed to see each other the night before your wedding.” 

Jill blinked innocently. “This hardly counts. It’s dawn now.” Her arms remained wound around the young lord's shoulder, holding him close to her. For a moment Marleigh saw a younger Jill, one whose arms were wound around a pup as she begged her father to let her keep him, a pup who had now grown and draped himself comfortably over the end of the bed. 

Marleigh could only shake her head. 

She had known Jill since she was a little girl barely the height of her knees with short hair. She had been full of laughter then, full of mischief. It was all she and her mother could do to keep her out of trouble, to keep her from bothering her father when he had his important meetings to attend to. 

Jill always did adore her father. 

But then her ladyship died and Jill was left alone with her siblings. Marleigh had cared for all of them like they were her own but she knew she was no substitute for their true mother. 

And then the Night of Flames happened and one by one, all the children that Marleign had looked after, had come to love, went off to war, never to come back.

She had cried when Jill left. She had expected the worst, they both did, but when she heard of Jill’s awakening, she remembered thinking it was a fate worse than death.  She didn’t see much of Jill after that and in the rare instances that their paths crossed, she saw the light fade more and more from her eyes until she was but a shell of a person, a husk waiting for death. 

Marleigh was convinced that Jill died the day she became a dominant and she had mourned the loss of her sweet girl. 

But if Jill died that day, then Shiva’s Dominant died the day the war ended, the day she fell in love with this Clive Rosfield and Jill, against all odds, had been brought back to life. 

Yes, she had heard about this Wyvern who was now Clive. This man who saved Jill after nearly killing her. This man who now couldn't seem to spend more than a few hours without being in her presence. 

Somehow, against all odds, he had brought the light back into her eyes, that mischievous smile on her face, the will to live. And for that, Marleigh would be forever grateful. 

Marleigh leaned over and gave Jill a kiss on the head like she had done all those days before when she was a small child.

It was likely the last time she would ever do this for her. Afterall, by the end of the day, she would have a doting husband waiting on her hand and foot who would no doubt be bestowing her kisses anytime she liked. 

And Jill deserved nothing less. 

Chapter Text

The morning of the wedding found Rosalith Castle in disarray. The castle staff were rushing about trying to finish last minute preparations. The cooks were busy preparing the meals for the feast tonight. The laborers tried to move the last of the furniture onto their chocobo drawn carts in a bid to carry them off to the church before the guests began to gather.  

Jill could hear their shouts from outside the window, she could hear the footsteps echo within the castle walls. Everyone was in a hurry. Everyone was preparing for the day. 

Everyone except for them. 

She cast her eyes down at Clive who lay tucked into her chest, sleeping soundly, completely oblivious to the world around him.

She had heard him coming last night. She had seen his shadow in the gap beneath the door where she lay tucked in bed, freshly clean after her much needed bath. Had it been any other night, she might have slept through the sounds and missed his presence at her door. But after such a day, she was on edge and she was anxious. 

She needed him just as much as he needed her. 

It was unfortunate how things had played out with the Duchess. Jill knew that Clive did not take his actions lightly. She could see how his decision weighed heavily on him, she could hear it in his voice.  It was no wonder that he was so exhausted after it all. 

The Duchess would attend the wedding, if only to stave off absolute scandal with her absence, but she would be barred from all other celebrations. She wouldn’t be seen much from now on, something Jill was quite grateful for. She hated seeing the way Clive seemed to shrink in her presence. She continued to watch him sleep. 

She should probably wake him soon so that they too could get ready for the day. Lady Marleigh and the rest of her ladies would return and it would be best to get Clive on his way before the majority of the castle awoke. But she hesitated. 

Today was going to be hectic, filled with speeches and toasts and public greetings. There were fittings to be done, crowds to cater to, lords and ladies to greet. There were so many things that would happen the moment she left this bed and she wasn’t ready. 

She wanted to stay here just like this. The two of them, tucked away and hidden from the rest of the world with no prying eyes, no scheming mothers, no political alliances to worry about. 

This was all she wanted. 

She held him a bit tighter and tucked her chin on top of his head. She wasn’t quite ready to give this up yet. They had some more time. She closed her eyes and just breathed. 

—-----

Clive watched as Jill slept. Her eyes were relaxed, her lips slightly parted, the furrow in her brow no longer present. She looked peaceful. He had woken up to the sound of voices in the hallway, likely the maids beginning to make their daily rounds. 

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep here. He hadn’t meant to find Jill last night. He knew she needed her rest, especially after such a long day. But he found himself at her door nonetheless, his body knowing where he needed to be, even if his mind did not. It had felt so right to slip into bed with her. It had felt so natural to pull the covers over the two of them that he hadn’t given it a second thought. Beside her was where he belonged. 

He had spilled everything to her. He told her what he had done, about the conversations he had with his father and with Joshua, about the words he heard from the Duchess. He told her everything and she just listened, her arms wrapped comfortingly around him. That was the last thing he remembered before darkness overtook him. 

It was light now, the sun just beginning to peek through the clouds. Jill groaned softly and he straightened out his body, allowing her to curl into his chest. Her breathing remained even throughout. 

He slowly tangled his hand into her hair and rolled her silver strands between his fingers. His hands itched to do more but he would be content with this for now. He wouldn’t be greedy. 

He could wait until tonight. 

Jill began to stir and he looked down to see her eyes blearily open. Their gaze unfocused. She tilted her head up to look at him, a small smile starting to make its way across her face. 

“You’re awake.” She said, her voice still husky from her sleep. 

“I’m awake.” He whispered back, his hand now lingering on her face. She closed her eyes contentedly and pressed up against his fingers, the coolness of her skin a contrast to the heat from his. 

“How did you sleep?” The breath from her words tickled the skin on his collar bone. He continued stroking her skin, the back of his fingers now brushing her exposed shoulder. 

“I slept well.” He leaned over to kiss her on the forehead before deciding to press another to her nose, garnering him a quiet giggle.

It was hard to believe that all this could be his now. How many nights had he stared up at his tent just thinking about her? Wondering how it would feel to have the weight of her body next to his. Wonder how it would feel to have her arms wrapped around him? And now, it was all within his grasp. After today, he would spend every night with her, he would wake with her, he would be free to be with her. 

“I can hear you thinking.” Jill said, as she opened her eyes and shot him a bemused look. Her arm came up to wrap itself around his waist before tucking its thumb into the waistband of his pants. “What’s on your mind?” There was mirth in her eyes, a slight tease to her smile. 

“Just…how happy I am to be marrying you today.” 

Her eyes widened. Her lips parted in a surprised gasp. He barely saw the rose that dusted her cheeks before she buried her face into his chest, his name a muffled cry from her lips as she hid her face from him. 

His shy Lady Marchioness. What ever was he going to do with her? 

He continued running his hands through her hair, patiently awaiting her reply. She always was a bit more reserved with her words. But she eventually looked back up with him, her cheeks still a dusty pink. “I’m happy to be marrying you too.” He eased her face up to his before sealing his lips with hers. 

They were going to be married today and he could not wait. 

—-----

Jill sat alone in the carriage as it brought her towards the church. The crowd outside grew ever louder as she approached. All of Rosaria must have gathered here for the wedding.

Lady Marleigh had eventually separated her from Clive, with hands on hips and exacerbation in her voice.

“ Honestly, you two will be married soon enough.”

And off Clive went, sparing her one last glance before they were separated once again. She hadn’t wanted him to leave. 

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her corset had been pulled rather tight, it was difficult to breathe. It had taken three ladies maids to help her into this dress, the layers of fabric intricately woven together and unimaginably delicate. Her arms were covered in lace that extended down the front of her dress and beneath it a creamy white satin laden heavy with jewels sewn into the bodice. Her veil had been sown into the silver crown she wore, a part of the collection from her mother. She picked at one of the crystals, trying to distract herself from the situation at hand. 

As a child she had imagined her wedding to take place in a forest, surrounded by nothing but trees. Torgal would have been her ring bearer or her groom or both, she wasn’t picky. Her mother would have been there to fix her hair and her father would have sat in the crowd with all of her brothers and sisters, making sure none of them misbehaved. It was her big day afterall.

She had imagined many things as a child, some more outlandish than others, but she never could have imagined this. She took a quick peek behind the shades on her carriage windows and felt a lump form uncomfortably in her throat. 

She didn’t like crowds. She didn’t like attention. Had it been up to her, she would have married Clive this morning in her room and been done with the whole affair. She didn’t need this spectacle or all this grandiosity. 

She just needed him. 

It was all silly in a way. Wars she could wage. Legions she could face with no fear. But when it came to matters of the heart, when it came to things like this, she was but flesh and bone, fragile and terrified of breaking. 

The carriage began to slow to a halt and Jill took a breath, trying to center herself. 

She had wanted a quiet life. One away from the spotlight, without the crowds, without all these rules and expectations. She had wanted a life where she could just be whoever it was she wanted to be. But the founder had other ideas for her and now, she would likely never get the life she yearned so much for.

Her carriage door began to open and Jill slowly stepped out. 

But she wanted Clive. She wanted a life with him more than anything. And if it meant trading away her dreams of normalcy and peace, then so be it. Her life was already far from what she had wanted and if this, if he , was the only thing she had a choice in, then she would choose him time and time again. 

And maybe with him by her side, even a life like this wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe with him, she wouldn’t have to bear the weight of the world alone anymore. 

She smiled and waved to the crowds of people who had gathered outside the church, the sound of their cheering near deafening to her ears.  She began to ascend the stairs and steadied herself in front of the church doors.

Yes, this time, her life would be different. This time, her life would be better. 

The doors opened and Jill walked forward towards her future. 

—-----

Clive heard the roar of the crowd. Jill had arrived. 

He stood at the altar with his brother at his side and his father presiding over the affair. Joshua gave him a knowing nudge as all the guests began to stand.  All the lords and ladies from Rosaria and her neighboring allies had arrived. The delegation from the North sat off to his left, their silver hair and hues of blue a stark contrast to the Rosarian colors that filled the hall. He stared eagerly at the door as he awaited Jill to appear. 

It was sunny today, not a cloud in sight, almost as if the founder too had blessed their union. Not that Clive needed it. He would have married Jill in a snowstorm if that was what needed to be done. 

He would do anything for her. He would be anything for her. 

He knew that this life was not the one she had wanted. It was a far cry from the modest cottage on the edge of the woods that they had talked about so long ago. He knew the baggage that came along with his title. She had given up so much to be with him and he would spend every day honoring her sacrifice. 

He would build her a life where she lacked for nothing, needed for nothing. He would feed her, clothe her, and care for her. He would make it so that he was a safe harbor for her to rest, for her children to rest, if she saw fit to grant him that. He would make it so that this life with him would be one worth living and not just one where she sought the bitter end.  

He would give her everything and more. It was the least he could do for all that she had already given him. 

He heard the music play. He saw the doors open and everything faded away until it was just her. 

Clive was not a religious man. He did not pray often. He didn’t even know if he truly believed in a higher power. But if there ever were a reason to be devout, to give thanks to someone greater than him, it would be her. The woman who took his breath away. The woman who chased away every doubt in his being. The woman who moved closer to him with each step she took. 

Jill Warrick was a blessing upon his life and he thanked whoever it was be it EIkons, Founders, or Creators that they had seen fit to gift her to him. 

She understood him in ways that no one else did. She held him when he was weak and stood with him when he was scared. She saw him for who he truly was and never shied away. He would be so lost without her, naught but a shell of a man. 

And as she placed her hand in his, he swore an oath to whoever was listening that he would spend the rest of his life making sure that he was deserving of such a blessing.

—----

If Jill was being honest, she didn’t remember much of the ceremony on her wedding day. She didn’t remember the vows she took, nor the words the Archduke had said. She didn’t even remember who had been in attendance. 

The only thing she did remember was Clive. 

She remembered the warmth in his eyes as he stared at her. She remembered the comforting squeeze he gave her hand once she made it down the aisle. She remembered the way he clutched her tightly when they kissed for the first time as husband and wife.

She remembered when he first called her his Lady Rosfield. 

They stood outside of the church, in front of the crowd who had only grown louder in the presence of their Marquess, but Jill could hardly hear them. She could hardly register their presence. Everything was but a mixture of color and sound and in the middle of it all was Clive. 

Clive who wrapped his arm around her. Clive who tucked her errant strands behind her ears. Clive who kissed her deeply in front of all of Rosaria, proudly and shamelessly displaying his affection for her much to the delight of everyone in attendance. 

And Jill knew that this was something she would always remember. 

—---

The bard played a happy tune in the great hall as everyone sat down to the feast, not that Clive was really paying attention. The whole castle could have been on fire and he didn’t think he would have noticed, so distracted he was by the person sitting to his left. 

She held her goblet in front of her lips, hiding the small smile that played on her lips. Sir Wade was giving a toast, recounting some embarrassing story about him in his earlier days as a shield. Something about him trying to get extra hours of practice in during the night hours and accidentally knocking over a torch and setting the training barrack on fire. Everyone laughed in unison at his antics but Clive didn’t care. Jill was happy, that was all that mattered. 

She looked over at him. Humor dancing in her eyes, her face a healthy flush from the spirits they had partaken in. “I didn’t realize you were such a troublemaker, Lord Rosfield.” Her words were hushed and low, meant just for his ears. 

She had a teasing smile on her lips. Lips that had been painted red for the evening. Lips that glistened from the wine that clung on. Lips that Clive wanted to kiss. He wanted so much to close the gap between them, to press his body into hers, but he refrained. Their duties would come to an end soon. 

Soon, he would have her all to himself. 

He took her hand and gave it a cheeky kiss in response and her smile only widened. 

Sir Wade spoke the truth, he had been quite driven when he was younger. Practicing in the field before anyone else was awake and staying long past most had gone to bed. It had caused Lord Murdoch and his fellow shields more headaches than he had realized. But it had made him the man he was today. And if that labeled him a trouble maker, then his Lady Rosfield was certainly going to have her hands full. 

Not that she would mind. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze almost as if sharing the same thoughts. 

There was toast after toast that evening. His glass must have been filled thrice over. Everything was a pleasant buzz, a warm haze, a welcoming feeling. He was grateful to the people who attended, to the well wishes that he received. He was grateful for everything that night but none more so than the woman who was next to him.

He was grateful when it was decided that the two of them should retire.  He was grateful that it was Jill’s hand he took as they stood up from the table. Grateful that it was her who walked next to him down the halls, and grateful that when the doors closed behind them, it was her who lips he rushed in to kiss. 

—----- 

Clive had imagined his wedding night many times throughout his life. It was a rite of passage. A coming of age. 

When he was a boy on the cusp of manhood he imagined a faceless woman. Someone Rosarian with kind eyes and gentle hands. He would take her to bed and he would please her and he would care for her. And that was all his mind of ten and four was able to conjure up. 

When he was sent to war, when his days were filled with adrenaline and fear, his fantasies changed along with him. He imagined his wedding night to be much like his visits to the brothel. A frantic affair, one solely bent on finding release. He imagined he would be wed to some noblewoman, some poor girl who would be sent to the front lines if only to bed him and bear him a child to carry on his legacy should he fall on the battlefield the next day. 

And for a time, that was all he could imagine. His days were filled with violence and desperation, aggression and need. He had little time for anything else. But then of course, he wandered upon a silver haired woman in the woods and everything changed. 

Since that day, his every thought, his every fantasy, became consumed with her. He longed for her. He yearned for her. He would do anything for her. Even the idea of her eyes fixed upon him was enough to drive him to completion and never before had anyone held his attention so fully. 

He imagined many wedding nights with her. Some under the stars, some hidden away in a tent, and some under the cover of a canopy where it would be just the two of them hidden away from the rest of the world. He imagined many things with her but they all started and ended the same, with them wrapped up in each other, armed with the knowledge that nothing would ever separate them again. 

It didn’t matter what they did or didn’t do in these fantasies of his. So long as she was his and he was hers, then that was enough. 

He slowly pulled the curtains closed around them, the shadows beginning to dance around her face. He could see her pupils dilate, her breaths becoming more shallow. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. 

It was their wedding night now and as all things in his life since that fateful day in the woods, it would start and end the same. 

With her. 

Chapter Text

The first time the two of them had been intimate, it had been under the cover of darkness. The ground had been frozen, the wind with a slight bite. The moon shone through the clouds in the night sky and winter still had a tight grip on the North. 

But despite the chill and the frost that blanketed the ground, Jill had never been so warm. 

Every glide of Clive’s hand across her skin set her alight in ways that she could scarcely dream. Every graze of his lips on her shoulders was like a brand upon her soul, leaving her wanting more. She had never been so desperate for anything or anyone before and while they had to stop short, the breaking of a branch in the distance startling the two of them, Jill had never forgotten what that feeling was like. 

That head rush. That excitement. That all encompassing feeling of being surrounded by him and only him.  

She had never been with a man before Clive. She had never thought much of it, too young to truly consider such things before the war and too plagued by waking nightmares to venture further into that territory ever since. But after Clive, it was all that consumed her. 

She wondered what it would be like to have his weight on her body shielding her from the rest of the world. To be held within his arms knowing that she would be safe from harm. She wanted to know what it would be like to be one with someone, to have and to hold and to never be separated again. 

And in many ways she learned.Their forays were tinged with desperation and the desire to feel another’s skin against their own. They both knew that any misstep, any mistake, could throw them back onto the battlefield where their only hope for contact with one another would be steel against skin, one’s blood splattered against the other. Their time was limited and it would not do to waste it. 

So long had she been denied such a basic comfort that every touch of his felt like a breath of fresh air. Every caress, every brush, made her heart sing. She would have gladly died in his arms each and every night if it meant that his touch would be the last thing she would ever feel. But metia had been kind, granting her time she did not think she would have. Granting her wish after wish, allowing her to see Clive over and over again despite all the silent goodbyes she had whispered in her mind every night.

Jill was not afraid to admit that she was terrified of losing him. 

Even after their engagement had been announced, even after the treaty was signed, even now with wedding vows made and a ring wrapped around her finger, there was a fear that gripped her. A primal fear that froze her in ways that not even Shiva’s infinite power could hope to achieve. She could not bear to be parted from the one person in whose arms she felt safest. The one person in whose gaze she felt seen. The one person who had brought color to her life, shining light on the dullest gray of her existence. 

She could not bear to lose him. 

And it was with that same desperation that she kissed him back as he pinned her back against their headboard, the two of them on their knees, their tongues intertwining with one another, their breaths coming out harshly. She would never take any moment with him for granted. She would never assume that tomorrow was a given. There were still wars to be fought. Enemies within castle walls. There were still many things that could take him from her. 

But at least for tonight he was hers and she would be his. She would be his in every way that she could allow. 

Jill pulled back and reached for Clive’s hand, guiding them to the strings on her back. She leaned forward, pressing her lips against the shell of his ear. “Take me to bed, Clive.” 

—----

Clive had bedded women before. He had undressed women before. He had undressed Jill before. He knew how to work a corset and what strings to pull to loosen a gown. By every measure, tonight was not his first night. 

But with Jill, and especially on a night like tonight, everything felt like a first. 

His hands trembled as they loosened her strings, his breath came in stuttering halts as he kissed the back of her shoulders, his heart skipped a few beats as if learning to beat for the first time. If he could have gone back in time, if he knew that she was who waited for him at the end of it all, he would have saved himself for her. He would have saved everything for her. 

He slowly pushed the wedding gown off her shoulders and down her arms, savoring the feel of her skin beneath his hands. He felt her shudder from the sensation of it all and he kissed her cheek from where he now kneeled behind her. She pushed the gown off the rest of her body and kicked it over to the side. 

There was only the corset now and then she would be laid bare. 

There was a hushed silence in the room, almost as if the world itself held its breath. He pressed his face into her neck, inhaling her scent as his hands worked diligently at the strings. How his body ached to be with her. How it loathed to be apart from her. Every second not pressed up against her was a second wasted, and he had already wasted too much time. 

He should have taken her to be his wife back when they were in the caves. He should have taken her to be his wife the first night that he met her. He had been such a fool wasting precious time. But now that his mind was no longer clouded by the haze of war, he knew the truth. They belonged to each other. They were made for each other. 

He was never going to let her go.

He finally pulled the corset loose from her body, a sigh of relief escaping her that set his hands ablaze. He tossed away the garment, hearing a soft thud as it hit the other end of the bed and he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. He buried his face into her hair and she lifted an arm to wrap around his neck.

For a moment they just held one another. 

—-----

Jill could feel Clive’s heart pounding through his chest. She slowly turned her head to mouth at the scar on his cheek. She felt his breathing hitch before he let out a shaky sigh. 

She knew he saw his scar as a disfigurement. An ugly reminder of a terrifying night. But disfigurement or not, it was a part of him and every part of him was deserving of affection. She kissed the skin beneath her lips, feeling the ridges of where the scar started and ended. 

Clive had endured the worst that humanity had to offer. He had faced steel and ice and anger and flames. And for all of it, he had come out the better, his hands still soft, his body strong, his heart kind. Was it any wonder that she would dote on every part of his being when given the chance? 

She licked at his pulse, located right at the end of his scar, feeling the way it picked up. She pressed soft kisses along the length of his darkened skin back up to his face. Clive reached up to grab her arm that was wrapped around his neck and she pulled back. There was a slight mist in his eyes and something else that she couldn't quite decipher but he pressed his mouth eagerly into hers and soon all thoughts vanished from her mind. 

She turned her torso towards him to get better access to his lips. His right hand came to caress her face and his left arm wrapped tightly around her waist, keeping her close. For a while the sound of their breathing and meeting lips were the only sounds that filled their room. But soon Jill wanted more, she needed more. 

She blindly grabbed the arm around her waist and led it down towards her core. 

—----

There had always been something about the way Jill kissed him, something about the way her hands touched his skin that made his heart squeeze. She had a tendency to caress his scars, to press kisses into them, treating them reverently, elevating their existence rather than treating them like the imperfections they were. 

To him, each scar represented a mistake.  A just mutilation of his flesh for his failures. An ugliness externalized for the world to see. They were not deserving of her attention. But oh, how they longed for it. How they yeared for her touch and ached when they were apart from her fingers, almost as if his body was no longer willing to tolerate the harshness of his world without her soothing caress. 

And when Jill kissed his face, when she kissed the ugliest part of him that he wore like a shameful brand laid bare for the world to see, something inside him wept. To know that even the most wretched part of him had been deemed worthy of her affection was too much and it was all he could do to crash his lips into her with desperation. 

He pressed his body into hers wanting to mold his very being to her soul. He felt her hand guide him down to where she needed him and he gently cupped her warmth feeling the way she flexed under his hands. She was already so wet, it wouldn't take long to bring her to relief. 

He had been so caught up in his own musing, that he had neglected her needs. He gave her an apologetic kiss and began rocking the heel of his palm against her in slow circular motions, adding more and more pressure with each rotation. He felt a whimper escape her throat. She broke away from his lips, her head falling back onto his shoulder as her knees began to spread themselves out wider, welcoming his touch. 

—----

Jill bit down on her lips, trying to quell the sounds coming from her. She fought to keep her knees spread open as Clive added a second finger into her channel. He had always been able to reach impossibly deep within her, finding pleasurable spots that she hadn’t even known she had. She rocked her hips into his hand, wanting to chase that high.  

She was now seated in his lap, Clive still on his knees behind her. His left arm remained wrapped tightly around her torso, pinning her to him, while his right fingers continued to disappear in and out of sight. He had her completely at his mercy and for some reason, that only spurred her on further. 

He curled his fingers inside her and a cry escaped her lips. She could feel the pads of his fingers rubbing against her walls, teasing that spot that caused her to clench down. She wasn’t going to last much longer. She tried to focus on the heat of breath on her neck, on the way his leathers rubbed against her skin, anything to stave off the inevitable. It wasn’t fair, she thought to herself. It wasn’t fair how quickly he could have her unravel. It wasn’t fair how his touch had awakened a thirst inside of her, one that not even she could satisfy anymore. It wasn’t fair how desperate her body had become for him, memorizing the heat of his hand on her waist, the feel of his stubble against her inner thighs; these phantom touches lingering long after their trysts had ended. 

He added a third finger inside her and her mouth opened in a silent scream. She wasn’t going to last much longer. 

“Clive please.” It was the only thing she could think of saying as her mental faculties continued to crumble with each well timed thrust of his hand.  She wanted to find release with him inside her. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. She wanted so many things.  

 “Tell me what you want.” He breathed heavily in her ears. “Tell me what you want and it’s yours, Jill.” 

—---

Clive meant every word he said. Anything she wanted would be hers. He rubbed his thumb against her clit just the way she liked and her walls squeezed down on him in return. His fingers were coated in her essence, sliding in and out with ease. She had always been so responsive to him, her body reacting to his every touch. He spared a glance down at her, taking in the sight. 

Her breasts were heaving with each breath and her pebbled nipples begged for attention. He moved his left hand to palm one of her breasts, making sure to gently rub her peak in between his fingers. Her toned torso flexed with each undulation of her hips as she rode his hand and he promised himself that he would run his lips over every inch of that skin once given the chance. 

She cried out once more, clearly on the edge, and he would have been happy to bring her there and beyond. He would have been happy to bring her to completion over and over tonight with or without his own to join her. He would have done anything she asked. But her next words caught him off guard, so raw and sincere in their delivery, his body stilled. 

“I want you, Clive. I’ve only ever wanted you.”

Jill had always been reserved with her words and her feelings even more so, preferring her actions to speak for themselves. They had never professed their feelings to one another, such acts seemingly meaningless in a world ruled by steel. He knew she cared deeply for him. He would be a fool to doubt that after all they had been through. And he would be an even bigger fool if he didn’t recognize these words for what they truly were. 

“You have me.” He whispered into her ear, eager to reciprocate, eager for her to know that he stood right next to her in all of this. “I’m yours.” 

He withdrew his fingers from her and urged her down onto the bed giving her one more kiss before pulling back to rid himself of his last vestiges of clothes. She propped herself up on her elbows as he pulled away from her, her eyes watching his every movement. When he finally tossed away his pants she reached for him eagerly, just as desperate to be close to him as he was to her. He leaned her back down, pinning her onto the bed with his weight. 

She wrapped her legs around his waist, her intentions clear. “Please, Clive.” She whispered. 

“I’m yours.” He said again as he lined himself up with her entrance, her warmth tantalizing on his sensitive skin. 

“ I’ve always been yours, Jill.” 

—-----

Her entire body curled around Clive’s, holding him close as he slowly rocked in and out of her being. The stretch was incredible and it was hard to do anything but breathe. Every fiber in her wanted him to be closer and yet his presence felt so foreign, nearly intrusive. She took a breath and pulled him closer.

When she first met him, fully armored and guarded, she would have never imagined that they could become this to one another. At most, she saw her freedom in him. A freedom in his sword at her neck or buried deep in her chest. That was all he could be to her. She would have been a fool to want more. 

But a fool she became because she did want more. She thought about him everyday, hoping against all odds that somehow, they could be more. And now here they were. Her back upon his bed, his ring upon her finger, their bodies joined as one. 

Her walls clamped down at that thought earning her a grunt. His entire body was tense, almost as if he were in pain, but when he pushed back into her, sheathing himself completely into her body, his relieved sigh told her that he was anything but. 

She shifted her hips, trying to grow accustomed to him and gasped when he rubbed against the back of her walls. She was still so sensitive. He slowly pulled back before angling himself right back into that spot and Jill saw stars. 

Things began to move faster then. Her every gasp and plea gave Clive the confidence to know that she was enjoying this as much as he was. The bed frame began to creak as they chased their absolution. 

She clawed at his back, desperate to hold onto him as everything disappeared around her. She could hear him grunting into her neck, his teeth now sunken deep into her shoulder as he too fought to stay afloat. There was no discomfort now, no foreign sensation, no stretch. 

It was only them. 

She felt a coil of tension build. She called out to him and he pressed his forehead against hers. His pupils were blown wild, a golden glow giving shine to his ocean blue. He was just as far gone as she was. 

With what was left of her sanity, she wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him down for an open mouthed kiss and between their frantic hearts and entangled bodies, they found completion within each other. 

—---

Jill did not know how long she lay there just trying to catch her breath. Her body continued to tingle. There was a warm fluttering sensation within her, one that had been bestowed upon her by Clive. She blinked up at the canopy, floating somewhere between this world and the next. She felt the weight begin to shift next to her. 

Clive wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “You ok?” 

She turned her head to look at him. His hair was a mess, matted to his face in some places and sticking out in others. Was that her doing? His lips were red and she could already see bruises on his neck from where her lips had latched on earlier. He looked utterly spent and she took pleasure in knowing that it was all because of her. She gave a tired chuckle. “I’m more than ok, Clive.”

He kissed her shoulder before humming in approval. She turned towards him, her body feeling heavier than usual and tucked herself into his larger frame. She gave a satisfied groan once her body settled into his. He carded his hand through her hair like she knew he would and Jill closed her eyes at that sensation. 

It was silent for a while, the two of them basking in the afterglow of their activities. 

“Was that ok for you?” She asked, the question nagging in the back of her mind. He was always so attentive to her needs, she wanted to do the same for him. 

“Jill, I still can’t feel my toes. I would say that was much more than just ok.” 

They both laughed at the absurdity of it all and she buried herself deeper into his chest. He reached over to pull a sheet over the two of them, making sure to tuck her in. She snuggled deeper into him, her body seeking out his warmth. She was tired. The excitement from the past two days was finally catching up with her. She could feel the call of sleep pulling her away.

He cradled her between his arms and whispered words into her hair as she drifted off. Words that echoed within her being. Words that would carry her through this night and every night to come. Sacred words that she would cherish for all time. 

  “I love you, Jill.”