It courses through him, centering at spot where his head meets his neck, traveling up and through towards his eyes, throbbing like someone had place his head into a blacksmith's tongs and squeezed with all their might.
Realization.
That he can feel pain, and while he doesn't know the afterlife, is certain, maybe, that there isn't one now that he's been to the heavens and seen what awaited there, he is quite certain that he shouldn't feel pain when he's dead, and certainly not pain like this. He tests his lungs, one deep breath in and then an exhale, wincing at the pain that comes from there, too, another sign that he'd survived the fall. He cracks one eye open, immediately regretting it when the beating sun blinds him for a moment, and he raises a hand with a soft groan at the effort of it to block his view, taking the chance to open the other.
Daylight, then. A new dawn, of a new world, and here he is, able to see it. ]
Fuck.
[ So the curse hadn't taken him completely after all, either, though, he notes, as he sits up with another, louder, groan, it's traveled up his forearm to his elbow, the very forearm he used for his Eikonic abilities. He huffs a laugh at that, unsurprised and surprised all at the same time, and then he laughs, and then he remembers Joshua and he cries, deep heaving sobs of grief, of mourning. He lived, and Joshua did not, and it hardly seems fair that he has to be in the world without his brother once more, after he'd only just gotten him back. He mourns the life they had together, the life they could have had together, if only he'd protected him, if only he'd saved him, if only, if only, if only.
The sun is dipping low in the sky when Clive runs out of the energy to grieve, and he swallows thick and dry, and realizes how thirsty he is, how he could do with a big pint of frosty ale—
And he remembers.
The hideaway. He has to get back. He has to get back to them, to Jill. He has to tell them what happened, but as he stands up he realizes he isn't sure where he is, though a nearby firepit gives him a clue. His cheeks flush slightly pink as he realizes where he is, and he turns around, looking out at the horizon over the sea, back to the blackened landscape, back to the sea. It's too long to swim, and as he clutches his pale white hand into a fist, he realizes he can't fly, either. Bahamut, the Phoenix, both gone, in body and now in soul as well. ]
Damn it all!
[ He kicks the sand in frustration, runs a hand through his hair, and stops. The kingdom of Ash is long dead, the only survivor he's aware of back at the Hideaway, but Cursebreakers had been in the area, scouting for more—
The Cursebreakers!
He takes off at a run towards Eisthea, hoping, praying to a god he knows doesn't exist, that at least one was still in the area. He has to find them, he has to get home.
It takes three days and two nights, and he reaches the outskirts of the village just as Cody is leaving it, and their reunion is brief, heartfelt, and ends with Cody sending a Stolas to the Hideaway. He is bringing a passanger home, so if Mid could make room on the Enterprise, he would appreciate it, you see.
And, so, another three days and two nights later, Cody and Clive wait on the Shadow Coast for the familiar crimson sails of the Telamon masterpiece, in their little rowboat Cody had hidden in a cove near where Clive had washed up. Clive's heart is racing, in anticipation, in fear. Weeks he'd been gone, Cody had said. What if.. what if she had moved on? Stopped mourning him and left the Twins to spread her wings? It's no less than she deserved, and if she wasn't there when he returned, then— then he'd send her a stolas. Wish her well.
For a day, after Origin dissipates and the clouds clear, she hopes that they will; everyone in the Hideaway holding their breath and staring up at the sky, the horizon, the edge of the lake. Searching for a flash of red fire or Bahamut if they could not spot familiar men. Scouts, too, had their orders to look out for any of them -- Dion, Joshua, Clive. But life doesn't hold still just because she wishes it would; there are people that need their help now more than ever -- the damage Ultima inflicted on the world he intended to remake still fresh and raw. It is their job, as the people who pushed the world to this moment to help the rest of it survive.
So Jill does her best to ignore the weight in her chest, the heart that feels increasingly fragile as the day turns into days and there is nothing. Not until the night that Edda's baby is born and she looks once more up to the sky and knows, in that one shattering instant, that they are gone. Everything becomes too much, too cloistering in a way she hasn't felt since her youth -- the urge to claw at her throat until she's pulled out every sob and there is nothing left for her to do but scream.
It is almost enough to send her back to that dark place, wall off herself from her emotions until there is nothing left of Jill Warrick, only ice and snow in her heart. It would be easier to allow herself this one small mercy if it means not having to deal with losing Clive and Joshua once more. And Dion, whom she only recently met but found to be an upstanding man of principle. One would have been a blow, but all three is enough to bring her to her knees. Her heart, so recently repaired and reinforced by her love for them all -- feels as if it does truly shatter like glass; like ice. And she would have given herself over to it, the numbness, but for the others -- Torgal, Gav, Tarja, Otto, and the rest of them.
It is their presence that keeps her with them, focused on saving those she still can. The memory of Clive, knowing that he would not want her to cut away all feeling on his account; it is not a burden she wishes to lay at the feet of his memory, not when the ones he willingly shouldered led to his death. While the ache does not go away -- she still finds herself blinking away tears at night as the scent of warm spice and ash fades from the sheets of their bed -- it does not destroy her. Her plans are still the same; see her duty done and then leave the Twins for the wider world, somewhere where she and Torgal can breathe deep and free.
Perhaps she will take Mid with her; the other woman does her best not to show what the loss of her brother-figure has done to her, but Jill knows well how Mid tends to desire escape the moment she is threatened with facing her emotions. They can flee them together, at least for a little while.
The days turn into weeks; she's in Northreach helping them plan for the spring planting when a panting Cursebreaker appears, stolas in hand, clearly having sprinted from his station to find her. They've found someone, is all that she manages to hear and her world suddenly rightness itself. It doesn't matter who it is, someone is better than none at all -- though she hopes, prays, that Clive has kept his promise, that he's come back to her. It seems cruel, though, and no small source of grief at her own selfishness, because that means that Joshua is dead once more. And after everything, to see the brothers torn apart again-- if it is one of the brothers, he must be devastated.
But she will see it to the end, with her heart in her throat.
The boat ride to Ash takes far too long for her liking, and Mid and Lord Bryon both are surely sick of her barely hidden impatience, pacing the deck as she is. Torgal, too, seems on edge -- sitting still at the bow of the Enterprise and waiting, watching, ears pricked forward. Someone shouts, and she's instantly at the bow, peering over at the small boat rowing towards them-- )
Clive!
( It's him; broad shoulders and dark, shaggy hair making him unmistakable -- and the moment he manages to pull himself over the railing she's there, enveloping him in a crushing hug. Jill might have promised to save her tears for the stars, but now... now she can't help herself; they flow freely down her cheeks, shoulders shuddering with the force of her sobs. He's here, he's alive; whatever bad news he brings her can wait for a moment. )
[ He's hardly on board when she reaches him, arms around him in an embrace that is tighter than he's ever known. He doesn't see anyone else, doesn't hear anyone else. Just her, blue and white and bright, and even though he still hurts, even though he is exhausted, even though he knows he is not fit to be in her presence or anyone else's—
He buries his nose in her hair. She still smells like flowers. He doesn't want to let her go.
But the other people on the ship have other ideas, Torgal first of them, knocking his head into Clive's knees so hard he buckles, stumbling, desperate to keep hold of Jill while not falling over at the same time. Then Gav, then Byron, then Mid, all of them clamoring around him, tears and hugs, a wet nose pressed into the palm of his hand. It's all he can do to keep standing, and he looks at Jill, giving her a half smile. ]
Sorry I'm late.
[ And then his knees give out and he falls to the deck, conscious, but weary, every inch of exhaustion and pain he's been putting off until this moment catching up to him. It's through sheer will he remains seated upright, and Mid turns, barking orders, telling her men to get their arses in gear, they're going home. Gav kneels down, helps Clive to stand, and Clive reaches for Jill's hand, the knife edge of grief creeping it's way back into his chest. She's so happy, and he loves nothing more than her smile, would box it up and keep it in his heart forever if he could, and he wants nothing more than to keep that smile from fading, but she deserves to know. ]
Joshua. He... he didn't make it.
[ And Clive has never been sorrier for it. Tears well up in his eyes, and he doesn't know what else to say other than: ]
( He smells of blood, of ash, of sweat, of salt, and of something sharp and bitter that threatens to tear her heart further; a testament to the trials he's miraculously survived. Jill can only shake his head at his first apology; it doesn't matter now if he's late, not when he came back to her. To all of them; though she cannot great him with as wide a smile as she might like there is still one ghosting over her face as the others rush forward -- she steps back enough to give them all room, and it's the only reason she doesn't stumble down with Clive when everything catches up with him. )
You came, that's all that matters.
( Jill will forgive every lateness, every slight he might ever think he makes against her, just for the fact that he came for her once more. For the last time, she thinks, for she is never letting go of him now. No more days spent apart while they attend to their own separate matters. Nothing she might do needs to be done without him, and he need not shoulder the world's burdens by himself out of fear of harming others any longer.
Now it is her turn to protect him.
Her hand eagerly grips his, threading her fingers in his as he gets to his feet. That he apologies after barely making it through himself -- Jill shakes her head, eyes squeezing shut at her own grief at the loss of Joshua so soon after his return. )
Clive. ( The hand not holding his reaches up to cup his cheek, urging him to look at her. Jill's own tears cut fresh tracks down her cheek, welling at the corner of her eyes. It is unfair, she thinks, that they could have fought so hard against fate to not fully shake free of its shackles. But Clive has done enough, more than anyone ever could, and she knows that were Joshua to find a way to reach for them from beyond the grave, he would tell them as much. ) You did all that you could for him, you have nothing to apologize for.
( He would sooner die than let harm befall Joshua. Jill knows that as much as she knows her own heart; there is nothing Clive wouldn't do for his brother. If Joshua died then it was not for any failing of his Shield, but for circumstances out of their control. Jill presses her face into his chest, finally letting her own tears of grief fall under the sun. )
That even one of you made it-- he would have been glad as any to know you live.
[ Her touch on his skin is warm, and he feels it— her grief, her love, closing his eyes, only opening them when she presses her face to his chest, hesitantly raising a hand to place it on her head.
(Gav, for his part, is doing his best to not look, but it doesn't matter in the long run anyway, because—)
Jill, I'm sorry, we have to get him to the cabin so I can take a look.
Tarja comes striding up, lifting Clive's other arm over her shoulder, her face stern but understanding.
You can come with, if you like. C'mon, Gav.
And the pair start to move Clive towards the lower decks to the sleeping quarters, his steps heavy, but true. He watches Jill as he walks, trusting his friends to guide him in the right direction, blue eyes searching her face for... he doesn't know. Doubt, maybe. Disappointment. But there is none, and it makes his chest ache in a way even the bruises on his ribs don't. He took her smile, and yet she still has nothing but love and forgiveness for him. There is a part of him that knows she is right, but there is a bigger part that still believes he could have done more, should have, to save Joshua, to save Dion. He saved the world, except for those two. And it doesn't feel right.
Tarja and Gav start helping him strip his armor off, ripped and torn and full of holes where his skin is peeking through. Tarja holds it up, mutters something about Blackthorne needing materials for repairs, and thrusts the lot into Gav's arms, sending him off for a change of clothes. His body is battered, bright purple spots blooming over his chest and waist, lacerations on his legs and then that curse on his arm. He tries to sit on the bed, but she shoves him onto it, the look in her eye an unspoken threat that she WILL tie him to it, if need be, and for once he heeds the warning, laying back and closing his eyes.
But he's antsy, even as Tarja begins stitching up his wounds, even as Gav returns with a shirt and breeches, Torgal on his heels. He doesn't want to be away from Jill anymore. He fought and fought so they could have a world where they could be free together, and right now every second without her in his sights makes that world a little less bright. His brooding is cut through with sharp pain, and he cries out, Tarja rolling her eyes.
If you'd sit still, it wouldn't hurt. I'm almost done.
With a huff, he obliges once more, sitting up when Tarja allows him to and taking the clothes from Gav. But he's too exhausted to put them on, and he sets them aside, pulling the blanket up over his hips. Tarja examines his head, and when she's satisfied there's nothing there, she nods, dropping a poultice on the beside stand to his right.
It doesn't look like the curse is spreading, right now. And I've got you as patched up as I can here on this boat. Tarja stands, turning to face Jill (and Gav, leaning in the doorway).
Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid?
Aye, can do, Tarjaaaaoooow! Gav's retort is cut short by Tarja dragging him off by the ear.
It isn't that Clive isn't glad to see Gav, just.. There's one person he wants to spend time with, right now. One person who can understand... it all. He silently thanks Tarja, and looks up at Jill, bags under his eyes, shoulders bandaged and slumped. ]
( As much as she wants to cleave to him and never let anyone get between them, Jill knows that what Clive needs now -- just as much as he needs to forgive himself for whatever passed in Origin -- is proper medical care. So she follows, present and watching Tarja do her work on her most common and most difficult patient. Though Joshua and Dion gave Clive a run for his gil; the memory of Tarja venting her frustrations up until the end enough to distract Jill from her deep worry.
Mostly.
The sight of just how many wounds he has is enough to cause a fresh bout of concern to course through her; Clive doesn't need another person fretting over him and Tarja doesn't need anything to make her job more difficult. So Jill stands off to the side and lets them work -- though she can't help but gasp as the extent of the curse is revealed. Clive, as Mythos, was supposed to be immune to the thing that plagues the rest of them; the thing that is eating up almost as much skin on her right arm as his left. Was this the cost, beyond losing his brother? A slow death like the rest of them?
The unfairness of it all once again threatens to choke her, the price of the world they wanted so dear. How dare it be so great for the one man willing to sacrifice everything, including himself, for it? But their fates have never been kind, and both of them -- all of them -- knew the likely end going into this fight.
It doesn't make the weight of it any easier to bear, however.
Once Clive has been seen to, and Tarja reassured that she will keep Clive abed to recover, she comes to sit next to him -- the cot not quite big enough her to do it comfortably. Jill doesn't care, however, taking his cursed hand in her's, gently threading her fingers through. She need not speak of it for now -- there will be time enough to discuss physical hurts later, when he is healed more and they are both not raw and ragged.
For now she knows what wounds need attending to most, knowing well what loss will do. Of surviving and wishing that, perhaps, you had not lived at all. )
And he would have scolded you for blaming yourself. But it is hard not to, especially when it aches.
( They invent fantasies, they lock themselves away to keep from dealing with uncomfortable, horrible truths and then jump to name no small number of flaws in their character to attribute their failings to. Jill knows, of course she knows -- but it was Clive who helped her see beyond the world of numbness she'd descended into. She can only hope to do the same for him. )
[ The breath he lets out in that moment is haggard and tired as he is, and as he squeezes her hand he droops forward, face pressed to her neck. He isn't even thinking about it — just does it because she's been a comfort to him these last five years, something soft and warm to come home to, even before they became lovers. Her smile, the scent of her hair, her grace and beauty, honed these past two decades to become something sharp and dazzling, but not harsh in the way snow and ice can be. Touching her doesn't leave him chilled but warm, so warm, and the only thing he wants more on this world is for Joshua to come back to him.
The idea she wouldn't want to be that close to him anymore doesn't occur to him. Not like it had while he waited on the rowboat, heart thudding in his chest. ]
Oh, Jill. It aches.
[ His free hand twists the sheet under it into his fingers, his voice raspy, broken. His shoulder start to shake with silent sobs — and here, he thinks, he was certain he'd gotten it all out on the beach. It's not the wounded howling animal cries he'd had all to himself, but he sobs all the same, quiet, face pressed to the fabric at her neck, tears leaving damp splotches in their wake. After a few moments, he takes another breath, raises his face to look at the wall just beyond her. ]
I heard him—all of you. While I was there. Fighting. Father, too.
[ He looks at her. ]
You were all with me. And so I did my duty. But it doesn't feel like enough.
( She breathes out, letting him shake against her; Jill wishes there was something she could do to right the world they've found themselves in, the one where he is once again asked to go on without Joshua. They all knew, the moment she saw them leave the hideaway, that they were going to their deaths. She remembers how that knowledge had propelled her forwards, after them, as if the sheer force of will of her want for their safety could draw them back. That he, of all of them, should live when he was the most willing to throw himself on the nearest sword if it meant saving them all--
Her free hand reaches up to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading the strands of hair in soft strokes; if he wishes to cry she will let him. They have nothing else that needs them so badly to rob him of this chance to grieve. )
It is, Clive. It is all anyone could have asked for. ( Jill turns her head to look at him once more, her eyes soft and understanding. There are still tears in the corner of them, running down her cheeks when she blinks; for Clive, for Joshua, for Dion. For all the loss that has rocked the Twins over the centuries -- he has ended it, yes, but that doesn't mean it never happened. ) There is no one who would say otherwise. But you don't have to believe that right now.
( Asking him to set aside his grief is something she would never do. Will never do, even if it takes him years to accept the truth. And she will be by his side for every one of those until he does, and for all their years after. It is not an exchange -- her unwaveringly loyalty for his return -- but an act of love. And she, who has spent so long feeling nothing, will do all she can to let them exist in a space where every emotion is given its due justice, for however long they need. )
Something— inside him— those words— they wrap around his ache, cradle it tenderly, gentle with the raw edge of his grief. He had expected— he doesn't know. Someone telling him to be strong, that he'd get through it, that the sheer force of his will killed a god, what chance could sorrow have? But to let him sit with it...
He looks at her in awe (which is no different than how he normally looks at her, to be true), unclenching his fist so he can reach up to wipe the tears from her cheeks, praying his touch is as gentle as her words are. ]
I made you a promise, didn't I?
[ He moves his free hand to their clasped ones, placing it over hers. ]
I intend to keep it. If you would allow me.
[ Giving her the choice. It's what he did all this for, right? She doesn't need to stay with him, if she doesn't want to. She can take Torgal, go see the world, spread her wings, live her life. Free of him, if she wants.
But Flame take him, he doesn't want that. Not now, not ever, but especially not now, but he won't just assume. She is the maker of her own fate. As are they all. Still, his expression as he says it is hopeful, much as he tries to hide it. Honest and earnest, and perhaps just a little bit needful. ]
( She does not smile fully -- that will come in time, when they are not clinging to each other as if they are the only thing keeping the other from drowning in their grief. But she does smile, soft and so grateful that he is here with her.
Surviving without him would have been a monumental, near impossible task; just as she'd come to terms with the fact that she must find a way to do so, he's come back. This world needs him as much as she does -- and perhaps, once they are assured of its continued existence, that the seeds they've sown have taken root, they can take off from it together, they can leave.
Together. For she would never leave him behind.
She leans forwards, resting her forehead against his. The quiet intimacy here and now all she needs in this moment. So much of her life has felt out of her control, that she was only there to follow the path fate has laid for her. But now, thanks to him, that path lies shattered like the Mothercrystals, and they are free. )
Always. I love you, and nothing will change that.
( Her tears flow freer now, sadness mixed with the joy she is finally letting herself feel without constraints that he lives. Mourning Joshua and Dion will take time, leave a scar on her heart, but she no longer has to wake up to an empty bed and a future that seems as dark night.
Whatever it has in store for them, they can see it together. )
[ The wave of relief crashes into him like a shore on a stormy night, and he huffs out a small breath of laughter, tinged with both sorrow and joy. He closes his eyes and rests his head against hers, taking in the feeling of her next to him, her warmth that he was so cared to lose. He breathes in her air for another moment, and then pulls away, just enough to look at her eyes — beautiful like freshly fallen snow — and then he reaches up to cup her face, leaning into kiss her, chaste but meaningful. ]
I love you, Jill, [ he says against her mouth. ] I won't leave you again. I swear it. Where you go, I will follow. Always.
[ He will always mourn Joshua. He will always mourn Dion, and his father, and Cid, everyone he's lost on the course of this journey. But the sun has risen after the long, dark, night. A new day has dawned for them all. There is no path to tread except the one they choose to, and his choice, right now, is to be with her. It's the quietest his life has been since he was born, the creak of the wood and the noise of their breath the only sound.
He huffs a laugh. ]
In another life I could have courted you properly.
( The gentle press of his lips is enough to chase any lingering doubts of the reality of this moment away, back to the depths of her nightmares. He is real and alive, if not whole. This new world they've created is theirs to explore together, side by side, hand in hand.
It is what every single person they've lost would want for them. It's what they all fought for, died for, and it would be a disservice to their memory to pretend otherwise. If anything else, she and Clive owe it to them to put one foot in front of the other and see where it takes them.
At his words, however, she lets out a small laugh; pressing a kiss against his lips in return, soft and aching. )
I would let you, in any life. ( Because she cannot imagine one were she wouldn't love him, let alone one without him. ) Though do not be so hasty. Your uncle might insist upon it in this one.
( For Jill courting would only be a formality, and they both have long shed everything but their titles of their past life. What need do they have for any formality at this point? It was always going to be an eventuality for her when she was a child, a political move no matter how she might have wished otherwise. That she can choose to be courted, to be loved and love as husband and wife, still seems so foreign as to be impossible.
But Clive has a way of making those impossible things a reality. )
[ He loves her. With everything in his being, every part of his body — there isn't a single inch of him that doesn't yearn for her heart and soul, to be with her always, even when duty calls and he must be away. He knows it's what he has to do. He has work that must be done, had work, will have work, and he wouldn't have it any other way. If he is the only one that can keep this world from teetering on the brink, then he will shoulder that burden.
But.
He wants her at his side. Not behind him, or supporting him, or heaven's forfend, away from it at all. But next to him. An equal. He doesn't want to risk the chance of losing her, but he doesn't want to risk the chance of losing her if he pushes her away. Not that he would. He presses his face into her neck, breathes in her scent, and makes a choice. ]
Jill, wou—
[ The door bursts open, Tarja with a tray of bread and water in her hands, and absolutely no remorse for the intrusion.
Here. Eat. You have to be starving, Cody says you haven't eaten in days. You won't heal properly if you don't. And not big bites, either. Take it slow, or you're cleaning up the mess. ]
( Of course someone would interrupt. There's no ill will towards Tarja for continuing the tradition, but she is amused as much as she is annoyed, huffing a small laugh and letting her head fall against his shoulder, face pressed against his neck.
They must look ridiculous like this, Jill thinks, but she also knows that no one would ever hold it against them. Not just because of Clive's status but because they all have seen each other at various highs and lows, and know the toll the work they all do takes on them. That anyone should be allowed a moment of peace, of real relief is something to be celebrated. And for Clive, he has more than earned it.
Pushing back from Clive, though she still has her hand on his, fingers wrapped tightly around his as if she is afraid he'll disappear before her eyes, Jill gives Tarja a nod. )
I'll see that he does, Tarja. And that he rests after.
( She won't go far. The Enterprise might be the fastest ship in the Twins, but getting back to the Hideaway will take time. Jill has no plans on going anywhere more than an arm's length away from Clive until they return home.
Her hand squeezes his, carefully. )
Do as she says. If you need to sleep, I'll be here.
[ Tarja looks visibly relieved at Jill's reassurance, glancing back over at Clive with softer eyes, reaching over to place the back of her hand at his forehead, dutifully ignoring the fact that he seems less than pleased. When she's satisfied he's not running a fever, and when she sees Clive take a sip of the water, she leaves, glancing over her shoulder one more time at Jill.
Make sure he rests.
Clive stops with the bread in his mouth, both offended and guilted by Tarja's admonishment, but Tarja leaves, closing the door behind them, before he can respond, and he's a bit more sullen teenager as he finishes taking his first bite, chewing and swallowing slowly, as ordered. It hits his stomach like lead, and almost threatens to come back up, but he takes another sip of water and it helps, a little. ]
I've slept.
[ He says, but it's clear he hasn't slept well in days, hasn't really let himself try to recuperate from his wounds to his body and his heart. Though, truly, he's more sullen about the moment being ruined, though he's made up his mind about it. But he can't ask now, not when he's supposed to be eating and drinking and resting. He takes another bite, swallows.
Looks up at Jill, sudden worry clouding his expression. ]
You'll be here when I wake up? This isn't a dream?
( 'I've slept' and Clive is lucky that Jill is prioritizing making sure he eats rather than attempting to chide him over his lack of self preservation. Her focus now is that he doesn't end up with his food over them both and the bed rather than in his stomach, and to reassure himself and her that this is real.
For if it weren't, if she were to wake up at the Hideaway to an empty bed -- it would break her.
She waits until he's eaten a bit more before she nods, eyes searching out his again as if that is reassurance enough. Is there shame to be found in feeling like she's on the verge of tears again? Jill thinks not, even though she thinks she might have run out of them in one go. He made her break her vow never to cry under the sun, and she'll only forgive him if he never leaves her again. )
If it is, I'm content to stay in it forever. ( They have earned themselves that much, Jill thinks. The freedom to indulge in this miraculous fantasy. But it is not what they should do. And she wishes to keep the doubt from his face, his eyes, reassure him that no matter what else they face, they'll do it together. ) But no, all of this is real. I won't let go of your hand, Clive, and I'll be here.
[ Her own eyes reaching his is reassurance, more than she'll ever know. Her words, too, and something in him relaxes for the first time in moons, all the way down to his bones and he suddenly feels weak and tired and small. There's only a small crust of the bread left, and the water is half gone, and he decides that now is as good a time as any to consider it finished for now and he only lets go of her hand to reach for the tray in his lap, trying to twist to put it on the nightstand, wincing as he moves in a way his wounded ribcage does not enjoy.
But he pushes through the pain, as he always has since he was young. The only way to go is forward. What good is he as a First Shield if he can't even handle a little bit of soreness?
Still, the deed takes him longer than he would like, though not nearly as long as it feels, and he lays back in the bed, closing his eyes, hand searching out for Jill's once more. ]
( He doesn't have to search for long, Jill reaching for him the moment his hand is free. It feels better to hold it, to have him, than to be without -- her brow frowning only slightly as he clearly feels every wound left upon him by Ultima. One day she will ask more of what transpired there, if Clive ever feels like sharing. But for now she is content to rest and have this, this impossible thing she thought she would never have again.
Once Clive's breathing evens, Jill moves to lay next to him, pressing herself into his side on the narrow cot. The hand that holds his rests over his heart, her head against his shoulder, her legs already thrown over his to both keep herself on the bed and to hold him down. It won't be a restful, easy sleep -- they're both too haunted by nightmares for that -- but it will be rest.
And, with the slow rise and fall of Clive's chest to reassure her, Jill falls asleep too, only rousing in the morning with the faint sounds of activity above and around them. They must be coming into port, she thinks, through the early morning haze. She should, by all rights, join them to make it easier, but she hasn't felt this warm in weeks without Clive there to keep her warm--
Clive.
The events of the previous day wash over her with a sudden swell of grief and relief, and she cracks an eye open just to make sure that it wasn't some fresh torment. But it is Clive she's sleeping against, and a small smile washes over her face -- he's alive. )
[ He does sleep. He does. And there's the barest glint of silver light from the night sky peeking in through the cracks in the door, and Clive's eyes open, still heavy lidded and exhausted but unable to go back to sleep. His mind is too busy racing, visions of Joshua and Dion in his mind, of Ultima and Ultimalis, blood and fire. He can't get the weight of Joshua in his arms to lift, and damn his wounds, he wants to go outside, cool his head. Tarja can yell at him for it later, but—
But there's actual physical weight on his legs, and he realizes there's someone next to him, a hand clasped on his on his chest, a head pressed to his shoulder. He turns slightly, still groggy, and in what little moonlight there is, she looks like an angel, peaceful and serene.
His savior, in so many ways. And he can't move her. He alternates from watching her sleep to staring at the ceiling, and he isn't sure when or if he falls back asleep but suddenly there's much brighter light coming in and Jill is still next to him, awake and smiling.
( Ah. The smile still doesn't leave her as she presses her face into the warmth of his body, though he can surely feel the way her cheeks heat a little. That such a thing can still make her flustered, perhaps now more than ever-- it's small moments like these that are worth it. Are worth all that they've gone through, this was what they fought for, after all. )
Good morning, Clive.
( The relief she feels at being able to say that once more, knowing that this isn't a dream. That he is real and solid and kept his promise to her. As he always does.
For a moment she wonders if she should make a move to leave him, but if Tarja hasn't interrupted them yet then Jill will capitalize on this time together. They'll soon have to make their way back to the hideaway and then... she's not certain what they'll do from that point. It's something to consider in the future, now that they have one.
Jill still does want to leave, to go and spread her wings away from the Twins and see what the rest of this world has in store, but she won't leave everyone else in the lurch, still needing their help in order to keep the world afloat just a little while longer. Something closer to home, perhaps.
It's something to think of later. For now, there's Clive. )
[ He does feel the blush against his shoulder, manages the energy to smile a little in return; he'd taken to calling her that during their most private moments because it felt right — she's descended from queens, and he's just an outlaw, and it was drilled into him from a young age that you always respect those in station above you, and what better time and place than when he's worshiping her?
(Sometimes, like now, he'll do it outside their bedroom just to see her blush, because the way the pink flushes across her cheeks makes her even more beautiful, a feat he thought impossible.)
He still doesn't want to disturb her, but he wants to see all of her, and he raises the hand still on his to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back as she greets him in return, steeling himself before he moves to prop himself up on his elbow, back to his pillow. ]
Mid must really have pushed those engines, [ he says, surprised, like he's not currently only in stable condition and hardly better. He can sit up, he can breathe, he's alive, he's fine, clearly. ]
But I'll be glad to be home.
[ Home, without Joshua. That sharp pain of grief stabs him in the heart, and his face closes off, fingers threading with Jill's. ]
I'm sure there's a mountain of letters I need to sort through and get to work on.
[ That's how you deal with it, right? The pain of losing someone again after you've found them, knowing this time there's no hope of their return. You go back to your life, throw yourself into your work. Keep locking it up until you're numb to it. And then he realizes, maybe Jill doesn't want to go home— ]
( Chiding him for the continual downplaying of his accomplishments for her, just because of where she comes from, would be the first thing on her lips if she knew in this moment. He is Clive Rosfield, and he saved the world; more than that he is blessed with a noble heart and the deepest love for all, and she is simply Jill Warrick. That he holds her in such high esteem is enough to make her feel unworthy of it, the blood on her hands only offset by the work she's done to ease the ghosts.
Jill shifts enough that he can move comfortably, though her brow creases slightly as he withdraws. She knows the urge, it's what she did, after all, so it wouldn't be fair to call him out for it. To keep him from doing the same. There is work to be done, yes, but it can wait just a moment longer now that the clouds have cleared and the danger passed.
Taking his hand, Jill presses his knuckles to her cheek, breathing in and out as she relishes the fact that he's here at all. )
Tarja will have your head if you think about working the moment you're back. ( A beat. ) As will I.
( She's just saying. As for what she'll do? Jill's eyes close, considering the options ahead of her. )
I want to leave the Twins. ( She doesn't give him any chance to but in, to assume that she doesn't want to do it alone. ) When you can leave with me, that's when we'll go. Until then -- I thought about going back to the North.
( The Blight might have destroyed all life there, in the place where she was born, but she wishes to see it once more. To say goodbye before leaving the Twins and venturing out. )
[ She is the furthest thing from simple — she is complex and faceted, an icicle, beautiful to behold but sharp if you're not careful, and it's what he loves about her. That she's descended from queens came as no surprise to him; she's always held herself like one, even when they were small.
She's cool to the touch on the back of his hand, and just for a moment he lets himself feel her, realize that she's there with him, in the flesh, that even if she does go somewhere it won't be without him and if it is without him then she will return to him. She told him once that she knows he will always come back to her, and it is true, as long as she'll have him, but not a day has gone by where he doesn't think the same as her. As long as she'll have him, she will return to him.
He lets out a sigh at her admonishment; she's right, and he knows it, but he's been gone too long already and the people need him—
And so does she, says a selfish part of him. More than any of those other people. And if he goes out and truly does kill himself this time, then what good is he? No good for her.
At her mention of the north, he looks up at her, a little surprised. And then he smiles. ]
( Whatever work they all have ahead of them, it's work that must be done by everyone -- there is no one pair of shoulders for them to rest on this time, no matter how Clive might fight to bear the weight of them all. No, with the new world they want they have to reach for each other's hands and work together. Gone is his part to play, and thank the Founder for that, Jill thinks.
Now, perhaps, they can finally rest.
Her own return smile is soft and kind, finally relaxed from the tight line of yesterday. Sadness still lingers around her eyes, the grief for their lost still heavy in her heart, but now is the time to honor their memory by living. )
I can barely remember it before the war between the Dutchy and the North. But while it was always bitingly cold, there was a warmth there, amongst family.
[ They never really spoke about it, as children. She had been introduced to them as part of their family, now, and it had always felt to Clive like asking about it would have been forbidden. It was easy to tell she missed it, though, and he and Joshua had done their best to ease that homesickness with what little as children themselves they could provide. In time, she truly was one of the family, and there had been no need to ask.
( She confesses, before adjusting her position by his side to less trap him and more comfortable for simply... enjoying each other's presence. Tarja will surely interrupt them in time -- or Gav, if tradition holds. But while they have this moment, this privacy, Jill intends to enjoy every second of it.
Though Jill does not let go of his hand. )
The Blight had already begun to eat away at our lands, and I remember my father in long conversations with all manner of people, trying to decide the best course of action. We lacked the guidance of any of the Ice Queens of old, or their power. I remember... ( She frowns, her grip on his hand tightening. ) I remember my father telling me that what he was doing was for the good of the Northern Territories.
[ He squeezes her hand, never taking his eyes off of her as she moves, maybe a little afraid that she's going to get up and leave him. ]
And it was.
[ He scoots a little closer, brow furrowing at the effort, but it's important to him to be as close as possible, breathing in her scent. ]
You know as well as I that people must do what they need to survive.
[ All during his youth, Clive had heard his father speak about the Northern Territories trying to encroach on Rosarian land, a perennial thorn in Elwin's side, it had seemed. But there had always been a tinge of understanding from the Archduke, that he knew why the King of the North was slowly advancing, but that he couldn't allow it to happen, no matter what. Such things had been above him when he was younger, and then Jill arrived and it all seemed to end, and Clive hadn't thought much of it anymore, until now. ]
No one deserves such a fate. And if we can go there and save as many people as we can, then I say we do it.
( She is never leaving him, and if he tries she will simply follow him to the depths of whatever counts as hell these days and back. There is nothing now that can keep them apart; Jill brings up his hand to press her lips against his knuckles.
Lips that break out into a smile, eyes fluttering closed as she nods. )
If there is anyone there, it will be far to the north. ( Men, women, and children who rely on magic and crystals for warmth. Getting to them and letting them know that they no longer have to struggle alone -- it would be worth whatever the struggle will be to get to them. ) But you're right, no one should be left alone in the cold. Not when we can offer what help we can.
( Jill's brow furrows in thought, picking through the memories of her childhood to formulate a plan; they have until someone disrupts them and calls them away for other duties onboard the Enterprise, and she intends on making good use of it. )
Taking Mid's ship is out of the question. The seas will be ice, and no matter how fantastic of a ship she is, there's no use in taking her when we aren't guaranteed a port.
[ There's a small smattering of pink across his cheeks when she kisses his knuckles — so often it's him doing it to her that it never crossed his mind she'd reicprocate. He likes it. ]
Then we walk. [ A pause. ]
Or ride. Ambrosia can likely make the trip, but we'll need to get you a dedicated chocobo. The less of us that go, the better. We don't want them thinking we're there to attack. And then, when we've gained their trust, we can figure out a way for all of us to come back, if they want. If you want.
[ To come back, that is. This is her homeland they're speaking of, and if she wants to stay, then they'll stay, no questions asked. ]
It will take us a few days once we're back at the Hideaway to prepare, but once that's ready, we can go.
[ Near fatal wounds? What near fatal wounds? Clive would gladly walk into hell with every bone broken in his body if it meant giving Jill the world, and he doesn't want to sit around and wait for himself to get better to go and do that. This is as important to him as it is to her, and he will treat it with the urgency it deserves, damn it. ]
( His timeline seems absurdly short considering he was nearly dead less than a week ago. Jill sighs and rests a hand over one of the many bandages over his chest. It isn't that she doesn't appreciate or understand his eagerness to do anything but stand around, but really. Does he think she'll just let him walk it off after he nearly died? )
Clive. ( She says, catching his gaze and holding it. ) We'll go when Tarja finally gives up on trying to keep you in the infirmary. That we've gone so long this morning without her running in to make sure you haven't gotten up and walked off is impressive enough.
( As for if she'll want to stay, well. Jill hasn't even concerned that, as divorced as she feels from her homeland. There most likely isn't even a place for her amongst what remains, and she doubts she'd recognize anyone who knew her from before, either. )
[ He opens his mouth to argue — that he's up and he's breathing and he's fine, he promised her the world and he's going to keep that promise, even if he has to sneak out in the middle of the night to do it, but then the bell signaling their arrival at port sounds in the distance and Clive is blinded by the burning white hot light of the sun as the door opens and Tarja strides in.
Oh, you're still in here. Fancy that.
She says it like an exasperated school marm, and looks to Jill, nodding once in thanks for keeping her patient in line and in bed. Tarja picks up the discarded trousers at the end of the bed and holds them up.
Come on, put your trousers on. We're at port.
She turns to Jill, apologetic.
We'll meet you outside.
Clive turns to Tarja, because it's not like Jill's never seen him naked before, but her glance towards him could wither a marlboro and he (wisely) decides to keep his mouth shut, instead turning to Jill and giving her a quick kiss. ]
Go on. I'm alright.
[ The ship is still unloading at the dock when Clive finally emerges from the cabin onto the deck, dressed in simple linens, leaning on Tarja for support. One the wounds on his back had opened in the night, and Tarja had insisted on stitching and bandaging it back up before letting him leave; if she'd had her way, he wouldn't be walking at all, but he insisted. He needed everyone to see that he was alright. The horizon of Port Isolde stretches before him, but he doesn't see it. He's looking for Jill, brow furrowing when he doesn't see her right away. ]
( Tarja at least has the grace and awareness to know she's interrupting, unlike Gav. Still, Jill nods at the other woman in thanks for taking care of a man who is notoriously difficult to keep abed. Not for her and Tarja's lack of trying, though through radically different methods. It's with great reluctance that she lets go of his hand and walks out the door, giving a nod to Tarja on the way out. )
Do as she says, Clive. I'll see you soon.
( She's called away from waiting first by Lord Byron, who wishes to ascertain Clive's health and then by Torgal, who wishes for some food. It's enough to make Jill's own stomach growl -- had she forgotten to eat in the days leading up to finding Clive? So it's a quick bowl of porridge before she and Torgal make their way back up to the deck. The fresh air, the sight of the Dutchy... it all falls away again when she sees Clive, her relief at his survival flooding back at once.
Torgal sprints ahead to greet Clive, tail wagging happily as he barks his delight to see the man once more; Jill doesn't mind waiting until after their second reunion to offer him support on the side Tarja isn't. )
Thank you, I'll take him from here.
( He's a weight she'll gladly bear, gladly support, after all. )
[ There she is. He doesn't want her out of sight, right now. He's already lost one of the most precious people to him, if he loses her... Then it really all will be over for him. His brow relaxes, and he reaches his hand down for Torgal to sniff and then to pet his head, smiling at someone who isn't Jill for the first time since he left the Hideaway. ]
Did you keep her safe, boy?
[ Torgal barks, pressing his face to Clive's thigh, gentler this time, so his master doesn't fall over. He hovers behind Clive as Jill takes Clive's other arm, ready to catch him if he falls, and with Torgal and Jill's help, Clive manages to make it down the deck to the dock, where a chocobo drawn wagon awaits them to spirit them off to the Rosfield manor. At this, Clive does protest, but Tarja and Byron both cut him off, the ever jovial Byron quite serious, for once. He nearly died. He needs to rest, and a long trip back home isn't resting. Byron had already sent word ahead to make rooms ready for he and Jill's stay (because Byron knows Jill and Torgal aren't going anywhere if Clive isn't), and to prepare it for the long haul.
Clive isn't allowed to leave the manor until he can walk on his own, and those are Tarja's final orders as his physicker. Byron has his own on staff, though not nearly as skilled as Tarja, but Clive is stable, and she shouldn't be needed. If she is, well. They'll cross that bridge as they get there.
He doesn't like this, feeling helpless, and he refuses to let go of Jill's hand the entire way there, and again the entire way to their rooms, where he's promptly put back into (granted, a more comfortable) bed, a tray of bread, water, and fruit that will sit light on the stomach nearby.
If you need anythin', jus' give us a shout, alright? Mid says as she waves goodbye, and Clive is left, with Torgal laying on his feet and Jill at his bedside. Byron, too, makes his exit, apologizing for not being able to stay, but he will see them at dinner, of course, and the room is left quiet, the distant sound of the gulls the only thing to break the silence.
And Clive sighs. ]
All this fuss.
[ He raises his good hand, clenches a fist. ]
I'm going to go mad if I have to stay in bed, Jill.
( Jill can find no fault in Bryon's desire to make sure that Clive is recovered enough to where he can trust that he isn't about to fall face first on the ground the moment he tries to take a step unaided. The man lost his family, found it again, and lost one more member. That Clive lives is nothing short of a miracle, and she and Bryon are united in making sure he takes care of himself. Jill thanks him for his generosity and says that yes, they'll do their best to make it to dinner, and once the sound of his footsteps fades away into the distance, lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding.
Which means she can level a look at the man she loves, though she doesn't let go of his hand. )
You would do the same if it were any of us in your position. ( Jill points out knowingly, shaking her head in wry amusement. ) The bedrest is only for now, Clive. But the sooner you take your physicker's advice the sooner you won't be confined to it.
( She simply stating the truth. The bed is, thankfully for the both of them, large enough that she can lie down next to him with ease. Thankfully the Lord Bryon was clever enough that neither of them needed to ever mention the status of their... relationship in order to have accommodations made for them, he just understood at a certain point. )
[ There is no point in arguing with her, although he looks for a moment like he might try. There's even a brief second where he looks up at her with those eyes, but her own look right back at him mollifies him and he sighs again, this time defeated. They're all right, and he hates it, feels like a helpless kitten mewling for its mother. It should be him protecting them, not the other way around. ]
You won't leave me to fend for myself?
[ He's hopeful; he wouldn't blame her if she did, surely she must have more important matters to attend, both here and at home. She was always better at the diplomatic side of things; he never had formal lessons on how to run a state, those had gone to Joshua, but he'd at least tried to absorb them through osmosis, and while he did learn how to lead a battalion from the Lord Commander, the boardroom and the battlefield were two entirely different worlds. He does well enough leading outlaws, but there are town leaders and bureaucracy even in the littlest of settlements, and if he didn't put them off automatically by appearance, he certainly did when he opened his mouth and spoke like a soldier and not a diplomat. He doesn't know how long he'd been passed out on that beach but certainly long enough for her to have other places to be. Right? So if she needs to go, she needs to go and he won't stop her.
Where would I go? ( The only place she wants to be is here with him. She runs her thumb over his knuckles to reassure him that she isn't going to be going far away from him. Not even to another room if she can help it. ) The others have everything well in hand. And if I tried they would just send me back, knowing where I'd rather be.
( There is nothing that needs her attention. Or his, frankly. They've done their job so well in encouraging others to reach out, to grasp their own fates, that soon they'll be out of a job. Sure, there will always be people who need their specific brand of help -- the world isn't at peace yet, after all -- but it no longer requires just them.
Jill shifts slightly before deciding to throw caution and perhaps medical advice to the wind, getting up to lie down next to him. This way they are, at least, together without a constant reminder that he is bedridden and she is not. )
[ She lays down on the bed next to him and his eyes go with her, never letting her hand go. Instead, he raises his arm to make room for her, pulling her in as close as he can without hurting himself (which is fairly close; he can stand the throb of his wounds if it means she's there next to him, in his arms, where she belongs). He places her hand on his chest, watching her with open and honest eyes. A small smile crosses his face, and he considers, for a moment. ]
I wouldn't mind seeing you and uncle perform the Saint and the Sentry, you know. You'd make a fine Madu.
( She does not give him a playful shove at his suggestion, though it is a near thing. Suggesting she take the role of Madu, the nerve of him. Jill does her best not to jostle him as she settles, keeping a watchful eye on the bandages across his chest as to not pull them off and undo all of Tarja's hard work. )
And finally let your uncle have the spotlight? He'd never be able to thank us enough.
( But that is an idea. Clive would never think they'd actually do it for him, which makes her want to see that they recite something from the play, at the very least. )
( She would shift slightly in bed to stare him down if he hadn't started to stroke her hair -- it's enough to soothe the remaining anxiety and stress she'd been carrying since that moment she saw Mieta's light disappear. He can say she'll get sick of him, and perhaps she might have, but the fact remains that she thought he was dead not a day or two before. It will take time to wear away the sheer relief she feels. )
I'll handle it as they come. If they come. Right now all I want is to know you still breathe.
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It courses through him, centering at spot where his head meets his neck, traveling up and through towards his eyes, throbbing like someone had place his head into a blacksmith's tongs and squeezed with all their might.
Realization.
That he can feel pain, and while he doesn't know the afterlife, is certain, maybe, that there isn't one now that he's been to the heavens and seen what awaited there, he is quite certain that he shouldn't feel pain when he's dead, and certainly not pain like this. He tests his lungs, one deep breath in and then an exhale, wincing at the pain that comes from there, too, another sign that he'd survived the fall. He cracks one eye open, immediately regretting it when the beating sun blinds him for a moment, and he raises a hand with a soft groan at the effort of it to block his view, taking the chance to open the other.
Daylight, then. A new dawn, of a new world, and here he is, able to see it. ]
Fuck.
[ So the curse hadn't taken him completely after all, either, though, he notes, as he sits up with another, louder, groan, it's traveled up his forearm to his elbow, the very forearm he used for his Eikonic abilities. He huffs a laugh at that, unsurprised and surprised all at the same time, and then he laughs, and then he remembers Joshua and he cries, deep heaving sobs of grief, of mourning. He lived, and Joshua did not, and it hardly seems fair that he has to be in the world without his brother once more, after he'd only just gotten him back. He mourns the life they had together, the life they could have had together, if only he'd protected him, if only he'd saved him, if only, if only, if only.
The sun is dipping low in the sky when Clive runs out of the energy to grieve, and he swallows thick and dry, and realizes how thirsty he is, how he could do with a big pint of frosty ale—
And he remembers.
The hideaway. He has to get back. He has to get back to them, to Jill. He has to tell them what happened, but as he stands up he realizes he isn't sure where he is, though a nearby firepit gives him a clue. His cheeks flush slightly pink as he realizes where he is, and he turns around, looking out at the horizon over the sea, back to the blackened landscape, back to the sea. It's too long to swim, and as he clutches his pale white hand into a fist, he realizes he can't fly, either. Bahamut, the Phoenix, both gone, in body and now in soul as well. ]
Damn it all!
[ He kicks the sand in frustration, runs a hand through his hair, and stops. The kingdom of Ash is long dead, the only survivor he's aware of back at the Hideaway, but Cursebreakers had been in the area, scouting for more—
The Cursebreakers!
He takes off at a run towards Eisthea, hoping, praying to a god he knows doesn't exist, that at least one was still in the area. He has to find them, he has to get home.
It takes three days and two nights, and he reaches the outskirts of the village just as Cody is leaving it, and their reunion is brief, heartfelt, and ends with Cody sending a Stolas to the Hideaway. He is bringing a passanger home, so if Mid could make room on the Enterprise, he would appreciate it, you see.
And, so, another three days and two nights later, Cody and Clive wait on the Shadow Coast for the familiar crimson sails of the Telamon masterpiece, in their little rowboat Cody had hidden in a cove near where Clive had washed up. Clive's heart is racing, in anticipation, in fear. Weeks he'd been gone, Cody had said. What if.. what if she had moved on? Stopped mourning him and left the Twins to spread her wings? It's no less than she deserved, and if she wasn't there when he returned, then— then he'd send her a stolas. Wish her well.
But he would never stop loving her. ]
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For a day, after Origin dissipates and the clouds clear, she hopes that they will; everyone in the Hideaway holding their breath and staring up at the sky, the horizon, the edge of the lake. Searching for a flash of red fire or Bahamut if they could not spot familiar men. Scouts, too, had their orders to look out for any of them -- Dion, Joshua, Clive. But life doesn't hold still just because she wishes it would; there are people that need their help now more than ever -- the damage Ultima inflicted on the world he intended to remake still fresh and raw. It is their job, as the people who pushed the world to this moment to help the rest of it survive.
So Jill does her best to ignore the weight in her chest, the heart that feels increasingly fragile as the day turns into days and there is nothing. Not until the night that Edda's baby is born and she looks once more up to the sky and knows, in that one shattering instant, that they are gone. Everything becomes too much, too cloistering in a way she hasn't felt since her youth -- the urge to claw at her throat until she's pulled out every sob and there is nothing left for her to do but scream.
It is almost enough to send her back to that dark place, wall off herself from her emotions until there is nothing left of Jill Warrick, only ice and snow in her heart. It would be easier to allow herself this one small mercy if it means not having to deal with losing Clive and Joshua once more. And Dion, whom she only recently met but found to be an upstanding man of principle. One would have been a blow, but all three is enough to bring her to her knees. Her heart, so recently repaired and reinforced by her love for them all -- feels as if it does truly shatter like glass; like ice. And she would have given herself over to it, the numbness, but for the others -- Torgal, Gav, Tarja, Otto, and the rest of them.
It is their presence that keeps her with them, focused on saving those she still can. The memory of Clive, knowing that he would not want her to cut away all feeling on his account; it is not a burden she wishes to lay at the feet of his memory, not when the ones he willingly shouldered led to his death. While the ache does not go away -- she still finds herself blinking away tears at night as the scent of warm spice and ash fades from the sheets of their bed -- it does not destroy her. Her plans are still the same; see her duty done and then leave the Twins for the wider world, somewhere where she and Torgal can breathe deep and free.
Perhaps she will take Mid with her; the other woman does her best not to show what the loss of her brother-figure has done to her, but Jill knows well how Mid tends to desire escape the moment she is threatened with facing her emotions. They can flee them together, at least for a little while.
The days turn into weeks; she's in Northreach helping them plan for the spring planting when a panting Cursebreaker appears, stolas in hand, clearly having sprinted from his station to find her. They've found someone, is all that she manages to hear and her world suddenly rightness itself. It doesn't matter who it is, someone is better than none at all -- though she hopes, prays, that Clive has kept his promise, that he's come back to her. It seems cruel, though, and no small source of grief at her own selfishness, because that means that Joshua is dead once more. And after everything, to see the brothers torn apart again-- if it is one of the brothers, he must be devastated.
But she will see it to the end, with her heart in her throat.
The boat ride to Ash takes far too long for her liking, and Mid and Lord Bryon both are surely sick of her barely hidden impatience, pacing the deck as she is. Torgal, too, seems on edge -- sitting still at the bow of the Enterprise and waiting, watching, ears pricked forward. Someone shouts, and she's instantly at the bow, peering over at the small boat rowing towards them-- )
Clive!
( It's him; broad shoulders and dark, shaggy hair making him unmistakable -- and the moment he manages to pull himself over the railing she's there, enveloping him in a crushing hug. Jill might have promised to save her tears for the stars, but now... now she can't help herself; they flow freely down her cheeks, shoulders shuddering with the force of her sobs. He's here, he's alive; whatever bad news he brings her can wait for a moment. )
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He buries his nose in her hair. She still smells like flowers. He doesn't want to let her go.
But the other people on the ship have other ideas, Torgal first of them, knocking his head into Clive's knees so hard he buckles, stumbling, desperate to keep hold of Jill while not falling over at the same time. Then Gav, then Byron, then Mid, all of them clamoring around him, tears and hugs, a wet nose pressed into the palm of his hand. It's all he can do to keep standing, and he looks at Jill, giving her a half smile. ]
Sorry I'm late.
[ And then his knees give out and he falls to the deck, conscious, but weary, every inch of exhaustion and pain he's been putting off until this moment catching up to him. It's through sheer will he remains seated upright, and Mid turns, barking orders, telling her men to get their arses in gear, they're going home. Gav kneels down, helps Clive to stand, and Clive reaches for Jill's hand, the knife edge of grief creeping it's way back into his chest. She's so happy, and he loves nothing more than her smile, would box it up and keep it in his heart forever if he could, and he wants nothing more than to keep that smile from fading, but she deserves to know. ]
Joshua. He... he didn't make it.
[ And Clive has never been sorrier for it. Tears well up in his eyes, and he doesn't know what else to say other than: ]
I'm sorry.
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You came, that's all that matters.
( Jill will forgive every lateness, every slight he might ever think he makes against her, just for the fact that he came for her once more. For the last time, she thinks, for she is never letting go of him now. No more days spent apart while they attend to their own separate matters. Nothing she might do needs to be done without him, and he need not shoulder the world's burdens by himself out of fear of harming others any longer.
Now it is her turn to protect him.
Her hand eagerly grips his, threading her fingers in his as he gets to his feet. That he apologies after barely making it through himself -- Jill shakes her head, eyes squeezing shut at her own grief at the loss of Joshua so soon after his return. )
Clive. ( The hand not holding his reaches up to cup his cheek, urging him to look at her. Jill's own tears cut fresh tracks down her cheek, welling at the corner of her eyes. It is unfair, she thinks, that they could have fought so hard against fate to not fully shake free of its shackles. But Clive has done enough, more than anyone ever could, and she knows that were Joshua to find a way to reach for them from beyond the grave, he would tell them as much. ) You did all that you could for him, you have nothing to apologize for.
( He would sooner die than let harm befall Joshua. Jill knows that as much as she knows her own heart; there is nothing Clive wouldn't do for his brother. If Joshua died then it was not for any failing of his Shield, but for circumstances out of their control. Jill presses her face into his chest, finally letting her own tears of grief fall under the sun. )
That even one of you made it-- he would have been glad as any to know you live.
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(Gav, for his part, is doing his best to not look, but it doesn't matter in the long run anyway, because—)
Jill, I'm sorry, we have to get him to the cabin so I can take a look.
Tarja comes striding up, lifting Clive's other arm over her shoulder, her face stern but understanding.
You can come with, if you like. C'mon, Gav.
And the pair start to move Clive towards the lower decks to the sleeping quarters, his steps heavy, but true. He watches Jill as he walks, trusting his friends to guide him in the right direction, blue eyes searching her face for... he doesn't know. Doubt, maybe. Disappointment. But there is none, and it makes his chest ache in a way even the bruises on his ribs don't. He took her smile, and yet she still has nothing but love and forgiveness for him. There is a part of him that knows she is right, but there is a bigger part that still believes he could have done more, should have, to save Joshua, to save Dion. He saved the world, except for those two. And it doesn't feel right.
Tarja and Gav start helping him strip his armor off, ripped and torn and full of holes where his skin is peeking through. Tarja holds it up, mutters something about Blackthorne needing materials for repairs, and thrusts the lot into Gav's arms, sending him off for a change of clothes. His body is battered, bright purple spots blooming over his chest and waist, lacerations on his legs and then that curse on his arm. He tries to sit on the bed, but she shoves him onto it, the look in her eye an unspoken threat that she WILL tie him to it, if need be, and for once he heeds the warning, laying back and closing his eyes.
But he's antsy, even as Tarja begins stitching up his wounds, even as Gav returns with a shirt and breeches, Torgal on his heels. He doesn't want to be away from Jill anymore. He fought and fought so they could have a world where they could be free together, and right now every second without her in his sights makes that world a little less bright. His brooding is cut through with sharp pain, and he cries out, Tarja rolling her eyes.
If you'd sit still, it wouldn't hurt. I'm almost done.
With a huff, he obliges once more, sitting up when Tarja allows him to and taking the clothes from Gav. But he's too exhausted to put them on, and he sets them aside, pulling the blanket up over his hips. Tarja examines his head, and when she's satisfied there's nothing there, she nods, dropping a poultice on the beside stand to his right.
It doesn't look like the curse is spreading, right now. And I've got you as patched up as I can here on this boat. Tarja stands, turning to face Jill (and Gav, leaning in the doorway).
Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid?
Aye, can do, Tarjaaaaoooow! Gav's retort is cut short by Tarja dragging him off by the ear.
It isn't that Clive isn't glad to see Gav, just.. There's one person he wants to spend time with, right now. One person who can understand... it all. He silently thanks Tarja, and looks up at Jill, bags under his eyes, shoulders bandaged and slumped. ]
...You're right, Jill. He would have.
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Mostly.
The sight of just how many wounds he has is enough to cause a fresh bout of concern to course through her; Clive doesn't need another person fretting over him and Tarja doesn't need anything to make her job more difficult. So Jill stands off to the side and lets them work -- though she can't help but gasp as the extent of the curse is revealed. Clive, as Mythos, was supposed to be immune to the thing that plagues the rest of them; the thing that is eating up almost as much skin on her right arm as his left. Was this the cost, beyond losing his brother? A slow death like the rest of them?
The unfairness of it all once again threatens to choke her, the price of the world they wanted so dear. How dare it be so great for the one man willing to sacrifice everything, including himself, for it? But their fates have never been kind, and both of them -- all of them -- knew the likely end going into this fight.
It doesn't make the weight of it any easier to bear, however.
Once Clive has been seen to, and Tarja reassured that she will keep Clive abed to recover, she comes to sit next to him -- the cot not quite big enough her to do it comfortably. Jill doesn't care, however, taking his cursed hand in her's, gently threading her fingers through. She need not speak of it for now -- there will be time enough to discuss physical hurts later, when he is healed more and they are both not raw and ragged.
For now she knows what wounds need attending to most, knowing well what loss will do. Of surviving and wishing that, perhaps, you had not lived at all. )
And he would have scolded you for blaming yourself. But it is hard not to, especially when it aches.
( They invent fantasies, they lock themselves away to keep from dealing with uncomfortable, horrible truths and then jump to name no small number of flaws in their character to attribute their failings to. Jill knows, of course she knows -- but it was Clive who helped her see beyond the world of numbness she'd descended into. She can only hope to do the same for him. )
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The idea she wouldn't want to be that close to him anymore doesn't occur to him. Not like it had while he waited on the rowboat, heart thudding in his chest. ]
Oh, Jill. It aches.
[ His free hand twists the sheet under it into his fingers, his voice raspy, broken. His shoulder start to shake with silent sobs — and here, he thinks, he was certain he'd gotten it all out on the beach. It's not the wounded howling animal cries he'd had all to himself, but he sobs all the same, quiet, face pressed to the fabric at her neck, tears leaving damp splotches in their wake. After a few moments, he takes another breath, raises his face to look at the wall just beyond her. ]
I heard him—all of you. While I was there. Fighting. Father, too.
[ He looks at her. ]
You were all with me. And so I did my duty. But it doesn't feel like enough.
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Her free hand reaches up to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading the strands of hair in soft strokes; if he wishes to cry she will let him. They have nothing else that needs them so badly to rob him of this chance to grieve. )
It is, Clive. It is all anyone could have asked for. ( Jill turns her head to look at him once more, her eyes soft and understanding. There are still tears in the corner of them, running down her cheeks when she blinks; for Clive, for Joshua, for Dion. For all the loss that has rocked the Twins over the centuries -- he has ended it, yes, but that doesn't mean it never happened. ) There is no one who would say otherwise. But you don't have to believe that right now.
( Asking him to set aside his grief is something she would never do. Will never do, even if it takes him years to accept the truth. And she will be by his side for every one of those until he does, and for all their years after. It is not an exchange -- her unwaveringly loyalty for his return -- but an act of love. And she, who has spent so long feeling nothing, will do all she can to let them exist in a space where every emotion is given its due justice, for however long they need. )
It's enough that you are here.
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Something— inside him— those words— they wrap around his ache, cradle it tenderly, gentle with the raw edge of his grief. He had expected— he doesn't know. Someone telling him to be strong, that he'd get through it, that the sheer force of his will killed a god, what chance could sorrow have? But to let him sit with it...
He looks at her in awe (which is no different than how he normally looks at her, to be true), unclenching his fist so he can reach up to wipe the tears from her cheeks, praying his touch is as gentle as her words are. ]
I made you a promise, didn't I?
[ He moves his free hand to their clasped ones, placing it over hers. ]
I intend to keep it. If you would allow me.
[ Giving her the choice. It's what he did all this for, right? She doesn't need to stay with him, if she doesn't want to. She can take Torgal, go see the world, spread her wings, live her life. Free of him, if she wants.
But Flame take him, he doesn't want that. Not now, not ever, but especially not now, but he won't just assume. She is the maker of her own fate. As are they all. Still, his expression as he says it is hopeful, much as he tries to hide it. Honest and earnest, and perhaps just a little bit needful. ]
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Surviving without him would have been a monumental, near impossible task; just as she'd come to terms with the fact that she must find a way to do so, he's come back. This world needs him as much as she does -- and perhaps, once they are assured of its continued existence, that the seeds they've sown have taken root, they can take off from it together, they can leave.
Together. For she would never leave him behind.
She leans forwards, resting her forehead against his. The quiet intimacy here and now all she needs in this moment. So much of her life has felt out of her control, that she was only there to follow the path fate has laid for her. But now, thanks to him, that path lies shattered like the Mothercrystals, and they are free. )
Always. I love you, and nothing will change that.
( Her tears flow freer now, sadness mixed with the joy she is finally letting herself feel without constraints that he lives. Mourning Joshua and Dion will take time, leave a scar on her heart, but she no longer has to wake up to an empty bed and a future that seems as dark night.
Whatever it has in store for them, they can see it together. )
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I love you, Jill, [ he says against her mouth. ] I won't leave you again. I swear it. Where you go, I will follow. Always.
[ He will always mourn Joshua. He will always mourn Dion, and his father, and Cid, everyone he's lost on the course of this journey. But the sun has risen after the long, dark, night. A new day has dawned for them all. There is no path to tread except the one they choose to, and his choice, right now, is to be with her. It's the quietest his life has been since he was born, the creak of the wood and the noise of their breath the only sound.
He huffs a laugh. ]
In another life I could have courted you properly.
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It is what every single person they've lost would want for them. It's what they all fought for, died for, and it would be a disservice to their memory to pretend otherwise. If anything else, she and Clive owe it to them to put one foot in front of the other and see where it takes them.
At his words, however, she lets out a small laugh; pressing a kiss against his lips in return, soft and aching. )
I would let you, in any life. ( Because she cannot imagine one were she wouldn't love him, let alone one without him. ) Though do not be so hasty. Your uncle might insist upon it in this one.
( For Jill courting would only be a formality, and they both have long shed everything but their titles of their past life. What need do they have for any formality at this point? It was always going to be an eventuality for her when she was a child, a political move no matter how she might have wished otherwise. That she can choose to be courted, to be loved and love as husband and wife, still seems so foreign as to be impossible.
But Clive has a way of making those impossible things a reality. )
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But.
He wants her at his side. Not behind him, or supporting him, or heaven's forfend, away from it at all. But next to him. An equal. He doesn't want to risk the chance of losing her, but he doesn't want to risk the chance of losing her if he pushes her away. Not that he would. He presses his face into her neck, breathes in her scent, and makes a choice. ]
Jill, wou—
[ The door bursts open, Tarja with a tray of bread and water in her hands, and absolutely no remorse for the intrusion.
Here. Eat. You have to be starving, Cody says you haven't eaten in days. You won't heal properly if you don't. And not big bites, either. Take it slow, or you're cleaning up the mess. ]
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They must look ridiculous like this, Jill thinks, but she also knows that no one would ever hold it against them. Not just because of Clive's status but because they all have seen each other at various highs and lows, and know the toll the work they all do takes on them. That anyone should be allowed a moment of peace, of real relief is something to be celebrated. And for Clive, he has more than earned it.
Pushing back from Clive, though she still has her hand on his, fingers wrapped tightly around his as if she is afraid he'll disappear before her eyes, Jill gives Tarja a nod. )
I'll see that he does, Tarja. And that he rests after.
( She won't go far. The Enterprise might be the fastest ship in the Twins, but getting back to the Hideaway will take time. Jill has no plans on going anywhere more than an arm's length away from Clive until they return home.
Her hand squeezes his, carefully. )
Do as she says. If you need to sleep, I'll be here.
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Make sure he rests.
Clive stops with the bread in his mouth, both offended and guilted by Tarja's admonishment, but Tarja leaves, closing the door behind them, before he can respond, and he's a bit more sullen teenager as he finishes taking his first bite, chewing and swallowing slowly, as ordered. It hits his stomach like lead, and almost threatens to come back up, but he takes another sip of water and it helps, a little. ]
I've slept.
[ He says, but it's clear he hasn't slept well in days, hasn't really let himself try to recuperate from his wounds to his body and his heart. Though, truly, he's more sullen about the moment being ruined, though he's made up his mind about it. But he can't ask now, not when he's supposed to be eating and drinking and resting. He takes another bite, swallows.
Looks up at Jill, sudden worry clouding his expression. ]
You'll be here when I wake up? This isn't a dream?
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For if it weren't, if she were to wake up at the Hideaway to an empty bed -- it would break her.
She waits until he's eaten a bit more before she nods, eyes searching out his again as if that is reassurance enough. Is there shame to be found in feeling like she's on the verge of tears again? Jill thinks not, even though she thinks she might have run out of them in one go. He made her break her vow never to cry under the sun, and she'll only forgive him if he never leaves her again. )
If it is, I'm content to stay in it forever. ( They have earned themselves that much, Jill thinks. The freedom to indulge in this miraculous fantasy. But it is not what they should do. And she wishes to keep the doubt from his face, his eyes, reassure him that no matter what else they face, they'll do it together. ) But no, all of this is real. I won't let go of your hand, Clive, and I'll be here.
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But he pushes through the pain, as he always has since he was young. The only way to go is forward. What good is he as a First Shield if he can't even handle a little bit of soreness?
Still, the deed takes him longer than he would like, though not nearly as long as it feels, and he lays back in the bed, closing his eyes, hand searching out for Jill's once more. ]
Alright. Maybe just for a little while.
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Once Clive's breathing evens, Jill moves to lay next to him, pressing herself into his side on the narrow cot. The hand that holds his rests over his heart, her head against his shoulder, her legs already thrown over his to both keep herself on the bed and to hold him down. It won't be a restful, easy sleep -- they're both too haunted by nightmares for that -- but it will be rest.
And, with the slow rise and fall of Clive's chest to reassure her, Jill falls asleep too, only rousing in the morning with the faint sounds of activity above and around them. They must be coming into port, she thinks, through the early morning haze. She should, by all rights, join them to make it easier, but she hasn't felt this warm in weeks without Clive there to keep her warm--
Clive.
The events of the previous day wash over her with a sudden swell of grief and relief, and she cracks an eye open just to make sure that it wasn't some fresh torment. But it is Clive she's sleeping against, and a small smile washes over her face -- he's alive. )
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But there's actual physical weight on his legs, and he realizes there's someone next to him, a hand clasped on his on his chest, a head pressed to his shoulder. He turns slightly, still groggy, and in what little moonlight there is, she looks like an angel, peaceful and serene.
His savior, in so many ways. And he can't move her. He alternates from watching her sleep to staring at the ceiling, and he isn't sure when or if he falls back asleep but suddenly there's much brighter light coming in and Jill is still next to him, awake and smiling.
So it wasn't a dream. He is alive. ]
...Good morning, my lady.
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Good morning, Clive.
( The relief she feels at being able to say that once more, knowing that this isn't a dream. That he is real and solid and kept his promise to her. As he always does.
For a moment she wonders if she should make a move to leave him, but if Tarja hasn't interrupted them yet then Jill will capitalize on this time together. They'll soon have to make their way back to the hideaway and then... she's not certain what they'll do from that point. It's something to consider in the future, now that they have one.
Jill still does want to leave, to go and spread her wings away from the Twins and see what the rest of this world has in store, but she won't leave everyone else in the lurch, still needing their help in order to keep the world afloat just a little while longer. Something closer to home, perhaps.
It's something to think of later. For now, there's Clive. )
We must be coming into port shortly.
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(Sometimes, like now, he'll do it outside their bedroom just to see her blush, because the way the pink flushes across her cheeks makes her even more beautiful, a feat he thought impossible.)
He still doesn't want to disturb her, but he wants to see all of her, and he raises the hand still on his to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back as she greets him in return, steeling himself before he moves to prop himself up on his elbow, back to his pillow. ]
Mid must really have pushed those engines, [ he says, surprised, like he's not currently only in stable condition and hardly better. He can sit up, he can breathe, he's alive, he's fine, clearly. ]
But I'll be glad to be home.
[ Home, without Joshua. That sharp pain of grief stabs him in the heart, and his face closes off, fingers threading with Jill's. ]
I'm sure there's a mountain of letters I need to sort through and get to work on.
[ That's how you deal with it, right? The pain of losing someone again after you've found them, knowing this time there's no hope of their return. You go back to your life, throw yourself into your work. Keep locking it up until you're numb to it. And then he realizes, maybe Jill doesn't want to go home— ]
And you? What will you do?
[ 'Tell me, and I'll make it possible.' ]
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Jill shifts enough that he can move comfortably, though her brow creases slightly as he withdraws. She knows the urge, it's what she did, after all, so it wouldn't be fair to call him out for it. To keep him from doing the same. There is work to be done, yes, but it can wait just a moment longer now that the clouds have cleared and the danger passed.
Taking his hand, Jill presses his knuckles to her cheek, breathing in and out as she relishes the fact that he's here at all. )
Tarja will have your head if you think about working the moment you're back. ( A beat. ) As will I.
( She's just saying. As for what she'll do? Jill's eyes close, considering the options ahead of her. )
I want to leave the Twins. ( She doesn't give him any chance to but in, to assume that she doesn't want to do it alone. ) When you can leave with me, that's when we'll go. Until then -- I thought about going back to the North.
( The Blight might have destroyed all life there, in the place where she was born, but she wishes to see it once more. To say goodbye before leaving the Twins and venturing out. )
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She's cool to the touch on the back of his hand, and just for a moment he lets himself feel her, realize that she's there with him, in the flesh, that even if she does go somewhere it won't be without him and if it is without him then she will return to him. She told him once that she knows he will always come back to her, and it is true, as long as she'll have him, but not a day has gone by where he doesn't think the same as her. As long as she'll have him, she will return to him.
He lets out a sigh at her admonishment; she's right, and he knows it, but he's been gone too long already and the people need him—
And so does she, says a selfish part of him. More than any of those other people. And if he goes out and truly does kill himself this time, then what good is he? No good for her.
At her mention of the north, he looks up at her, a little surprised. And then he smiles. ]
I've always wanted to go to the North.
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Now, perhaps, they can finally rest.
Her own return smile is soft and kind, finally relaxed from the tight line of yesterday. Sadness still lingers around her eyes, the grief for their lost still heavy in her heart, but now is the time to honor their memory by living. )
I can barely remember it before the war between the Dutchy and the North. But while it was always bitingly cold, there was a warmth there, amongst family.
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[ They never really spoke about it, as children. She had been introduced to them as part of their family, now, and it had always felt to Clive like asking about it would have been forbidden. It was easy to tell she missed it, though, and he and Joshua had done their best to ease that homesickness with what little as children themselves they could provide. In time, she truly was one of the family, and there had been no need to ask.
But he'd always wondered. ]
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( She confesses, before adjusting her position by his side to less trap him and more comfortable for simply... enjoying each other's presence. Tarja will surely interrupt them in time -- or Gav, if tradition holds. But while they have this moment, this privacy, Jill intends to enjoy every second of it.
Though Jill does not let go of his hand. )
The Blight had already begun to eat away at our lands, and I remember my father in long conversations with all manner of people, trying to decide the best course of action. We lacked the guidance of any of the Ice Queens of old, or their power. I remember... ( She frowns, her grip on his hand tightening. ) I remember my father telling me that what he was doing was for the good of the Northern Territories.
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And it was.
[ He scoots a little closer, brow furrowing at the effort, but it's important to him to be as close as possible, breathing in her scent. ]
You know as well as I that people must do what they need to survive.
[ All during his youth, Clive had heard his father speak about the Northern Territories trying to encroach on Rosarian land, a perennial thorn in Elwin's side, it had seemed. But there had always been a tinge of understanding from the Archduke, that he knew why the King of the North was slowly advancing, but that he couldn't allow it to happen, no matter what. Such things had been above him when he was younger, and then Jill arrived and it all seemed to end, and Clive hadn't thought much of it anymore, until now. ]
No one deserves such a fate. And if we can go there and save as many people as we can, then I say we do it.
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Lips that break out into a smile, eyes fluttering closed as she nods. )
If there is anyone there, it will be far to the north. ( Men, women, and children who rely on magic and crystals for warmth. Getting to them and letting them know that they no longer have to struggle alone -- it would be worth whatever the struggle will be to get to them. ) But you're right, no one should be left alone in the cold. Not when we can offer what help we can.
( Jill's brow furrows in thought, picking through the memories of her childhood to formulate a plan; they have until someone disrupts them and calls them away for other duties onboard the Enterprise, and she intends on making good use of it. )
Taking Mid's ship is out of the question. The seas will be ice, and no matter how fantastic of a ship she is, there's no use in taking her when we aren't guaranteed a port.
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Then we walk. [ A pause. ]
Or ride. Ambrosia can likely make the trip, but we'll need to get you a dedicated chocobo. The less of us that go, the better. We don't want them thinking we're there to attack. And then, when we've gained their trust, we can figure out a way for all of us to come back, if they want. If you want.
[ To come back, that is. This is her homeland they're speaking of, and if she wants to stay, then they'll stay, no questions asked. ]
It will take us a few days once we're back at the Hideaway to prepare, but once that's ready, we can go.
[ Near fatal wounds? What near fatal wounds? Clive would gladly walk into hell with every bone broken in his body if it meant giving Jill the world, and he doesn't want to sit around and wait for himself to get better to go and do that. This is as important to him as it is to her, and he will treat it with the urgency it deserves, damn it. ]
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Clive. ( She says, catching his gaze and holding it. ) We'll go when Tarja finally gives up on trying to keep you in the infirmary. That we've gone so long this morning without her running in to make sure you haven't gotten up and walked off is impressive enough.
( As for if she'll want to stay, well. Jill hasn't even concerned that, as divorced as she feels from her homeland. There most likely isn't even a place for her amongst what remains, and she doubts she'd recognize anyone who knew her from before, either. )
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Oh, you're still in here. Fancy that.
She says it like an exasperated school marm, and looks to Jill, nodding once in thanks for keeping her patient in line and in bed. Tarja picks up the discarded trousers at the end of the bed and holds them up.
Come on, put your trousers on. We're at port.
She turns to Jill, apologetic.
We'll meet you outside.
Clive turns to Tarja, because it's not like Jill's never seen him naked before, but her glance towards him could wither a marlboro and he (wisely) decides to keep his mouth shut, instead turning to Jill and giving her a quick kiss. ]
Go on. I'm alright.
[ The ship is still unloading at the dock when Clive finally emerges from the cabin onto the deck, dressed in simple linens, leaning on Tarja for support. One the wounds on his back had opened in the night, and Tarja had insisted on stitching and bandaging it back up before letting him leave; if she'd had her way, he wouldn't be walking at all, but he insisted. He needed everyone to see that he was alright. The horizon of Port Isolde stretches before him, but he doesn't see it. He's looking for Jill, brow furrowing when he doesn't see her right away. ]
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Do as she says, Clive. I'll see you soon.
( She's called away from waiting first by Lord Byron, who wishes to ascertain Clive's health and then by Torgal, who wishes for some food. It's enough to make Jill's own stomach growl -- had she forgotten to eat in the days leading up to finding Clive? So it's a quick bowl of porridge before she and Torgal make their way back up to the deck. The fresh air, the sight of the Dutchy... it all falls away again when she sees Clive, her relief at his survival flooding back at once.
Torgal sprints ahead to greet Clive, tail wagging happily as he barks his delight to see the man once more; Jill doesn't mind waiting until after their second reunion to offer him support on the side Tarja isn't. )
Thank you, I'll take him from here.
( He's a weight she'll gladly bear, gladly support, after all. )
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Did you keep her safe, boy?
[ Torgal barks, pressing his face to Clive's thigh, gentler this time, so his master doesn't fall over. He hovers behind Clive as Jill takes Clive's other arm, ready to catch him if he falls, and with Torgal and Jill's help, Clive manages to make it down the deck to the dock, where a chocobo drawn wagon awaits them to spirit them off to the Rosfield manor. At this, Clive does protest, but Tarja and Byron both cut him off, the ever jovial Byron quite serious, for once. He nearly died. He needs to rest, and a long trip back home isn't resting. Byron had already sent word ahead to make rooms ready for he and Jill's stay (because Byron knows Jill and Torgal aren't going anywhere if Clive isn't), and to prepare it for the long haul.
Clive isn't allowed to leave the manor until he can walk on his own, and those are Tarja's final orders as his physicker. Byron has his own on staff, though not nearly as skilled as Tarja, but Clive is stable, and she shouldn't be needed. If she is, well. They'll cross that bridge as they get there.
He doesn't like this, feeling helpless, and he refuses to let go of Jill's hand the entire way there, and again the entire way to their rooms, where he's promptly put back into (granted, a more comfortable) bed, a tray of bread, water, and fruit that will sit light on the stomach nearby.
If you need anythin', jus' give us a shout, alright? Mid says as she waves goodbye, and Clive is left, with Torgal laying on his feet and Jill at his bedside. Byron, too, makes his exit, apologizing for not being able to stay, but he will see them at dinner, of course, and the room is left quiet, the distant sound of the gulls the only thing to break the silence.
And Clive sighs. ]
All this fuss.
[ He raises his good hand, clenches a fist. ]
I'm going to go mad if I have to stay in bed, Jill.
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Which means she can level a look at the man she loves, though she doesn't let go of his hand. )
You would do the same if it were any of us in your position. ( Jill points out knowingly, shaking her head in wry amusement. ) The bedrest is only for now, Clive. But the sooner you take your physicker's advice the sooner you won't be confined to it.
( She simply stating the truth. The bed is, thankfully for the both of them, large enough that she can lie down next to him with ease. Thankfully the Lord Bryon was clever enough that neither of them needed to ever mention the status of their... relationship in order to have accommodations made for them, he just understood at a certain point. )
We'll find some manner of keeping you occupied.
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You won't leave me to fend for myself?
[ He's hopeful; he wouldn't blame her if she did, surely she must have more important matters to attend, both here and at home. She was always better at the diplomatic side of things; he never had formal lessons on how to run a state, those had gone to Joshua, but he'd at least tried to absorb them through osmosis, and while he did learn how to lead a battalion from the Lord Commander, the boardroom and the battlefield were two entirely different worlds. He does well enough leading outlaws, but there are town leaders and bureaucracy even in the littlest of settlements, and if he didn't put them off automatically by appearance, he certainly did when he opened his mouth and spoke like a soldier and not a diplomat. He doesn't know how long he'd been passed out on that beach but certainly long enough for her to have other places to be. Right? So if she needs to go, she needs to go and he won't stop her.
But he will be sad about it. ]
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Where would I go? ( The only place she wants to be is here with him. She runs her thumb over his knuckles to reassure him that she isn't going to be going far away from him. Not even to another room if she can help it. ) The others have everything well in hand. And if I tried they would just send me back, knowing where I'd rather be.
( There is nothing that needs her attention. Or his, frankly. They've done their job so well in encouraging others to reach out, to grasp their own fates, that soon they'll be out of a job. Sure, there will always be people who need their specific brand of help -- the world isn't at peace yet, after all -- but it no longer requires just them.
Jill shifts slightly before deciding to throw caution and perhaps medical advice to the wind, getting up to lie down next to him. This way they are, at least, together without a constant reminder that he is bedridden and she is not. )
The least I can do is keep you entertained.
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I wouldn't mind seeing you and uncle perform the Saint and the Sentry, you know. You'd make a fine Madu.
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And finally let your uncle have the spotlight? He'd never be able to thank us enough.
( But that is an idea. Clive would never think they'd actually do it for him, which makes her want to see that they recite something from the play, at the very least. )
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[ He's smiling at her, half teasing, half fond, and he reaches up with the arm that's around her to place his hand in her hair, stroking gently. ]
But I'm sure there are other things that will occupy your attention. You'll get sick of me after too long.
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( She would shift slightly in bed to stare him down if he hadn't started to stroke her hair -- it's enough to soothe the remaining anxiety and stress she'd been carrying since that moment she saw Mieta's light disappear. He can say she'll get sick of him, and perhaps she might have, but the fact remains that she thought he was dead not a day or two before. It will take time to wear away the sheer relief she feels. )
I'll handle it as they come. If they come. Right now all I want is to know you still breathe.