[ 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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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.