[ 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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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.
no subject
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. )
no subject
[ 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.