Chapter Text
[. Unsullied .]
PART I
When the Dalimil bathhouse owner insisted on rewarding their aid with a complimentary visit, Clive’s instinct was to refuse.
Because of course it was.
Cid the Outlaw famously did not have the time nor desire for frivolous dilly-dallying.
Besides, it had long since become standard not to accept any reward except goods, services and gil that could support the Cursebreaker’s campaigns or the Hideaway’s growth. This instance, however, was the first time Joshua had been unable to hold back a scoff.
“What now?” Clive growled towards his brother. Admittedly, even his vast patience had worn thin after oh-so-many days of dusty desert, blistering sun and legions of monsters, every single one intent on making appetizers out of their limbs.
“Nothing,” was Joshua’s rebuttal, arms crossing over his chest.
The surrender lasted a mere three seconds.
“I was just thinking that it may not kill us to take a hour’s respite.”
“It will not kill us , but it could very well result in the deaths of others.” Turning back to the bathhouse owner, Clive nodded. “Thank you for your generosity. I hope you donate our session to someone more in need.”
He was about to walk away, mentally forming a list of the many duties that awaited at his desk, the pile of correspondence having already reached the height of the candlesticks, when a yank on his cloak forced him back.
Joshua. Again.
The young man was growing bolder by the day, more of a Duke-in-waiting than the cherub-faced baby brother who had hung to his coattails.
How irritating.
“Joshua,” he warned, re-straightening the leather upon his shoulders. “I am in no mood for games.”
“And I am in no mood to cross the Valkroy with a companion donning a more potent reek than the chocobo he rides. Good sir!” With a twirl of his wrist, a gesture that was far too telling of his noble birth for Clive’s comfort, he summoned the owner back over. “Cid the Outlaw and his party will gladly accept your kind offer.”
“No. I do not have time for—“
“She is fading, Clive.” This sentence was whispered, so quiet that it was barely audible above the market’s bustle. “Can you not see?”
From across the bathhouse’s lounge, Clive’s gaze locked onto Jill.
He was always aware of her exact location. As if he were a floating compass needle constantly pulled to her North Star. What he, perhaps, wasn’t yet so good at, was assessing the difference between someone merely pushing their limits and those who had already passed well beyond them.
In this, Joshua would always be more proficient. It was a skill that Clive feared could not be taught, no gear could enhance, and would never be mastered.
Jill did look tired.
They were all very, very tired.
That was no different from any other day or minute. The weeks of traveling, using rocks for pillows, as they tied up every fathomable loose end prior to yet another scouting journey to Waloed, had worn them all down to a tiny flicker of the flames they usually wielded. Jill, of course, never showed this. Never slowed the bite of her rapier and definitely never complained.
However, it was odd how her ungloved hand kept a tight grip on the opposite wrist. He noticed now, as she stared unblinking at a market stall displaying jewel-toned carpets on the opposite side of the alley, how she wavered slightly and then seemed to catch herself, spine as rigid as her steel-like will.
Something was off indeed.
In relinquishing her Eikon, the crystal curse had relented the steady petrification of her fingers, but that did not reverse the damage already done. She had confessed once — only once — as they shared a meal while looking over maps in his chambers, that she did have some likely permanent limitations.
‘It will pass. It always does, eventually,’ she had insisted, as if the sudden locking of her digits, rendering her unable to wield a fork let alone a sword, were but an inconvenient, bad habit. Like Cid’s insistence on lighting a cigar after a particularly exhausting battle, even with a new horde mere footsteps away. ‘Apologies, Clive. I do not mean to slow you down.’
‘There is nothing to apologize for, Jill.’ He had stated that night, as assertively as possible within a sympathetic tone. He had reached out then, aiming to cover her frozen digits with his own in the hopes of thawing them, but then pulled back at the last second. Touching her, especially in the candlelight that made the longing in her blue-gray eyes so very vivid, had its own set of risks. Back then.
That was before the night on the Shadow Coast; a both glorious and torturous fifteen days passed.
As much as things had changed since, much hadn’t. His discomfort with physical intimacy held on as stubbornly as a goblin with a chunk of fool’s gold. That night proved to be a strange but beautiful exception to his deeply ingrained introversion. How he wished he could be rid of it. Just…wash the guilt away along with the layer of filth and grime that admittedly coated all but a few inches of his skin.
Perhaps a bath would not be the worst of ideas. If only to make it easier for her to breathe.
“Fine,” he spat at Joshua, whatever specks of sibling rivalry disallowing him to admit his oversight. “For Jill. Not because I need or desire it.”
“Agree to disagree, my dearest, most fragrant brother.” Clapping him on the back, Joshua strode to the desk to glean the details from the attendant. With a sigh of annoyance, Clive turned towards Jill.
She still hadn’t moved a muscle, eerily resembling the perma-frosted statues she frequently converted fiends into. Joshua had said she was tired. However, he couldn’t help but wonder if something else was disturbing her.
The pull from his North Star increased with a sudden, newfound ferocity, to the point that his feet were leading him across the carpets with barely any instruction from his brain. Before he knew it, he was by her side. Where he belonged.
He cleared his throat, aiming to gently rouse her from this strange, half-asleep trance.
“Jill?”
“Hmm?” Those sparkling blue-gray eyes remained affixed to the stall across the alley and in that moment he was made vividly aware of how much she must be struggling. Not only from physical exhaustion. How Clive hated himself for being so blind, sightline having been blocked by the open hands of so many others.
“I am debating…staying here at the inn. If that’s alright?”
She let out a shaky breath, blinking rapidly to disperse the fog which blurred his words together and thus required some untangling.
“Stay…the night. In Dalimil?” She repeated, brow furrowing. “Why?”
Jill knew better than anyone how much he hated wasting hard-earned gil on inns when the Hideaway still lacked for so much. He’d trade a feather mattress for a meager sack of grain any day. If he dared to admit this uncharacteristic choice was made out of his concern for her health, he knew she would not only brush it off, but perhaps even grow angry with him for daring to imply that she couldn’t handle herself. That she was somehow delicate . Jill Warrick, if anything, was resilient . More so than him.
It was one of the countless things he loved about her.
“It’s already late and Joshua wants to try the baths,” he excused, though his automatic rise in pitch surely made the lie obvious. “He is still unwell. I am…humoring him.”
“The baths.” As if noticing for the first time, Jill spun around to take in the lounge in which they stood. At the very center was a fountain decorated in mosaic tiles, from which a steady flow of rose-scented steam was emitting, tempting those perusing the market into its clutches.
In tandem, they took a deep breath and, admittedly, allowed themselves an indulgent minute to be seduced by it.
A bath certainly wouldn't hurt. At this establishment, it may even be relaxing. Not that he fully ever understood the definition of such a word.
“They are ready for you!” Before he had the chance to glean Jill’s opinion, Joshua was jogging over with a pile of burgundy silk in hand. “The owner was kind enough to vacate their most exclusive spring. He was very adamant in assuring that your privacy would be complete.”
“Our privacy?” It was Clive’s turn to be stupefied. “Will you not be joining?”
“I will be partaking in other medicinal services offered. Was never much one for baths.” Something in his voice, on the cusp of laughter, made Clive’s blood boil in a combination of rage, embarrassment and, foremost, absolute terror.
Joshua keen senses had long since discovered that something intimate had occurred between him and Jill the night of the shipwreck. Something beyond the already scandalous relinquishment of Eikonic powers. The younger brother’s original reaction was to punch the elder in the jaw upon having it confirmed, hating the idea that he had taken advantage of their dearest friend in his quest to save the world alone. Recent days had since graduated said rage into, at first, acceptance, then approval and, lately, a far-too-blunt support.
'So. When can I expect my wedding invitation?’ He had asked just a few nights ago by the campfire, so brazenly, just as Clive was mid-sip from his water skin. It had taken all of his concentration not to choke.
‘I cannot… conceive of marriage. Yet. Not until this is over.’
‘But— ‘
‘But nothing, Joshua.’ At this, he spoke firmly, leaving no room for debate. ‘I will speak no more of this topic. It is none of your business.’
Regardless, the seed had been planted and since started to take root.
What were his intentions with Lady Warrick? Had the duchy not fallen, it had often been implied that they would have been married. There was no doubt of his respect and attachment to her, which could not have grown any more deep no matter what ceremonies or papers officially bound them. The main issue was that proposing marriage in this age — one of burnt skies and vengeful Gods — implied not only a future that he was uncertain would exist, but also selfishness. It would mean committing time, as precious a commodity as mythril, to something other than the Hideaway’s maintenance and the plight of the Cursebreakers.
That night on the Shadow Coast, she had given him her everything. He hadn’t hesitated to accept. Under the moonlight and Metia’s approving glow, it had seemed like the most obvious, remorse-less choice. But in the harsh light of day, reminding him of all the work still left to do before this world and its people could experience some sliver of peace…
For the first time in many years, Clive Rosfield felt ill-equipped.
Jill deserved a man to whom she was the very center of his universe. Not just a North Star, but the Sun.
Joshua, clearly, had very little care for such concerns. To him, it was as simple as they were precious to one another, they had a trust and connection that few could ever fathom, and they had so recently confirmed a mutual and passionate attraction. Therefore it was inarguable: they should be together. Or he would, apparently, die trying to convince them.
“Joshua—“
“Here are your robes.” The younger, impertinent Rosfield shoved a bundle of burgundy silk into each of their arms, stunning them with his shamelessness. “Ta-ra!”
With that, he spun and was jogging through the bathhouse doors while Clive and Jill were still sputtering the first syllables of protests.
The quiet between them was deafening, even in the midst of a bustling market.
Clive closed his eyes and hissed a breath through his teeth, cursing his brother’s ill timed and uncomfortable attempts at matchmaking.
What a nightmare.
“Jill,” he said when the tension reached a crescendo. “We don’t have to—“
“Bathing here will save resources at the Hideaway,” she interrupted, nodding as if to convince herself more than anyone. “It would be not only rude but wasteful to refuse such an offer.”
That was another thing he loved: her efficiency.
They still hadn’t talked about that night on the Shadow Coast. What it could or should mean for them going forward.
Perhaps tonight should be — had to be — a night for refreshing. In more ways than one.
Thus, with a chuckle, he nodded his agreement, looking down at her with a grin. When those ice-colored eyes rose to meet his, a mirrored smile gracing her lips, he couldn’t help but feel like he was being hit by a beam of sunshine that had broken the blighted clouds at long last.
“Indeed, my Lady.”