Chapter Text
Joshua, drink and supper in hand, settled himself at a tavern table of the Pub and Crown next to Clive. Almost instantly, Clive swung an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer with a grin.
“Brother, you have returned just in time for me to regale Gav, with a tale from our childhood,” Clive said jovially, tipping his tankard of ale to Gav across from them.
Joshua eyed him warily. “What sort of tale?”
Clive’s grin widened. “Oh, just the time you decided you were going to speak to chocobos.”
Gav raised an intrigued brow. “Oh, this I gotta hear.”
Joshua groaned. “Must it be that story?”
“Oh yes,” Clive laughed. “Mother had just finished reading you some nonsense about sages who could commune with animals, and you—being the Phoenix—became convinced you could do the same with birds.”
Gav chuckled. “Did it work?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Clive said. “Joshua spent hours in the stables, whistling and chirping at our chocobos. And then, determined to prove his newfound ‘gift,’ he marched straight up to Father and declared, ‘I have formed a sacred bond with the chocobos!’ ”
Gav was howling with laughter now and Joshua looked like he wished he could blink from existence, but Clive wasn’t finished.
“Father, to his credit, kept a straight face. Asked him to demonstrate. Once in the stables, Joshua turned to the nearest chocobo, puffed out his chest, made this ridiculous cawing noise, and then—,” Clive paused for effect, his grin widening. “The damned thing kicked him straight into a haystack.”
Gav was nearly in tears. “Bloody hell, mate, you got walloped by a chocobo?”
Joshua sighed, shaking his head. “I was six.”
“And yet it remains one of the finest displays of diplomacy Rosaria has ever seen,” Clive said, raising his mug in a toast.
Joshua raised his own tankard. “I see we are playing those sorts of games tonight,” he said with a wry smile. He took a slow sip of his ale, his smirk only deepening as he sat the glass down. “If we’re reminiscing about youthful folly, dear brother, shall we discuss the time you attempted to compose a love poem for Jill?”
Clive’s grin faltered slightly. “That never happened,” he said, though the hint of color creeping up his neck told otherwise.
“Oh—but it did,” Joshua continued, leaning forward. “I remember it well. How you spent days agonizing over the perfect words, pacing your chambers like a lovesick bard. You even swore me to secrecy when I caught you practicing in the mirror.”
Gav, already grinning, leaned in with interest. “And did he actually giv it ta ‘er?”
Joshua chuckled. “No, because fate, or rather, Torgal, intervened. You see, Clive left the parchment on his desk, intending to deliver it, but our dear hound got to it first. By the time Clive returned, all that remained of his heartfelt confession was a few soggy scraps and an ink-stained muzzle.”
Gav roared with laughter. “Torgal ate ya love poem?”
Clive groaned, running a hand down his face. “It wasn’t a love poem, it was—”
“Oh, spare us,” Joshua cut in, grinning. “Even Father said it was the most tragic loss of romantic literature Rosaria had ever suffered.”
Clive huffed, but his smirk soon returned. “At least I had the good sense not to kiss the very wedded Lady Hanna in the gardens.”
Joshua stilled.
“Under the lilacs was it not? If I recall correctly she was rendered quite speechless. Lord Murdoch and I certainly had a good laugh about it.”
Gav barked a laugh, clapping a hand against his knee.
Joshua’s cheeks tinged with color. “I was a child. It was meaningless.”
“And so was I when I wrote the poem,” Clive countered smoothly.
Joshua narrowed his eyes, but lifted his ale in a mock toast. “Touché, brother. But does this not mean you admit it was, in fact, a love poem?”
Clive paused, then took a slow sip of his ale, his gaze drifting across the room to where Jill stood.
“Perhaps,” he murmured with a smile.