Chapter Text
It was on Joshua’s tenth nameday when his father, Elwin Rosfield, woke him up unexpectedly. The sun had just risen, and yet Joshua could tell that his father had been up for hours—or perhaps he had not slept at all the previous night.
“Listen to me, son,” Elwin had whispered as he gripped Joshua lightly on the shoulders, shaking the sleep from him, “I think it’s due time for you to meet someone.”
“Meet who, Father?” Joshua had mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“Put your shoes on, don’t worry about being dressed. No one is awake yet.”
Joshua had quietly nodded, and let his father lead him silently down the hallway, then down the stairs, then out of the manor. Now, they were making their way down an uncommon path so early in the morning: towards the chocobo stables.
“Where are we going?” Joshua asked as he slowly gained wakefulness. He thought he was about to be told that they were to enjoy a ride, but strangely, the two of them continued around the corner of the stables. A chocobo flapped its wings as they passed, perhaps upset that they weren't there to feed it, and Joshua was momentarily distracted by the noise that he had walked forward with his head turned and nearly ran into Elwin's backside.
Elwin shushed the bird, then reached inside a thorny bush. Joshua was about to ask what he was doing, when the click of a door lock gave Joshua all the clues he needed. Silently, he followed his father into the unknown passageway; so hidden from view that to post a guard next to it would have betrayed its secrecy rather than contain it. But Joshua could hazard a guess on why such a doorway existed.
If Rosalith were ever to be invaded, this hidden passageway would allow the families and servants of the castle to escape a siege without risking certain death at the main gates. Every well-built castle had such a structure; Joshua knew this from his studies.
The morning had been quiet however—full of warbling birdsong and a crisp wind through the trees. Were they being attacked? It certainly didn’t seem like it. Surely he would have heard some sort of chaos even from his bedroom and long before they had made it to the stables. Moreover, his father’s footsteps weren’t hurried, though his face was stuck in a permanent frown.
Joshua shivered as they continued down the stone staircase, lit on either side by candles. Servants must have come down here often if they were already pre-lit, though Joshua couldn’t fathom why. He figured that any questions he had would not be answered, so he kept silent and focused on not tripping on the smoothed-over stone. Once they were finally at the end—where Joshua could hear the ocean lapping against rock in the distance—did Elwin stop and turn towards an iron door built right into the wall.
He knocked once, then twice.
A shuffling of cloth and a twinge of metal echoed within. Then, a beat of silence. Elwin finally turned back to Joshua and said, “Stay near the doorway.”
Joshua opened his mouth to ask the nearly dozen questions that instantly ran through his head, but his voice caught in his throat when the door swung open. The room beyond was covered in claw-shaped scorch marks, mostly on the floor, but on the walls as well, like something had been trying to escape. One iron table, off to the side, was covered in similar claw marks and broken pieces of dishware. And, finally, in one far corner was a person, clothed in a simple brown tunic and pants, sitting with his back against the wall, staring directly at Joshua with piercing blue eyes.
Elwin nudged Joshua closer by the shoulder, until Joshua managed to stutter-step a few paces inside. The person against the wall stared at Joshua warily, before scooting back further into the corner.
“No need to be alarmed, Clive,” Elwin said towards the stranger.
Clive seemingly didn’t agree and continued to stare at Joshua with a strange look. Joshua averted his eyes first, and was instantly transfixed at Clive’s ankles that had metal shackles adorning them just above his bare feet. Joshua followed the chain with his eyes and spotted the links ending in a metal hoop built into the wall.
“Is he a prisoner? Why is he chained?” Joshua asked before his mind could stop him from blurting out such things.
Elwin’s grip on Joshua tightened before he released his hold. Then, Elwin squatted down and went to his knees to meet Joshua at eye level. “Listen, what have you heard about your older brother?”
Joshua blinked in surprise, and his mouth fell agape before admitting, “Not much…” In truth, he had heard loads of rumors, but some conflicted, so he was never quite sure which things were real and which were lies. And whenever Joshua inquired about learning more about his missing brother and learning the actual truth, everyone would brush him off or force a topic change to the conversation.
Elwin's features softened. Then, he turned over his shoulder as if to confirm that Clive was still listening.
Joshua’s heart lurched as he suddenly put the pieces together and he swept his gaze back to the person sitting in the corner. “He’s my brother?”
Clive huffed and spun in place to face the wall, clearly upset by what Joshua had just said.
But now that Joshua had taken a proper look, he could somewhat see the resemblance. Clive had their father’s hair color but, more strikingly, he had their mother’s eyes and facial features. But even so, Joshua’s heart thumped with slight fear. The room was covered in marks of a beast—not of a human.
Was the rumor about his brother being swapped at birth by a demon actually true? It had seemed the most absurd one of them all, but what else could have done this but some monstrous beast?
Joshua moved closer, motivated to confirm if Clive had claws on his fingers, when Elwin latched onto his shoulder once again, stopping his advance.
“No, Joshua, keep your distance. I just wanted you to understand that he is still alive.”
Joshua’s chest surged with emotions. He wasn’t sure which ones. Perhaps pity? Sadness?
“But…” he began, not really sure where he was intending to end, “but why not tell me until now?”
Elwin sighed, and pulled Joshua back to the door. “Your mother and I are constantly quarreling about this. Even last night we were… ah, nevermind—in any case, we were simply worried he would hurt you. Now that you are of age to take up a sword, you can at least defend yourself, just in case. And someday, he will be your responsibility. This gives you some time to prepare for that.”
Clive shifted, and stole a glance at Joshua—those eyes reflecting the brightest of blue skies—before curling up in the corner on the floor. It didn’t seem that comfortable. Was it possible that Clive had never felt the comfort of a proper bed? Just how long had he been down here? Surely not his entire life? That seemed entirely too cruel.
Joshua couldn’t stand the thought of his brother being locked down here any longer.
“Can I choose to release him right now?” Joshua asked.
Elwin shook his head. “The day will come when you can challenge the courtiers to change their minds. I’m afraid my hands are tied so long as the Rosarian court believes him to be dangerous. I’m sorry.”
Joshua balled his hands into hands, plainly frustrated. It wasn’t right to treat anyone like a monster. What if Clive was innocent and everyone was in on some conspiracy, and everything was a lie? What proof was there that Clive had caused this destruction? What would cause his family to treat their own son this way? What if Clive having magic was a lie too, and just an excuse to cast him aside?
Joshua gave Clive one last look before they left. Clive had not budged and had languidly pulled his feet towards his chest to curl up into an even tighter ball. Joshua had only gotten one good look into his brother’s eyes that morning, but that was enough to know that what his parents and the noble houses were doing was completely wrong.
Everything before this day ceased to matter to Joshua; his new goal was freeing his brother from this abuse.
— — —
Joshua played with the red ribbon in his hair, unable to keep himself from fidgeting. Despite the celebration for him having finally come, he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering back to Clive. Joshua swept his gaze upon the feast laid out on the table before him: multiple roasted birds settled on porcelain plates, surrounded by assortments of breads cut into whimsical shapes, with fruit pre-peeled and arranged to give the table splashes of colors, and finally hot stews in large pots that promised to warm everyones’ stomachs. Despite wanting to dig in, he couldn’t help but wonder if Clive had ever sampled similar foodstuffs, or if he was treated like a prisoner in his own home, and served just the barest of meals.
A breeze danced through the silk curtains lining the windows. The steam bubbling up from the stews blew in unison towards the middle of the room, unfettered and dancing along with the people spinning in place for nobles’ amusement to the beat of the music. Like ghostly whisps, the lines of steam disappeared as they cooled against the open air, and the scent of food filled the room.
Normally, this great hall was much quieter and devoid of the special banners on display. At birth, Joshua was donned with the symbol of their family crest—the Phoenix—a mythical bird forged in fire, whose single flap of Her mighty wings had showered the heavens in sparks, creating the stars. He was told that his body and spirit were protected by this bird made of flames, and he had been comforted by Her image in the past decorating various walls of his home. However, now his mood was too soured to even appreciate the hand-sewn banners toiled over for hours by their servants. Everyone had placed such high hopes on Joshua reforging Rosaria into a powerful nation once again after the disastrous reign of his forefathers where they had lost land to both Sanbreque and the Northern Territories. Joshua had attended council meetings before and was left more confused than when he had sat down. Was it possible to eventually learn what everyone was talking about? He had no clue what they expected him to say at these meetings—thus he never said anything at all—and gave stiff head nods when people would glance over to make sure he was paying attention.
Joshua learned rather quickly that simply looking in someone’s direction was enough to pretend that he was listening, even if he was plainly confused.
A new tune started with even more bombastic fanfare. Someone shouted from the doors that their guests would be here in a matter of minutes. And yet, Joshua stared into the middle distance instead of preparing himself to greet them.
Was Clive able to hear the music? How much of the outside world did he truly know?
Joshua jolted back into awareness when his mother’s elbow prodded into his arm.
“Eat, Joshua. This is your nameday celebration. You have to show the cooks that you appreciate the meal,” she uttered under her breath.
Joshua briefly nodded and stabbed into his meat—already cut into bite-sized pieces by the servants. In front of his long table, minstrels tooted on their flutes and smacked their drums to a beat while performers danced in practiced choreography. Normally, this would have made Joshua smile and clap like a child, but he felt considerably aged today after the weight of his brother’s fate lowered over his shoulders like an invisible blanket made of lead.
He was already aware he was going to lead Rosaria in the future. But somehow, knowing that potentially everyone in the room had thrown the wool over his eyes and pretended that his brother didn’t even exist—a brother, that, in any normal situation, would be the heir instead—and went about their lives as if nothing was wrong, well, it was enough to make him lose his appetite, and swallowing that chunk of meat was more akin to swallowing a rock.
“Mother… May I be excused?” Joshua asked, with genuine sincereness. Nausea began to well up.
Anabella twisted in her seat. She was ready with a frown, which then softened upon seeing Joshua’s face. Still, she held firm in her belief that nobles had rules to abide by. “Drink some water. Our guests are almost here. You must meet with them at the very least. They came all this way just for you, after all.”
Joshua sighed under his breath, but dutifully took a long sip. The water tasted like nothing.
Just a week ago, he was excited at the prospect of celebrating this important occasion with Prince Dion. He and Dion had been exchanging letters for as long as both of them could write their own names, and had grown a bit close over the years. They were the same age after all, and Joshua had already witnessed Dion’s own nameday celebration earlier in the year, during the springtime when the wyverntails in Whitewyrm Castle were in full bloom. It had been a charming and wonderful affair to watch Dion emerge into proper adolescence with the donning of his own custom tabard—with the emblem of a silver dragon—and spear custom-made into the shape of a dragon’s fang on one end. Thus, in an urge of fairness, Dion had promised to be right there when Joshua would be granted his own sword as a marker of squireship. Two different traditions, but equal in their measure; both were a show of boyhood transitioning to manhood.
At ten years old, all boys of the high houses of Rosaria were given the honor of becoming a squire to a skilled mentor—to learn the trade of war, scholarship, and chivalry. Every nation held their secrets of course, but this custom of young boys being trained starting around their tenth year was nigh on universal. The same as young girls who were taught the skills of the household and domestic arts before their first bout with moon sickness. Every child knew what it meant to grow up; with these distinct goals to reach; with dates marked in the calendar.
And yet…
Joshua’s mind wandered to Clive once again. If Joshua understood their age differences correctly, then Clive would already be fifteen, perhaps even close to reaching sixteen. And despite his age, Clive had been given no ceremony at ten when he was meant to choose his path. If Clive had received one, Joshua would have remembered as such. He was sure he would have.
Was it possible that Clive was never taught even the basics in things? Could he read and write? Does he know the names of their family members? Is he aware that he is the firstborn son of the Archduke of Rosaria? Does he even know what an Archduke is?
Joshua bit his bottom lip as the doors of the great hall groaned open, announcing that the Lesages and their servants and knights had arrived. Dragoons, Dion had called some of his knights. Marked by their impressive spears and some equally impressive dragon mounts, Dion had hinted at Sanbreque’s aerial superiority compared to other nations. Joshua had been politely respectable at the time, and had even ventured to touch one of the wyverns in the aery, but there was an edge of warning in Dion’s words. Every nation that housed a crystal was under constant threat of war, and Sanbreque was not going to be caught unawares.
It was already a boon to have one such crystal within a nation’s borders. Therefore, any leader that had access to two instead of just one would unlock almost infinite power and wealth. Everyone wanted a piece of the precious gemstones—so much so that the world practically revolved around them. Joshua knew that he was due to learn the family secrets soon; to learn how Rosaria managed to farm their own red crystal despite its place on a volcanic island. And perhaps that simple fact of unwieldy procurement is what had stayed Sanbreque’s hand over the years. Sanbreque’s opaque gray crystal was easy to farm in comparison, so much so that they used it as currency where Rosaria maintained the practice of using gil coins. Sanbreque’s crystal was, of course, not the prettiest around and it had little fanfare in markets. The Sanbrequois people were always seeking the brighter, more beautiful crystals to the far reaches of the world instead. This was something Joshua already knew, and why he wore a ring of red crystal even now, to flaunt his access to such a rare mineral.
A hand entered into Joshua’s vision. He started and jumped up to finish Dion’s offered handshake. Like in handshakes prior, their rings touched, and Joshua tried not to focus on the fact that Dion’s ring was new, with a flash of blue gems instead of the usual gray-white. The handshake was firm, but brief, as usual.
“I’ve made it, just like I said I would,” Dion said, with an easy smile. “Happy Nameday, Lord Joshua Rosfield.”
Joshua knew all eyes were on them, so he quickly matched Dion’s prim and proper manners. “The pleasure is all mine, Prince Dion Lesage,” Joshua said before pausing, to make sure the servants around him had heard Dion’s full name in case they had to attend to and address him later. “I trust the trip was pleasant?”
“Pleasant enough,” Dion said, inclining his head to his own attendant to remove his cape. “We had a run in with some goblins, but that is hardly a threat to my men.”
His men. Dion was already of mind of being a leader. Despite that, Sylvestre gestured for Dion to finish the conversation and to find their seats. Dion gave one last bow to Joshua during his exit, then happily found a seat right next to his father. Various Sanbreqois nobles took up the rest of the spots, all also sporting brand new blue gems on their clothing and fingers.
It certainly didn’t take them very long to swap their fineries…
Joshua and Dion sat opposite of each other with the middle of the hall left empty. The distance was deliberate, as a sign that neither nation was on overly friendly terms with each other. In truth, the fact that Joshua even had foreign guests at his nameday celebration was unusual, and only happened as a political power play.
It was clear to both families that having heirs of the same age had caused a bit of unsaid competition. Historically, the two nations had butted heads over many things, but neither were able to gain the full vassalize or tribute of the other. But that was before Sanbreque had gained dragons on their side in recent years. And the Crystalline Dominion had already fallen under their reptilian conquest, and where Dion and the others had obtained their shiny new blue gemstones. Such an explosion to the status quo had already made waves over the land, and the act was so blatantly smug that the nobles wore the gems of their newly acquired city-state as if they had no shame.
Joshua vowed to not let the same happen to his home, but he had no idea how he was meant to protect his people from fire that rained from the very skies. A few Shields had seen the dragons in action at the border snuffing out entire acres of land in mere seconds, if their reports were accurate. Such displays of power were common when it came to Sanbreque forces, but they had yet to actually step over the invisible line that separated their nations. Until they did, the tension would remain as just that—tension.
Joshua had silently hoped that if he had managed to be friends with Dion that they could enter into an alliance labeled not by mutual protection, but one of genuine goodwill. Sadly, a spark had entered into Dion’s eyes when he stood before his court during his own nameday all those months ago. The sunlight had caught his blond hair, encasing his head in a brilliant halo. And like an angel from Sanbrequois religious texts, even Joshua was moved by the scene. He could only imagine the kind of figure Dion would cut ten years into the future. Would he keep his angelic shine? Joshua felt himself blush just thinking about it.
He had to remind himself that Dion’s celebration and parade was the same day that the Crystalline Dominion had fallen in the background. It was Sylvestre’s nameday gift to his son. No doubt hundreds if not thousands of people had died on what should have been a bright day in Dion’s life.
No one in Joshua’s presence ever brought it up. But he had felt the air shift with hushed whispers when the word finally spread to the Rosarian court. There was seemingly no counter to Sanbreque’s dragons.
Perhaps that was why Joshua was finally allowed to know the truth about Clive. Perhaps Clive was the last resort they had left under the threat of invasion. Dhalmekia was not going to go down without a fight either, but they had only a sparse military force spread across a vast desert with an unremarkable crystal to boot. It wouldn’t take much to make them kneel if Sanbreque wanted it, regardless. Meanwhile, the Northern Territories were isolationists to a fault and were not a viable target with their long winters keeping all reptiles at bay. Waloed, for its part, had the boon of the sea separating them from everyone else. Thus, it was obvious that Rosaria was the next target on the list of Sanbreque’s conquests.
Joshua’s eyes wandered as he chewed on a slice of bread until they landed on Dion’s face. Dion was staring back at him—with sunlight once again blanketing his head and shoulders from behind through the stained glass window—before he slowly lowered his lashes towards his own plate. Joshua felt the nausea again. Being ten was already so much harder than being nine.
Elwin stood up and tapped his glass with a spoon to force the room to go quiet.
“To my loyal subjects and honored guests, I’m sure we all know why we are here.”
A whoop of celebration came from the Shields standing near the main doors. Elwin ignored it, and continued, “My dear son has reached ten years old, and thus is of age to take up his training as a proper squire.” He paused, and swept his gaze to Joshua to share a small smile before addressing the room again. “The ceremony will be held two hours from now, so please enjoy your meals and music!”
A holler from the Rosarians echoed through the building. The Sanbreque nobles remained reserved, but began to eat in their own stilted way. Joshua noted how none seemed particularly enamored with the ale on offer, before he recalled tasting wine in Whitewyrm Castle—the preferred drink of choice in their nation. He had nearly spit it out at the time, but swallowed it down out of respect for his hosts. Anabella had smiled and seemed relieved that Joshua knew how to suppress his own discomforts for the sake of presentation and manners. But that notion seemingly did not pass through to the Sanbreque elite, who were more than happy to gesture for servants to remove their plates with plenty of food left on them right in front of their hosts.
No doubt the servants would gleefully eat the leftovers, but it still felt like a thorn in Joshua’s side that their guests were clearly displeased with Rosarian dishes.
Joshua pretended to lean for an apple just to get a better look at Dion’s plate. Dion wore a diffident expression, but his plate was clean. The crumbs at least signaled that he had indeed eaten some of the bread, but it was hard to tell what else he had sampled. Joshua felt that this was his chance to try to break Dion out of his shell with a bit of good food and a fun game of catch.
He pulled the apple from the bowl and called out to Dion.
Dion lifted his eyes, only for his mouth to drop in shock as Joshua threw the apple at him.
Before the apple could hit Dion right in the face however, Sylvestre had jumped up and his hand caught it mid-flight. He leered at Joshua and the music stopped as everyone had witnessed what had happened.
“What is the meaning of this?” Sylvestre demanded, spiking the apple to the table in anger.
Anabella gripped Joshua by the forearm and he couldn’t help but wince as she forced him to his feet.
“I apologize for his actions, Your Majesty,” Anabella said, with a deep curtsy, “I don’t know what came over him.”
She forced Joshua to bow while hissing a sharp “behave yourself!” into his ear. Joshua gulped, and groveled further.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly towards the floor, “I was not thinking—”
“Clearly not,” Sylvestre cut Joshua off.
Joshua lifted his head to meet Sylvestre’s scowl with a thumping heart. Caught without a back-up plan, having never been cut off before in his life, he stumbled over his next words. “I—I just wanted him to try it… I wasn’t intending to hurt him. Y-Your Majesty.”
Sylvestre sighed and slowly sat back down. There was a long, tense pause before one of the minstrels cautiously began strumming his guitar once more. The music broke the strings holding everyone at a standstill, and hushed voices started up again. Sylvestre held his gaze on Joshua for several more seconds before he said, “I understand a boy’s need to incite chaos for the pleasure of it. But Dion is not a boy anymore. He is above such childish games.”
Joshua felt sick to the stomach. He had likely just ruined everything. Why did I do that?!
Dion gave Joshua an apologetic look—the first time that his priggish walls had been broken. The unexpected game of catch was not something Dion had been able to rehearse and a softer side of him had leaked through the cracks. Somehow, it calmed Joshua a little bit knowing that Dion wasn’t angry.
Then, Sylvestre did something unexpected himself. He urged Dion to join Joshua in a private tour.
“Let that energy out, as boys should,” Sylvestre said, explaining the situation to Joshua’s parents soon after. Thankfully, both agreed to it, and Joshua and Dion were ushered outside, with a pair of Shields to make sure they remained safe. The music drifted from the windows, but was muffled through the brick, and the hearty atmosphere of the party was sundered instantly.
Dion stood there for a moment, then sighed and whispered, “I had not been able to sample the stew yet…”
Joshua spun in place and out of lack of decorum took Dion’s hand. “We can still ask for some!”
Dion blushed and tore his hand away. “I… would rather follow my father’s orders for now.”
Joshua understood and quietly apologized for touching him. Dion’s cheeks flushed further and he made his way down a random path as if to escape the sudden awkwardness. Joshua quickly bounded up beside him and forced Dion to turn away from the latrines before he accidentally got a whiff of human waste.
— — —
It took about an hour for them to wind their way along the grounds and ramparts. Dion had endless questions the entire time, of which Joshua did his best to answer. They eventually ended up in the bailey, and watched as a few Shields sparred in the dueling yard.
“Rosalith is charming, in its own way,” Dion said as he stood transfixed on the sweaty men trading blows.
“How so?” Joshua asked.
Dion blushed for the third time that day, obviously a bit at odds at being so casual in comparison with his upbringing. “It is… homey compared to my own castle. Even if this place is smaller and the accommodations are less… expensive… the people here seem content.” Dion lowered his voice, as if ashamed of something. “Sanbreque is a beautiful realm of endless trees and flowers, but her people so rarely share their smiles. Yet here, I simply have to make eye contact to receive one.”
“I think there is merit to being reserved,” Joshua said politely. “Being too open can lead to manipulation, can it not?”
Dion shrugged his shoulders and returned to silently staring at the next pair of men duking it out in the dirt. When one landed close to their spot, Dion averted his gaze.
“Dion,” Joshua leaned forward and whispered, “Is something wrong?”
Dion quickly shook his head. “It is nothing. I just did not expect their attire of choice to be so… revealing.”
Dion blushed once more, and his eyes betrayed his emotions. He needed a break from toned men wrestling each other.
Joshua turned in place and was about to offer that they return to the great hall, when the door to the escape tunnel caught his eye. All at once, Joshua remembered that Clive was down there—locked away and alone when everyone else was in good spirits. Joshua desperately wanted to check on him but Dion would have found any sudden exit from the tour quite suspicious. Left without options and without the experience to brainstorm a different solution, Joshua quietly offered that they should head back.