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The day was warm and clear. Indeed, all of Valisthea seemed to be abuzz with excitement as people from Port Isolde to Boklad filed into the newly reopened City of Rosalith. Today was the day, at long last, that the Sanbrequois annexation of the territory known as Rosaria would end and would regain its independence under new leadership.
Sitting alone in a large suite atop the newly rebuilt Rosalith Castle, sat a lonely figure. He was dark-haired and burly, an enormous scar sweeping across the left side of his face. Clive Rosfield sat, watching as people flooded into the city, smiling at the newfound sense of elation that flowed from everyone. A sense of elation that, deep down, he did not share.
After defeating the pseudo, god-like being known as Ultima, he had used all of his remaining power to cast Raise, the final goal of the would-be god on his brother Joshua's lifeless form. Feeling the fading of Eikons and the ending of the age of Dominants, Clive found himself lying on the shores of Sanbreque, beneath an infinitely starry sky. He could remember a paralyzing sensation sweeping through his body, his fingers the first to succumb to the curse he had long since been exempt from (as Ultima's chosen vessel), before finally losing consciousness, prepared to accept his death.
However, death never came. Clive had vague memories from there; racking his brain, he could remember at one point he found himself strewn across Chocobo back, before waking up in Northreach, in Isabelle's care.
Clive frowned as he reflected on those events, still having no idea what had happened. He had fully expected the ramifications of using the whole of magic to heal the world and its people would be his life. Yet here he was, alive and, seemingly, no negative effects about him. However, as Clive glanced down at his hand, devoid of any effects of the Bearer's Curse or the tingling sensation that had always existed beneath the skin, a small smile graced his solemn face.
"We did it, Cid" said the dark-haired man in a hushed tone. In the weeks since he had awoken, all magic had faded from the twin continents. Crystals had become little more than pretty stones, places that had fallen victim to aetherfloods had become freed of the deadly blue mist, and all that had been, or would have been, born as Bearers now found themselves as ordinary as any other. His friend and mentor, who had given his life for that very cause, that had guided him and protected him from a threat he didn't (at the time) fully appreciate, could finally rest in peace with his dream realized.
The chamber door opened with a loud creak, stealing Clive from his thoughts, and he watched as his faithful hound Torgal, the silver-haired Charon and her hulking attendant Goetz stepped inside. The latter gave a deep bow, bending almost ninety degrees at the waist, while Charon gave her usual nod of the head to him. At their appearance, Clive immediately felt himself blanch…
"Don't look so terrified" she chided, taking a drag from her cigar "it doesn't suit ye."
"Nan!" said Goetz pacifyingly "We just came to see if yer lordship needed anything?"
"Needed anything" said Clive, his tone playfully challenging "or did Otto send you to make sure I hadn't run?"
"Both" Charon chuckled slyly "He thought seeing our ugly mugs would be less likely to make something happen than seeing some blasted servant girl trying to wait on ye hand and foot. This one" (she gave Torgal a scratch behind the ears) "is ter make sure ye don't try to make a break for it."
Clive chuckled, almost in spite of himself. Goetz stepped forward, bearing a bundle of formal looking clothes in his hands. "Here ye go, Clive. Fresh cleaned and ready."
"Alright, ye great lummox" said Charon sharply, waving the large man away "unless ye've got the ambition to dress 'im yerself, I suggest we let Lord Rosfield get ready."
Goetz gave a last wave before being hurried from the room with a great cry ("Alright Nan, I'm going"). Charon shot him a calming grin and another casual nod of her head before snapping the chamber door shut again, leaving Clive and Torgal alone. Another chuckle escaped him, thankful for his friends and their attempt to comfort him. But as he turned his gaze back to the bundle of clothes that Goetz had handed him, he could not stop the all-powerful sense of daunting surged through him.
It had been several weeks since the fall of Origin and the defeat of Ultima. Clive and his allies had joined forces with Prince Dion to reclaim the city of Oriflamme from the remaining Akashic that had survived into the new, magicless age. After fully liberating the capital city, the newly crowned leader of the recently formed Principality of Sanbreque, had called a meeting of the leadership around Valisthea, to discuss moving forward after Emperor Sylvestre's crimes. Clive's Uncle Byron, Eugen Havel (the representative of Dhalmekia) and Quinten, as representatives of the "Triunity Accord" had immediately proposed undoing the annexation of Rosaria, allowing it to regain its former status.
The motion was popularly received; however, with the fall of Ash to the blight, and with the Kingdom of Waloed collapsing into the control of the beastmen, it was proposed that Rosaria become the new royalist faction by establishing the first Kingdom of Rosaria. Clive, as the first born son of Archduke Elwin (the last leader under the Grand Duchy), was unanimously looked to as the successor. Clive himself had argued that it had always been Joshua, as the Dominant of the Phoenix, who was the rightful heir. But his brother contended that, with Eikons gone and the former ways of succession now obsolete, it was now on him, as the older brother, to take charge of his newly freed country.
Now here they were, the day of his coronation…the day that he was to become king.
Clive gave a resigned sigh as he began to pull on the clothes Goetz had given him, formal attire in the design of the duchy's ancestral garb. Staring at himself in a full length mirror, a hot blush cut across his face. For years, he had endured the comments of how much he looked like his father; now wearing the same robes that his father had worn, he suspected that those comments would only become more prevalent. However, Clive felt like an imposter wearing his father's clothes, little more than a child playing at the adulthood they didn't fully grasp.
Nerves threatened to overtake him from the moment the announcement had been made. He was a soldier, formerly branded under the rule of Sanbreque, a leader of a small band of rebels. He knew nothing of fineries, or politics, or leading a nation.
How was someone like him to be a king?
Turning his gaze out towards the sky, he tried to at least find one small solace in all of this.
Jill.
He thought of his silver-haired love with a long sigh. Just before he had departed for Origin, he had promised her freedom. To leave the shores of the Twins behind, to spread her wings and see the world. Only days before, he had seen her off to the docks of Port Isolde and knew that, somewhere across the sea, she would be free to find her new beginning. However, he did not remain to see the ship depart, the heartbreaking thought that he would likely never see her again was too much for the warrior to bear.
A gentle pressure nudge at his hand; Clive gave his canine companion a weak smile. He had offered Torgal the chance to go with her. As descendant to the legendary Frost Wolf, Fenrir, Torgal's ties to Jill (the Dominant of Shiva) went far deeper than he would ever dare hope for. However, the hound had decided to remain at his side, his mournful howls as Jill's ship departed still ringing in his ears.
There was a knock at the door. Clive turned to watch as his younger brother, Joshua, stepped inside. No longer was he clad in the garb of a wanderer, instead wearing a robe of stunning crimson silk; his strawberry blond hair like a golden wreath around his head. A wave of relief washed over the older man at the sight of him.
It was he, Joshua, and Dion that had gone to Origin together and it was the three of them that had launched the final battle against Ultima. However, by the end, it was only Clive that had walked away with his life. He supposed it was the casting of Raise that had saved his comrades, but it was Joshua whom he was happiest of all to be reunited with at last. His brother's health had greatly improved with time, the removal of the piece of Ultima that constantly sapped his powers likely attributed to that. Now that it had come to rebuilding the world they had fought for, he had chosen to remain by Clive's side, especially with the development in leadership of Rosaria.
"Come, brother" he said, his voice soothing and steady "it is time."
The words seemed to suck all the warmth out of the day, leaving an unnatural chill to surge down Clive's spine. He nodded, mustering all the courage he had ever known, as he and Torgal followed Joshua out of the chamber and towards his new fate.
Stepping out into the bright courtyard, cheers erupted all around him as trumpets sounded in a triumphant note. Again, Clive smiled weakly, attempting his best but feeling utterly foolish in his attempt to appear regal. How had their father done it? He made it seem so easy. Stand straight backed, expression even, and a strong, firm arm as he waved to the people.
"This is ridiculous" murmured Clive, holding up his arm to welcome the crowd, an action met with raucous applause "I haven't the first clue what I'm doing."
"You did more politicking as Cid than you realize" whispered Joshua, smiling as he regarded the crowd as well. "This is just more pomp and circumstance. Relax brother, we're nearly there."
The dark-haired man took another steadying breath as they entered through the large oaken doors and into the entrance hall. At once the grim look of resignation melted into one of shocked delight, Clive felt his face split into an honest grin at the sight of Sir Wade and young Oscar, both posted as sentinel to the audience chamber. They both snapped to attention at their presence; with crisp, sharp movements, they moved about face and opened the doors.
Once more, shocked delight simply turned to relief as Clive found so many familiar faces lining the throne room. Many were from the Hideaway: Mid, Otto, Gav, Charon, Goetz, Blackthorne, Edda and her child. Some were allies from across Storm: Quinten, Martha, Isabelle, L'ubor, and Eloise; even Shula and little Waljas had made it. Towards the front, were their political allies, Uncle Byron and Eugen Havel were both dressed in fine robes of blue and green, while Prince Dion stood with his council of cardinals, all wearing robes of sterling white. All faces were familiar and friendly, all watching and supportive of the moment. Clive nodded to each of them as Joshua and Torgal led him towards Harpocrates, who stood before their father's—his throne. Next to him stood a dark haired girl dressed in a fine dress of white linen, holding a velvet cushion, upon which sat an ornate golden crown, set with red gems and shaped into the form of two crossed feathered wings. Princess Kihel, Dion's adopted child and the future heir to Sanbreque, looked almost as nervous as he felt. He gave her a kind and reassuring smile, one that she readily returned.
"Are you ready, my Lord?"
Clive nodded, hardly daring to speak as he sank down onto one knee. He barely heard the loresman's opening sermon, still doing everything in his power to keep from shaking. There was no turning back now…
"May the Founder grant him the strength to bear the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders. The wisdom to guide his people through the prosperous times and the lean ones. And the courage to face any adversity that lies ahead. In the light of the holy flames, I now proclaim Clive of the House Rosfield, first of his name, King of Rosaria, and Defender of the Flame."
Clive breathed deeply as Harpocrates paused, when suddenly a great weight was placed around his head as the loresman placed the crown there. Suddenly, the raven-haired man closed his eyes as if preparing for a hefty blow as Harpocrates let out a great declaration: "Long may he reign!"
"LONG MAY HE REIGN!" The voices all around rang out in unison as cheers and applause burst up from behind.
Clive pushed to his feet and heaved a hefty sigh. Now came the part he had been dreading above all else. His first address as monarch. He knew how to speak to individuals; never before had he spoken so publicly. What would he say? Where would he begin to find the words?
However, as the thought raced through his mind, a vision appeared before his eyes. That of Cid Telamon. Clive blinked, thinking that he had finally lost all reason and gone mad. Then, he saw his father right next to him. Then there was the Abbot of Glaidemond Abbey, Rodney and Hanna Murdoch, and so many that had died in pursuit of their efforts. However, as soon as they had appeared, they vanished leaving the large crowd before him. Suddenly, nerves gave way to memory and, at last, he began to speak:
"This day does not belong to one, it belongs to those that come before. Those who gave their lives in defiance of fate. But today also belongs to those who are to follow. Let us continue to work together, and rebuild this world so that all may share in our dream for a better tomorrow."
The audience chamber erupted into applause yet again, many nodding in approval (Clive could even see Gav place his fingers in his mouth and let fly a loud whistle). Turning towards Joshua, the older Rosfield smiled, seeing his brother clapping as well.
"A fine speech, your majesty."
The words struck Clive strangely, though he did his best to shake it off "One of many more to come."
"Come," said Joshua with a playful grin, "it's time to meet your bride."
"My what?!" hissed Clive. However, before he could hound his brother further on the sheer outrage of the moment, the two brothers turned, the crowd abuzz with excitement as the bridal train approached. Suddenly, Clive realized that it was Tarja and Vivian, both were in fine dresses of blue satin, and their hair was done up with ribbons and each carried a gossamer banner emblazoned with the sigils of Rosaria. The two women exchanged mischievous looks at Clive's look of total disbelief, before lifting their banners to reveal:
The crowd around gasped in surprise at the angelic figure before them, clad in a high collared dress of shimmering silver satin, and wearing a silver tiara set with blue gemstones, who looked very much like a queen already. Clive, however, felt the very breath freeze in his lungs as his jaw fell open at the sight of…Jill.
For a split moment, he faltered at her sheer beauty, how simply radiant she looked. But sense quickly began to take back over as disbelief coursed through him. He was dreaming, he had to have been. Jill was gone, finally free to spread her wings and leave the Twins behind. For her to be here, to have given up her chance at freedom to be with him, he hardly dared to believe it. His body moved without permission, slowly closing the gap between them; Tarja and Vivian stepped away as he approached, each with a respectful tilt of their head, but soon enough he was mere inches from her, fully aware of just how many eyes were on them.
"Jill," whispered Clive, unsure how in the world he was still capable of speaking, let alone of drawing breath "How…? Why are…? I'd thought you'd…"
He fell silent immediately as Jill placed a finger on his lips. She smiled lovingly, placing a hand on his cheek as she said "If forgoing a chance to see the world means spending the rest of my life with the man I love. Then the world be damned. You, Clive, are all I have ever needed."
"Well, your majesty?" asked Harpocrates, his eyes twinkling as he beamed at the pair of them. "Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health…?"
The elderly loresman fell silently at once, to a mixture of laughter and applause, as Clive kissed her, his enthusiasm lifting Jill clear off her feet. They broke apart slowly, each smiling as they took each other's hand. Harpocrates beamed at them as he declared:
"I hereby pronounce these two, bonded for life. Long may they rule with strength, wisdom, and courage. All hail, King Clive and Queen Jill!"
"HAIL!"
The elderly loresman stepped aside, revealing to all the throne of Rosaria, remade in glorious white marble, and a second, identical to the first, next to it. Feeling Jill give his hand a comforting squeeze, the pair ascended the dias before taking their seats before the court, who cheered and applauded raucously. At once, the musicians struck up a joyous and energetic tune as the crowd began to form a line to greet and pay homage to the new monarchs.
Clive felt a steadying breath fill his lungs as he began to regard them with nods, quietly accepting their affirmative words. But a newfound sense of calm began to sweep over him as he felt Jill's fingers give his own a small squeeze. With Jill and Joshua at his side, the newly crowned King of Rosaria felt ready to handle whatever came next.
~o0o~
BANG!
The gavel hit the table with a reverberating slam, jostling Clive from his stupor. The heat of the day through the windows made the council chambers stiflingly hot and the monotonous droning of his councilors had lulled the Rosarian King out of concentration. Clive reached for his goblet of water, feeling its cooling effects creep down his throat. In all actuality, he appreciated his councilors, being able to help him in matters he still only had a basic understanding. In fact, all on the council were familiar faces: Vivian (who's deeply purple robes bore the signet of the Hand of the King); Charon bore a large leather ledger that contained all the kingdom's finances. Cyril and Otto sat together, his masters of intelligence and laws, while Byron enjoyed a jovial chuckle and glass of wine with Harpocrates.
Originally, he had asked Joshua to serve as his hand. However, the younger Rosfield felt as if his many years of travel would be better suited as representative to an impartial party. Thus, he had been chosen to act as Rosaria's representative to the Triunity Accord. Joshua would attend meetings from time to time, bringing with him an update from Sanbreque, Dhalmekia, and the Free Cities. Clive would listen with a small amount of envy, missing the days when he could traverse Storm as he pleased. However, he glanced over at his brother's empty seat, recalling a messenger a day prior telling of flooding near Sorrowise that had caused slight damage to the bridge near Auldhyl and Martha's Rest. While he had assurances from Martha, and her carpenter (Bernard), that the damages were not serious, it meant that Joshua and Jote would have to backtrack by way of Hawk's Cry Cliff, delaying their arrival by at least a day.
Still, his brother's absence did little to lighten his mood. He had known ruling a nation would be different from leading the hideaway, but he hadn't realized it would be quite so…dull. Cyril had just finished giving his report on rumors of sightings of the Crystalline Orthodoxy just south of Port Isolde and, with the council's permission, had requested the deployment of several of his Undying to monitor the situation. The council had unanimously agreed to the request, ending with a sharp crack of Vivian's gavel.
Clive sighed wistfully as helped himself to a fistful of grapes as Uncle Byron stepped up to report on pirate activity and the Rosarian Navy's attempt to stop the hunters, prowling between Port Isolde and Kostnice. Suddenly, the doors to the council chambers burst open and in stepped a young woman, clad in a simple cotton dress, her apron and mousy brown hair covered in a thin layer of dust and sweat streaking down her face. The older Rosfield harrumphed indignantly at the intrusion
"What is the meaning of this?!" he bellowed, outraged. However, Clive waved him down calmly and turned towards the panting girl.
"What is it, Tabitha? What's wrong?"
"A thousand pardons, milords and ladies. Your grace, Lady Tarja sent me to tell you: it's the queen. The bairn has come!"
At first all was silent, the girl's words hanging heavily on the air. Clive himself sat in complete surprise, the grapes tumbling from his fingers. Charon was the first to recover from the news, shot Clive a narrowed gaze and barked sharply:
"Well don't sit there gawping! Go on, be a father!"
The words seemed to ring a bell in his mind as sense began flooding back into his mind. He rose from his chair and, without even acknowledging the rest of the council, dashed from the room, with the servant girl, Tabitha, leading the way.
It had been another part of royal life that Clive hadn't given much thought to, even in the five years since his coronation. Speaking of a promise to the next generation was one thing; to aid in its arrival was something the raven-haired king hadn't realized would be one of his royal duties.
"AAAAARRRGH!"
The sound of Jill's anguished screams broke him from his thoughts. Passing Tabitha, Clive burst into the room without any hesitation. Jill's brow was soaked with sweat and exhaustion was written clearly across her face, several servants remained diligently at her side, but she reached for him on sight.
"Jill" he said, scooping her outstretched hand into his own "I'm so sorry I wasn't here. Did I miss it? Am I too late?"
"Very nearly" said Tarja tersely, not even sparing a glance upward "come on now, Jill. One more big push."
Positioning himself behind her, propping up against her back, Clive steadied himself, wincing in pain as Jill gripped his hand as hard as she could, took a deep, shaky breath and then screamed again as she gave another great effort!
"That's it!" cried Tarja "good girl, good girl, good girl! And, here they are!"
Jill's screams gave way to pants of exhaustion, her body collapsing limply against Clive's. Curling his arm around her shoulder, the raven-haired man split his attention between his wife and the bundle of blankets being whisked away by Tarja and her aides. The whole situation sent a terrible shiver down the tall man's spine. The child made no movement nor any sound.
Blue eyes found their way into silver, the pair exchanging looks of concern and heartbreak as the red-headed woman turned to them with a small shake of her head. For a moment, Clive's mind froze in place, barely able to register this terrible sight before him. Jill uttered words of shock and horror as Clive pushed to his feet, clutching her hand firmly in his own, offering his free hand towards the physicker
"Give him here…"
If Tarja was confused, she hid it well as she stepped forward and slid the baby into Clive's arms.
"It was a boy."
"Clive...?" the horror in Jill's voice was like a knife to the tall man's heart. Fighting back his own fears, he turned to her and smiled gently.
"Shhh, my love. It will be alright."
Fully aware of all eyes on him, Clive held his son close, looking into his still and pink face, and whispered a small prayer into his tiny ears:
"You are of House Rosfield. By the flames of the Phoenix are we made, and by struggle do we burn brightly. Struggle, my son…and burn bright."
Clive stood there for what seemed like an eternity, hoping beyond hope that his words would be heard and his prayer answered. Just then, a small movement issued in his hands; there was the tiniest of coughs before a loud wailing erupted from the baby's mouth.
In that one moment, it felt as if the weight of the very world had lifted from the room. Clive looked from Tarja to Jill, the former looked as equally surprised as impressed. Jill, however, wore a look of immense relief as tears splashed down her face; turning towards their son, Clive said gently "Come on, it's time to meet your mother."
Easing down onto the bed next to her, Clive held out his arms so that Jill could slide the child into her own. She smiled and held the boy close, tears falling without restraint as she kissed his forehead. Clive turned towards Tarja, who folded her arms with a wry smile.
"Thank you, Tarja"
The physicker waved her hand dismissively "I did the easy part. However, I recommend not becoming too attached to praying to the Phoenix for more miracles."
Clive nodded with a sheepish smile. There was an uproar from outside the room, all eyes turned towards the door, which flew open to reveal Byron and Joshua, who was still in his traveling cloak. The pair looked from the pair of them to Jill, who was still tending to the baby dutifully.
"Thank the Founder" breathed Joshua, a look of relief washing over his face as he returned Clive's embrace "we heard from the servants and came at once."
"But our worries were unfounded I see" said Byron with a nervous chuckle, his face as white as a sheet. "Well done my girl. Ah, just listen to him! A fine set of lungs!"
"Your grace" Tabitha's timid voice quickly garnered his attention "they await your word."
Clive nodded, gave Joshua's shoulder a squeeze as he made for the door, where a soft smile graced the king's face. Sitting in the hallway was a pair of small children, a boy and girl. The boy had neat black hair that was streaked with silver; the girl was Jill in miniature, sharing her dazzling silvery hair, though she had the Rosfield blue eyes, clinging to both her brother and a stuffed Chocobo.
A warmth and pride surged up in him as Clive stared at his firstborn son, whom they had named after his father: Elwin. Their happy little accident, who had come barely a year into their reign, though his and Jill's lives made richer by his presence. It wasn't long after that his sister, Marleigh, had been born.
Clive smiled at his children and said gently: "Alright, you two?"
"Is mother alright?" asked Elwin, who rose to his full height at five-years-old (his younger sister's hand clutched in his own), his blue-gray eyes wide with concern.
"Aye" Clive chuckled, almost in spite of himself, kneeling down to their level "She's tired, but fine. Her and the baby"
"Can we see mummy now?" asked little Marleigh, clutching her doll worriedly.
"I think that would be in order. Though you must be quiet, you wouldn't want to disturb your brother, now would you?"
The pair exchanged excited looks and nodded rigorously. Rising to his feet, he took both children in hand and led them into the birthing room. Jill, who was still nuzzling the baby with tears in her eyes, turned to pair and smiled.
"Hello my darlings," she said softly. Seeing their awestruck gazes wander from her to the bundle in her arms, she chuckled softly before offering it for them to see, "come and say hello."
Clive smiled again, watching as the two scrambled forward, climbing onto the bed and nestling close to their mother, oohing and aahing over the baby. There was a small knock on the door; Clive turned to find his friends standing there, with anxious looks on their faces. Exchanging looks with Jill, who smiled patiently, the dark-haired man waved them in, allowing those closest to them to meet their newest child.
~o0o~
Clive paused, half way through pulling on his formal raiments, taking a moment to listen to the growing buzz from the courtyard outside. From the sound of it, half of Rosaria had arrived to welcome the young prince. Jill was readying the children, while Clive, Joshua, and Byron stood over the cradle with the baby, his uncle laughing jovially as he waggled his fingers over the laughing little one.
"Congratulations my boy!" said the older man, giving the king a clap on the shoulder "and just what would you call this fine young lad?"
The dark-haired man didn't answer right away, his gaze shifting to his firstborn son, an image of himself meeting his own younger brother flashed before him. The pair exchanged smiles as Clive and Jill caught each others eye; rubbing the back of his head, feeling slightly abashed, he said:
"Well, we've discussed it and we agree that…every Elwin should have a Byron."
For a moment, the older Rosfield did not appear to register what he'd said; suddenly, his jaw fell open in total surprise, his eyes welling up with tears.
"Wha–" he stammered, his gaze jumping between the two parents "m-my boy, you honor me!
"Congratulations, Uncle," said Joshua, squeezing the older man's shoulders. Uncle Byron continued to bluster and blubber for a few moments as he regained his composure, eagerly muttering to himself:
"Great Uncle Byron…the first of his name!"
Clive smiled at his uncle as one of the servants brought the golden, winged crown on a plush pillow. Uttering a word of thanks, he took it in two hands and placed it gently onto his head.
"Right then" he said calmly, turning towards his family "everybody ready?"
Joshua, Byron, and Elwin all nodded (the boy fidgeting with his cloak); Jill smiled as she scooped their newborn into her arms. Little Marleigh ran to her father, greeting him with a wide smile and her arms held towards him. Smiling softly at his daughter, Clive stooped down and lifted her into his arms, sitting her comfortably in the crook of his left. Little Elwin led the way, marching his family as they moved towards the balcony doors.
Triumphant trumpets belted out into the evening air, the roar of the crowded courtyard wafted through the castle walls. The two guards at the doors snapped into a crisp salute before flooding the dark corridor in the light of the evening sun. The seven Rosfield's stepped out onto the balcony, where the crowd below whooped and clapped at the sight. Marleigh braved a small wave to the people, clutching timidly to her father's shoulder; Elwin propped himself up on the railing, and waved enthusiastically. Once more, Clive stood with all the regality that five years had taught him: straight backed, expression even, and a strong, firm arm as he waved.
However, he stood proudly as Jill stepped up next to him, holding the bundle for all to see. A hush of anticipation fell over the crowd as they waited for the official proclamation. The baby fidgeted in her arms, his tiny cries echoing across the stillness. Joshua, stepped forward, coming to his newborn nephew's aid and said loudly:
"Presenting, his royal highness: Byron of House Rosfield, second of his name, prince of Rosaria!"
Clive smiled, watching as the crowd roared in elation, chants of "Hail Prince Byron" rising up from all around. Uncle Byron laughed as he placed a hand on the Queen's shoulder, waving proudly as tears streaked down his bearded face. A sense of pride welling up from inside as he looked out upon his people and towards his family. He couldn't help but think of his father and how proud he would be, were he still with them. This was exactly what he'd always dreamed. His dream for a better tomorrow.
About a year ago, while I've been on hiatus for Shadows of the Forgotten, I fell in love with Final Fantasy XVI. I knew I wanted to write a fic about it, but I've been waiting for the inspiration to hit me. As you can probably tell, this was a couple of ideas rigged together to make the one you see before you. I kept waffling back and forth about a child born fic and Clive becoming king…so, eventually, I said to myself: why not sandwich them together. I think it turned out pretty well. But anyway, I hope you guys liked it, don't forget to drop me a review, and I hope you have a great day.