A/N: Hi hello! welcome back. chapter 3! here you go~!
love you
enjoy
oxy
~xXx~
The chambers of the Parliament of Ministers were a cool, low-lit contrast to the bright desert dry of Ran'dellah proper. The parliament sat gathered about their meeting table and Permanent Economic Advisor Hugo Kupka sat apart in his lavish chair, as per usual.
"Which brings us to a most contentious matter; Archduke Rosfield of Rosaria has sent word by both stolas and missive that Emperor Lesage of Sanbreque has violated the Tri-Unity Accord," the Prime Minister stated, setting a lengthy document on the table. "The Archduke reports that a force of Sanbrequois soldiers launched an attack on the Rosarian fortress of Phoenix Gate and attempted to claim the lives of everyone there, including the Archduke himself and both of his sons. In the case of the Archduke's eldest and most of the Rosarian soldiers occupying the fortress that night, the Imperials succeeded."
Hugo canted his head to one side and propped up his jaw with one fist. He lit a cigar with a touch of a finger to its tip.
Interesting. Dhalmekia would be obligated to retaliate and end the Tri-Unity, at the very least…
"Does the Archduke request the support of the Men of the Rock?" The Minister of Velkroy asked.
"And more, besides," the Prime Minister replied with a scowl. "The Archduke has made known his request for four legions of the Men of the Rock to bolster the guard of the Rosarian capital of Rosalith and the borders of the nation itself. Rosfield has also requested the presence of Hugo Kupka, Warden of Earth, supposedly for the purpose of enacting a 'revolutionary defensive strategy.'"
Hugo smirked. Twenty-four thousand soldiers and the might of the Eikon Titan. What was the Archduke up to…?
"What say you, Kupka?" Field Marshal Havel asked, fixing the Economic Advisor with a curious gaze.
The choice was easy.
"The Archduke shall have everything he desires," Hugo replied simply and decisively. "Send word to Sanbreque that the alliance between our nations is no more as a direct result of their hostilities toward Rosaria. Muster the Men of the Rock and prepare them to march for Rosaria to support their soldiers. I will make ready and journey ahead of them with an additional legion of soldiers drawn from the Men of the Fist." The Dominant of Titan stood, towering over the men seated at the table.
Hugo's considerable stature and the finality of his words somehow did not discourage criticisms.
"And how do you plan to afford this relief effort of yours, Kupka?"
Hugo took a drag of his cigar and exhaled smoke slowly in the direction of the Prime Minister. It was likely that his answer would not satisfy, but that was more than alright. The ministers were able to question him as a luxury, but their distaste for his decisions would not sway him from his course. And the final say, despite all their blustering, belonged to him.
"Aside from Dhalmekia already owing Rosaria a significant debt for the knowledge of crystal-free farming and irrigation techniques? Archduke Rosfield is an intelligent man," Hugo replied, "and he knows he cannot win a war of attrition against Sanbreque as Rosaria currently stands. He has a plan."
"You mean to divert half of our army and abandon Ran'dellah yourself on the assumption that the Archduke has a plan? The man is bereaved!" Field Marshal Havel protested.
"And?" Hugo asked. He took another deep drag of his cigar and enjoyed watching Havel splutter in shock. How annoying it was when common men believed that being loud equated being correct.
"He cannot possibly be thinking clearly! Any decision he makes is likely to be tainted by grief!" Havel insisted.
"Dhalmekian soldiers march in and provide much-needed security to our ally," Hugo reasoned aloud for the benefit of the dimmest among the ministers, "This will only strengthen the Southwestern Alliance, as the Tri-Unity is no more. At the least, this will clear Dhalmekia of its debt to Rosaria. At the most, Rosaria will owe us for our support. I see no downside. The Archduke's requests shall be honored."
Hugo cast the stub of his cigar to the ground and snuffed it out with his foot. He began to make for the door.
"Also," Hugo added as an intrigued grin stretched across his face, "I have a great personal interest in hearing how the Archduke's defensive strategy requires the Eikon of Earth."
~xXx~
At long last. They woke. Joyous. ʎʅʅɐuᴉᖵ
(What's happening?)
They stood as one. Strong, indomitable. It has been so long.
Powerful jaws to rip and crush. Formidable tail to defend or destroy. Fire given form. Inferno made flesh. Brilliant and glorious, scorching through all it encountered. Superior. Unstoppable. Burn. ǝsuɐǝʅϽ
(What is this?)
The world had grown smaller – or had they simply grown larger? – and each one of their steps was the length of the pitiable castle. Towering, ɔᴉɥʇᴉʅouoɯ
(Who are you?)
Beneath their stride, the false ones scrambled to flee as might rats from a sinking vessel. As they drew near, the false ones, too, were lit with hungry, perfect fire. Screams. Memory of a raised sword, terror, pain. The false ones were deserving of the fate of fire. How dare they? Burn them. ɯǝɥʇ ǝsuɐǝʅϽ
(Where?)
Turrets toppled. Walls crumbled. Stone splintered. A pitiful structure, to be destroyed so easily; had this been built to contain them? Offense cut deep, and the sound which escaped on reflex made the night tremble. Invincible. We cannot be contained.
(Where is…?)
Their claws raked the foundations. ɯᴉɥ puᴉᖵ
(Joshua)
They searched, and they found nothing. ɯᴉɥ ǝɯnsuoϽ .ɯᴉɥ puᴉᖵ
(I swore I would protect him)
Smoke, soot, and ash. The fortress of man lay defeated. He was nowhere to be found. ʇsnɯ no⅄ .ɯᴉɥ ǝɯnsuoϽ .ɯᴉɥ puᴉᖵ
(Joshua?)
Not here. Not anymore; he had fled. How vexing. How… ƃuᴉʇɐɹʇsnɹⅎ
~xXx~
A blur of green and blue and white slowly separated and solidified into what he could identify as the leaves of a tree, the cyan of the sky, and plump clouds making their way lazily through the afternoon air. Half-memory of curling smoke and blazing inferno—altogether out of place in the calm of a glorious midday nap. Clive blinked slowly.
He laid on the ground beneath a broad canopy of foliage, and the sunlight filtered gentle viridian through its many layers.
Low male voices to his right had him turning his head and wincing at the stiff feeling in his neck.
Beside the remnants of a campfire, Sir Wade and Sir Tyler exchanged quiet conversation.
Would that Clive had the presence of mind to maintain his decorum.
"What of Joshua?" Clive asked and then coughed, startling the Shields and easing himself up onto his elbows with some effort, "What of my father?"
The weakness he found in his arms and abdomen was disturbing. He frowned. What had happened?
"My Lord!" Wade exclaimed and hurried to Clive's side. "Take care!"
"Are they safe?" Clive leaned up against the tree's broad trunk with the Wade's careful help, "Sir Wade, what happened?"
A telltale kweh from a chocobo had Clive looking over to see none other than Ambrosia darting over to the camp, her wings fluttering. The First Shield had to swallow down an excited noise - Ambrosia had survived!
Clive greeted her as well as he could and fixed his gaze back on Wade.
Wade looked over his shoulder to Tyler. The two of them shared an inscrutable glance and Wade turned back to Clive.
"My Lord, I'm afraid I still have many questions and precious little good news…"
~xXx~
"Impossible," Clive asserted with a shake of his head, unwilling to consider Wade's explanation. He accepted a half-full waterskin from Tyler and some sort of meat from Wade. "There can be only one Warden of Fire, and I cannot be a Dominant. You must be mistaken."
Wade appeared understanding of Clive's dismissal. "I know only what I saw, My Lord. The figure faded and you were unconscious in its place," Wade said.
"I'm having a difficult time believing it, as well," Tyler admitted weakly. The man's eyelids drooped. It was clear he was still managing the grievous wound he had received in the fortress; his skin was sallow and there were deep circles under his eyes. He kept a hand protectively hovering above his still-wounded stomach. "Though, My Lord, Wade has never been one to tell untruths."
"Hmm," Clive vocalized and took a few careful sips of water.
It had been a dream, had it not? Fire, strength, power—a simple fiction conjured by an injured head while he slept. Steps which shook the earth, claws which cut through stone as easily as human hands dug through soil, twisted pleasure at seeing his enemies die screaming. It must have been a dream; Clive dreaded to think on the implications otherwise.
But if it had only been a dream, and the remainder of Clive's memory was accurate, then…
How had he not perished in the courtyard by a traitor's blade?
And who was the hooded man? Clive stared at the burnt logs in the dead campfire. Ashen. Spent.
"The hooded man…" Clive pondered. "He spoke to me."
Only the lower third of the man's face had been visible, so swallowed the remainder of his visage had been in a thick brown robe.
"My Lord?" Tyler asked, but Clive did not register his words.
"What did he say…?" Clive asked and tried to recall the shapes of the words.
noʎ punoⅎ ǝʌɐɥ ǝϺ
"We have found you," Clive echoed. He tore his gaze away from the spent campfire logs with some effort and met Tyler's eyes, finding concern in no small measure. "In any case," Clive continued briskly, "we need to make a plan for our return to Rosalith."
He would simply need to discern what the hooded man had meant later, when he had more time.
"I'm afraid that won't be so easy," Wade said haltingly and at Clive's raised brow he hurried to continue, "You see, My Lord, the Lord Commander's warning of traitors in the Shields – I have had to move you and Tyler both many times in the past days to avoid being sighted by anyone. There were patrols. I've no idea whether they are friend or foe, and I cannot defend both of you from such a force even with Ambrosia's assistance."
The chocobo shifted a little where she lay and made a soft trilling noise, having heard her name. Clive patted her neck.
"We still know not whether His Grace escaped from Phoenix Gate," Tyler added, "nor whether Rosalith still belongs to us."
"Those honorless snakes," Clive griped as he recalled the company of turncoats from the courtyard. Had the traitors succeeded in assassinating his father? What had happened to Joshua?
The First Shield took a deep breath and released it slowly. "We shall need information first, then. Where is the closest settlement?"
Tyler shot Wade a look and gestured with his arm for the Shield to speak.
Sheepishly, Wade answered: "Well. I may have overshot our escape from the patrols a few times and gone farther than I intended…"
Apprehension made a home in Clive's stomach. He almost dreaded asking. "Speak plain, Sir Wade. Where is the closest settlement?"
"The closest settlement would be Eastpool, two days' travel to the southwest," Wade said reluctantly. "However, the closest landmark is the Kingsfall, an hour east."
Clive blinked, certain he must have heard incorrectly.
The Kingsfall.
Wade had accidentally crossed the border into Sanbreque.
~xXx~
Torgal had turned up outside of the gates of Rosalith Castle a few evenings after the fall of Phoenix Gate, yipping and barking and howling until he was found by a member of the palace staff who was familiar with him. On the Archduke's order, the pup had been promptly bathed, fed, watered, and delivered to Joshua, and the boy was exceedingly grateful; having Torgal around made Joshua feel a measure better.
When Joshua's mother still held residence in Rosalith Castle, Torgal had not been allowed within any of the rooms she frequented. The Duchess would gripe about filthy hounds dragging all manner of detritus near ancient tapestries. Joshua had always thought that unfair – Torgal was part of the family, near as Joshua could tell, and he deserved to be included in family matters.
Joshua had always secretly believed that his mother disliked Torgal so much because the hound primarily belonged to Clive.
Now that his mother was no longer living in Rosalith Castle, she had no say in who or what was allowed to be anywhere, a fact of which Joshua took great advantage when he insisted that Torgal be allowed to be present in the dining room at mealtimes. If Joshua occasionally snuck the hound some of the carrots and green beans from his meals, nobody mentioned it.
Joshua's bed felt less cavernous when Torgal slept beside him, though it was no substitute for Clive laying there and reading him to sleep like he sometimes did. The Saint and the Sectary was still open on Joshua's writing table. Joshua couldn't look at it.
Walking through the Down Gardens or to the library with Jill was certainly more pleasant when Torgal followed along, as well.
But Joshua was still achingly sad.
All of the searches his father had sent out to Phoenix Gate recovered nothing of Clive save for his sword, and the Shields who delivered the news seemed upset each time they returned with no new developments.
Joshua wasn't supposed to eavesdrop, he knew, but the Undying guard had been slightly relaxed and he hadn't been able to concentrate on his studying and, well…
"So, I cannot even bury him." The Archduke's quiet statement carried in the vast, empty throne room. His head was bowed and his fists were clenched and trembling on the arms of the throne.
"Elwin…" Lord Murdoch laid a hand on the Archduke's shoulder.
Joshua stole back to his room hurriedly before he could be noticed and Torgal ran after him.
~xXx~
Supper that evening held the same quiet quality that had marked all meals since their return from Phoenix Gate; only three sat the dining table, and none of them were particularly willing to engage in conversation for the sake of it. Joshua had not felt like eating much the first few days until Jill pointed out that Clive would've been upset to hear that he was wasting away.
Torgal's tiny head laid on top of Joshua's left foot and he perked up when Joshua reached a hand under the table and held a slice of roasted carrot in front of his nose. Across the table, Joshua's father dutifully pretended not to notice. Beside Joshua, Jill snuck a piece of her steak to the hound as well.
Quiet the supper was, indeed, until the grand doors of the dining room cracked open and a Knight from outside whispered something to one standing guard within.
"A missive from Dhalmekia, Your Grace," the Knight announced.
"I'll receive it here," the Archduke replied, and the two children in the room were about to leave when the Archduke eyed the both of them and continued, "Sit, the both of you. Whatever message I receive will affect you, as well. You may as well stay."
Joshua and Jill shared a worried look between them. Torgal whined beneath the table.
Rodney Murdoch entered the dining room with a letter in hand.
"The Dhalmeks will aid us," Lord Murdoch passed the missive over to Joshua's father, "Five legions, and Hugo Kupka. Kupka marches right now with a legion of the Men of the Fist, and the remainder from the Men of the Rock will follow within the fortnight. They will ally themselves with Sanbreque no longer."
Good news though it sounded to be, the Archduke did not appear overly pleased. He scanned through the letter with his own eyes and nodded once at its contents.
"Very well. Prepare the men to sail. We leave in three days," said Joshua's father.
The Archduke then dismissed the Lord Commander.
Preparing to sail, Joshua realized, to Drake's Breath. They would make for the Mothercrystal, reclaim it for Rosaria, and then they would engage in war with Sanbreque. It felt logical to Joshua – the Empire had killed Clive. If Joshua were in his father's place as Archduke, he imagined that he would have followed the same course of action.
He wanted revenge, wanted it more than he thought he would have; revenge for Clive, Sirs Wade and Tyler, the peace that had been stolen from the duchy.
Even still…
Joshua stared down at the carrots still haunting his plate.
They'd sat together that night at Phoenix Gate, while the rest of the men made merry at the feast. Joshua had been petrified at the idea of entering the Apodytery – he would be alone, not even allowed the company of his Shield. And Joshua would need to aid the soldiers with the might of the Phoenix in the fight against the Ironblood, but how? He'd felt so unprepared.
Every man has his duty, Clive had said with his arm about Joshua's shoulders while they sat under the moon. "Man" sounded like a word reserved for someone with far more courage than Joshua believed he had.
Clive had done his own duty as the First Shield, and Joshua had been dragged away before he could do the same as the Phoenix. But now, Joshua would have his chance, prepared or unprepared though he may be.
"Joshua," said the Archduke, "I shall need to speak with you this evening."
Joshua nodded and shoved at one of the carrots with his fork. At his side, Jill quietly set down her cutlery and hefted Torgal into her lap to pet the pup's head.
His father would discuss with him the nature of their voyage to the Iron Kingdom and the reclamation of the Mothercrystal, Joshua knew. The blazing warmth of the Phoenix curled in Joshua's chest and he was resolved.
He would do his duty, this time. He would. For the sake of Father, Lord Murdoch, Jill, Torgal, the men who pledged their loyalty to the duchy, all the citizens who lived within…
And for Clive, most of all.
~xXx~
The Duchess Anabella Rosfield was a beautiful woman, Marcel decided, though when she spoke it seemed her beauty was devoured by her horrendous personality.
Another important meeting was taking place in the Emperor's private parlor, though this one involved significantly less wine and mandated only Marcel's attention to the Emperor's cues. He stood behind His Radiance's chair, awaiting orders or instructions.
These were the best assignments; it was easier to listen to the goings-on this way. Marcel's attention being undivided would make remembering what was said later all the simpler.
The Duchess had been dragged into the room by two dragoons who stood on either side of the chair she had been forced to sit upon. Blonde was escaping from the severe hairstyle the Duchess wore. She appeared very tired.
The commander of the Holy Order of the Knights Dragoon was in attendance once more, along with His Imperial Highness Prince Dion. The Prince was attentive to the events once again, though he seemed to cast his eyes back and forth between the Duchess and the Emperor skeptically on occasion.
Marcel watched the Duchess talk herself into a corner for several minutes before the Emperor even deigned to address her.
The Duchess's voice was calm enough, though there was an edge to her tone that Marcel was not fond of, "And of course, now that I am free of my weak-minded husband, we can join the houses Rosfield and Lesage and deliver heirs of only the purest lineage—"
"How…presumptive," the Emperor cut off the Duchess with a wave of his hand, "for I already have an heir of the mightiest lineage of them all. The Goddess Greagor chose to bless Dion with the Eikon Bahamut. What use would I have for more heirs? And, indeed, what use are you to me when the Phoenix still lives and you are unable to bear another?"
Marcel fought to maintain a neutral expression. Presumptive, indeed. The Duchess would insinuate that there was a blemish upon His Highness's bloodline, when he had been deemed worthy of the highest honor the Goddess could deliver?
"What use—why, I never—!" The Duchess gasped, offended. The woman floundered briefly before gathering herself and speaking in a more measured tone, "Your Radiance. You have of course been blessed with the sight of the Great Goddess herself, and surely you can recognize the abundance of opportunity that our union would deliver to the Holy Empire—"
"I believe she means to manipulate you, Your Radiance," the Commander observed flatly, "as she encouraged her own countrymen to turn traitor."
"Though, it appears the Duchess has failed to see that she can offer you very little at the present moment, Your Radiance," Prince Dion added, throwing a glance at the seething woman.
"She offers insult to my son, to insinuate he is not of noble standing," the Emperor pondered aloud as he examined the petals of a wyvern's tail, "she reneges on our agreement by failing to produce the nation of Rosaria or the Phoenix, and she attempts to sway my mind by taking the name of the Great Goddess Greagor in vain."
The Duchess turned a very unflattering shade of red. "Your Radiance, if I may—"
"And why would I wed a woman who conspired to murder her own husband?" The Emperor asked rhetorically. He extended the wyvern's tail and Marcel darted forward to collect it upon an empty tray.
There was a knock on the parlor door, and when Marcel opened it he found another servant with a missive.
"From the Republic of Dhalmekia, Your Radiance," Marcel said when he offered the letter to the Emperor.
Emperor Sylvestre spent some time considering the words printed across the missive, and the sovereign frowned deeply when he finished reading it. How Marcel wished he knew what was on that letter...
"I shall waste my time here no longer," the Emperor said and stood from his seat. He addressed the Duchess, "For your crimes, you will be held in the custody of the Holy Empire of Sanbreque at the pleasure of your Emperor."
The Duchess protested immediately and loudly, and was quickly silenced by the dragoons who stood beside her.
The Emperor then turned to the Commander of the Knights Dragoon. "Bear her to the dungeons," the Emperor said as he made for the door, "and to be certain her silver tongue can sway no one else…cut it out."
Marcel bowed low as the Emperor passed him and flinched when the Duchess leapt to her feet, crying out in shock.
~xXx~
The knowledge that they were fairly deep in Sanbreque territory meant that each moment spent with Ambrosia accompanying them put the bird at risk. She was recognizable, to say the least, and her white plumage stood out starkly against the monochromatic green of the landscape.
"It would be bad if we were discovered and she was seen with us," Wade said.
Clive grimaced and leaned against the chocobo's sturdy neck. "I know. It's too dangerous for you to stay with us, girl."
Ambrosia let out a soft kweh and fluttered her wings briefly. Her eyes were bright and knowing as she examined Clive. He unbuckled her saddle and set it gently on the ground.
"I am loathe to reward such loyalty with abandonment," Clive lamented, gently stroking a hand along Ambrosia's beak and straightening the few out-of-place feathers. The bird pushed her head against Clive's fingers.
"It is not abandonment, My Lord," Tyler said softly. "You are simply parting ways for a short while. You will return to her when it is safe to do so."
"I know," Clive sniped, and suddenly he felt very much his age. Petulant. It wasn't fair.
Another piece of familiarity would be wrenched from him when already the situation was so nebulous. He blinked back tears.
"Be careful out there, girl," Clive instructed softly. He pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. "I'll come back for you. I promise."
With that, he slipped the bridle from her noble head and cast it off to the side. Ambrosia eyed him skeptically.
"Go on, Ambrosia," Clive encouraged, and was at once very pleased and incredibly sad when the chocobo turned and started off in the direction of Rosaria.
How Clive wished he could follow.
The atmosphere at camp that night was one of quiet contemplation, punctuated by the chirps of crickets and calls of owls. The campfire threw a merry and flickering light, though in all honesty Clive felt as though the darkness of the night held the small party solidly in its suffocating grasp.
"Tyler's wounds still require care we cannot provide," Clive considered as he watched the fire. "I worry about the injury festering."
"And we can't move very quickly, anymore, now that we've sent Ambrosia off," Wade said.
"The two of you should move on from here without me," Tyler said. At Wade's shocked noise, Tyler continued, "Flee to the south, to Dhalmekia. Or east, to the Crystalline Dominion. You'll be able to move quickly and get to safety."
"Tyler…" Wade trailed off, looking incredibly hurt.
Clive threw another log into the fire and said, "We will not abandon you in enemy territory, Tyler."
"It's the only logical choice, My Lord," Tyler insisted, "Wade will be able to protect you, and the line of succession will remain unbroken."
Anger flared bright in Clive's chest. How dare he?
Clive was almost shouting when he snapped at the man, "We're not leaving you here to die, and I'll hear nothing further about it. That's an order, Sir Tyler."
Wade, wisely, remained silent.
"…As you command, My Lord," Tyler replied, sounding as though it took great effort to make the concession.
They remained in silence for quite some time while Clive tended to the fire. He could practically feel the looks that Wade and Tyler were shooting each other across the camp, none of them willing to speak.
Clive leaned against the trunk of the tree and sighed. Tyler needed help, but they were deep in Sanbrequois lands and the three of them were all still dressed in Rosarian garb. Mayhap Clive or Wade could find a homestead and take plain clothes…It would be easier if Clive had his sword, but he had lost it in the courtyard when he had been struck with the pain in his head.
Damn it all.
A twig snapped in the darkness outside camp.
Clive jolted and reached for a blade he did not have.
"What was that?" Wade asked warily. He drew his axe and peered out into the night.
"Put it down, Rosarian dog!" A commanding voice ordered from the darkness.
A company of Imperial soldiers stepped into the light of the fire, weapons brandished. There were at least fifteen men, all clad in metal plate.
The Shields were doomed.
To Clive's right, and contrarily to every aspect of the situation he was in, Tyler visibly relaxed.
"Ah, thank Greagor you've found us!" Tyler sighed in apparent relief. His grin was tight, but passable. "I was beginning to think we would need to limp all the way back to Oriflamme alone. It took you long enough!"
The Imperial soldiers appeared as confused as Clive felt.
What was Tyler doing?
Clive shared a look with Wade, who seemed similarly unsettled, but Wade allowed the head of his axe to dip anyway.
"I hope you've brought a healer or a physicker – one of those ducal mongrels got in a lucky shot," Tyler continued, gesturing at his bandaged middle.
One of the soldiers stepped forward, "And you are…?"
"Sergeant Tiago Reeves," Tyler replied, and then gestured to Wade and Clive in turn, "Privates Wilf Burns and Callum Welch. We were dispatched with the unit sent to infiltrate Phoenix Gate," he indicated the Rosarian clothing he still wore, "Didn't get too far, mind; that beast started tearing apart the castle before our group could find the Phoenix." Tyler shook his head.
"Why did you not return with the company that was sent to the wreckage?" Asked one of the soldiers.
"I was hit with debris and fell unconscious," Tyler replied honestly, "Wilf and Callum dragged me out and away."
"It was too dangerous to stick around," Wade piped up, having divined what Tyler was attempting, "The monster was raging and we did not know whether the first attendants to the aftermath would be Rosarian or Sanbrequois."
Clive stayed silent, but nodded along with Wade and Tyler's claims and attempted an earnest expression.
The head of the company of Imperial soldiers stood silently in the firelight for a long moment, obviously considering what had been said. The man eventually sheathed his sword and nodded at Tyler.
"Well, I'm certain the commander should like to hear tell of the appearance of the infamous beast, if you truly saw it as you claim. We've no physicker nor true healer with us, though you are welcome to what curatives we have, Sergeant Reeves," the soldier offered. He turned to his men, "Help the sergeant and his men break camp, and ensure they have a place upon the carriage. We return to Oriflamme posthaste!"
In the flurry of activity following the soldier's proclamation, Clive caught Tyler's eyes briefly and the man winced and shrugged sheepishly.
"We should play along, for now," Wade murmured nigh soundlessly to Clive beneath the hissing of water extinguishing the campfire. "We'll speak later."
The three of them were helped into the back of a chocobo-drawn cart and provided with Imperial fatigues to replace their Rosarian kit. Clive impressively kept himself from making a disgusted noise at being presented with Sanbrequois colors.
Surrounded by the enemy, in hostile territory, being transported to the Holy Capitol.
Founder, help them.
~xXx~
A/N: *EDITED TO FIX THE DISTANCES i was told they were atrocious
so when you look up how many soldiers are in a legion of soldiers, you find out that there are 6,000 soldiers in a legion. yikes that's a lot of people.
not sure when i'll be able to update next - shit is busy in my world - but it will be updated eventually, i swear.
oxy