[The mood around the monastery felt decidedly tense after the last battle, which left Dimitri dead and the Kingdom army fallen. Claude seemed determined to insist to everyone that he was fine, but Linhardt could tell he was suffering. They'd been together for too long for him to hide from the mage's scrutiny.
Still, the false sense of wellness continued over the next week, until Linhardt decided he needed to take an active role in helping Claude just let go and stop putting up what must have been a terribly exhausting front of joviality for the other officers and soldiers.
It had taken a little while to put everything together without anyone else noticing, but he eventually had the perfect setup ready in one of the empty dorms.
And now he's able to see his work at play.
Claude's wrists are securely bound with rope above his head, just at the right height to keep him on his toes. Between his thighs is a flat-surfaced wooden sawhorse with a nice sized dildo attached in such a spot that Claude will have no choice but to sit on it when he tires of standing on his toes. It's heavily lubricated, of course, and Linhardt had made sure to prepare Claude beforehand as well.
This is just the start, however. He has more planned, but one thing at a time.]
There. I think you're settled in nicely. [He smiles, standing close enough that he can press a soft kiss to the side of Claude's mouth.]
[It's not that he wants to disrupt anyone's mourning for the fallen prince-- far from it, he's particularly generous with giving those from the Kingdom some time and space to grieve. And if that means picking up extra duties himself, so be it, ensuring the well-being of the people who have put their faith in him is a duty he takes very seriously.
Unfortunately, time is a very limited resource for them, and they need to keep pushing forward. So Claude does what he always does, trying to remain a steady presence, to reassure everyone that their leader will not falter. But the terrible end Dimitri had met, that he hadn't been able to do anything to prevent, sat in his stomach like a stone.
When Linhardt had asked him to take the night off for some time alone, he'd happily obliged. A distraction had sounded perfect, and his lover's clever, devious mind was all too good at coming up with new ways to drive him to distraction.
This, he hadn't been expecting. Linhardt's tied him up all sorts of ways, but he's never been perched on his toes like this with a toy just barely teasing at his entrance. Any lower and he'd have to penetrate himself on it, and he wouldn't be able to stay in this position for long.
He's already hard from Linhardt preparing him, face flushed and breathing elevated. He lets out a shuddering breath, turning his head to steal a proper kiss and grinning.] Going to make me do all the work myself this time, huh? I should've figured. [They've only just started, he's definitely not gone enough yet to not tease.]
[With all the resources of a King at his disposal, there's really no reason for Claude to continue his experiments with poisons... except that, well, it's a hobby, and one he enjoys. Of course, the country being at peace with her neighbors has made "peaceful poisons" less of a necessity, but that just leaves more creative avenues open.
He's experimented with everything from sleep aids to truth serums to crest suppressants, but the colorless, tasteless concoction he stirs into their cups of tea when Byleth goes to fetch the sugar Claude had conveniently forgotten is something else entirely. He's still figuring out appropriate dosages, but those little flower buds he'd obtained from the high peaks of Fodlan's Throat make for a very potent aphrodisiac according to his previous tests, so he keeps it light. A little more in Byleth's cup than his own, to adjust for his lover's literal divine power.
He beams at his former professor when he returns, leaning up for a kiss before he can sit back down.]
Sorry about that, my love... I've been buried in paperwork so long, I'd forget my own head if it weren't attached. [He chuckles, stirring a spoonful of sugar into his tea and taking a sip. Yep, absolutely undetectable.
It's absolutely the truth that he's been especially busy lately-- that's why he was so eager to set up this little scheme, to surreptitiously clear both of their schedules after this "afternoon tea". Yes, it's a test of one of his ongoing experiments, but it's also a much needed respite, an excuse to spend the better part of a day in bed with his husband. The best schemes work to accomplish many goals.]
[Byleth doesn't mind helping out with the tea. He knows how busy Claude has been lately, and he's just glad that they have a free afternoon to spend together.
He smiles softly at the kiss, then takes his seat at the table across from Claude.]
It's fine. I'm always happy to help.
[He adds a bit of sugar to his own cup, stirring the tea before taking a sip as well.]
Very pleasant, as always. [Another smile as he continues to sip slowly at the brew. Nothing seems off about it at first... but eventually Byleth does feel a certain heat beginning to spread throughout his body. He shifts a bit in his seat, glancing down from Claude's face briefly as he feels a startling stirring of arousal.
So far he doesn't suspect, but still. This is quite strange.]
[ Evening comes, faster even than Sylvain expects it to, and preparations are made for his first night in the castle. It doesn't sink in, until then, that he's really going to be living here for the rest of his life.
He stands in the quarters he now shares with his spouse, hair combed back to boring flatness, in comfortable sleepclothes, and feeling extremely strange. Not bad, just strange.
Anticipation tingles in his fingers and toes, though, making it hard to stand still. Even if neither of them is female, consummation is still expected of a marriage to finalize the bond, or contract, as it were, and he's sure it's no different here than in Fodlan.
He may not know Claude basically at all, or trust him yet, but there's no denying he's a handsome man. Sylvain can work with that. Goddess knows he's worked with less. He sits on the edge of the bed, just a perch really, not really relaxing, and waits. ]
[Claude is definitely nervous. That's a normal thing, right? People are normally nervous the first time they spend the night with their spouse in the same bed. He's barely gotten to know Sylvain at all, but he makes no secret of the fact that he's experienced, even if it's mostly with women.
Claude, however... well, casual encounters were never a luxury he could afford to indulge in. Not when that was more likely to end with a knife in his back or his throat slit. Books could only do so much.
It's fine; just something new to learn. And a very attractive partner to learn it with, which certainly helps.
It's a rare moment when Claude's room is actually decently clean-- or at least, he'd managed to keep the mess of books and personal projects contained to his desk, the top of the dresser, the side-tables... any flat surface that wasn't the bed or the floor. Good first impressions, and all that. Give it a week and his reading materials will start creeping onto the bed again if Sylvain doesn't do anything about it.
Though, depending on how the night goes, Claude may be more motivated to at least keep the bed clear of clutter.
He enters the room, freshly bathed and dressed down in his own sleep clothes, and shoots his new spouse a grin.]
[It was rare that the Almyran palace received diplomats from Fodlan, especially from the Alliance, but there was Mihill. Even if it weren't his duty as crown prince, Claude would have wanted to get to know the man, to see if he were a potential ally in his plans. And Mihill seemed receptive-- prudently so, but that in itself lended credibility.
Sylvain had told him of his suspicions, certain he'd heard the Mihills were particularly vocal about border protection, and of course Claude hadn't discounted that. He knew by now that his husband's playing clueless was just that-- an act. But it was such a rare opportunity, Claude couldn't afford to pass it up. So he'd proceeded with caution, he'd looked into what he could about Geffray Mihill, and he'd played his cards close to his chest. He'd even let Sylvain accompany him to all their private meetings, both to soothe his husband's suspicions as well as his own paranoia.
But today, things go differently. Partway through their meeting on expanding trade between Almyra and the Leicester Alliance, a harried stable-hand burst into the room. Sylvain's horse had apparently gotten loose.
Claude had waved him off to handle it, understanding all too well how much Sylvain cared for his horse, and the conversation had continued. It was promising, even. Tentatively, he let himself hope that this could be the start of something.
Smiling, he shook Mihill's hand, and unaware of the dagger he'd drawn in his other hand, he turned to leave the room. Possibly to hunt down where his husband had gotten off to, and investigate how exactly his horse had gotten loose from the stables.]
[ The arrival of the diplomat was a rare chance at hope for Claude. It was only Sylvain's rapidly growing fondness for him that made him open up about his suspicions anyway. Indeed, maybe it was even Claude's optimism making Sylvain's fears worse. It's a more convenient thing for the enemy, to wear the face of Claude's dreams and hopes.
He's since stopped playing completely dumb around his royal husband. He hasn't played all his cards, yet, but Claude knows well enough that Sylvain isn't useless in politics, and Sylvain is some measure of pleased that Claude is receptive to hearing his fears.
Not receptive enough to turn the suspicious diplomat away. Sylvain can't blame him, really, but it does leave him on edge, and acting far more like a fussy, clingy husband than he ever intended to be.
He's almost starting to let his guard down, though, because things are going well, and Claude seems pleased and at ease, and he's even more suspicious by nature than Sylvain. He's comfortable enough that alarm bells don't immediately go off when the stable hand comes to tell him his horse got out. She's a smart girl, she probably just pulled a fast one on one of the stableboys. He sighs and dismisses himself to go help catch her.
It's a fast enough job doing, since she's trained well to his voice and comes when he calls, but by the time he's handing the rope of her halter back to the stable hand, something pings in Sylvain's mind.
He rushes back inside, taking the stairs two at a time to the room where the meeting was taking place. He sees Claude first, facing toward him, walking away from the meeting.
Then he sees the knife.
His vision goes red at the edges, and time seems to slow down. He barely feels his legs move, but then he's between Claude and the assassin.
He's shoving his arm into the liar's throat, grabbing the arm holding the weapon.
Time and sound return together as the assassin's body hits the wall, a sickening crunch.
Feeling returns and Sylvain feels his heart pounding in his ears and a viscous pain below his ribs. He doesn't need to look down to know that the knife is lodged in there.
He grinds his teeth against that pain, wrenching the assassin face-first onto the floor, where he falls in a heap from lack of oxygen. Sylvain grins his boot onto his spine. ]
Do you want him alive for questioning, your highness?
[ There's something frightening in his voice, and he surely makes quite the image, standing over the would-be killer with murder in his eyes and a bleeding wound still with the knife in. ]
[Linhardt takes a few steps back, looking over his work with a critical eye.
Tying up his boys just right had been tiring work, but he thinks he did a good job of it. With their wrists bound together over their heads to a beam running along the ceiling, Sylvain and Claude stand close together, face-to-face, without a stitch of clothing on to hide the undeniable effects of the aphrodisiac both ingested not long ago. It's Claude own recipe, so he knows it's going to be good.
Now that they're definitively stuck in place, Linhardt can better admire how their toned, strong bodies look stretched out for him, erections already swollen and straining, pretty red flushes crossing their cheeks and running down to their chests.
He's still fully clothed, though that probably won't last very long. Not with the heat of arousal and exertion making him feel far too overdressed. Still... there's plenty of time to thoroughly enjoy himself without worrying about rushing. He can cool down a bit before he does anything else.]
Time for a little break, I think.
[He goes to sit down at the edge of the bed, still looking over Sylvain and Claude with dark blue eyes filled with mischief and the promise of plenty of torment to come.]
[ Sylvain can already feel his mind slipping. Of course any concoction Claude made would be effective, that was never in doubt, but he still feels impressed as a sense of impatient warmth spreads through his body. It's like he's being touched, petted, whispered to, everything he loves all at once. His body is reacting like he's being overwhelmed by attention, but the only things touching him are the air, and the ropes holding his arms prone over his head.
Linhardt's voice causes him to try to focus, looking up with sweat beaded on his forehead at their lazy rigger, having himself a nice break. ]
That isn't the word I'd use.
[ He flashes a wry smile. He's not unhappy by any means, but he sure isn't comfortable. Especially since Linhardt seems content to neglect the two of them for now.
Maybe... Maybe Claude can help. They're close together, enough so that he can feel the heat coming off the other man's body. Sylvain pushes and leans, trying to get farther into Claude's space, to touch their bodies together, and nuzzle against him. ]
Claude...
[ His voice is husky and imploring, as if begging the other restrained man is going to do him any good at all. ]
[It is a notion that Lorenz has managed near all his life. That pitiable, inane thing gracing the back of his shoulder, placed just so beneath his neck- the mark of a soulmate. He knows not when he received it, only that he was quite young when it appeared. His mother, ever reserved, had been hesitant when he had asked of her its meaning.
His father, on the other hand, had held no such misgivings. “There is no point in pondering its meaning, Lorenz. A noble does not marry for love, he marries for purpose.”
That had, quite swiftly quelled his interest in that. Later, as he learned on his own, it became apparent precisely why a soulmate was a notion best left for that of the commonfolk. A pre-destined love, someone meant to fulfill you in every meaningful way, a person who would complete you- uplift you. Your perfect partner.
What a selfish thing to wish for.
And as he grew, old enough to consider enrollment at one of the many prestigious academies Fodlan had to offer, old enough to marry, he set the matter aside entirely- to the point of repression perhaps. But really, that could only be for the best. It wasn’t as though he could even entertain the notion, after all.
It is in recalling all of this that he realizes he must be in a sort of shock. These are meanderings he has, after all, not given consideration for years.
Years. The word echoes hollowly through him as Raphael holds Claude steady, Byleth already there to drag at the remains of the Duke’s shirt as Marianne rushes past him, ready to assist.
“Soulmates? While they are a wonderful sentiment, surely you understand they hold no place in the lives of the nobility. We cannot simply marry for love, Claude.” He recalls pondering what prompted such a question. Recalls a shadowed look filling those green eyes as the other had looked away, laughing in his usual manner but seeming distracted. And it is in remembering those small, seemingly insignificant details that he understands a distorted truth.
Claude has known for years. Somehow, someway the other pieced together what has taken Lorenz up until this very moment to realize.
Because it is there, in the exact same spot, spotted with Claude’s own blood and half-veiled behind the collar of a ruined shirt but there- marked in contrast to his skin.]
Why do you have that mark? [And it is not the time nor the place but for the pitch of his tone it can only be called hysteria. Because it is something he has never allowed himself to give consideration. Because it is a flight of fancy that cannot be borne. Because it means that, all along, they were destined.]
[Claude was lucky -- or unlucky, it depended on the day and who you asked -- to be born with a soulmate mark. His earliest memories of being aware of the marking and what it meant was one of the palace healers giving it a look of pitying disgust.
"I suppose the only way anyone would ever love a half-breed like you is if they had no choice in the matter."
He'd barely been five years old at the time, but he could still remember that moment, the inflection in her tone. She wasn't pitying him-- no, she was pitying whoever was on the other end of that mark.
He learned to hide it just to avoid the commentary, and then it was just by habit-- which worked out for the best when he came to Fodlan. It wasn't taboo for nobles to have soulmates, just-- unorthodox. Inconvenient. Lovers selected by destiny don't account for noble duties and passing down crests, after all. Claude's own parents aren't soulmates, they have no markings of their own-- but it can't be denied they were a love match. His other chose to leave everything she knew behind to be with the man she loved, with no predestined intervention necessary-- to Claude, that has always been far more romantic a notion than some stranger out there, somewhere, with the same mark on their body as him.
The fact that it had turned out to be Lorenz, a fact Claude had basically stumbled on during their Academy days, had only made his uncertainty about the whole matter worsen. One shared stable duty on a hot day had rocked his very foundations; it was one thing to know in the abstract he had a soulmate somewhere -- quite another to know that it was his overly stuffy classmate that hated every word out of his mouth just on principle.
He'd kept the realization to himself, of course. At first, because it just didn't seem correct, he and Lorenz were constantly at odds. So he'd just tried to put it out of his mind. Mostly. There had been the one time, after they'd gained a certain respect for each other, that he'd given in to his curiosity and asked Lorenz's opinion on soulmates. He'd anticipated the answer, of course -- it was Lorenz, after all -- but it still had felt like a loss of sorts. Even if he'd only lost something he never actually had to begin with, and wasn't even sure he wanted.
Somehow, the war hardly managed to change the situation at all-- at least, not until Byleth returned, until they started working closely together instead of only interacting in strictly political contexts. Nowadays, Claude can admit-- to himself, if no one else-- that Lorenz is one of the people that knows him best, certainly in Fodlan. And that's enough, this budding friendship and trust between them is enough. It's more than he'd ever expected, actually.
All of this is, of course, the furthest thing from his mind when his wyvern goes down in a battle. He manages to dismount and jump off before she hits the ground, saving them both further injury. She's alive, but she's hurt, and not even Claude should be getting near her while the chaos of the battle continues. The best he can do is protect himself -- and her -- on foot. Claude's at his best up in the air, but he can still hold his own on the ground. An enemy war master had rushed him, though, axe cleaving through the air. Claude had dodged -- enough to turn a fatal blow into an injury.
The healing power of his Crest had gotten him through the end of the battle, but as the remaining enemy forces retreated, it all happened in a blur. Claude collapsed, or he would have, had Raphael not caught him. Good man, that Raphael. Byleth was still barking orders, tearing off his shirt to expose the wound in his side, Marianne rushing up to heal him.
He's dizzy from the blood loss, and that's something that needs time, not faith magic, but all the chaos fades into background noise at Lorenz's shrill words.
Of course. Byleth had to tear off his shirt. Lorenz saw the marking. He knew. Hilda was looking between him and Lorenz, brow furrowed.
Somehow, Claude managed to summon a teasing tone, even as his head drooped with the vertigo.] You can't just ask people why they have soulmate marks, Lorenz! [He huffs out something that's almost a laugh, if he weren't so dizzy and in such pain that it was difficult to breath.] N-- Not very mannerly of you.
[He hissed through his teeth as Marianne's healing magic swept over the wound, encouraging his flesh to knit back together. Raphael's taken his entire weight now, all but carrying him.
Leonie's the one to snap at them,"Do you really think this is the time for that?" Good old Leonie, always so practical. It still catches him by surprise, sometimes, the sheer amount of fondness he has for all the Golden Deer, but he especially appreciates her now, because he can't even think about how to handle Lorenz knowing, much less actually do it.]
Where's-- Pruscilla was still fighting them off, is she--
["She'll be alright." Marianne's soft, steady voice reassures him. "I'll see to her once you're healed." He breaths out his thanks, genuinely reassured. There aren't many he'd trust his wyvern's care to but Marianne's at the top of the list.]
[The order comes from a breathless Byleth. The professor's face is as stony as ever, but there's an urgency in the tone and in the tension around their jaw that leaves Sylvain's blood turning to ice in his veins. Claude is in trouble.
It's all he needs to hear, and he's putting heels to his horse like a bat out of hell. She can sense his worry and takes off at an extended gallop, taking long strides over blessedly flat terrain.
Sylvain sees the Wyvern, first, but without her rider, and he starts to grind his teeth. Was he knocked off? Did he dismount to hide? Too many possibilities...
He slows to a more controlled canter, watching between the ground and the mountless wyvern. She seems to be hovering over the same spot, unmoving, but roaring ferociously at any enemies she can smell nearby.
Yeah, He has to be down there.
Bracing himself to see the worst, Sylvain aims his horse for the tangled growth Claude's wyvern is guarding. It's dense and dark, and he slides off his own mount to move more easily and hopefully see the ground better. He thinks a silent prayer to the Goddess, begging her to not let him find Claude's corpse...]
[Luckily, it's a pair of big, green eyes that stare back at him, wide with shock and shining with tears. Claude is very confused, scared out of his wits, but the white wyvern is protecting him.
She growls at the red haired man that approaches, but doesn't snap her teeth at him like she had the others who'd tried to get near him. Does that mean he's safe?
Claude cautiously pokes his head out from the bush he'd hid in] Wh-who are you?
[Claude's sleep schedule has always been inconsistent at best, but with the work load of running an army and the weight of an entire continent on his shoulders, it's somehow gotten even worse. He's lost all track of time, going over supply inventories, requisitions, which of the remaining Alliance Lords he can call in a favor on and which he can blackmail into sending them some godsdamned rations so his soldiers don't starve.
He's been falling asleep at his desk more often than he actually makes it to the bed, but tonight he can't even manage that. His mind races out of his control, coming up with five new problems that need his immediate attention before he can finish working on one. Unfortunately, he's so scattered that it's not even productive work, it's just... a fucking mess. At least in the privacy of his own room he doesn't have to keep up his mask.
And just because the universe likes to spite him in particular, there's a quiet knock at the door. Claude scrubs his hands over his face for just a moment, frustrated and really not up for company. He forces a smile anyway, standing up to unlock the door and opening the door just a crack. It's Sylvain, who is-- admittedly not the worst option of people who would knock on his door in the middle of the night. Not by a long shot. There's still a hint of sleep in those brown eyes, softening them in a way that makes Claude's stomach flip, and he's clearly in his sleep clothes, whereas Claude... hasn't even changed for bed yet. Oops.] Uh, hey. Something wrong?
[Sleeping well isn't something Sylvain really expects of anyone he knows at this point. All of them have their own individualized reasons for failing at this basic bodily function, and tonight is no exception. The dream that Sylvain was awoke from wasn't a pleasant one-they rarely ever are- but he considers it a victory that he didn't wake in a cold sweat with terror gripping his heart. He just had to pee.
He's still groggy as he does so, and wanders his way back to the dormitories with shuffling feet. Walking through this area of the monastery at night always has him feeling strange. It's nostalgia mixed with other things, and it tickles at his mind even now, as it longs to slip back into sleep.
He's stopped in the hallway by the light coming out from under... Claude's door. Of course. He tries to sigh and it comes out a yawn, rubbing at his face as he knocks softly on Claude's door.
When the light streams out, he feels his eyes squinting even more. It isn't that bright- but compared to the darkness of everywhere else it burns. He blinks repeatedly and a soft smile turns up his face. It's the honest one that Claude has only seen on special occasions and when Sylvain is being especially intimate- slightly crooked and goofy. The smile fades into a concerned little frown nearly immediately, though, when he sees that Claude is still fully dressed.]
Yeah, there is. You're still working.
[He's coming in, mister leader man, like it or not.]
[Claude's late-night explorations of the Monastery rarely bore fruit, and tonight seemed like it was going to be no different. Other than a doorway with some very interesting carvings in it that he couldn't begin to decipher in the dark-- he'd taken some etchings so he could look them up later-- he found another way out from the catacombs to the surface through there.
And immediately, he felt that something was wrong. Granted, there were a lot of places in Garreg Mach he hadn't seen-- hence all the exploration. But this looked like the courtyard, albeit very overgrown, and that was undoubtedly the grand cathedral, but with part of the roof caved in. This couldn't have possibly happened in the matter of hours that he was gone-- the plant growth alone would make that impossible.
Disoriented as he was, he didn't notice the bandits he had startled by seemingly appearing from out of a wall-- although he certainly noticed once one of them had a dagger pressed up to his back and a hand on his shoulder.
"The hell kinda idiot are you, kid? You wanna die so bad, allow me!"]
( Bandits were never a surprise anymore. A part of him thought perhaps the stories of the beast in the monastery would keep them away, but he learned quickly that was hardly case.
Spotting them now as he made his evening rounds through the monastery made the quiet mood he'd been in for the last few hours vanish in an instant, replaced instead by the familiar itch in his palms to lash out and spill blood.
His grip shifted on his lance, and he was moving quickly - another shadow in the darkness of the monastery that tore screams from one bandit. There was a thought that someone else was there with them, someone in danger by the sound of the bandits words, but his thoughts were fixated on the bandits. They fell quickly, violently, accompanied by sound of steel cutting through flesh as blood sprayed across the stone floors.
The bandit who held the dagger to man's back was the last to fall, blood splattering from his lips with a violent and painful cough as the lance pierced him.
Dimitri watched - expression even, calm despite the previous flurry of violence - before turning his gaze to the bandit's victim. )
[Petra practically flew down the well-trodden dirt path to the waterfront, a simple dock built to mimic those of the Dagda for larger ships as most Brigid vessels didn't need anything quite so big. Word from a fisherman had reached her, a strange, unknown ship on the horizon.
She wasn't unarmed but her hope was that this was an ally. Of course, her heart beat faster in her chest when she thought that there was even the slimmest possibility that it was Claude but she steeled herself, expecting, perhaps, another of her ex-Black Eagle turned Golden Deer classmates. Ferdinand had said, after all, that he'd hoped to help her by strengthening diplomatic relations.
After an almost painful wait, the sails of the ship finally appeared as it neared and she squinted to try to make out what colors it was flying.
[The trip from Almyra to Brigid was a long one, longer than any voyage by boat Khalid has made in the past-- but it's one well worth taking, for a lot of reasons. Besides, he enjoys the travel; sure, he'd have preferred going on the back of his wyvern, but he could understand what people meant when they talked about the "call of the sea". There was definitely something unique about spending days out in the open water.
The ship is of a size and strength appropriate for the future king of a large and sprawling nation, well-armed enough to not be a tempting target for an enterprising pirate ship, but no war vessel either. It's laden with diplomatic gifts, for the royal family of Brigid, of course, but also for her citizens. Silks, spices, jewelry... popular trade items.
Khalid is proud to have gotten to this, his first diplomatic trip, reaching a hand out across Almyra's borders... of course he's excited about the promise of the future he always wanted to help create. But he'd be lying to himself if he tried to deny that he was at least as if not more excited to see the Brigid princess again. Was she already at the shoreline, waiting, watching his ship pull in? Constantly looking over the railing of the ship for a familiar silhouette in the distance felt a bit too juvenile, so he settled for trying to keep himself busy as they raised flags of peace and prepared to dock in the small harbor.
All too soon, they're there. Khalid isn't the very first one off the ship, but it's a close thing. His retinue is small in number, but they're with him because he can trust them to follow his orders, and they do so splendidly, shouting out greetings in Almyran and Brigid and generously distributing the gifts among the people. Lucky for him they've got that end of things covered, because all he can really focus on is where is she, did she see their ship coming in, so this is where she grew up, gods no wonder she's so incredible.
At his side, Nader gives a knowing chuckle, which Khalid swiftly ignores.]
[Consciousness is slow to filter in but now that he was half awake, letting sleep take him again was impossible. A growing number of injuries were making themselves known, nagging aches, wounds he knew he should see to. Or maybe he was dying. Bleeding out.
He shifts slightly, his body protesting, and he's suddenly very aware that he's in a bed. It isn't his imagination.
A deep, throbbing pain in his shoulder brought his memory flooding back. The smokey battlefield, an arrow, or maybe a spear, piercing his shoulder.]
Edelgard. [He snarled her name as he sat up abruptly, nearly giving the healer working close by a heart attack. He had no armor, no weapons and the room looked suspiciously like a cell. The healer was on the other side of a locked door well before Dimitri could completely sit up.
He got to his feet, wavering slightly, his body protesting.
She'd be retreating back to Enbarr to regroup. He needed his armor and his spear. Unless... No. Surely, if he were her prisoner she would not have bothered to treat his injuries. She'd already ordered his execution once.]
[Dimitri had fought on the fields of Gronder like a man possessed, mindless of friend or foe... it seemed that it wasn't that he was unwilling to consider joining forces with them, so much that he was unable to see anything or anyone at all other than Edelgard.
It made the tender parts of Claude's heart ache, thinking of what he'd had to have survived for the young prince who'd seemingly stepped out of a storybook to end up like that. That same tenderness is so tired of seeing people die, was relieved beyond belief when Hilda turned up with Dimitri on her back, barely clinging to life but still alive.
Claude had arranged for him to be rushed back to the Monastery, a cell prepared. It didn't sit well with him, locking Dimitri up like that, but he was wildly unpredictable and dangerous-- as much as he wanted to help him, Claude also had to look out for his own people.
Everyone is under strict orders to let him know the moment Dimitri wakes up; with how rarely Claude gives anything that could be considered a "strict order", as well as the uneasiness many have around this idea of his in the first place, of course they take it seriously. Within moments of Dimitri waking up, a runner is sent to fetch the Duke, and Claude makes to the cell at a confident but hurried pace.
Marianne had gotten out of the cell the moment he woke up, and fortunately she'd been able to get him out of a critical state. It was Claude's hope he was still too weak to break out by force. He approached the bars of the cell, eyeing Dimitri, assessing him.
He gently asks Marianne and the guards to leave the room, pulling a chair up close to the bars and sitting down, posture relaxed and open, unthreatening.]
Sorry for the, uh-- accommodations. [He smiles wryly, genuine in his apology even if he doubts Dimitri will believe it.] You're at Garreg Mach monastery right now. I have no wish to harm you, Dimitri. Quite the opposite, really.
[Claude may have a full head of height over her, but it certainly doesn't seem like it right now, does it? There's a smoky, dangerous glitter in her eyes as Petra stares up at him, one hand pinning a coil of rope against her hip. The other holds Claude's chin, turning his head down to catch and keep his gaze.]
Are you coming quietly? Or do I have to be taking you?
[Just imagine Claude with hearts in his eyes because that's about how he feels right now. Gods he loves Petra so much for this, indulging this fantasy that's been churning about in his brain since the first time she teased him with the idea.
His gaze darts to the side, looking for escape routes. What's the point of being captured if he just gives in right away, right? She drags him down to face her before any solid ideas can form, though, and he swallows roughly as he meets that intense gaze. He feels rather aptly like a deer caught in the sight of a hunter.]
I'll come quietly. [He lies with a sweet smile, hoping (knowing) she'll see right through it.]
[It's a good thing Lysithea and Cyril were happy to get some baby-free time to themselves, because Claude's hardly been able to put little baby Nadine down since they arrived, save for the times he's passed her off to Sylvain, or back to her mother for feeding. He'll never admit how close he got to crying seeing her for the first time, with Cyril's curly brown hair and Lysithea's eyes, and her complexion so much like his own. He was completely enamored, love at first sight.
Claude had never really held a baby before, but he learned quick, especially under Lysithea's sharp corrections. Cyril seemed bemused at having the current king and consort of his country of birth fussing over his infant daughter, but if they wanted to spend their royal visit playing nanny, it was their decision.
Claude has Nadine in his lap again in the garden, watching her look around at the flowers with that wide-eyed bewildered gaze babies have and grinning, speaking to her softly.] You like the flowers, Nadi? Next time Uncle Claude visits, I'll bring you a bunch from Almyra. Your daddy's from there. I'll convince him to bring you and your mommy for a visit someday, I swear. It's better now than when he was there last... [His smile is just as soft as his voice, looking down at her, and he lets her grab onto his finger with a tight grip.] Just like Fodlan's a better place for people like us now too. And it'll keep getting better-- I'll make sure of that.
[Uncle Claude had some nice private moments with his beloved niece. Sylvain wandered off to stretch his legs, and to get some snacks. He returns partway through Claude's little speech with a tray of food to share and some chilled water.
His heart is so full it could burst. Sylvain has always been afraid of being a parent, always resented what having a child would mean for him as heir to his family's lands and title and crest. It was impossible to not want to see Claude as a parent, after all of this, though. He's falling in love all over again.]
Khalid, that's a good look for you, [He compliments in Almyran, setting the food down and leaning in to steal a kiss.]
[For all their many differences, one thing the Leicester Alliance and Almyra agreed on was that only Dominants were fit to rule. It just made logical sense, after all. Would a submissive ruler not just bend to the whims of their Dominant partner, or worse, any Dominant with enough presence to command them? How could you trust someone to be the highest authority in your nation if they bent their head to another?
All this to say, from the moment he'd discovered he was a submissive, Claude had hidden that fact. It was surprisingly easy-- he'd grown up closely observing everyone around him, he knew what behaviors to mimic and what to avoid to pull off the act of a Dominant. He learned to take care of his needs himself, as best as he could, anyway... not even his parents knew of his true nature.
Only one other person in the entire world knew, and that was the man on his knees in front of Claude now. He's so close to claiming the Almyran throne, he can nearly taste it, and then he can work to end this-- this farce of a system. Then he'll never have to put Dimitri-- and himself-- through this again.
He holds onto that thought, that hope, letting it settle him.
Dimitri isn't bound by anything -- ropes would be pointless anyway, and the whole thing is meant to show that he's such a good leader that even this powerful foreign dominant willingly bends to his will.
His smile is devoid of feeling as he looks Dimitri over. Even with the wrongness of their positions, he's an incredible sight, shirtless, his long hair braided and Almyran jewelry decorating him.] Chin up more. Our guests want to see your face. [The "guests" are the usual crowd-- a few members of the royal court, a few nobles that have either already backed Claude's bid for the throne or are considering it, the latter being the most important. They want a show, they want to see Dimitri struggle, see if what they've been told is true... and there are a few people here who just want to see them both fail, he's sure.]
( Dimitri doesn't belong on his knees. It's a thought that runs through his mind often, goes against his very nature as a Dominant. There is no one in the world he would give the luxury - except Claude. It isn't out of a desire to submit, no. But the willingness to obey is born out of a genuine affection for Claude, a debt he feels he owes the man for helping him to escape Edelgard's reign and certain death. If a display of submission will bring Claude closer to something wants, Dimitri will play the part he has to, to ensure the other man gets what he wants.
Even if that means being on his knees in front of him, on display for people he could bring to their own. He fights the urge to fuss with the jewelry he's wearing, and some part of him wants to refuse to listen to what he's being told. For Claude, he reminds himself, he's doing this for Claude.
The thought makes him lift his head, angling his chin so their "guests" can see his face more clearly, including the decorative wrap across his scarred and damaged eye. There's something in the single, visible blue eye, but it's hard to read to those around them. But what Dimitri feels is a natural rebellion he's struggling to suppress. This is where Claude should be, and the only thought that keeps him grounded, focused, and obedient is that Claude will be on his knees for him later. Bending to every word in the way he's meant to.
The blond lashes flutter, sliding to a close as he breathes out. Waiting for a demand or an order, something else to come. )
[It's been a long and winding road to get here; to Dimitri's side, then away from him, then back again. He's crossed borders twice in the past year, each time leaving behind a country in the midst of a great change that he'd had a direct hand in.
A part of him still feels torn, homesick for his land of birth-- but he only has to remember how miserable he and Dimitri both were while separated to know which option he'd prefer. And Hilda had been right, as always-- there were still plenty of ways he could work towards his dream while not depriving himself of the comfort and safety of his mate. He'd never wanted to rule simply for the sake of ruling, so there was no great feeling of loss when he threw his support behind the only one of his brothers that would be amenable to his larger plans rather than continue to try and claim the throne for himself.
Predictably, not even being well into his third trimester is enough to keep Claude from his work-- his office is right next to Dimitri's, and helping his mate rule over a single country that had barely even a year ago been three separate ones is no easy task on its own. Add to that his own diplomatic efforts, reaching the hand of friendship out not only to Almyra but to Dagda, Sreng, Brigid... Claude has always been a busy man with his fingers in all sorts of pies, and his office clearly shows it.
He takes a break from reading over a trade proposal and marking down the terms he wanted to negotiate further, stretching in his chair and groaning at the ache in his lower back.] You're killing me, kid. [He mumbles, patting his swollen belly with a smile despite his complaint.]
( Ruling a country is difficult work. While Claude had been away, it had felt more so. His focus had been so torn, forever worried about Claude's wellbeing. It is easier with Claude here for a number of reasons. Knowing he can peek into the office next to his own whenever he wants to check on his mate is a relief. The pain of separation doesn't cloud his thoughts any longer. Dimitri can breathe easy knowing Claude is nearby and safe, and better yet, able to help Dimitri with the weight of running his country.
He's been busy today, making a visit out to one of the nearby villages. He wants to see his people, to remind them that he is there to support them in the same way they support him. But as the day drags on, he finds himself eager for the visit to end and make his way back home. Time spent away from Claude seems to drag on, makes him feel on edge even. Sometimes, he simply wants to be close to Claude, to hold him and enjoy the closeness of him.
Once he returns to the castle, his first stop is Claude's office. None of the others try to stop him as he makes his way through the halls. )
Claude. ( He calls in greeting once he's outside the office door, knocking lightly on the door before opening it. )
[Khalid has been planning this for weeks, and the only thing more satisfying than a scheme coming together is going to be the look on Sylvain's face when he sees his real birthday present.
But first, he's got to give the big surprises time to rest up from their long journey and prepare. Of course, it wouldn't be a Khalid scheme if it didn't accomplish many goals-- the visit from Faerghus' king and his retinue wasn't exactly something that could be arranged quietly, nor without political implications, after all. In an official capacity, King Dimitri's diplomatic visit doesn't begin for another week. Unofficially, he and all of Sylvain's old Blue Lions classmates were ushered in to the royal guest suites in the early hours of the morning.
It's going to be hard to top this birthday in years to come, but Khalid is nothing if not creative. Besides, it's the first they've experienced together... he wants it to be special.]
Hmm, I like this on you. [Khalid plucks an earring from a market stall, silver inlaid with citrine, and holds them up to one of Sylvain's ears.] They match your eyes. [His own sparkle with flirtatious amusement- Al-Jawahra's marketplace makes for an excellent distraction, as well as a chance to spoil his husband with smaller gifts.]
[Sylvain suspects that Khalid has something planned for his birthday, not so much because Khalid has done anything to indicate such, but because Sylvain knows him. There's no way Khalid wouldn't take the chance to plan a scheme, especially one that probably leads to a party.
But he also has come to love this man enough to want to let him have this. So he doesn't ask any questions or act suspiciously. He is quite certain that Khalid has him out at the market so that something can be set up at the palace, but that doesn't stop him from being fully in the moment. It's not hard to, with Khalid lavishing attention on him. Sylvain soaks it up like a cat in a sunbeam.]
Gold for you, silver for me. [He smiles, eyes warm and bright, leaning in closer so that Khalid's fingers brush his face.] Does it make my eyes stand out?
[ At this point in the school year, Dorothea has explored the monastery thoroughly enough to know all the spots where the cats of Garreg Mach like to congregate to sleep or eat. She's always had a soft spot for strays, even though the cats that patrol the campus really tread the line between domestic and feral, with enough food and human interaction to keep them relatively tame even if they don't technically belong to anyone.
Of course, the usual haunts aren't any good when you're going to give birth. Dorothea had noticed just how round Diamond the Dominic Gray had gotten over the last month, and now it's been a few days since she's spotted the little feline around the school. Drawing on her own experiences as a street urchin, she's made a list of potential hiding spots that are sufficiently sheltered to the point where a new mother would feel secure enough to have her babies and eventually leave them to go hunt for food for herself.
When she hears the telltale high-pitched meowing of very young kittens, however, there's an extra surprise for her when she rounds the corner: one Claude von Riegan with a lap full of tiny, tiny cats. She has to stop for a moment just to watch as the babies crawl all over him, peering into the grassy little alcove with a grin on her face. ]
[Claude has always had a particular liking for animals-- as a kid, they were really the only "friends" he could have. Animals didn't care about who you were or what you looked like; so long as you understood their wants and needs, and acted accordingly, they made pretty good companions. The monastery cats and dogs were no different, and there were a few among the mass of them that he'd gotten particularly fond of. At least once a week, he found himself slipping bits of fish out of the dining hall to disburse among his favorites, though lately he's been frequenting a particular Dominic Gray that's just had a litter. The mama's got more mouths to feed, after all!
Well, it seems his treats have endeared him to her, because today when he brought her dinner, she carried her babies over to him and plopped them into his lap, one by one. He gives a quiet laugh, not wanting to attract any attention and risk scaring off the little family. He lets one of the kittens play with his fingers, giving the mom a few appreciative ear scratches with his other hand.]
Yeah, you're proud of your little stinkers, aren't you? [He coos to her, and wow would it be embarrassing if someone were to overhear him baby-talking these cats.] Well, you should be, they're adorable, just like their mama, yes they are...
[Claude jolts at the sound of a familiar voice, then forces himself to relax when the kittens start to cry, stressed from his tension. He turns back to meet Dorothea's gaze, that open, genuine contentedness from a moment before shifted to a guarded smile.]
Come on, who doesn't like kittens? They're fuzzy and cute! [His fingers dance in front of the face of one of the little kittens, who clumsily tries to bat at them and only succeeds in tumbling all over itself.]
[ As the last mechanical golem falls, she hears Caspar let out a whoop of triumph. It's premature but he's irrepressible and Edelgard might go so far as to assume he has missed the physicality of fighting for the cause, though perhaps not the war itself. The three months that have passed since the defeat of the Immaculate One, the end of the more public side of the war, have been a different kind of challenge for all of them: rebuilding and restructuring, diplomacy and negotiating. But always searching the shadows for those who slither in the dark.
There are few effective ways to keep a secret from the most secretive people she has ever known, especially when Lord Arundel's presence is so prominent in the Empire's affairs. Especially when the enemy could have stolen a trusted face. The operation was meant for her strike force and supplemented by a select handful from her army, every one of them made fully aware of the danger ahead, but the sheer size of this underground stronghold is more than anyone of them imagined.
There is no real joy for her in killing but that doesn't prevent her feeling cold satisfaction when her axe finally carves without hesitation into Thales's chest. He no longer wears her uncle's face and his last words are bloody and gasping, spit out as though he believes himself somehow at an advantage even in death: You were always a double-edged blade but you didn't strike quickly enough. You will never get to enjoy your victory.
Quickly enough for what? As much as she tries not to let his mind games affect her, the thought chills. She had high hopes for this battle to more or less rip the Agarthans up by the roots and salt the ground where they once flourished. A strike too true, too deadly, for them to effectively heal. What has she missed? What have they not accounted for?
The answer becomes clear soon enough, when Ferdinand calls out a warning from the corridor behind her. More hooded enemies rush toward them, one of them assisting an unsteady figure who should look more familiar than he currently does. She hears Dorothea gasp Claude's name and that can't be.
(But it can be and she knows that, and fury coils around her chest until her lungs feel constricted.)
It should not be. Pushing forward to better see for herself, her shield half-raised before her, she calls out. ]
[Claude is never one to let his guard down, even with Edelgard's word that she would not pursue him so long as he made good on his word to leave Fodlan-- and he was fully intending to do just that, to return to his first home and build towards his goals from there. He wouldn't be coming back in triumph like he'd wanted, but that he'd be coming back at all was a victory in itself, and there was still much he'd learned from his time in his mother's home country. Lessons he might never have learned back in Almyra.
It hadn't mattered, in the end. He was injured and outnumbered, and they knew exactly where to find him. Poor Anisa, his oldest companion, dies trying to protect her rider and he's easy pickings after that.
There are questions he's had since his days at Garreg Mach that are inadvertently answered by his captors-- they're with the Empire, or more accurately, using its seats of power for their own ends. For some reason, they think he'll be good collateral against Edelgard in the event she turns against them. At first he's just a prisoner, which definitely isn't a great time but it's better than being killed, right?
And then the experiments start.
He's long lost track of the days spent underground, the number of failed escape attempts. He wakes up on the floor of his cell one day to find that his hair, which has grown long enough to hang in his face in gently curled strands, has gone stark white. It's a horrific realization that explains quite a lot, about Lysithea and Edelgard both. And the experimentation doesn't end there. They're interested in testing the limits of his Crests, particularly the healing effects, but they've also learned from their previous attempts-- they want better control over their latest weapon.
He doesn't make any of it easy on them, and it makes it all the more disturbing when they finally succeed. It's a deceptively simple-looking thing, a thin but strong band of metal clasped into place around one wrist, and an order spoken with a matching ring pressed against it. The effect is-- terrifying. His consciousness shoved out of place, body moving beyond his control to fulfill it. All of his cunning and skill at his disposal, but none of his own will.
They keep him weak with malnutrition to cut off his escape attempts, because it doesn't matter when it comes to their orders. His body will push itself to any limits to complete it, and the healing properties of his Crests will keep him alive long enough to do so. He knows Edelgard must have made her move when a bunch of the hooded bastards burst into his cell and drag him to his feet, with a frantic, almost panicked energy he's never seen from his captors before.
The theory is confirmed when he spots not just Edelgard, but the entire Black Eagle Strike Force. Given their surprise, none of them knew he was down here. A distant, hurting part of him wonders if anyone realized he was missing. He meets Edelgard's fiery gaze across the room at her proclamation, and damn if he doesn't want to believe that.
And then a hand closes over his wrist, a voice hissing in his ear, 'Kill them all', and his gaze goes dead-eyed and empty. Someone else shoves a strange bow into his arms-- it's not Failnaught, but it doesn't feel so different to it, pulsing and alive with its own eerie energy.
Claude fights the control harder than he ever has before. A killing shot aimed between Hubert's eyes is nudged just a hair to the left, held back just a split-second more, allowing him the chance to dodge after he's dispatched one of the hooded figures.]
[Claude was lucky -- or unlucky, it depended on the day and who you asked -- to be born with a soulmate mark. His earliest memories of being aware of the marking and what it meant was one of the palace healers giving it a look of pitying disgust.
"I suppose the only way anyone would ever love a half-breed like you is if they had no choice in the matter."
He'd barely been five years old at the time, but he could still remember that moment, the inflection in her tone. She wasn't pitying him-- no, she was pitying whoever was on the other end of that mark.
He learned to hide it just to avoid the commentary, and then it was just by habit-- which worked out for the best when he came to Fodlan. It wasn't taboo for nobles to have soulmates, just-- unorthodox. Inconvenient. Lovers selected by destiny don't account for noble duties and passing down crests, after all. Claude's own parents aren't soulmates, they have no markings of their own-- but it can't be denied they were a love match. His mother chose to leave everything she knew behind to be with the man she loved, with no predestined intervention necessary-- to Claude, that has always been far more romantic a notion than some stranger out there, somewhere, with the same mark on their body as him.
The fact that it had turned out to be Lorenz, a fact Claude had basically stumbled on during their Academy days, had only made his uncertainty about the whole matter worsen. One shared stable duty on a hot day had rocked his very foundations; it was one thing to know in the abstract he had a soulmate somewhere -- quite another to know that it was his overly stuffy classmate that hated every word out of his mouth just on principle.
He'd kept the realization to himself, of course. At first, because it just didn't seem correct, he and Lorenz were constantly at odds. So he'd just tried to put it out of his mind. Mostly. There had been the one time, after they'd gained a certain respect for each other, that he'd given in to his curiosity and asked Lorenz's opinion on soulmates. He'd anticipated the answer, of course -- it was Lorenz, after all -- but it still had felt like a loss of sorts. Even if he'd only lost something he never actually had to begin with, and wasn't even sure he wanted.
Somehow, the war hardly managed to change the situation at all-- at least, not until Byleth returned, until they started working closely together instead of only interacting in strictly political contexts. Nowadays, Claude can admit-- to himself, if no one else-- that Lorenz is one of the people that knows him best, certainly in Fodlan. And that's enough, this budding friendship and trust between them is enough. It's more than he'd ever expected, actually.
All of this is, of course, the furthest thing from his mind when his wyvern goes down in a battle. He manages to dismount and jump off before she hits the ground, saving them both further injury. She's alive, but she's hurt, and not even Claude should be getting near her while the chaos of the battle continues. The best he can do is protect himself -- and her -- on foot. Claude's at his best up in the air, but he can still hold his own on the ground. An enemy war master had rushed him, though, axe cleaving through the air. Claude had dodged -- enough to turn a fatal blow into an injury.
The healing power of his Crest had gotten him through the end of the battle, but as the remaining enemy forces retreated, it all happened in a blur. Claude collapsed, or he would have, had Raphael not caught him. Good man, that Raphael. Byleth was still barking orders, tearing off his shirt to expose the wound in his side, Marianne rushing up to heal him.
He's dizzy from the blood loss, and that's something that needs time, not faith magic, but all the chaos fades into background noise at Lorenz's shrill words. "Why do you have that mark?"
Of course. Byleth had to tear off his shirt. Lorenz saw the marking. He knew. Hilda was looking between him and Lorenz, brow furrowed.
Somehow, Claude managed to summon a teasing tone, even as his head drooped with the vertigo.] You can't just ask people why they have soulmate marks, Lorenz! [He huffs out something that's almost a laugh, if he weren't so dizzy and in such pain that it was difficult to breath.] N-- Not very mannerly of you.
[He hissed through his teeth as Marianne's healing magic swept over the wound, encouraging his flesh to knit back together. Raphael's taken his entire weight now, all but carrying him.
Leonie's the one to snap at them, "Do you really think this is the time for that?" Good old Leonie, always so practical. It still catches him by surprise, sometimes, the sheer amount of fondness he has for all the Golden Deer, but he especially appreciates her now, because he can't even think about how to handle Lorenz knowing, much less actually do it.]
Where's-- Anisa was still fighting them off, is she--
["She'll be alright." Marianne's soft, steady voice reassures him. "I'll see to her once you're healed." He breaths out his thanks, genuinely reassured. There aren't many he'd trust his wyvern's care to but Marianne's at the top of the list.]
[It wasn't that Lorenz hated the idea of having a soulmate... but knowing what duty demanded of him he was quite certain his life would be far easier if he didn't have one. It only made the countless rejections of his youth sting that much more because he felt like a fool, pursuing women he hardly knew, well aware that they were not the one for him.
More than that he was not the one for them. But such are luxuries the nobility cannot afford. Once the war began he was given a chance to leave it be, to step away and busy himself with other thoughts. Allowed to let his hair grow long once more, covering the gap above his collar where delicate vines sometimes crept. To push all concerns of romance and marital duty aside.
Goddess forgive him but he was surprisingly happy. Certainly the war was a stressor, something that loomed heavily over them all, but he found that the more time he was able to spend in Derdriu the more content he was with his position. Of course, most of their interactions were political in nature, most of his interactions with everyone were political in nature, but being able to work beside Claude for that time was... enlightening.
Learning the way his mind worked, learning how to anticipate what the next challenge would be and pressing himself to be prepared for it rather than dumbfounded as he was the first few times.
Especially that first time. When Claude had so soundly corrected him and left him reeling with the sudden understanding that Claude was both infinitely more brilliant than he'd given him credit for and... well... more well informed than Lorenz himself. Because Lorenz received his information from a single, and now he realized horribly biased, source.
Everyone ending up back at Garreg Mach again, with the Professor no less, only made it that much harder to stifle all the things he had no business feeling. Perhaps, now that they'd returned to their old school grounds one might accuse him of becoming distant in ways he hadn't been in Derdriu.
Any work he'd done to convince himself that his heart belonged only to the Alliance and Claude merely happened to be good for her was shattered when he'd seen them falling through the sky not an hour ago. It's a struggle to fight down the welling sense of panic, the urge to shove Raphael and the Professor away and add his meager healing abilities to Marianne's work as well.
He's so busy keeping all of that in check that when he sees the soulmark on Claude's body he can't keep the panic at bay. The choices are either blurt out something awful or hit his knees and it's all he can do to keep his footing.]
Claude. [Sharp and disapproving, that flippant attempt at teasing, the strained wheeze of his laughter, things that are supposed to be easy and natural for Claude and to see him struggling with it makes him feel as though he might be ill.
The shift in the other man's focus, his soulmate's focus, to his mount is the only thing that saves him from snapping off something snide and cruel to Leonie in a desperate attempt to get the world that's crashing down around his ears to stabilize for even a moment.]
Anisa.... Marianne, I will see to her. You- [He cuts himself off, something strained and thick in his own voice that he dares not allow to escape. You keep him alive. But no, no- Claude is too important, too persistent, too adaptable to let something so small (it's not small, not at all, he should already be dead) keep him down for any amount of time.] You have more important duties.
[He finally manages to choke out the words, thinks he doesn't sound half as distraught as he feels saying them. If anyone means to argue he doesn't even give them time to formulate a response, turning on his heel to march away from the scene, to force himself to walk away from a friend -his soulmate- in danger.
Lorenz barely makes it around the corner, out of sight, before he slumps against the side of a half destroyed building, one trembling hand over his mouth, vision blurring slightly. There's no time to give in to fear, however. He needs to find Anisa and to that end, after scrubbing at his face to ensure there is no lingering evidence of the threat of tears that dampen his lashes, he marches out to collect Darby that they might head back towards the area she and Claude had landed in.]
[Claude is well-practiced at hiding his status as an Omega-- as soon as he'd made it through his first heat he learned how to concoct a tincture that would suppress his hormones, figured out what he could do to disguise his scent. He only got better at it as he aged, perfecting his formula so that he could even put on more muscle than those of his designation tended to have. Omegas are about as well-respected in Fodlan as they are in Almyra, which is to say not at all, and they certainly aren't put into positions to lead nations. As far as everyone on this side of the mountains is concerned, Claude von Riegan is a Beta, and that deception suits him just fine.
It does make his current situation particularly challenging, however. He'd thought he'd had enough of his suppressants to make it until the latest crop of ingredients were ready, but one of the necessary herbs he'd planted in the greenhouse nearly as soon as they reclaimed the monastery is blooming just a little too late, and it's not exactly an easy thing to trade for in the current political climate. Even if he could find someone selling it somewhere, he certainly didn't have time to go get it anymore. So, his best option was to wait out the inevitable heat he's been putting off for the better part of a decade, and hopefully by then the damn plant would be ready to harvest.
Just a brief set-back. Nothing he can't handle on his own. He makes his excuses, saying he's going off to secure a supply line for the army and sending Anisa out without him. She knows what to do, knows to keep out of sight until he signals her again. He has to dip into his emergency supply of non-perishables so that he doesn't impact their food supply too greatly while things are still so tenuous, but clean water at least is available in abundance, and he sets up a cozy nook in a part of the monastery still largely considered uninhabitable for himself. Far enough away that even the keenest of noses won't be able to smell him once his heat hits. He's thought of everything.
Or, he thought he had.
He'd wanted to sneak into the sauna in the dead of night, try and sweat out the worst of his heat so it would be over sooner. He figured the place would be empty, the hour so late that the only people he should have had to avoid were the night guards- an easy task when he knew where they were all posted.
The baths are not empty, that much is obvious the moment he slips silently through the doors. The scent of rose petals hit him first, but his sense of smell is much keener without the suppressants, and even more so to the scent of an Alpha. He shudders and sways, one hand bracing himself against the wall and the other clutching at his stomach, his body aching with need. Lorenz.
He needs to get out, before he's spotted or worse, smelled, but he can't get his legs to move.]
[It's all well and good to hide that he's an omega. Lorenz certainly did his best to hide that he was an Alpha. Never so far as actively lying but doing everything in hos power to downplay his characteristics. He was a gentleman. The idea of being compared to uncivilized men controlled by hormones and instincts was distinctly unpleasant.
Which is why he crept into the baths in the late hours of the night so often to soak in hot water and rose petals, his hair and skin taking up the scent of the flowers rather than the far less pleasant musk of Alpha. It was something he had far less time to indulge in what with the war so he was long overdue. It helped him unwind as well, eased tensions in his body that only grew worse as more time passed.
Especially suddenly pushed back into such close proximity to Claude again, his traitorous heart reminding him time and again that he didn't want some delicate omega maiden for his wife, designations and expectations be damned. Not that he would ever act on such a thing, the scandal of a noble Alpha not only taking a beta for a lover but one with whom he couldn't even sire heirs? He'd never live such a thing down.
More importantly Claude would never forgive him for harboring such feelings.
So he soaked in roses and tried to redirect his thoughts to things other than the beta that had captivated him for so many years now. It's the very fact that he's thinking so hard about not thinking that the sound of the door startles him enough to send some of the water in his bath splashing out onto the floor, drawing a startled sort of noise from him as he scrambles to get out of the tub.]
Ah! My apologies. I did not expect anyone to be here so late-
[Robe, robe!? Where is- THere!
He manages not to slip on the wet floor as he comes around the corner toward the door, pulling his robe closed, one hand behind his head to pull damp hair out of his collar.]
I do hope the roses are not too bothersome. Really, I try not to...
[Not to make the whole building smell of roses when anyone else might have reason to be around. Except he trails off, blinking in surprise, breath catching in his chest as he gets the first hint of heat scent.]
[Claude knew it was a gamble, leaving his fate (and, subsequently, the fate of the Alliance) in the hands of Dimitri and Byleth, but it was the best shot they had. He truly believed that. And the two of them didn't let him down, arriving just in the nick of time!
Unfortunately, the rush and chaos of the battle leads to some hasty mistakes; that in itself is nothing unusual, but when it's the time traveling goddess powers that go awry, the results can be things no one could possibly anticipate.
Something like, when Dimitri finally reaches Claude von Riegan, Grand Duke of the Leicester Alliance, instead of the infamous Master Tactician atop his distinctive white wyvern greeting him with a quip and a smile, the wyvern is instead curled protectively around a small boy that will look suspiciously familiar, with the distinctive braid Claude had worn during their time in the Academy and wide green eyes that stare up at Dimitri with fear and an utter lack of recognition. His clothes are like nothing Dimitri will have seen in Fodlan, but clearly of very fine make and quality, and he seems oddly comfortable being surrounded by a very protective wyvern, his little arms not long enough to wrap all the way around her neck despite his best efforts to cling to her. He lifts his chin up stubbornly, clearly trying to sound brave and strong despite the tremor in his voice.] Wh-Who are you?
sometimes a kidnapping is an opportunity to make new friends
[Khalid's not sure how long he's been on this ship, only that it's been a while-- he can't see the sky from the little cargohold they left him tied up in but someone's only come down to feed him twice, so it can't have been that long.
Still, it's long enough that he's figured out how to get himself out of the rope binding his wrists together, quickly removing the cloth wrapped around his head as a sloppy makeshift gag. He feels the ship come to a shuddering stop as he finally gets the rope around his ankles loose as well, kicking it off with a quiet but triumphant laugh. Take that, stupid kidnappers! If they've made port, they'll probably be down here to get him really soon though, so he quickly scrambles to find a place to hide-- there's plenty of choices among all the crates.
That's when he finds the porthole window. It's difficult for a child to open, but he shoves at it with his shoulder, pushing at the latch as hard as he can... and then it abruptly opens on his next attempt, Khalid's body keeps going for another shove, and he falls over and through it. Too surprised to even yell, he hits the water with a quiet splash. It's deep, so deep he can't even touch the bottom, and he tries to scramble to the surface, his clothes becoming water logged and weighing him down. He doesn't know how to swim, definitely not in water this deep.
Something-- Someone grabs him and he instinctively fights against them even as they haul him up to the surface, certain it's one of his captors. He gasps and coughs once they hit the air, still weakly trying to fight off his savior.
"Goddess, kid, stop fighting! Don't you want me to save your life?" The man snaps in Fodlish, and the familiar tongue gives him pause. His captors were all Almyran, the merchants... smugglers they'd handed him off to, all Almyran. The only people he's ever heard speak his mother's language have been... well, him and his mother.
Unfortunately the spectacle of the local Duke's heir diving into the water has attracted their attention, and the captain is already booking it to them to try and run damage control. He's explaining that the cabin boy simply fell out, clumsy child that he is, but as soon as he reaches for the water-logged Khalid he shifts to hide behind the dark haired teen, fear obvious on his face. If he didn't have him by the arm, he would just run.]
Who would have guessed that a little bit of time magic could go so... weirdly? Maybe Byleth should have, but unfortunately they didn't, and Claude will be the one to pay this particular price. There is a little bit of luck in that it happens at the end of a particularly tough battle against a pack of demonic beasts-- one of the wolves takes a swipe at the Golden Deer leader. It hits-- then time reverses, Byleth prepares to change their strategy, only to find themselves still down one teenager and up one terrified child.
That was a week ago-- the kid, who is definitely Claude, minus about a decade of lived experience, was rescued, brought back to the monastery, and immediately presented to Jeralt. The mercenary impressed upon Byleth, and then on the rest of the Golden Deer, how bad an idea it would be for Rhea to be told about what happened. As far as the rest of the monastery was concerned, Claude von Riegan had gone back to Derdriu on urgent family business. How unfortunately timed it was that his younger cousin "Cal" had come to visit at the same time! (Neither Byleth or Jeralt are particularly good at coming up with fake names. It's close enough to how the kid refers to himself, anyway.)
At least Khalid is old enough to understand the concept of secrets. At first he's surprisingly shy, almost timid, following in Byleth or Jeralt's shadows like a little duckling when he isn't hiding out in his room. But he can't stick with the "safe" adults forever, especially not when they both had duties to the church to take care of that might see them crossing paths with Rhea. Normally the monastery is a fairly safe place for a child to run around, even on their own, but Khalid is no ordinary child. Who knows what'll happen to Claude if they let him get hurt before they find a way to return him to his normal age? There's always one of the Golden Deer or another hanging around, keeping watch on him. He even overheard them calling it "babysitting duty", even though he wasn't a baby! He learns quickly which are easier to sneak away from, who is nice, and who isn't.
Iggy and Mari are his favorites, they just let him go wherever he wants and only try to stop him if they're scared he'll get hurt. Which happens a lot, but at least they're nice about it. Raphael and Leonie are nice too, and they always want to play games with him, they're just pretty loud, and big in Raphael's case. Lysithea just complains the whole time about having to watch him instead of doing other things, but then when he sneaks away so she can go do her other things, she gets mad at him! She does take him to the library sometimes though, and that's nice. Hilda... Hilda is weird. She says they're friends, but then she gives him weird looks whenever he tries to tell her how to actually say his name, even when it's just the Deer and he doesn't have to pretend he has a different name. He's pretty sure she's lying about being friends. As for Lorenz... he knows Lorenz doesn't like him. He doesn't yell at him or anything, but Khalid's not stupid, and Lorenz isn't a good actor.
Unfortunately for them both, it's Lorenz's turn to watch the little lordling. Double unfortunately, though there are times where Khalid is perfectly happy to be left with a pile of books to read, now is not one of those times. That's what he does when the Deer and Byleth are doing class all day, after all! Now class is over and he wants to explore!
"You needn't worry about my feelings, your majesty, I assure you I am capable of maintaining professionalism." Staring at his lap, hands clenched into fists and trying not to show how upset he actually is. "If I have made a misstep I would prefer to be made aware of it that I may make amends or improvements as needed... Unless.... This is because of Shahid."
Because clearly he's.... tainted or something now.
--
Which of them is the marksman here again? "You haven't misstepped, I--" In a rare show of being at a loss for words, Khalid cuts himself off with a sigh. "You're already a political target. Getting involved with me will only put you more at risk."
--
"More risk than I was at with my own father secretly supporting the Empire? Hardly." Lorenz shakes his head dismissively before actually looking up at Khalid. "I've truly enjoyed my time here... I owe a great deal of that too you Khalid. I... Had intended to speak with Byleth about making my appointment here permanent." his shoulders droop a little and he looks just as defeated as he had after that first real blow out argument with his father. "Was that unduly optimistic of me? I'd rather thought-" but he still can't bring himself to say the words outright. Not when they've both been dancing around it for so long.
--
"Yes, at least as much if not more. Life in court may be beautiful, but the moment you forget how dangerous it can be, it will remind you. I would love nothing more than to have you here at my side, but you would always be in danger. I can't promise you the safety you deserve."
--
"I never asked you to!" Sharp and insistent only for him to close his eyes, try to quiet his emotions and not let the old sting of abandonment choke him up too much.
"I just don't want to lose you again."
--
Lorenz is right and he knows it, he knows he's being presumptuous and overprotective but gods, Lorenz has already been harmed because of their relationship once... if it became public knowledge just how much the king cared for the Fodlan ambassador, his enemies would see nothing but the perfect opportunity to cut to the core of him. "And I don't want you to be lost forever." He insists, his eyes pleading with Lorenz to understand him. He captures one of Lorenz's hands in both of his own, staring down at the pale, frail-looking fingers. It's easier than meeting that hurt gaze. "I don't doubt your strength, or your capability. And Gods, you have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you want to stay." He smiles, bittersweet, lifting Lorenz's hand to kiss it and press the back of it to his forehead. "But if you stay, you will be the target of kidnappings, assassination, poisoning-- so much more than you already are. If you--" Gods, the thought tastes foul in his mouth, "If you died because of me, I don't know that I'd make it through that." He looks to meet Lorenz's eyes again, his own suspiciously damp.
He is pale and his hands are delicate in a way no man's has any business being, long-fingered and elegant, an artist's hands. But those same hands are as sure on the haft of a lance or the hilt of a sword as they are with a quill. Khalid has seen him bring flames raining down from the sky with those same hands. For as delicate as he looks, especially compared to the men of Khalid's family, he is no fragile thing to be kept safe in a gilded cage.
His father had tried to do just that. He would no more tolerate it from Khalid as he had the Count. King or no.
Claude's grip loosens on his hand and those lovely jade eyes finally meet his own and Lorenz stands. The hand that had been on his forehead moves down to cradle his cheek and Lorenz' own eyes are damp even as he shakes his head and rolls them dramatically.
"You idiot." He speaks the word with all the fondness in the world, as though it is some loving endearment instead of an insult. Perhaps... by now it is. "I am lost without you." A watery smile, grudging and embarrassed but only because the words are heartfelt. "Ask Byleth. Or- Goddess, Hilda. I was beside myself when you left us. I don't-"
He steps in closer, leaning down so he can press his forehead to Khalid's, the long silken curtain of his hair hiding them from any prying eyes. "I don't think I can do that again."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Claude & Linhardt
Still, the false sense of wellness continued over the next week, until Linhardt decided he needed to take an active role in helping Claude just let go and stop putting up what must have been a terribly exhausting front of joviality for the other officers and soldiers.
It had taken a little while to put everything together without anyone else noticing, but he eventually had the perfect setup ready in one of the empty dorms.
And now he's able to see his work at play.
Claude's wrists are securely bound with rope above his head, just at the right height to keep him on his toes. Between his thighs is a flat-surfaced wooden sawhorse with a nice sized dildo attached in such a spot that Claude will have no choice but to sit on it when he tires of standing on his toes. It's heavily lubricated, of course, and Linhardt had made sure to prepare Claude beforehand as well.
This is just the start, however. He has more planned, but one thing at a time.]
There. I think you're settled in nicely. [He smiles, standing close enough that he can press a soft kiss to the side of Claude's mouth.]
no subject
Unfortunately, time is a very limited resource for them, and they need to keep pushing forward. So Claude does what he always does, trying to remain a steady presence, to reassure everyone that their leader will not falter. But the terrible end Dimitri had met, that he hadn't been able to do anything to prevent, sat in his stomach like a stone.
When Linhardt had asked him to take the night off for some time alone, he'd happily obliged. A distraction had sounded perfect, and his lover's clever, devious mind was all too good at coming up with new ways to drive him to distraction.
This, he hadn't been expecting. Linhardt's tied him up all sorts of ways, but he's never been perched on his toes like this with a toy just barely teasing at his entrance. Any lower and he'd have to penetrate himself on it, and he wouldn't be able to stay in this position for long.
He's already hard from Linhardt preparing him, face flushed and breathing elevated. He lets out a shuddering breath, turning his head to steal a proper kiss and grinning.] Going to make me do all the work myself this time, huh? I should've figured. [They've only just started, he's definitely not gone enough yet to not tease.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
being a king doesn't excuse you from being a little shit
He's experimented with everything from sleep aids to truth serums to crest suppressants, but the colorless, tasteless concoction he stirs into their cups of tea when Byleth goes to fetch the sugar Claude had conveniently forgotten is something else entirely. He's still figuring out appropriate dosages, but those little flower buds he'd obtained from the high peaks of Fodlan's Throat make for a very potent aphrodisiac according to his previous tests, so he keeps it light. A little more in Byleth's cup than his own, to adjust for his lover's literal divine power.
He beams at his former professor when he returns, leaning up for a kiss before he can sit back down.]
Sorry about that, my love... I've been buried in paperwork so long, I'd forget my own head if it weren't attached. [He chuckles, stirring a spoonful of sugar into his tea and taking a sip. Yep, absolutely undetectable.
It's absolutely the truth that he's been especially busy lately-- that's why he was so eager to set up this little scheme, to surreptitiously clear both of their schedules after this "afternoon tea". Yes, it's a test of one of his ongoing experiments, but it's also a much needed respite, an excuse to spend the better part of a day in bed with his husband. The best schemes work to accomplish many goals.]
no subject
He smiles softly at the kiss, then takes his seat at the table across from Claude.]
It's fine. I'm always happy to help.
[He adds a bit of sugar to his own cup, stirring the tea before taking a sip as well.]
Very pleasant, as always. [Another smile as he continues to sip slowly at the brew. Nothing seems off about it at first... but eventually Byleth does feel a certain heat beginning to spread throughout his body. He shifts a bit in his seat, glancing down from Claude's face briefly as he feels a startling stirring of arousal.
So far he doesn't suspect, but still. This is quite strange.]
Which tea is this?
(no subject)
you know what this is
He stands in the quarters he now shares with his spouse, hair combed back to boring flatness, in comfortable sleepclothes, and feeling extremely strange. Not bad, just strange.
Anticipation tingles in his fingers and toes, though, making it hard to stand still. Even if neither of them is female, consummation is still expected of a marriage to finalize the bond, or contract, as it were, and he's sure it's no different here than in Fodlan.
He may not know Claude basically at all, or trust him yet, but there's no denying he's a handsome man. Sylvain can work with that. Goddess knows he's worked with less. He sits on the edge of the bed, just a perch really, not really relaxing, and waits. ]
no subject
Claude, however... well, casual encounters were never a luxury he could afford to indulge in. Not when that was more likely to end with a knife in his back or his throat slit. Books could only do so much.
It's fine; just something new to learn. And a very attractive partner to learn it with, which certainly helps.
It's a rare moment when Claude's room is actually decently clean-- or at least, he'd managed to keep the mess of books and personal projects contained to his desk, the top of the dresser, the side-tables... any flat surface that wasn't the bed or the floor. Good first impressions, and all that. Give it a week and his reading materials will start creeping onto the bed again if Sylvain doesn't do anything about it.
Though, depending on how the night goes, Claude may be more motivated to at least keep the bed clear of clutter.
He enters the room, freshly bathed and dressed down in his own sleep clothes, and shoots his new spouse a grin.]
Waiting for someone?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Time For Sad
Sylvain had told him of his suspicions, certain he'd heard the Mihills were particularly vocal about border protection, and of course Claude hadn't discounted that. He knew by now that his husband's playing clueless was just that-- an act. But it was such a rare opportunity, Claude couldn't afford to pass it up. So he'd proceeded with caution, he'd looked into what he could about Geffray Mihill, and he'd played his cards close to his chest. He'd even let Sylvain accompany him to all their private meetings, both to soothe his husband's suspicions as well as his own paranoia.
But today, things go differently. Partway through their meeting on expanding trade between Almyra and the Leicester Alliance, a harried stable-hand burst into the room. Sylvain's horse had apparently gotten loose.
Claude had waved him off to handle it, understanding all too well how much Sylvain cared for his horse, and the conversation had continued. It was promising, even. Tentatively, he let himself hope that this could be the start of something.
Smiling, he shook Mihill's hand, and unaware of the dagger he'd drawn in his other hand, he turned to leave the room. Possibly to hunt down where his husband had gotten off to, and investigate how exactly his horse had gotten loose from the stables.]
my body is Ready
He's since stopped playing completely dumb around his royal husband. He hasn't played all his cards, yet, but Claude knows well enough that Sylvain isn't useless in politics, and Sylvain is some measure of pleased that Claude is receptive to hearing his fears.
Not receptive enough to turn the suspicious diplomat away. Sylvain can't blame him, really, but it does leave him on edge, and acting far more like a fussy, clingy husband than he ever intended to be.
He's almost starting to let his guard down, though, because things are going well, and Claude seems pleased and at ease, and he's even more suspicious by nature than Sylvain. He's comfortable enough that alarm bells don't immediately go off when the stable hand comes to tell him his horse got out. She's a smart girl, she probably just pulled a fast one on one of the stableboys. He sighs and dismisses himself to go help catch her.
It's a fast enough job doing, since she's trained well to his voice and comes when he calls, but by the time he's handing the rope of her halter back to the stable hand, something pings in Sylvain's mind.
He rushes back inside, taking the stairs two at a time to the room where the meeting was taking place. He sees Claude first, facing toward him, walking away from the meeting.
Then he sees the knife.
His vision goes red at the edges, and time seems to slow down. He barely feels his legs move, but then he's between Claude and the assassin.
He's shoving his arm into the liar's throat, grabbing the arm holding the weapon.
Time and sound return together as the assassin's body hits the wall, a sickening crunch.
Feeling returns and Sylvain feels his heart pounding in his ears and a viscous pain below his ribs. He doesn't need to look down to know that the knife is lodged in there.
He grinds his teeth against that pain, wrenching the assassin face-first onto the floor, where he falls in a heap from lack of oxygen. Sylvain grins his boot onto his spine. ]
Do you want him alive for questioning, your highness?
[ There's something frightening in his voice, and he surely makes quite the image, standing over the would-be killer with murder in his eyes and a bleeding wound still with the knife in. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
Linhardt, Claude & Sylvain
Tying up his boys just right had been tiring work, but he thinks he did a good job of it. With their wrists bound together over their heads to a beam running along the ceiling, Sylvain and Claude stand close together, face-to-face, without a stitch of clothing on to hide the undeniable effects of the aphrodisiac both ingested not long ago. It's Claude own recipe, so he knows it's going to be good.
Now that they're definitively stuck in place, Linhardt can better admire how their toned, strong bodies look stretched out for him, erections already swollen and straining, pretty red flushes crossing their cheeks and running down to their chests.
He's still fully clothed, though that probably won't last very long. Not with the heat of arousal and exertion making him feel far too overdressed. Still... there's plenty of time to thoroughly enjoy himself without worrying about rushing. He can cool down a bit before he does anything else.]
Time for a little break, I think.
[He goes to sit down at the edge of the bed, still looking over Sylvain and Claude with dark blue eyes filled with mischief and the promise of plenty of torment to come.]
You two look good like that. Comfortable?
no subject
Linhardt's voice causes him to try to focus, looking up with sweat beaded on his forehead at their lazy rigger, having himself a nice break. ]
That isn't the word I'd use.
[ He flashes a wry smile. He's not unhappy by any means, but he sure isn't comfortable. Especially since Linhardt seems content to neglect the two of them for now.
Maybe... Maybe Claude can help. They're close together, enough so that he can feel the heat coming off the other man's body. Sylvain pushes and leans, trying to get farther into Claude's space, to touch their bodies together, and nuzzle against him. ]
Claude...
[ His voice is husky and imploring, as if begging the other restrained man is going to do him any good at all. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
Have a tall drink of water.
His father, on the other hand, had held no such misgivings. “There is no point in pondering its meaning, Lorenz. A noble does not marry for love, he marries for purpose.”
That had, quite swiftly quelled his interest in that. Later, as he learned on his own, it became apparent precisely why a soulmate was a notion best left for that of the commonfolk. A pre-destined love, someone meant to fulfill you in every meaningful way, a person who would complete you- uplift you. Your perfect partner.
What a selfish thing to wish for.
And as he grew, old enough to consider enrollment at one of the many prestigious academies Fodlan had to offer, old enough to marry, he set the matter aside entirely- to the point of repression perhaps. But really, that could only be for the best. It wasn’t as though he could even entertain the notion, after all.
It is in recalling all of this that he realizes he must be in a sort of shock. These are meanderings he has, after all, not given consideration for years.
Years. The word echoes hollowly through him as Raphael holds Claude steady, Byleth already there to drag at the remains of the Duke’s shirt as Marianne rushes past him, ready to assist.
“Soulmates? While they are a wonderful sentiment, surely you understand they hold no place in the lives of the nobility. We cannot simply marry for love, Claude.” He recalls pondering what prompted such a question. Recalls a shadowed look filling those green eyes as the other had looked away, laughing in his usual manner but seeming distracted. And it is in remembering those small, seemingly insignificant details that he understands a distorted truth.
Claude has known for years. Somehow, someway the other pieced together what has taken Lorenz up until this very moment to realize.
Because it is there, in the exact same spot, spotted with Claude’s own blood and half-veiled behind the collar of a ruined shirt but there- marked in contrast to his skin.]
Why do you have that mark? [And it is not the time nor the place but for the pitch of his tone it can only be called hysteria. Because it is something he has never allowed himself to give consideration. Because it is a flight of fancy that cannot be borne. Because it means that, all along, they were destined.]
have a total snack~
"I suppose the only way anyone would ever love a half-breed like you is if they had no choice in the matter."
He'd barely been five years old at the time, but he could still remember that moment, the inflection in her tone. She wasn't pitying him-- no, she was pitying whoever was on the other end of that mark.
He learned to hide it just to avoid the commentary, and then it was just by habit-- which worked out for the best when he came to Fodlan. It wasn't taboo for nobles to have soulmates, just-- unorthodox. Inconvenient. Lovers selected by destiny don't account for noble duties and passing down crests, after all. Claude's own parents aren't soulmates, they have no markings of their own-- but it can't be denied they were a love match. His other chose to leave everything she knew behind to be with the man she loved, with no predestined intervention necessary-- to Claude, that has always been far more romantic a notion than some stranger out there, somewhere, with the same mark on their body as him.
The fact that it had turned out to be Lorenz, a fact Claude had basically stumbled on during their Academy days, had only made his uncertainty about the whole matter worsen. One shared stable duty on a hot day had rocked his very foundations; it was one thing to know in the abstract he had a soulmate somewhere -- quite another to know that it was his overly stuffy classmate that hated every word out of his mouth just on principle.
He'd kept the realization to himself, of course. At first, because it just didn't seem correct, he and Lorenz were constantly at odds. So he'd just tried to put it out of his mind. Mostly. There had been the one time, after they'd gained a certain respect for each other, that he'd given in to his curiosity and asked Lorenz's opinion on soulmates. He'd anticipated the answer, of course -- it was Lorenz, after all -- but it still had felt like a loss of sorts. Even if he'd only lost something he never actually had to begin with, and wasn't even sure he wanted.
Somehow, the war hardly managed to change the situation at all-- at least, not until Byleth returned, until they started working closely together instead of only interacting in strictly political contexts. Nowadays, Claude can admit-- to himself, if no one else-- that Lorenz is one of the people that knows him best, certainly in Fodlan. And that's enough, this budding friendship and trust between them is enough. It's more than he'd ever expected, actually.
All of this is, of course, the furthest thing from his mind when his wyvern goes down in a battle. He manages to dismount and jump off before she hits the ground, saving them both further injury. She's alive, but she's hurt, and not even Claude should be getting near her while the chaos of the battle continues. The best he can do is protect himself -- and her -- on foot. Claude's at his best up in the air, but he can still hold his own on the ground. An enemy war master had rushed him, though, axe cleaving through the air. Claude had dodged -- enough to turn a fatal blow into an injury.
The healing power of his Crest had gotten him through the end of the battle, but as the remaining enemy forces retreated, it all happened in a blur. Claude collapsed, or he would have, had Raphael not caught him. Good man, that Raphael. Byleth was still barking orders, tearing off his shirt to expose the wound in his side, Marianne rushing up to heal him.
He's dizzy from the blood loss, and that's something that needs time, not faith magic, but all the chaos fades into background noise at Lorenz's shrill words.
Of course. Byleth had to tear off his shirt. Lorenz saw the marking. He knew. Hilda was looking between him and Lorenz, brow furrowed.
Somehow, Claude managed to summon a teasing tone, even as his head drooped with the vertigo.] You can't just ask people why they have soulmate marks, Lorenz! [He huffs out something that's almost a laugh, if he weren't so dizzy and in such pain that it was difficult to breath.] N-- Not very mannerly of you.
[He hissed through his teeth as Marianne's healing magic swept over the wound, encouraging his flesh to knit back together. Raphael's taken his entire weight now, all but carrying him.
Leonie's the one to snap at them,"Do you really think this is the time for that?" Good old Leonie, always so practical. It still catches him by surprise, sometimes, the sheer amount of fondness he has for all the Golden Deer, but he especially appreciates her now, because he can't even think about how to handle Lorenz knowing, much less actually do it.]
Where's-- Pruscilla was still fighting them off, is she--
["She'll be alright." Marianne's soft, steady voice reassures him. "I'll see to her once you're healed." He breaths out his thanks, genuinely reassured. There aren't many he'd trust his wyvern's care to but Marianne's at the top of the list.]
cronch
is this vore
I won't tell if you won't
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
not even claude stops to consider what he wants oops
claude pls
but the Big Picture lorenz....
something something not knowing yourself will cause bad something
(no subject)
slobbers all over your open post again
It's all he needs to hear, and he's putting heels to his horse like a bat out of hell. She can sense his worry and takes off at an extended gallop, taking long strides over blessedly flat terrain.
Sylvain sees the Wyvern, first, but without her rider, and he starts to grind his teeth. Was he knocked off? Did he dismount to hide? Too many possibilities...
He slows to a more controlled canter, watching between the ground and the mountless wyvern. She seems to be hovering over the same spot, unmoving, but roaring ferociously at any enemies she can smell nearby.
Yeah, He has to be down there.
Bracing himself to see the worst, Sylvain aims his horse for the tangled growth Claude's wyvern is guarding. It's dense and dark, and he slides off his own mount to move more easily and hopefully see the ground better. He thinks a silent prayer to the Goddess, begging her to not let him find Claude's corpse...]
no subject
She growls at the red haired man that approaches, but doesn't snap her teeth at him like she had the others who'd tried to get near him. Does that mean he's safe?
Claude cautiously pokes his head out from the bush he'd hid in] Wh-who are you?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
sylvain come get yall juice
He's been falling asleep at his desk more often than he actually makes it to the bed, but tonight he can't even manage that. His mind races out of his control, coming up with five new problems that need his immediate attention before he can finish working on one. Unfortunately, he's so scattered that it's not even productive work, it's just... a fucking mess. At least in the privacy of his own room he doesn't have to keep up his mask.
And just because the universe likes to spite him in particular, there's a quiet knock at the door. Claude scrubs his hands over his face for just a moment, frustrated and really not up for company. He forces a smile anyway, standing up to unlock the door and opening the door just a crack. It's Sylvain, who is-- admittedly not the worst option of people who would knock on his door in the middle of the night. Not by a long shot. There's still a hint of sleep in those brown eyes, softening them in a way that makes Claude's stomach flip, and he's clearly in his sleep clothes, whereas Claude... hasn't even changed for bed yet. Oops.] Uh, hey. Something wrong?
no subject
He's still groggy as he does so, and wanders his way back to the dormitories with shuffling feet. Walking through this area of the monastery at night always has him feeling strange. It's nostalgia mixed with other things, and it tickles at his mind even now, as it longs to slip back into sleep.
He's stopped in the hallway by the light coming out from under... Claude's door. Of course. He tries to sigh and it comes out a yawn, rubbing at his face as he knocks softly on Claude's door.
When the light streams out, he feels his eyes squinting even more. It isn't that bright- but compared to the darkness of everywhere else it burns. He blinks repeatedly and a soft smile turns up his face. It's the honest one that Claude has only seen on special occasions and when Sylvain is being especially intimate- slightly crooked and goofy. The smile fades into a concerned little frown nearly immediately, though, when he sees that Claude is still fully dressed.]
Yeah, there is. You're still working.
[He's coming in, mister leader man, like it or not.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
ultimate garbage
And immediately, he felt that something was wrong. Granted, there were a lot of places in Garreg Mach he hadn't seen-- hence all the exploration. But this looked like the courtyard, albeit very overgrown, and that was undoubtedly the grand cathedral, but with part of the roof caved in. This couldn't have possibly happened in the matter of hours that he was gone-- the plant growth alone would make that impossible.
Disoriented as he was, he didn't notice the bandits he had startled by seemingly appearing from out of a wall-- although he certainly noticed once one of them had a dagger pressed up to his back and a hand on his shoulder.
"The hell kinda idiot are you, kid? You wanna die so bad, allow me!"]
no subject
Spotting them now as he made his evening rounds through the monastery made the quiet mood he'd been in for the last few hours vanish in an instant, replaced instead by the familiar itch in his palms to lash out and spill blood.
His grip shifted on his lance, and he was moving quickly - another shadow in the darkness of the monastery that tore screams from one bandit. There was a thought that someone else was there with them, someone in danger by the sound of the bandits words, but his thoughts were fixated on the bandits. They fell quickly, violently, accompanied by sound of steel cutting through flesh as blood sprayed across the stone floors.
The bandit who held the dagger to man's back was the last to fall, blood splattering from his lips with a violent and painful cough as the lance pierced him.
Dimitri watched - expression even, calm despite the previous flurry of violence - before turning his gaze to the bandit's victim. )
You shouldn't be here.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Welcome to Brigid
She wasn't unarmed but her hope was that this was an ally. Of course, her heart beat faster in her chest when she thought that there was even the slimmest possibility that it was Claude but she steeled herself, expecting, perhaps, another of her ex-Black Eagle turned Golden Deer classmates. Ferdinand had said, after all, that he'd hoped to help her by strengthening diplomatic relations.
After an almost painful wait, the sails of the ship finally appeared as it neared and she squinted to try to make out what colors it was flying.
... Almyra? Was it even possible?]
no subject
The ship is of a size and strength appropriate for the future king of a large and sprawling nation, well-armed enough to not be a tempting target for an enterprising pirate ship, but no war vessel either. It's laden with diplomatic gifts, for the royal family of Brigid, of course, but also for her citizens. Silks, spices, jewelry... popular trade items.
Khalid is proud to have gotten to this, his first diplomatic trip, reaching a hand out across Almyra's borders... of course he's excited about the promise of the future he always wanted to help create. But he'd be lying to himself if he tried to deny that he was at least as if not more excited to see the Brigid princess again. Was she already at the shoreline, waiting, watching his ship pull in? Constantly looking over the railing of the ship for a familiar silhouette in the distance felt a bit too juvenile, so he settled for trying to keep himself busy as they raised flags of peace and prepared to dock in the small harbor.
All too soon, they're there. Khalid isn't the very first one off the ship, but it's a close thing. His retinue is small in number, but they're with him because he can trust them to follow his orders, and they do so splendidly, shouting out greetings in Almyran and Brigid and generously distributing the gifts among the people. Lucky for him they've got that end of things covered, because all he can really focus on is where is she, did she see their ship coming in, so this is where she grew up, gods no wonder she's so incredible.
At his side, Nader gives a knowing chuckle, which Khalid swiftly ignores.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
Claude & Dimi
He shifts slightly, his body protesting, and he's suddenly very aware that he's in a bed. It isn't his imagination.
A deep, throbbing pain in his shoulder brought his memory flooding back. The smokey battlefield, an arrow, or maybe a spear, piercing his shoulder.]
Edelgard. [He snarled her name as he sat up abruptly, nearly giving the healer working close by a heart attack. He had no armor, no weapons and the room looked suspiciously like a cell. The healer was on the other side of a locked door well before Dimitri could completely sit up.
He got to his feet, wavering slightly, his body protesting.
She'd be retreating back to Enbarr to regroup. He needed his armor and his spear. Unless... No. Surely, if he were her prisoner she would not have bothered to treat his injuries. She'd already ordered his execution once.]
no subject
It made the tender parts of Claude's heart ache, thinking of what he'd had to have survived for the young prince who'd seemingly stepped out of a storybook to end up like that. That same tenderness is so tired of seeing people die, was relieved beyond belief when Hilda turned up with Dimitri on her back, barely clinging to life but still alive.
Claude had arranged for him to be rushed back to the Monastery, a cell prepared. It didn't sit well with him, locking Dimitri up like that, but he was wildly unpredictable and dangerous-- as much as he wanted to help him, Claude also had to look out for his own people.
Everyone is under strict orders to let him know the moment Dimitri wakes up; with how rarely Claude gives anything that could be considered a "strict order", as well as the uneasiness many have around this idea of his in the first place, of course they take it seriously. Within moments of Dimitri waking up, a runner is sent to fetch the Duke, and Claude makes to the cell at a confident but hurried pace.
Marianne had gotten out of the cell the moment he woke up, and fortunately she'd been able to get him out of a critical state. It was Claude's hope he was still too weak to break out by force. He approached the bars of the cell, eyeing Dimitri, assessing him.
He gently asks Marianne and the guards to leave the room, pulling a chair up close to the bars and sitting down, posture relaxed and open, unthreatening.]
Sorry for the, uh-- accommodations. [He smiles wryly, genuine in his apology even if he doubts Dimitri will believe it.] You're at Garreg Mach monastery right now. I have no wish to harm you, Dimitri. Quite the opposite, really.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
Dominance/submission, bondage, writing on the skin, anything else you wanna throw in there?
[Claude may have a full head of height over her, but it certainly doesn't seem like it right now, does it? There's a smoky, dangerous glitter in her eyes as Petra stares up at him, one hand pinning a coil of rope against her hip. The other holds Claude's chin, turning his head down to catch and keep his gaze.]
Are you coming quietly? Or do I have to be taking you?
i want this twunk obliterated.
His gaze darts to the side, looking for escape routes. What's the point of being captured if he just gives in right away, right? She drags him down to face her before any solid ideas can form, though, and he swallows roughly as he meets that intense gaze. He feels rather aptly like a deer caught in the sight of a hunter.]
I'll come quietly. [He lies with a sweet smile, hoping (knowing) she'll see right through it.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
time 4 baby schmoop
Claude had never really held a baby before, but he learned quick, especially under Lysithea's sharp corrections. Cyril seemed bemused at having the current king and consort of his country of birth fussing over his infant daughter, but if they wanted to spend their royal visit playing nanny, it was their decision.
Claude has Nadine in his lap again in the garden, watching her look around at the flowers with that wide-eyed bewildered gaze babies have and grinning, speaking to her softly.] You like the flowers, Nadi? Next time Uncle Claude visits, I'll bring you a bunch from Almyra. Your daddy's from there. I'll convince him to bring you and your mommy for a visit someday, I swear. It's better now than when he was there last... [His smile is just as soft as his voice, looking down at her, and he lets her grab onto his finger with a tight grip.] Just like Fodlan's a better place for people like us now too. And it'll keep getting better-- I'll make sure of that.
no subject
His heart is so full it could burst. Sylvain has always been afraid of being a parent, always resented what having a child would mean for him as heir to his family's lands and title and crest. It was impossible to not want to see Claude as a parent, after all of this, though. He's falling in love all over again.]
Khalid, that's a good look for you, [He compliments in Almyran, setting the food down and leaning in to steal a kiss.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
no subject
All this to say, from the moment he'd discovered he was a submissive, Claude had hidden that fact. It was surprisingly easy-- he'd grown up closely observing everyone around him, he knew what behaviors to mimic and what to avoid to pull off the act of a Dominant. He learned to take care of his needs himself, as best as he could, anyway... not even his parents knew of his true nature.
Only one other person in the entire world knew, and that was the man on his knees in front of Claude now. He's so close to claiming the Almyran throne, he can nearly taste it, and then he can work to end this-- this farce of a system. Then he'll never have to put Dimitri-- and himself-- through this again.
He holds onto that thought, that hope, letting it settle him.
Dimitri isn't bound by anything -- ropes would be pointless anyway, and the whole thing is meant to show that he's such a good leader that even this powerful foreign dominant willingly bends to his will.
His smile is devoid of feeling as he looks Dimitri over. Even with the wrongness of their positions, he's an incredible sight, shirtless, his long hair braided and Almyran jewelry decorating him.] Chin up more. Our guests want to see your face. [The "guests" are the usual crowd-- a few members of the royal court, a few nobles that have either already backed Claude's bid for the throne or are considering it, the latter being the most important. They want a show, they want to see Dimitri struggle, see if what they've been told is true... and there are a few people here who just want to see them both fail, he's sure.]
no subject
Even if that means being on his knees in front of him, on display for people he could bring to their own. He fights the urge to fuss with the jewelry he's wearing, and some part of him wants to refuse to listen to what he's being told. For Claude, he reminds himself, he's doing this for Claude.
The thought makes him lift his head, angling his chin so their "guests" can see his face more clearly, including the decorative wrap across his scarred and damaged eye. There's something in the single, visible blue eye, but it's hard to read to those around them. But what Dimitri feels is a natural rebellion he's struggling to suppress. This is where Claude should be, and the only thought that keeps him grounded, focused, and obedient is that Claude will be on his knees for him later. Bending to every word in the way he's meant to.
The blond lashes flutter, sliding to a close as he breathes out. Waiting for a demand or an order, something else to come. )
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
overindulgent abo au the second, the epilogue
A part of him still feels torn, homesick for his land of birth-- but he only has to remember how miserable he and Dimitri both were while separated to know which option he'd prefer. And Hilda had been right, as always-- there were still plenty of ways he could work towards his dream while not depriving himself of the comfort and safety of his mate. He'd never wanted to rule simply for the sake of ruling, so there was no great feeling of loss when he threw his support behind the only one of his brothers that would be amenable to his larger plans rather than continue to try and claim the throne for himself.
Predictably, not even being well into his third trimester is enough to keep Claude from his work-- his office is right next to Dimitri's, and helping his mate rule over a single country that had barely even a year ago been three separate ones is no easy task on its own. Add to that his own diplomatic efforts, reaching the hand of friendship out not only to Almyra but to Dagda, Sreng, Brigid... Claude has always been a busy man with his fingers in all sorts of pies, and his office clearly shows it.
He takes a break from reading over a trade proposal and marking down the terms he wanted to negotiate further, stretching in his chair and groaning at the ache in his lower back.] You're killing me, kid. [He mumbles, patting his swollen belly with a smile despite his complaint.]
no subject
He's been busy today, making a visit out to one of the nearby villages. He wants to see his people, to remind them that he is there to support them in the same way they support him. But as the day drags on, he finds himself eager for the visit to end and make his way back home. Time spent away from Claude seems to drag on, makes him feel on edge even. Sometimes, he simply wants to be close to Claude, to hold him and enjoy the closeness of him.
Once he returns to the castle, his first stop is Claude's office. None of the others try to stop him as he makes his way through the halls. )
Claude. ( He calls in greeting once he's outside the office door, knocking lightly on the door before opening it. )
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
happy bday manwhore
But first, he's got to give the big surprises time to rest up from their long journey and prepare. Of course, it wouldn't be a Khalid scheme if it didn't accomplish many goals-- the visit from Faerghus' king and his retinue wasn't exactly something that could be arranged quietly, nor without political implications, after all. In an official capacity, King Dimitri's diplomatic visit doesn't begin for another week. Unofficially, he and all of Sylvain's old Blue Lions classmates were ushered in to the royal guest suites in the early hours of the morning.
It's going to be hard to top this birthday in years to come, but Khalid is nothing if not creative. Besides, it's the first they've experienced together... he wants it to be special.]
Hmm, I like this on you. [Khalid plucks an earring from a market stall, silver inlaid with citrine, and holds them up to one of Sylvain's ears.] They match your eyes. [His own sparkle with flirtatious amusement- Al-Jawahra's marketplace makes for an excellent distraction, as well as a chance to spoil his husband with smaller gifts.]
😘
[Sylvain suspects that Khalid has something planned for his birthday, not so much because Khalid has done anything to indicate such, but because Sylvain knows him. There's no way Khalid wouldn't take the chance to plan a scheme, especially one that probably leads to a party.
But he also has come to love this man enough to want to let him have this. So he doesn't ask any questions or act suspiciously. He is quite certain that Khalid has him out at the market so that something can be set up at the palace, but that doesn't stop him from being fully in the moment. It's not hard to, with Khalid lavishing attention on him. Sylvain soaks it up like a cat in a sunbeam.]
Gold for you, silver for me. [He smiles, eyes warm and bright, leaning in closer so that Khalid's fingers brush his face.] Does it make my eyes stand out?
how many schmoopy husbands threads can we do with these two only time will tell
hundreds
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
no subject
Of course, the usual haunts aren't any good when you're going to give birth. Dorothea had noticed just how round Diamond the Dominic Gray had gotten over the last month, and now it's been a few days since she's spotted the little feline around the school. Drawing on her own experiences as a street urchin, she's made a list of potential hiding spots that are sufficiently sheltered to the point where a new mother would feel secure enough to have her babies and eventually leave them to go hunt for food for herself.
When she hears the telltale high-pitched meowing of very young kittens, however, there's an extra surprise for her when she rounds the corner: one Claude von Riegan with a lap full of tiny, tiny cats. She has to stop for a moment just to watch as the babies crawl all over him, peering into the grassy little alcove with a grin on her face. ]
I didn't know you were a cat lover.
no subject
they made pretty good companions. The monastery cats and dogs were no different, and there were a few among the mass of them that he'd gotten particularly fond of. At least once a week, he found himself slipping bits of fish out of the dining hall to disburse among his favorites, though lately he's been frequenting a particular Dominic Gray that's just had a litter. The mama's got more mouths to feed, after all!
Well, it seems his treats have endeared him to her, because today when he brought her dinner, she carried her babies over to him and plopped them into his lap, one by one. He gives a quiet laugh, not wanting to attract any attention and risk scaring off the little family. He lets one of the kittens play with his fingers, giving the mom a few appreciative ear scratches with his other hand.]
Yeah, you're proud of your little stinkers, aren't you? [He coos to her, and wow would it be embarrassing if someone were to overhear him baby-talking these cats.] Well, you should be, they're adorable, just like their mama, yes they are...
[Claude jolts at the sound of a familiar voice, then forces himself to relax when the kittens start to cry, stressed from his tension. He turns back to meet Dorothea's gaze, that open, genuine contentedness from a moment before shifted to a guarded smile.]
Come on, who doesn't like kittens? They're fuzzy and cute! [His fingers dance in front of the face of one of the little kittens, who clumsily tries to bat at them and only succeeds in tumbling all over itself.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
👀
There are few effective ways to keep a secret from the most secretive people she has ever known, especially when Lord Arundel's presence is so prominent in the Empire's affairs. Especially when the enemy could have stolen a trusted face. The operation was meant for her strike force and supplemented by a select handful from her army, every one of them made fully aware of the danger ahead, but the sheer size of this underground stronghold is more than anyone of them imagined.
There is no real joy for her in killing but that doesn't prevent her feeling cold satisfaction when her axe finally carves without hesitation into Thales's chest. He no longer wears her uncle's face and his last words are bloody and gasping, spit out as though he believes himself somehow at an advantage even in death: You were always a double-edged blade but you didn't strike quickly enough. You will never get to enjoy your victory.
Quickly enough for what? As much as she tries not to let his mind games affect her, the thought chills. She had high hopes for this battle to more or less rip the Agarthans up by the roots and salt the ground where they once flourished. A strike too true, too deadly, for them to effectively heal. What has she missed? What have they not accounted for?
The answer becomes clear soon enough, when Ferdinand calls out a warning from the corridor behind her. More hooded enemies rush toward them, one of them assisting an unsteady figure who should look more familiar than he currently does. She hears Dorothea gasp Claude's name and that can't be.
(But it can be and she knows that, and fury coils around her chest until her lungs feel constricted.)
It should not be. Pushing forward to better see for herself, her shield half-raised before her, she calls out. ]
Claude, we will free you!
yesssss
It hadn't mattered, in the end. He was injured and outnumbered, and they knew exactly where to find him. Poor Anisa, his oldest companion, dies trying to protect her rider and he's easy pickings after that.
There are questions he's had since his days at Garreg Mach that are inadvertently answered by his captors-- they're with the Empire, or more accurately, using its seats of power for their own ends. For some reason, they think he'll be good collateral against Edelgard in the event she turns against them. At first he's just a prisoner, which definitely isn't a great time but it's better than being killed, right?
And then the experiments start.
He's long lost track of the days spent underground, the number of failed escape attempts. He wakes up on the floor of his cell one day to find that his hair, which has grown long enough to hang in his face in gently curled strands, has gone stark white. It's a horrific realization that explains quite a lot, about Lysithea and Edelgard both. And the experimentation doesn't end there. They're interested in testing the limits of his Crests, particularly the healing effects, but they've also learned from their previous attempts-- they want better control over their latest weapon.
He doesn't make any of it easy on them, and it makes it all the more disturbing when they finally succeed. It's a deceptively simple-looking thing, a thin but strong band of metal clasped into place around one wrist, and an order spoken with a matching ring pressed against it. The effect is-- terrifying. His consciousness shoved out of place, body moving beyond his control to fulfill it. All of his cunning and skill at his disposal, but none of his own will.
They keep him weak with malnutrition to cut off his escape attempts, because it doesn't matter when it comes to their orders. His body will push itself to any limits to complete it, and the healing properties of his Crests will keep him alive long enough to do so. He knows Edelgard must have made her move when a bunch of the hooded bastards burst into his cell and drag him to his feet, with a frantic, almost panicked energy he's never seen from his captors before.
The theory is confirmed when he spots not just Edelgard, but the entire Black Eagle Strike Force. Given their surprise, none of them knew he was down here. A distant, hurting part of him wonders if anyone realized he was missing. He meets Edelgard's fiery gaze across the room at her proclamation, and damn if he doesn't want to believe that.
And then a hand closes over his wrist, a voice hissing in his ear, 'Kill them all', and his gaze goes dead-eyed and empty. Someone else shoves a strange bow into his arms-- it's not Failnaught, but it doesn't feel so different to it, pulsing and alive with its own eerie energy.
Claude fights the control harder than he ever has before. A killing shot aimed between Hubert's eyes is nudged just a hair to the left, held back just a split-second more, allowing him the chance to dodge after he's dispatched one of the hooded figures.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
claurenz soulmate soap opera for @silky_bearing
"I suppose the only way anyone would ever love a half-breed like you is if they had no choice in the matter."
He'd barely been five years old at the time, but he could still remember that moment, the inflection in her tone. She wasn't pitying him-- no, she was pitying whoever was on the other end of that mark.
He learned to hide it just to avoid the commentary, and then it was just by habit-- which worked out for the best when he came to Fodlan. It wasn't taboo for nobles to have soulmates, just-- unorthodox. Inconvenient. Lovers selected by destiny don't account for noble duties and passing down crests, after all. Claude's own parents aren't soulmates, they have no markings of their own-- but it can't be denied they were a love match. His mother chose to leave everything she knew behind to be with the man she loved, with no predestined intervention necessary-- to Claude, that has always been far more romantic a notion than some stranger out there, somewhere, with the same mark on their body as him.
The fact that it had turned out to be Lorenz, a fact Claude had basically stumbled on during their Academy days, had only made his uncertainty about the whole matter worsen. One shared stable duty on a hot day had rocked his very foundations; it was one thing to know in the abstract he had a soulmate somewhere -- quite another to know that it was his overly stuffy classmate that hated every word out of his mouth just on principle.
He'd kept the realization to himself, of course. At first, because it just didn't seem correct, he and Lorenz were constantly at odds. So he'd just tried to put it out of his mind. Mostly. There had been the one time, after they'd gained a certain respect for each other, that he'd given in to his curiosity and asked Lorenz's opinion on soulmates. He'd anticipated the answer, of course -- it was Lorenz, after all -- but it still had felt like a loss of sorts. Even if he'd only lost something he never actually had to begin with, and wasn't even sure he wanted.
Somehow, the war hardly managed to change the situation at all-- at least, not until Byleth returned, until they started working closely together instead of only interacting in strictly political contexts. Nowadays, Claude can admit-- to himself, if no one else-- that Lorenz is one of the people that knows him best, certainly in Fodlan. And that's enough, this budding friendship and trust between them is enough. It's more than he'd ever expected, actually.
All of this is, of course, the furthest thing from his mind when his wyvern goes down in a battle. He manages to dismount and jump off before she hits the ground, saving them both further injury. She's alive, but she's hurt, and not even Claude should be getting near her while the chaos of the battle continues. The best he can do is protect himself -- and her -- on foot. Claude's at his best up in the air, but he can still hold his own on the ground. An enemy war master had rushed him, though, axe cleaving through the air. Claude had dodged -- enough to turn a fatal blow into an injury.
The healing power of his Crest had gotten him through the end of the battle, but as the remaining enemy forces retreated, it all happened in a blur. Claude collapsed, or he would have, had Raphael not caught him. Good man, that Raphael. Byleth was still barking orders, tearing off his shirt to expose the wound in his side, Marianne rushing up to heal him.
He's dizzy from the blood loss, and that's something that needs time, not faith magic, but all the chaos fades into background noise at Lorenz's shrill words. "Why do you have that mark?"
Of course. Byleth had to tear off his shirt. Lorenz saw the marking. He knew. Hilda was looking between him and Lorenz, brow furrowed.
Somehow, Claude managed to summon a teasing tone, even as his head drooped with the vertigo.] You can't just ask people why they have soulmate marks, Lorenz! [He huffs out something that's almost a laugh, if he weren't so dizzy and in such pain that it was difficult to breath.] N-- Not very mannerly of you.
[He hissed through his teeth as Marianne's healing magic swept over the wound, encouraging his flesh to knit back together. Raphael's taken his entire weight now, all but carrying him.
Leonie's the one to snap at them, "Do you really think this is the time for that?" Good old Leonie, always so practical. It still catches him by surprise, sometimes, the sheer amount of fondness he has for all the Golden Deer, but he especially appreciates her now, because he can't even think about how to handle Lorenz knowing, much less actually do it.]
Where's-- Anisa was still fighting them off, is she--
["She'll be alright." Marianne's soft, steady voice reassures him. "I'll see to her once you're healed." He breaths out his thanks, genuinely reassured. There aren't many he'd trust his wyvern's care to but Marianne's at the top of the list.]
no subject
More than that he was not the one for them. But such are luxuries the nobility cannot afford. Once the war began he was given a chance to leave it be, to step away and busy himself with other thoughts. Allowed to let his hair grow long once more, covering the gap above his collar where delicate vines sometimes crept. To push all concerns of romance and marital duty aside.
Goddess forgive him but he was surprisingly happy. Certainly the war was a stressor, something that loomed heavily over them all, but he found that the more time he was able to spend in Derdriu the more content he was with his position. Of course, most of their interactions were political in nature, most of his interactions with everyone were political in nature, but being able to work beside Claude for that time was... enlightening.
Learning the way his mind worked, learning how to anticipate what the next challenge would be and pressing himself to be prepared for it rather than dumbfounded as he was the first few times.
Especially that first time. When Claude had so soundly corrected him and left him reeling with the sudden understanding that Claude was both infinitely more brilliant than he'd given him credit for and... well... more well informed than Lorenz himself. Because Lorenz received his information from a single, and now he realized horribly biased, source.
Everyone ending up back at Garreg Mach again, with the Professor no less, only made it that much harder to stifle all the things he had no business feeling. Perhaps, now that they'd returned to their old school grounds one might accuse him of becoming distant in ways he hadn't been in Derdriu.
Any work he'd done to convince himself that his heart belonged only to the Alliance and Claude merely happened to be good for her was shattered when he'd seen them falling through the sky not an hour ago. It's a struggle to fight down the welling sense of panic, the urge to shove Raphael and the Professor away and add his meager healing abilities to Marianne's work as well.
He's so busy keeping all of that in check that when he sees the soulmark on Claude's body he can't keep the panic at bay. The choices are either blurt out something awful or hit his knees and it's all he can do to keep his footing.]
Claude. [Sharp and disapproving, that flippant attempt at teasing, the strained wheeze of his laughter, things that are supposed to be easy and natural for Claude and to see him struggling with it makes him feel as though he might be ill.
The shift in the other man's focus, his soulmate's focus, to his mount is the only thing that saves him from snapping off something snide and cruel to Leonie in a desperate attempt to get the world that's crashing down around his ears to stabilize for even a moment.]
Anisa.... Marianne, I will see to her. You- [He cuts himself off, something strained and thick in his own voice that he dares not allow to escape. You keep him alive. But no, no- Claude is too important, too persistent, too adaptable to let something so small (it's not small, not at all, he should already be dead) keep him down for any amount of time.] You have more important duties.
[He finally manages to choke out the words, thinks he doesn't sound half as distraught as he feels saying them. If anyone means to argue he doesn't even give them time to formulate a response, turning on his heel to march away from the scene, to force himself to walk away from a friend -his soulmate- in danger.
Lorenz barely makes it around the corner, out of sight, before he slumps against the side of a half destroyed building, one trembling hand over his mouth, vision blurring slightly. There's no time to give in to fear, however. He needs to find Anisa and to that end, after scrubbing at his face to ensure there is no lingering evidence of the threat of tears that dampen his lashes, he marches out to collect Darby that they might head back towards the area she and Claude had landed in.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
and another one for @silky_bearing
It does make his current situation particularly challenging, however. He'd thought he'd had enough of his suppressants to make it until the latest crop of ingredients were ready, but one of the necessary herbs he'd planted in the greenhouse nearly as soon as they reclaimed the monastery is blooming just a little too late, and it's not exactly an easy thing to trade for in the current political climate. Even if he could find someone selling it somewhere, he certainly didn't have time to go get it anymore. So, his best option was to wait out the inevitable heat he's been putting off for the better part of a decade, and hopefully by then the damn plant would be ready to harvest.
Just a brief set-back. Nothing he can't handle on his own. He makes his excuses, saying he's going off to secure a supply line for the army and sending Anisa out without him. She knows what to do, knows to keep out of sight until he signals her again. He has to dip into his emergency supply of non-perishables so that he doesn't impact their food supply too greatly while things are still so tenuous, but clean water at least is available in abundance, and he sets up a cozy nook in a part of the monastery still largely considered uninhabitable for himself. Far enough away that even the keenest of noses won't be able to smell him once his heat hits. He's thought of everything.
Or, he thought he had.
He'd wanted to sneak into the sauna in the dead of night, try and sweat out the worst of his heat so it would be over sooner. He figured the place would be empty, the hour so late that the only people he should have had to avoid were the night guards- an easy task when he knew where they were all posted.
The baths are not empty, that much is obvious the moment he slips silently through the doors. The scent of rose petals hit him first, but his sense of smell is much keener without the suppressants, and even more so to the scent of an Alpha. He shudders and sways, one hand bracing himself against the wall and the other clutching at his stomach, his body aching with need. Lorenz.
He needs to get out, before he's spotted or worse, smelled, but he can't get his legs to move.]
no subject
Which is why he crept into the baths in the late hours of the night so often to soak in hot water and rose petals, his hair and skin taking up the scent of the flowers rather than the far less pleasant musk of Alpha. It was something he had far less time to indulge in what with the war so he was long overdue. It helped him unwind as well, eased tensions in his body that only grew worse as more time passed.
Especially suddenly pushed back into such close proximity to Claude again, his traitorous heart reminding him time and again that he didn't want some delicate omega maiden for his wife, designations and expectations be damned. Not that he would ever act on such a thing, the scandal of a noble Alpha not only taking a beta for a lover but one with whom he couldn't even sire heirs? He'd never live such a thing down.
More importantly Claude would never forgive him for harboring such feelings.
So he soaked in roses and tried to redirect his thoughts to things other than the beta that had captivated him for so many years now. It's the very fact that he's thinking so hard about not thinking that the sound of the door startles him enough to send some of the water in his bath splashing out onto the floor, drawing a startled sort of noise from him as he scrambles to get out of the tub.]
Ah! My apologies. I did not expect anyone to be here so late-
[Robe, robe!? Where is- THere!
He manages not to slip on the wet floor as he comes around the corner toward the door, pulling his robe closed, one hand behind his head to pull damp hair out of his collar.]
I do hope the roses are not too bothersome. Really, I try not to...
[Not to make the whole building smell of roses when anyone else might have reason to be around. Except he trails off, blinking in surprise, breath catching in his chest as he gets the first hint of heat scent.]
Claude?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
surprise baby tactician
Unfortunately, the rush and chaos of the battle leads to some hasty mistakes; that in itself is nothing unusual, but when it's the time traveling goddess powers that go awry, the results can be things no one could possibly anticipate.
Something like, when Dimitri finally reaches Claude von Riegan, Grand Duke of the Leicester Alliance, instead of the infamous Master Tactician atop his distinctive white wyvern greeting him with a quip and a smile, the wyvern is instead curled protectively around a small boy that will look suspiciously familiar, with the distinctive braid Claude had worn during their time in the Academy and wide green eyes that stare up at Dimitri with fear and an utter lack of recognition. His clothes are like nothing Dimitri will have seen in Fodlan, but clearly of very fine make and quality, and he seems oddly comfortable being surrounded by a very protective wyvern, his little arms not long enough to wrap all the way around her neck despite his best efforts to cling to her. He lifts his chin up stubbornly, clearly trying to sound brave and strong despite the tremor in his voice.] Wh-Who are you?
sometimes a kidnapping is an opportunity to make new friends
Still, it's long enough that he's figured out how to get himself out of the rope binding his wrists together, quickly removing the cloth wrapped around his head as a sloppy makeshift gag. He feels the ship come to a shuddering stop as he finally gets the rope around his ankles loose as well, kicking it off with a quiet but triumphant laugh. Take that, stupid kidnappers! If they've made port, they'll probably be down here to get him really soon though, so he quickly scrambles to find a place to hide-- there's plenty of choices among all the crates.
That's when he finds the porthole window. It's difficult for a child to open, but he shoves at it with his shoulder, pushing at the latch as hard as he can... and then it abruptly opens on his next attempt, Khalid's body keeps going for another shove, and he falls over and through it. Too surprised to even yell, he hits the water with a quiet splash. It's deep, so deep he can't even touch the bottom, and he tries to scramble to the surface, his clothes becoming water logged and weighing him down. He doesn't know how to swim, definitely not in water this deep.
Something-- Someone grabs him and he instinctively fights against them even as they haul him up to the surface, certain it's one of his captors. He gasps and coughs once they hit the air, still weakly trying to fight off his savior.
"Goddess, kid, stop fighting! Don't you want me to save your life?" The man snaps in Fodlish, and the familiar tongue gives him pause. His captors were all Almyran, the merchants... smugglers they'd handed him off to, all Almyran. The only people he's ever heard speak his mother's language have been... well, him and his mother.
Unfortunately the spectacle of the local Duke's heir diving into the water has attracted their attention, and the captain is already booking it to them to try and run damage control. He's explaining that the cabin boy simply fell out, clumsy child that he is, but as soon as he reaches for the water-logged Khalid he shifts to hide behind the dark haired teen, fear obvious on his face. If he didn't have him by the arm, he would just run.]
when will the baby threads stop (never)
That was a week ago-- the kid, who is definitely Claude, minus about a decade of lived experience, was rescued, brought back to the monastery, and immediately presented to Jeralt. The mercenary impressed upon Byleth, and then on the rest of the Golden Deer, how bad an idea it would be for Rhea to be told about what happened. As far as the rest of the monastery was concerned, Claude von Riegan had gone back to Derdriu on urgent family business. How unfortunately timed it was that his younger cousin "Cal" had come to visit at the same time! (Neither Byleth or Jeralt are particularly good at coming up with fake names. It's close enough to how the kid refers to himself, anyway.)
At least Khalid is old enough to understand the concept of secrets. At first he's surprisingly shy, almost timid, following in Byleth or Jeralt's shadows like a little duckling when he isn't hiding out in his room. But he can't stick with the "safe" adults forever, especially not when they both had duties to the church to take care of that might see them crossing paths with Rhea. Normally the monastery is a fairly safe place for a child to run around, even on their own, but Khalid is no ordinary child. Who knows what'll happen to Claude if they let him get hurt before they find a way to return him to his normal age? There's always one of the Golden Deer or another hanging around, keeping watch on him. He even overheard them calling it "babysitting duty", even though he wasn't a baby! He learns quickly which are easier to sneak away from, who is nice, and who isn't.
Iggy and Mari are his favorites, they just let him go wherever he wants and only try to stop him if they're scared he'll get hurt. Which happens a lot, but at least they're nice about it. Raphael and Leonie are nice too, and they always want to play games with him, they're just pretty loud, and big in Raphael's case. Lysithea just complains the whole time about having to watch him instead of doing other things, but then when he sneaks away so she can go do her other things, she gets mad at him! She does take him to the library sometimes though, and that's nice. Hilda... Hilda is weird. She says they're friends, but then she gives him weird looks whenever he tries to tell her how to actually say his name, even when it's just the Deer and he doesn't have to pretend he has a different name. He's pretty sure she's lying about being friends. As for Lorenz... he knows Lorenz doesn't like him. He doesn't yell at him or anything, but Khalid's not stupid, and Lorenz isn't a good actor.
Unfortunately for them both, it's Lorenz's turn to watch the little lordling. Double unfortunately, though there are times where Khalid is perfectly happy to be left with a pile of books to read, now is not one of those times. That's what he does when the Deer and Byleth are doing class all day, after all! Now class is over and he wants to explore!
carries this over from discord....
Because clearly he's.... tainted or something now.
--
Which of them is the marksman here again? "You haven't misstepped, I--" In a rare show of being at a loss for words, Khalid cuts himself off with a sigh. "You're already a political target. Getting involved with me will only put you more at risk."
--
"More risk than I was at with my own father secretly supporting the Empire? Hardly." Lorenz shakes his head dismissively before actually looking up at Khalid. "I've truly enjoyed my time here... I owe a great deal of that too you Khalid. I... Had intended to speak with Byleth about making my appointment here permanent." his shoulders droop a little and he looks just as defeated as he had after that first real blow out argument with his father. "Was that unduly optimistic of me? I'd rather thought-" but he still can't bring himself to say the words outright. Not when they've both been dancing around it for so long.
--
"Yes, at least as much if not more. Life in court may be beautiful, but the moment you forget how dangerous it can be, it will remind you. I would love nothing more than to have you here at my side, but you would always be in danger. I can't promise you the safety you deserve."
--
"I never asked you to!" Sharp and insistent only for him to close his eyes, try to quiet his emotions and not let the old sting of abandonment choke him up too much.
"I just don't want to lose you again."
--
Lorenz is right and he knows it, he knows he's being presumptuous and overprotective but gods, Lorenz has already been harmed because of their relationship once... if it became public knowledge just how much the king cared for the Fodlan ambassador, his enemies would see nothing but the perfect opportunity to cut to the core of him. "And I don't want you to be lost forever." He insists, his eyes pleading with Lorenz to understand him. He captures one of Lorenz's hands in both of his own, staring down at the pale, frail-looking fingers. It's easier than meeting that hurt gaze. "I don't doubt your strength, or your capability. And Gods, you have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you want to stay." He smiles, bittersweet, lifting Lorenz's hand to kiss it and press the back of it to his forehead. "But if you stay, you will be the target of kidnappings, assassination, poisoning-- so much more than you already are. If you--" Gods, the thought tastes foul in his mouth, "If you died because of me, I don't know that I'd make it through that." He looks to meet Lorenz's eyes again, his own suspiciously damp.
no subject
His father had tried to do just that. He would no more tolerate it from Khalid as he had the Count. King or no.
Claude's grip loosens on his hand and those lovely jade eyes finally meet his own and Lorenz stands. The hand that had been on his forehead moves down to cradle his cheek and Lorenz' own eyes are damp even as he shakes his head and rolls them dramatically.
"You idiot." He speaks the word with all the fondness in the world, as though it is some loving endearment instead of an insult. Perhaps... by now it is. "I am lost without you." A watery smile, grudging and embarrassed but only because the words are heartfelt. "Ask Byleth. Or- Goddess, Hilda. I was beside myself when you left us. I don't-"
He steps in closer, leaning down so he can press his forehead to Khalid's, the long silken curtain of his hair hiding them from any prying eyes. "I don't think I can do that again."
(no subject)