[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.]
[And Leonie is right- she’s right- but it would take the blind to not see how Lorenz is shaken. How his skin, already pale, has gone ashen at some unknown imagined horror as his mind drags to the forefront precisely how much of a disaster this is. How, if it should get out, not only would both their reputations suffer, but weaker, less influential houses might see it as a means to displace both of them. Rumors would start of their school years, never no mind the truth of their academy days.
Nobles did not have soulmates.]
That… [He inhales, unnerved but forcing himself to focus. To repress. There are things still that he must do. Leonie is right.] My apologies. I will go instead. There may be stragglers from the enemy forces who yet remain and I, [he hesitates] I saw when they fell. [When Claude fell.
It is something he cannot bear to admit, not now in these current circumstances. How he saw the mage too late to halt the cast. The strike of his hurled lance landing only after the bolt of lightning had flashed through the sky. How he had seen from the corner of his eye as he threw a spell of his own to defend himself against an opportunistic archer the plummeting figure of his ally.
How for a moment, he had been afraid.] I can well guess where she may have taken refuge. [His words are crisp now, businesslike as he turns towards his mount and swings up onto her back with the ease of practice.] Once I have secured her location, I will send a signal.
[Byleth is watching him, he can sense it. It is unusual for Lorenz to be so forceful in matters like these- to not wait for their Professor’s word- but he would rather not linger.
No, perhaps more accurately he cannot bear to. Being confronted any longer with this reality- with the sight of that mark damning the both of them… he nudges Rosalia into a trot instead, maneuvering past his gathered comrades and back into the fields, shifting his attention to the matter of finding Claude’s fallen mount.
[The logical part of Claude's mind, and the part that knows how Lorenz thinks, says that his look of horror at the realization is because of the implications-- that old chestnut about his duties as a noble. But the emotion center of his brain can only read a rejection of him, that Lorenz is horrified because he is tied by destiny to Claude. Unfortunately, that's holding slightly more sway at the moment; it tends to when he's in pain, Claude is still only human.
His head jerks up to look at Lorenz when he says he's going after Claude's wyvern, and the sudden movement would have made him fall if he weren't already being held up by Raphael. This registers as bad, bad idea, very bad to his scattered mind, but before he can gather words for a protest, Marianne beats him to the punch. If there's one good thing to come out of all this, it's Marianne's fledgling confidence in herself.
"Oh-- don't get too close to her, Lorenz. She'll be hurt, and frightened that she can't find her rider."
Claude starts losing track of the conversation at that point, and it must have been about the time he passed out, because the next thing he knew, he was on a bed in the infirmary back at Garreg Mach.
The first day back passes in a blur of drinking healing potions, sleeping, and trying to get updates on how things are going from his very resistant allies and friends who insist he needs to actually rest for once. The gall.
Other than the healers, it's Hilda he sees first, and the first words out of her mouth are that Pruscilla was found and brought back, injured but safe and on the mend, just like her rider. The second is that if Claude ever comes that close to dying and leaving her with all this responsibility permanently again, she'll bring him back to life just so she can kill him herself.
It's the third thing that's the real kicker. "So... you and Lorenz, huh?"
It had been a relief to be able to talk to someone about it... Hilda didn't just know him well, she understood him, they worked in a lot of the same ways even if it was to different ends. And, she'd revealed to him "for the sake of fairness", she had a soulmate of her own in Marianne. But she hadn't had offered a lot of insight into how Lorenz might be thinking or feeling about the matter-- she just told him that was something they'd have to talk about, "you know, like adults, 'cause we're not teenagers anymore, Claude. Besides, isn't making people sit down and talk sort of your thing?". She's right, of course, on every count. She always is.
Unfortunately, Claude had another day of strictly enforced bedrest ahead of him... yes, he could scheme a way to get Lorenz to come see him, but that wasn't an appropriate approach for this. He wasn't sure what he wanted, but it wasn't for Lorenz to think it was a joke to him, or just another pawn on the chess board of his mind. So, it'll have to wait. Which is fine. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Claude can be patient.]
[It is a warning well deserved for the state of Pruscilla’s mind is a danger he had not even considered, though it does not change that this is something he must do. In the end, all he can do is thank Marianne for the advice before departing.
And, ultimately, his fears are not entirely unwarranted. Years upon the field of battle have given him an insight into how an enemy treats warfare: both as a time of glory and prestige... and as one of opportunity. Those who linger behind, whether out of injury or cowardice, are always a peril to contend with. Moreso are those who would see the fallen as an opportunity to gain wealth- looters of the dead. Disgraceful as it may be, all are par the course of war.
For Marianne, a healer and a lady, the dangers would have been considerable. For him, a knight mounted on horseback with a lance at the ready… well, they’re cowards and opportunists. Not fools. It takes but a glance from a distance for them to retreat, allowing him to continue his search unencumbered. And in the silence of his pursuit, tracking by memory and estimation, his mind is allowed to stray. To regret.
It is no exaggeration that, in the light of this revelation, many of his simpler, seemingly inane comments have become exceedingly cruel. How many times, Lorenz can only guess, did I break his heart? And he chides himself as Rosalia picks her way across a field, guided by the nudge of hand and knee towards an outcropping of trees where a frightened wyvern might find refuge. He tells himself it was beyond his control. That, Really, what would it have changed even if I had known?
… but it seems an excuse. A poor justification for his ignorance. He ought to have known.
Rosalia comes to a halt as they near the trees, nostrils flaring and ears pricking forward. And as he raises his head to glance into the shadows of the foliage, he sees an amber eye glaring back at him in mindless fury, a glint of bloodied teeth showing in a flicker of sunlight. Slowly, with no sudden movement, he pulls lightly on the reigns in his hand to encourage his mare to slowly back away. Once at a proper distance, he raises his hand to make the sigil for a signal.
What would it have changed?
It is Byleth who confronts him later, making the rounds as they oft do in the aftermath of battle. Lorenz makes his excuses, puts up a front as best he can and seemingly manages his usual eloquence. Or, at the very least, fools himself into thinking he has.
Seemingly, the Professor doesn’t believe a word of it. “Claude is awake.” Is all they say before departing, tossing Lorenz a meaningful look over their shoulder.
And Lorenz is left to stare at their retreating back, regretting and feeling that resurgence of old uneasiness. The indecision of knowing that which is proper and that which is right.
A noble does not marry for love.
...but it would not be wrong to at least seek answers, would it?
It seems a flimsy excuse, but he can at least reason himself into it. There is a need for peace between them, after all. No longer can they behave as school children, bickering over slights. They are adults with proper responsibilities and a war to contend with. Even the slightest discord could cause disastrous friction- whether in the war room or upon the battlefield. If nothing else, Lorenz and Claude must come to some kind of agreement.
All of this which, Lorenz admits, seems needless pretext as he finds himself in front of Claude’s door. Hearing voices within, he wonders if he ought to return another time. If he can find a reason to procrastinate their meeting even more.
The Goddess, seemingly, is not so kind. The door opens and he skirts back ever so slightly, looking both caught and panicked as Hilda bids Claude farewell and makes to shut the door before catching sight of him. And for the look she treats him to, that knowing smirk followed by an all-too-innocent smile as she pointedly leaves the door ajar and steps away...
He wonders if his body reflects the sensation of his entire being shriveling in on itself.
Courage, Gloucester. With a faint cough to clear his throat of sudden nerves, he strides past her with a nod and firmly knocks on the adjacent door to announce himself.] Claude, a moment?
[For all her complaining about running errands for him, Hilda's been good with keeping him informed about goings-on in the monastery, though she'd stubbornly stuck to the bare minimum that would keep him adhering to his bedrest instead of seeking the information out himself. It's the curse of leading an army in a war, even when he's resting he feels like he should be doing something. Not that he'll complain about being able to put off the paperwork.
He'd started to settle in to read, but apparently he's got a rotating door today, because there's a knock right after Hilda leaves. A knock followed by someone coming in before he can reply, and simultaneously, his stomach knots with anxiety and his lips twitch at a faint smile when he hears it's Lorenz.
He places the book back down on the bed, propped up against a veritable mountain of pillows.] Sure, come on in. [Supes casual. Nothing life-altering has happened, clearly.]
[Were he but 5 years younger and a little more inexperienced, the ruse would have worked. Lorenz would have looked to that smile- seen the crook of his lips and his relaxed demeanor- and felt within him an ire that could only fester. A frustration with only one out.
Now... now he knows better. It is in the tension of Claude's shoulders and the stiffness of a typically fluid smile. A relaxed disposition betrayed by small, subtle nuances of his body. Clearly, neither of them are looking forward this encounter.
And, abruptly, he is happy to know this discomfort is something they share. That this union is something neither of them are sure of. Yet, just as abruptly, he feels guilt, for surely this is of his own making. Whether or not Claude could have been happy to learn the identity of his soulmate is something he cannot know, but surely for the situation they are in now- Claude's reason for hiding this on top of so many other things... that can only be because of Lorenz's remarks.
He has no one but himself to blame.
For a moment he lingers by the door, holding it just so from shutting fully with his gaze averted to a corner behind Claude's ear. Guilt, uneasiness, uncertainty... any number of things that could give rise to cowardice...
But certainly, straightforward is all he has ever known.
And so, inhaling carefully and straightening, he raises an averted gaze to meet Claude's eyes head on.] How are you feeling? [He asks, shutting the door at least and stepping towards the bed. Taking a seat upon a chair that Hilda surely occupied but moments earlier, he takes the time to cross one leg over the other and clasps his hands together before resting them upon his knee. A perfect indication that he is here to stay.]
[It's an act more put on for his own benefit than Lorenz's, a fact he's fairly certain they're both aware of. Claude is far more cautious than he leads people to believe, particularly in his personal matters.
He takes in as much of Lorenz's expression and body language as he can while he lingers by the door, looking for any indication of what he's thinking or feeling. At first, he'd thought the man hilariously predictable. Now that he's seen past all the bluster, he still knows what to expect from him most of the time, but he can filter it through the lens of Lorenz's intent, which is so often very different from what actually comes out of his mouth, due to his sadly chronic foot in mouth syndrome. Although, Lorenz has gotten better about that too.
For a moment, he worries Lorenz might just make a strategic retreat, but-- he doesn't. He even shuts the door behind him and sits in the chair Hilda had vacated, with clear intent to stay and talk for a while. So, that's good, even if they're both-- uncertain.]
Restless and bored. [He answers, and it's mostly true, disregarding the aches and pains from his still-healing injuries and the feelings that Lorenz himself provokes. Claude really isn't one for sitting still and being on bed rest is practically torture now that he's able to stay conscious for long enough to want to get things done.] What about you? Any trouble handling things while I'm laid up?
Hardly. [The indignance that slips from his tongue is near reflexive.] We are not so hopeless as to fall apart at the seams without our leader to guide us. Have more faith than that. [And it is only when he levels a sharp look of disapproval at Claude is he realizing the habit he has fallen into.
Really, how could he even wonder why Claude should have kept it a secret?]
… but I did not come here to speak of that. [And when he speaks again, it is in softer tones, a note of guilt laced between the lines as he settles back, dropping his gaze for a moment, the veil of his hair sliding over his shoulder with the motion.
And he hesitates, uncertain on how to proceed. On what to ask first… on what can even be asked. Did Claude want this? Him? Did he hide it from inconvenience or because it was a relationship doomed from the start?
What… does Claude want?] I… recognize this is ill-timed, given the situation and the state of your health, but… [And he balks ever so slightly, giving voice to something so tentative as vulnerability, but certainly he cannot run now.
And so he raises his eyes, resolved to at least leave this room with no uncertainty left between them.] We are soulmates, correct?
not even claude stops to consider what he wants oops
I have every faith in you, or I wouldn't still be in this bed. [He'd meant it as a general you but... it's even more truthful in the specific. It's because of Lorenz and Hilda that he's able to tolerate bedrest at all. Claude shifts on the bed; the discomfort of baring an honest truth is something he's been feeling with more and more regularity. He blames Byleth's influence.
As expected, the bare minimum of pleasantries and Lorenz gets straight to the point. For once, Claude has no idea what Lorenz wants from him. Lorenz himself likely doesn't know. And Claude can't stand not knowing things.
It's tempting to fall back on flippancy, especially after he's already made such an earnest statement-- but he doesn't. This is important, and he wants Lorenz to know it's a matter he takes seriously.] Yeah. You can get a look for yourself, if you want.
I would hardly have anything to compare it to. [The remark is made immediately- callously, like so many other things, though at least this time he has the awareness to seem abashed after giving it voice. Rarely does Lorenz speak without thought for that which he utters. Testament then, perhaps, to his nerves.
It is an admission that implies nothing good- that he himself does not even know exactly what his mark looks like. That he knows only that it is there, gracing the back of his shoulder and creeping up his neck like an unwanted vine. That he had given it such little attention he had not even wanted to mark how it might have grown as the years passed by.
And it reflects in his expression, that regret. That despite everything, he had not wanted to hurt Claude over this. That the mere thought of having done so is in its own way a painful thing.] ...When did you find out?
[Claude is particularly adept at getting Lorenz to speak so callously, whether he's trying to or not, so it's hardly a surprise. It's likely his own endlessly curious nature that led to him knowing too well how the mark on his own back looks-- it's not exactly easy to see on himself, and he certainly wasn't going to ask someone to describe it to him. It's because Claude habitually pays close attention to everything in his life that he's tracked the changes. Devoid of those characteristics and preferring to ignore the idea of soulmates completely, of course Lorenz hasn't checked for himself.
Not even once, though?
He smiles anyway, attempting to convey his usual unflappability. He's Claude, after all, and Claude is always fine. There's no need for Lorenz to regret, because he isn't hurt. This is an important thing that they need to discuss, but he doesn't begrudge Lorenz the choices he's made.] I don't remember the exact date. Teach had us on stable duty together.
something something not knowing yourself will cause bad something
[It takes Lorenz a moment to consider that, for they have often been paired for any number of duties together.
And, at first, Lorenz had questioned that, for to place them together would surely have been akin to fire and kindling. Naught but sparks and tempers (or perhaps that had merely been on his part.)
But as they had grown and the war had come to fruition, he had learned to appreciate Byleth’s wisdom in that regard. As much friction as there might have been between them, it could have only hurt their house, and ultimately the Alliance, to stay strangers. To be constantly at odds, dancing between prying questions and evasive answers with no true amount of trust to speak of. And as they had labored beneath blazing suns and chill winter winds, he had, after a fashion, at least become comfortable with the presence of Claude, if not his disposition.
Success in that regard, if nothing else.
Which, of course, also aligns with Claude’s recollection. With so many days spent as such, it is easy to envision how he might have noticed Lorenz’s mark despite the pains taken to conceal it. (An eternally clasped collar arranged to meticulous perfection.) Toiling in the heat, it would have been easy to have forgotten himself, even if only for a moment, and to loosen a collar in an effort to keep from overheating. And his hair, kept neatly trimmed, would have offered no cover with which to conceal what his coat had.
And so Claude had found out and…]
And? [The question is a quiet one, thinly veiled in something not unlike frustration as he gives Claude a look. He does not mean to make this an interrogation but the other is, typically, offering little on his own thoughts about the matter.] When did you decide to keep it to yourself?
[He can practically see how Lorenz turns the information over in his mind, keen eyes watching the minute shifts in his expression. The answer to his question is obvious, really-- immediately. For a different reason initially than what it came to be, but it had been an immediate decision regardless.
Answering a question with a question is, he knows, pretty damn irritating, but Lorenz is nearly always irritated with him anyway. And, perhaps selfishly, he feels his question is more important than giving a blatantly obvious answer.] What would you have done if I hadn't?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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
Nobles did not have soulmates.]
That… [He inhales, unnerved but forcing himself to focus. To repress. There are things still that he must do. Leonie is right.] My apologies. I will go instead. There may be stragglers from the enemy forces who yet remain and I, [he hesitates] I saw when they fell. [When Claude fell.
It is something he cannot bear to admit, not now in these current circumstances. How he saw the mage too late to halt the cast. The strike of his hurled lance landing only after the bolt of lightning had flashed through the sky. How he had seen from the corner of his eye as he threw a spell of his own to defend himself against an opportunistic archer the plummeting figure of his ally.
How for a moment, he had been afraid.] I can well guess where she may have taken refuge. [His words are crisp now, businesslike as he turns towards his mount and swings up onto her back with the ease of practice.] Once I have secured her location, I will send a signal.
[Byleth is watching him, he can sense it. It is unusual for Lorenz to be so forceful in matters like these- to not wait for their Professor’s word- but he would rather not linger.
No, perhaps more accurately he cannot bear to. Being confronted any longer with this reality- with the sight of that mark damning the both of them… he nudges Rosalia into a trot instead, maneuvering past his gathered comrades and back into the fields, shifting his attention to the matter of finding Claude’s fallen mount.
There would be time to brood later.]
is this vore
His head jerks up to look at Lorenz when he says he's going after Claude's wyvern, and the sudden movement would have made him fall if he weren't already being held up by Raphael. This registers as bad, bad idea, very bad to his scattered mind, but before he can gather words for a protest, Marianne beats him to the punch. If there's one good thing to come out of all this, it's Marianne's fledgling confidence in herself.
"Oh-- don't get too close to her, Lorenz. She'll be hurt, and frightened that she can't find her rider."
Claude starts losing track of the conversation at that point, and it must have been about the time he passed out, because the next thing he knew, he was on a bed in the infirmary back at Garreg Mach.
The first day back passes in a blur of drinking healing potions, sleeping, and trying to get updates on how things are going from his very resistant allies and friends who insist he needs to actually rest for once. The gall.
Other than the healers, it's Hilda he sees first, and the first words out of her mouth are that Pruscilla was found and brought back, injured but safe and on the mend, just like her rider. The second is that if Claude ever comes that close to dying and leaving her with all this responsibility permanently again, she'll bring him back to life just so she can kill him herself.
It's the third thing that's the real kicker. "So... you and Lorenz, huh?"
It had been a relief to be able to talk to someone about it... Hilda didn't just know him well, she understood him, they worked in a lot of the same ways even if it was to different ends. And, she'd revealed to him "for the sake of fairness", she had a soulmate of her own in Marianne. But she hadn't had offered a lot of insight into how Lorenz might be thinking or feeling about the matter-- she just told him that was something they'd have to talk about, "you know, like adults, 'cause we're not teenagers anymore, Claude. Besides, isn't making people sit down and talk sort of your thing?". She's right, of course, on every count. She always is.
Unfortunately, Claude had another day of strictly enforced bedrest ahead of him... yes, he could scheme a way to get Lorenz to come see him, but that wasn't an appropriate approach for this. He wasn't sure what he wanted, but it wasn't for Lorenz to think it was a joke to him, or just another pawn on the chess board of his mind. So, it'll have to wait. Which is fine. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Claude can be patient.]
I won't tell if you won't
And, ultimately, his fears are not entirely unwarranted. Years upon the field of battle have given him an insight into how an enemy treats warfare: both as a time of glory and prestige... and as one of opportunity. Those who linger behind, whether out of injury or cowardice, are always a peril to contend with. Moreso are those who would see the fallen as an opportunity to gain wealth- looters of the dead. Disgraceful as it may be, all are par the course of war.
For Marianne, a healer and a lady, the dangers would have been considerable. For him, a knight mounted on horseback with a lance at the ready… well, they’re cowards and opportunists. Not fools. It takes but a glance from a distance for them to retreat, allowing him to continue his search unencumbered. And in the silence of his pursuit, tracking by memory and estimation, his mind is allowed to stray. To regret.
It is no exaggeration that, in the light of this revelation, many of his simpler, seemingly inane comments have become exceedingly cruel. How many times, Lorenz can only guess, did I break his heart? And he chides himself as Rosalia picks her way across a field, guided by the nudge of hand and knee towards an outcropping of trees where a frightened wyvern might find refuge. He tells himself it was beyond his control. That, Really, what would it have changed even if I had known?
… but it seems an excuse. A poor justification for his ignorance. He ought to have known.
Rosalia comes to a halt as they near the trees, nostrils flaring and ears pricking forward. And as he raises his head to glance into the shadows of the foliage, he sees an amber eye glaring back at him in mindless fury, a glint of bloodied teeth showing in a flicker of sunlight. Slowly, with no sudden movement, he pulls lightly on the reigns in his hand to encourage his mare to slowly back away. Once at a proper distance, he raises his hand to make the sigil for a signal.
What would it have changed?
It is Byleth who confronts him later, making the rounds as they oft do in the aftermath of battle. Lorenz makes his excuses, puts up a front as best he can and seemingly manages his usual eloquence. Or, at the very least, fools himself into thinking he has.
Seemingly, the Professor doesn’t believe a word of it. “Claude is awake.” Is all they say before departing, tossing Lorenz a meaningful look over their shoulder.
And Lorenz is left to stare at their retreating back, regretting and feeling that resurgence of old uneasiness. The indecision of knowing that which is proper and that which is right.
A noble does not marry for love.
...but it would not be wrong to at least seek answers, would it?
It seems a flimsy excuse, but he can at least reason himself into it. There is a need for peace between them, after all. No longer can they behave as school children, bickering over slights. They are adults with proper responsibilities and a war to contend with. Even the slightest discord could cause disastrous friction- whether in the war room or upon the battlefield. If nothing else, Lorenz and Claude must come to some kind of agreement.
All of this which, Lorenz admits, seems needless pretext as he finds himself in front of Claude’s door. Hearing voices within, he wonders if he ought to return another time. If he can find a reason to procrastinate their meeting even more.
The Goddess, seemingly, is not so kind. The door opens and he skirts back ever so slightly, looking both caught and panicked as Hilda bids Claude farewell and makes to shut the door before catching sight of him. And for the look she treats him to, that knowing smirk followed by an all-too-innocent smile as she pointedly leaves the door ajar and steps away...
He wonders if his body reflects the sensation of his entire being shriveling in on itself.
Courage, Gloucester. With a faint cough to clear his throat of sudden nerves, he strides past her with a nod and firmly knocks on the adjacent door to announce himself.] Claude, a moment?
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He'd started to settle in to read, but apparently he's got a rotating door today, because there's a knock right after Hilda leaves. A knock followed by someone coming in before he can reply, and simultaneously, his stomach knots with anxiety and his lips twitch at a faint smile when he hears it's Lorenz.
He places the book back down on the bed, propped up against a veritable mountain of pillows.] Sure, come on in. [Supes casual. Nothing life-altering has happened, clearly.]
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Now... now he knows better. It is in the tension of Claude's shoulders and the stiffness of a typically fluid smile. A relaxed disposition betrayed by small, subtle nuances of his body. Clearly, neither of them are looking forward this encounter.
And, abruptly, he is happy to know this discomfort is something they share. That this union is something neither of them are sure of. Yet, just as abruptly, he feels guilt, for surely this is of his own making. Whether or not Claude could have been happy to learn the identity of his soulmate is something he cannot know, but surely for the situation they are in now- Claude's reason for hiding this on top of so many other things... that can only be because of Lorenz's remarks.
He has no one but himself to blame.
For a moment he lingers by the door, holding it just so from shutting fully with his gaze averted to a corner behind Claude's ear. Guilt, uneasiness, uncertainty... any number of things that could give rise to cowardice...
But certainly, straightforward is all he has ever known.
And so, inhaling carefully and straightening, he raises an averted gaze to meet Claude's eyes head on.] How are you feeling? [He asks, shutting the door at least and stepping towards the bed. Taking a seat upon a chair that Hilda surely occupied but moments earlier, he takes the time to cross one leg over the other and clasps his hands together before resting them upon his knee. A perfect indication that he is here to stay.]
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He takes in as much of Lorenz's expression and body language as he can while he lingers by the door, looking for any indication of what he's thinking or feeling. At first, he'd thought the man hilariously predictable. Now that he's seen past all the bluster, he still knows what to expect from him most of the time, but he can filter it through the lens of Lorenz's intent, which is so often very different from what actually comes out of his mouth, due to his sadly chronic foot in mouth syndrome. Although, Lorenz has gotten better about that too.
For a moment, he worries Lorenz might just make a strategic retreat, but-- he doesn't. He even shuts the door behind him and sits in the chair Hilda had vacated, with clear intent to stay and talk for a while. So, that's good, even if they're both-- uncertain.]
Restless and bored. [He answers, and it's mostly true, disregarding the aches and pains from his still-healing injuries and the feelings that Lorenz himself provokes. Claude really isn't one for sitting still and being on bed rest is practically torture now that he's able to stay conscious for long enough to want to get things done.] What about you? Any trouble handling things while I'm laid up?
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Really, how could he even wonder why Claude should have kept it a secret?]
… but I did not come here to speak of that. [And when he speaks again, it is in softer tones, a note of guilt laced between the lines as he settles back, dropping his gaze for a moment, the veil of his hair sliding over his shoulder with the motion.
And he hesitates, uncertain on how to proceed. On what to ask first… on what can even be asked. Did Claude want this? Him? Did he hide it from inconvenience or because it was a relationship doomed from the start?
What… does Claude want?] I… recognize this is ill-timed, given the situation and the state of your health, but… [And he balks ever so slightly, giving voice to something so tentative as vulnerability, but certainly he cannot run now.
And so he raises his eyes, resolved to at least leave this room with no uncertainty left between them.] We are soulmates, correct?
not even claude stops to consider what he wants oops
As expected, the bare minimum of pleasantries and Lorenz gets straight to the point. For once, Claude has no idea what Lorenz wants from him. Lorenz himself likely doesn't know. And Claude can't stand not knowing things.
It's tempting to fall back on flippancy, especially after he's already made such an earnest statement-- but he doesn't. This is important, and he wants Lorenz to know it's a matter he takes seriously.] Yeah. You can get a look for yourself, if you want.
claude pls
It is an admission that implies nothing good- that he himself does not even know exactly what his mark looks like. That he knows only that it is there, gracing the back of his shoulder and creeping up his neck like an unwanted vine. That he had given it such little attention he had not even wanted to mark how it might have grown as the years passed by.
And it reflects in his expression, that regret. That despite everything, he had not wanted to hurt Claude over this. That the mere thought of having done so is in its own way a painful thing.] ...When did you find out?
but the Big Picture lorenz....
Not even once, though?
He smiles anyway, attempting to convey his usual unflappability. He's Claude, after all, and Claude is always fine. There's no need for Lorenz to regret, because he isn't hurt. This is an important thing that they need to discuss, but he doesn't begrudge Lorenz the choices he's made.] I don't remember the exact date. Teach had us on stable duty together.
something something not knowing yourself will cause bad something
And, at first, Lorenz had questioned that, for to place them together would surely have been akin to fire and kindling. Naught but sparks and tempers (or perhaps that had merely been on his part.)
But as they had grown and the war had come to fruition, he had learned to appreciate Byleth’s wisdom in that regard. As much friction as there might have been between them, it could have only hurt their house, and ultimately the Alliance, to stay strangers. To be constantly at odds, dancing between prying questions and evasive answers with no true amount of trust to speak of. And as they had labored beneath blazing suns and chill winter winds, he had, after a fashion, at least become comfortable with the presence of Claude, if not his disposition.
Success in that regard, if nothing else.
Which, of course, also aligns with Claude’s recollection. With so many days spent as such, it is easy to envision how he might have noticed Lorenz’s mark despite the pains taken to conceal it. (An eternally clasped collar arranged to meticulous perfection.) Toiling in the heat, it would have been easy to have forgotten himself, even if only for a moment, and to loosen a collar in an effort to keep from overheating. And his hair, kept neatly trimmed, would have offered no cover with which to conceal what his coat had.
And so Claude had found out and…]
And? [The question is a quiet one, thinly veiled in something not unlike frustration as he gives Claude a look. He does not mean to make this an interrogation but the other is, typically, offering little on his own thoughts about the matter.] When did you decide to keep it to yourself?
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Answering a question with a question is, he knows, pretty damn irritating, but Lorenz is nearly always irritated with him anyway. And, perhaps selfishly, he feels his question is more important than giving a blatantly obvious answer.] What would you have done if I hadn't?