Chapter Text
It was Lorenz’s idea, of course. The man loved his pomp and ceremony, and the more pompous the better.
Claude was amused at the progression of the letters from the Alliance. Over the past year, Hilda’s casual proposal of a second attempt at their five year class reunion (“but properly this time!”) turned into a Very Grand and Very Formal get-together at Garreg Mach. The leading figures in the Kingdom and the new Adrestian Republic were all invited.
Then the new Count Gloucester decided to kill two birds with one stone, and all of the foreign leaders - not just Claude - received invitations. Lorenz’s flowery language promised the event would symbolize the new peace and harmony between their nations. The treaties with Sreng and Duscur had just been finalized the previous year, and of course, now that Claude was on the throne of Almyra, the final one would soon follow.
Claude traveled by wyvern, with an Almyran guard accompanying him, plus a very grumpy Byleth and Balthus. Neither took particularly well to flying, though only Balthus let out a torrent of swears and complaints; the mercenary captain just clung on in grim silence.
Garreg Mach was almost unrecognizable - or, more accurately, it was almost back to what it had been during their school days. The Church’s power and influence might have been severely curtailed after Rhea formally stepped down, but Seteth was still determined that the monastery would be the center of worship for all that desired it. He greeted them at the gates, looking, of course, exactly the same as he always had. Claude idly wondered how many years it would take for even one new wrinkle to appear on a Nabatean’s face.
“Good to see you again!”
“Welcome back to Garreg Mach, King Khalid.”
Claude made a face. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”
“Very little,” Seteth agreed, but with the barest hint at a smile. “Archbishop Eisner extends her greetings to you all. She’s also requested a private audience with the captain of your-”
Byleth rolled her eyes. “Can’t you ever turn the ceremony off? Of course I’ll see my mother. I don’t blame her for any of this.”
“Hey, hey, are you just gonna run off and leave me unprotected?”
“Balthus is right there.”
“I know what I said.”
She rolled her eyes at him and lifted her voice over Balthus’ profane objections. “You’re safer here than on your throne, Your Majesty, and we both know it.”
Claude had to admit she had a point there. His path to the coronation had been as complicated as any Almyran’s, and the fact that he’d left his half-siblings alive to lick their wounds afterwards - not unprecedented, but not exactly recommended - kept Byleth particularly busy. In time, he hoped that his clemency would set an example for future rulers, but as it was…
Seteth took them to the grand ballroom, which someone had decorated to within an inch of its life. The flags of all three nations draped the walls next to the normal Church symbols; plus those of Almyra, Sreng, and a new one that Claude assumed was Duscur’s.
“Claude!” someone cried, and then Lorenz was there, shaking his hand enthusiastically. “Or should I say, Khalid?”
“You can call me whatever you want, as long as you remember I still outrank you,” Claude laughed.
“Of course, of course. Your Majesty-”
“Please don’t start that, I was joking.” Claude turned the handshake into a hug, much to Lorenz’s consternation. The noble stepped out of it quickly and cleared his throat.
“What’s the latest from the Alliance? I assume the old goat is still in charge?”
Margrave Edmund had been the natural compromise candidate as the new leader of the Roundtable - a position he’d been jockeying for all his life, and finally claimed as his own. The squabbles continued as they always did, with the Riegan vote swapped out for the newly restored Daphnel one. Claude knew that Judith was overjoyed to be dealing with that headache again, because she’d sent just one letter that insulted him roundly for “running off and saddling her with the position.”
“Yes, but not for long. Age is beginning to take its toll on him.” Lorenz attempted to look solemn, but did a particularly poor job of it.
“And you think you’re up next, huh?”
“They would never agree to give the leadership to my father, but I am another matter, which is why he stepped down. Furthermore, I have taken… steps… to win Edmund’s support for my bid.”
Claude smirked. “He can’t stand you, I’d like to see how you… oh no. You didn’t.”
“It’s not what you think!” Lorenz spluttered. “Well, the political advantages are undeniable, but I could have accomplished the same ends with any marriage alliance to another House. I swear to you, I truly love Marianne!”
This latest was loud enough for half the crowd to turn and stare at him, which suited Claude nicely. He laughed again and clapped Lorenz on the shoulder on his way past. Not who he’d expected Marianne to end up with, that was for sure, but apparently it worked, so good for them.
He found Caspar and Linhardt next. They looked much the same, but Caspar was more wound up and Linhardt looked even sleepier, if such a thing was even possible.
“What have you two been up to?”
“Traveling - all over the place!” Caspar said. “Ferdinand wanted us to stay in Adrestia, but politics are boring.”
“And like I told him - the fewer old noble families in positions of power, the better,” Linhardt murmured.
Claude nodded. “Last I heard, he was bound and determined to step down after his second term.”
“Yes. A vital precedent to set. And he’s refusing to throw his support behind any successor; wants a completely open election. Sounds nice, but if a commoner wins, I can’t imagine the old vestiges of nobility will be happy about it.”
Caspar yawned as loudly as humanly possible. “That’s his problem. Listen, I want to go to Almyra next. I heard someone say something about national tournaments - that sounds fun.”
“We do like to throw those. Careful, though - they’re serious business. Real weapons, real injuries...”
“Are you kidding? That sounds even better! It’s settled - we’ll go back with you,” Caspar announced.
“You can’t just decide that. He’s a king!”
“Oh yeah. I forgot, ‘cause he’s still just Claude.”
“That’s not even his real name, you fool,” Linhardt muttered.
Claude chuckled. “It’s fine. You’ll need to borrow another wyvern from Seteth, but I’m happy to take you back with me.”
He left them to their bickering and kept going, nodding at more old friends and former soldiers from their united army. Of course, there was one person he wanted to see in particular. He’d kept up a regular stream of letters with King Dimitri, and even managed to sneak away twice - but twice in five years wasn’t enough.
Claude found him in the back of the room, as far away as possible from the center of festivities. That wasn’t stopping a stream of people from approaching him, but he was moving them on as quickly as possible, with help from Ingrid, positioned at his right hand in the way that Dedue had often been.
“Claude! I’d hoped you’d come,” Dimitri said, smiling at the sight of him.
“I had no choice. Imagine how heartbroken Lorenz would’ve been if I spurned his fancy party.”
“He’s not the only one.”
King embraced king, ignoring the whispers and pointed looks. Claude decided to give them something to really gossip about, and turned it into a kiss. Dimitri made a startled sound - but didn’t object, or pull away until Ingrid cleared her throat.
“You haven’t changed much,” Claude said to her once they finally pulled apart.
“No - which is what made her the best possible choice for my Knight-Captain.”
She ignored both Claude’s jab and Dimitri’s flattery. “There’s a line of people hoping to meet you, Your Majesty.” It was obvious the use of the formal title was a punishment for their little display.
“Only have fun on my own time - I know,” he said, but with a smile.
“How’s Dedue doing?” Claude asked, in-between petitioners.
“I don’t think he ever expected to be their chieftain, but the people insisted. I agree with them - no-one is better suited to look out for their interests. And I believe that many people in the Kingdom remember him for fighting for Faerghus. They give him more respect than any other person of Duscur - which works to our advantage for the time being.”
“Viscount... Kleiman, was it? He can’t be happy that their territory was restored in full.”
Ingrid snorted. “The Viscount collaborated with the dark ones - I’m sure of it. He’s lucky that he kept his head.”
“We can’t prove that,” Dimitri said. The exchange had the feel of a very familiar argument. “I’m certain that we haven’t identified all the opportunists that took advantage of my father’s death for their own ambitions. The Viscount benefited most directly, but without direct evidence, he is under arrest in his own castle, nothing more.”
“I’m sure plenty of them feel guilty for what happened now that the truth is out. I’m more surprised that things proceeded so well with Sreng.”
“Sylvain worked tirelessly to achieve that.”
“It’s lucky that he became Margrave so quickly,” Claude said.
“Hey - it’s not nice to talk about someone behind their back,” Sylvain announced. Of course he’d somehow gotten close enough to eavesdrop without any of them noticing. Felix was beside him, looking quite uncomfortable in his ducal finery.
“I was just hoping you could clear something up. The story we heard in Almyra was that the Wind Caller himself attacked your father while he was touring his border defenses. But surely they’re exaggerating.”
“I wasn’t there, and the soldiers’ accounts are confused at best. It was some sort of creature - but it might have been just another rogue demonic beast. Plenty of those are wandering around - leftovers from the war, you know.” Sylvain put on his best innocent expression, but fooled none of them.
“I hear the people of Sreng have a lot of respect for old Macuil, and a lot of them took the attack as a direct sign of his favor to you.”
“Do they? Lucky me. I guess that explains why they agreed to start the peace talks so quickly.”
“And Macuil hates the descendents of the Elites - he told us so himself.” Claude narrowed his eyes, the picture fully formed in his mind by that point.
“I’m not sure what you’re implying,” Sylvain said, though his grin said the opposite. “Sure, I’m the last Gautier now, and I’m never gonna have a kid, ending one of the Elites’ bloodlines... wait, are you accusing me of making a deal with the Wind Caller? Claude, you wound me.”
Felix rolled his eyes in turn. “Stop dancing around the truth - it makes me sick. He promised to end two bloodlines. The idiot didn’t even mention my uncle.”
“Look, what Macuil doesn’t know won’t hurt him. He just went back to sleep afterwards, anyway!”
Dimitri winced. “I don’t want to hear this.”
Sylvain shrugged, completely unapologetic. “You don’t get your new world without breaking a few eggs, Dimitri.”
“I suppose not,” the king sighed.
“Besides, we’ll need every soldier we can spare from our border defenses - once Edelgard invades Fodlan,” Felix said.
“Now you’re just being difficult,” Ingrid snapped. “There hasn’t even been a hint of trouble from Brigid.”
“Yeah, it’s quiet. Too quiet. I’m telling you, this is gonna come back to bite us,” Sylvain said. “I’m glad the cure worked on Lystheia, but did we have to send it to Edelgard, too?”
“You two just always assume the worst of everyone.”
“Someone has to.”
Dimitri caught Claude’s eye as the childhood friends bickered on - seemingly for the sake of it. He tilted his head towards the back door of the ballroom. Claude needed no further encouragement, and they slipped away before Ingrid had a chance to notice.
“It really is good to see you again. Now that you’re king…”
“I can’t be away for months at a time - but more often, yes. These peace talks with Fodlan won’t conduct themselves. We can haggle about the exact border line and trade agreements for years on end, trust me.”
Dimitri grinned. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Let’s go back to the goddess tower,” Claude suggested. Night had fallen, and the view from the top of the rebuilt tower promised to be spectacular.
“I like the sound of that.”
It took Ingrid hours to find them - hours they made the best possible use of.