Archive of Our Own

“Oh, Claude, hello!” Claude whipped his head around to see Ignatz waving to him from across the street. He waved back and, making a note on his list as to where he got to, went over to where Ignatz was clearly waiting.

“Hey, Ignatz,” he said. “It’s been a while. How have you been doing?”

“Oh, well, it’s been okay,” he said, twisting the bottom of his cloak between his fingers. “I decided not to try to become a proper knight just yet. I don’t think I want to be involved in combat situations right now.”

“Understandable,” Claude replied. Personally, he thought that Ignatz would be happier not being a knight ever, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud. It had always been a touchy subject for him. 

“But how are you doing, Claude?” Ignatz asked. “You must have been so busy, what with the war.”

“The war isn’t here yet,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. ‘Yet’ was key there. It could come any day. The fragile neutrality he was barely holding together could shatter at any moment. “But yes, I suppose you could say I’ve been busy. I’m trying to get out a bit more though. Talk to people, get to know Derdriu’s merchants, that kind of thing.”

“Oh, of course!” Ignatz said. “I always forget you didn’t grow up in Derdriu. You should meet my parents, actually. They’ve been merchants in Derdriu for years and worked for your… uncle, right?”

“My uncle was the Duke, yeah,” he said. He’d met Ignatz’s parents once before, back before he went to the Academy. He hadn’t seen them since returning, because he’d been so busy looking after his grandfather, taking over all his duties, and planning the funeral. He hadn’t had time to follow up on merchant families that didn’t seek him out. There were lots of connections he needed to reforge, and he supposed Ignatz’s family was a good place to start. 

“Would you like to meet them, then?” Ignatz asked, a genuinely warm smile on his face. “I feel a bit useless compared to my brother, sometimes, so it would be good to introduce you to them. Not that I’m using you for my own benefit, or anything, but you know how business-”

“I know,” Claude answered with a chuckle. “It’s fine, Ignatz. I’d like to be introduced to a couple people. I’ve met your parents, but obviously it wasn’t really in a way I particularly liked. So being introduced to them a second time is doing me a favour.”

“Oh! I see,” Ignatz said. Clearly he’d twigged about what that meant; he was sharper than his parents probably gave him credit for. “Would you like to come round for dinner, then? I don’t know, maybe it seems like an odd offer, but it’s more relaxed than anything formal. I could invite you as a friend rather than as the Duke, or-”

Claude laughed again. “Don’t worry about it, Ignatz,” he said. “You can invite me as a friend, if your parents wouldn’t mind that. That’s what we are, after all.” There was something quite appealing about the idea of going somewhere casually before revealing that he was, in fact, quite important. He didn’t want to get on the bad side of Ignatz’s parents, but maybe it was better to do it this way. Easier, even.

“Does Friday evening suit you?” Ignatz asked.

“Ignatz, I’m the Duke, I make my own schedule,” he said. “But yes, Friday evening works well, I won’t have to move anything. Give me your address and I’ll be there.”

Ignatz rattled off various things about a time, asked Claude if there were any meals he didn’t like, and gave his address before going on his way. Claude could only smile through the whole thing - part of the purpose of his trip into the more populated areas of Derdriu was to look for a sign that he wasn’t on his own in all of this, trying to find people he could count on. He thought he’d made a pretty good start.

The time came around faster than Claude expected, given how busy he was with just about everything else. Papers, supplies, defence, standing armies, trading routes, even his personal correspondence. Yet somehow the tasks that usually crawled instead flew by, and at the end of the week he was very much looking forward to a meal with his friend.

Ignatz’s family home wasn’t exactly the Riegan manor, but it wasn’t humble either. When he knocked on the door, a servant answered. “Ah, you must be Ignatz’s guest!” she said with a smile. “Ignatz!” she called. Within a few moments, Ignatz’s face appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Good evening, Claude,” he said with a wave. “Thanks, Jill. I don’t think we’ll be taking any more visitors until after dinner.” The woman who’d answered the door nodded, disappearing through another door as Ignatz came down the stairs.

“Good evening to you too,” Claude greeted. “How are you doing?”

“Fine, fine,” Ignatz replied. “A little busy, but I think things are starting to pick up again for the business after the more immediate fear has been dying down. I imagine you’ve had a similar experience?”

“Pretty much the same,” he said. “Lots to do, and there wasn’t enough time for my grandfather to teach me.” He regretted it, but it was in the past now. He couldn’t have known it would happen that way.

“I’m sure you’re managing just fine, you’re selling yourself short.” He was so sincere; Clade could only smile in reply. “Do you want to come through to the dining room?” Ignatz asked. “We don’t have cooks on the weekend like I’m sure you do, but dinner's nearly ready.” Claude couldn’t help but be a little nervous, but he nodded and Ignatz led him through a couple of rooms. A nice sitting room, a room very clearly meant for eating formal meals, and then into a much smaller dining room.

“This is a nice home,” Claude said. “I don’t live anywhere nearly as homely.” The rooms still held the trace of his grandfather, his uncle. There was even the room where his mother had slept when she was a child, left nearly untouched. It didn’t feel like his home yet, full of memories that weren’t his own.

“I’m sure you’ll make it into something very Claude soon enough,” Ignatz said with a laugh. “Mother!” he called. “My friend arrived for dinner, should I call Father and Maurice?”

“I’ll do it!” answered the voice, and Claude heard a door open and close before she called out again. Ignatz stood at the entrance to the kitchen, Claude standing just behind him. Ignatz’s mother came back within moments, and he could feel her gaze sizing him up even as she smiled. She had that same appraising look that Ignatz did. “Hello, Claude,” she said. “Do I know you?”

“You might have seen him once or twice,” Ignatz said. “Like I said, he’s a friend from the Officers Academy, and he lives in Derdriu, so I thought I’d invite him round.”

“Claude who?” she asked. She knew, then, or at least she was pretty sure she knew.

“Mother!” Ignatz said, sounding decidedly flustered. “He’s my friend, and this is meant to be casual.”

“Of course,” she replied. She was still watching, and he smiled. “It can wait until we’re sat down. It’s good to meet you, Claude. I’m Hestia.”

“It’s good to meet you too,” he said with a bow, though he felt a little bad for misleading her. She probably already knew that he was someone more than he was letting on, but as Ignatz said, that could wait until the ice was broken a little.

Once they were all sat down, and Ignatz’s father (Saul) and brother (Maurice) had introduced themselves, the conversation was easy. They talked about the Officers Academy, the Professor (the wound was still fresh, and it was hard to talk about. Claude refused to believe they were dead, but it wasn’t looking likely that they were alive, either), and finally their classmates.

“I guess it’s to be expected,” Ignatz said, “but basically everyone went home, right back to where they started. Have you heard at all from Marianne, Claude?”

“She was at my grandfather’s funeral,” he said. “Accompanying the Margrave. But even with so many people there, it wasn’t much of a reunion because of the circumstances.”

“Oh, of course,” Ignatz said. “I’m sorry, I feel like I’ve brought the mood down now. I should have known that. Did Lysithea come? She told me she’d been sick.”

“She came too,” he said, “but she didn’t come to anything else. I felt bad, really, but everyone insisted it was important, and I guess it was.” The conversation was straying into dangerous territory if he was going to try and talk to Ignatz’s parents on his own terms.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking so soon after your loss, Claude, but who was your grandfather?” Ignatz’s father, ever a true businessman, had probably realised that Claude was a little more important than he looked.

Ah well, the game was up. There wasn’t much he could do about it now, and at least he’d made the kind of first impression he wanted to.

“The late Duke von Riegan,” he said, offering Ignatz’s family a small, wry smile. It would twig soon enough, if it hadn’t already. “It’s been a busy time, obviously. I would have liked to have caught up with Ignatz earlier, really, but there are only so many hours in the day and I rather value my sleep.”

Hestia’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s interesting, Ignatz. You never mentioned that the Duchess had a brother.” Claude knew she didn’t mean anything by it, but it sort of stung a bit. Hopefully she’d understand.

“There is no Duchess, Mother,” Ignatz said. He sounded pretty firm about it, which Claude appreciated. It was good to have someone on his side. “Claude is the Duke. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier but I didn’t want it to be too formal or awkward…”

“No, no, of course,” Ignatz’s father said. “Don’t worry about it, Ignatz. Though I’m very sorry if we inadvertently said anything rude, Claude. It’s a pleasure to meet you again.”

“Not at all,” he said with a smile. “You were right, Mrs Victor, when you said you thought we’d met before. But it was over a year ago now, and a couple of things have obviously changed since then.”

“Clearly,” Ignatz’s brother said, and when Claude looked over, Ignatz was shooting him a glare. “I hadn’t quite imagined that the Duke’s grandson was the one getting up to all the mischief Ignatz described in his letters.” Ignatz’s expression softened to one of amusement.

“Yes, he did always leave your surname out when sending letters,” his mother said with a laugh. “No wonder. I’m sure you’ll make for a very interesting Duke.”

The conversation continued long into the night, full of warmth and friendliness and nothing at all awkward. Any time the conversation strayed in that direction, Ignatz steered it back with something else, or looked over to Claude before jumping in. It was… nice. About as painless as it could have been, really.

Claude knew that it would still be difficult to reintroduce himself to others and set the right impression, or to undo the impression that had built up over the last few years. But that was okay, because people were capable of being understanding. He could do this without the Professor. He could do this.

Claude had underestimated how hard this would be. The whole politics thing. He wasn’t stupid, and he knew what he was doing when it came to people and information and balancing everything, but it was a whole lot more brutal now his grandfather was gone and he was doing it on his own.

People were a lot ruder about everything about him when he was on his own. They just wanted to break him down so they could walk all over him and do what they wanted with the future of the Alliance. He didn’t blame them, exactly, because it was politics. The reason the Alliance existed was so people could quarrel over how things should be done, and he definitely didn’t blame them for trying to exploit an inexperienced, young leader in a vulnerable position.

What he could quite happily blame them for was trying to use things he couldn’t change about himself against him. His voice had cracked the first time he addressed the roundtable as its new leader, but so what? That wasn’t a sign that the delightful Count Gloucester should immediately spring into a tirade about the dangers of a weak, delusional leader.

Within a couple of weeks, he’d had enough of hearing the same things over and over and over again. He was weak, okay, he got it. He was pretending to be someone he wasn’t, hiding his illegitimacy behind a shroud of other things, he was misleading people. And then there was the omnipresent question: what was he going to do about inheritance?

As if he hadn’t thought about all of that before. He’d struggled through all of those thoughts for the last three years, he didn’t need reminders of it. They didn’t need to make him into the sole enemy, leaving him with no true allies at the table where decisions were made.

Having to fight through everything again, still with no one to support him, was just so lonely. The problem of the war got more pressing every day, but he didn’t get the privilege to distract himself from it with something petty. This was just his life now.

Also part of his life now was the distinct lack of his friends of the past year. Teach vanished into thin air, and all of them went their separate ways. Lorenz, Hilda, Raphael, Marianne… all of his classmates just went home. And sure, some of them were closer than others, but they had family who loved them, a future to go to.

He had the future, but no one to fall back on. His grandfather, put on edge by the stress of the war, worked himself into the ground within months and leaving Claude on his own. He had Judith, but she was busy overseeing her own territory.

The only thing he really had left to contact his friends was writing letters to them. So, every evening, he wrote a letter, and he received a letter from a different friend pretty much every day. It gave him something to look forward to at the end of a long day of having thinly veiled abuse thrown at him. It gave him a reason to keep moving.

The person he saw least in person was Leonie. She was really, really busy off in Gloucester territory, training under a mercenary company to get the experience she needed to start building up a career. He didn’t get to see her in the centre of Derdriu or at a fancy event for all the nobles.

So it was her letters he looked forward to the most, honestly. He’d never hear anything about her otherwise. She was a breath of fresh air amongst all the other shit he had to put up with. So knowing he had a letter up in his room, addressed to him in her handwriting, got him through the slog of that day.

‘Hey Claude,’ her latest letter read, ‘Thanks for your last letter. It sounds like you’re having a rough time right now. I wish I could be there to punch Lorenz’s dad for you (and if you pay the travel costs and buy me a drink, I’m sure something could be arranged).’ He smiled at that, just about, and kept reading.

‘My work is hard, but not like yours. Everyone’s a bit on edge right now because the Imperial Army started moving. I know you said they were just withdrawing from Garreg Mach, but it has everyone spreading rumours. I hope it all settles down soon.

‘I hope things settle down for you as well. You don’t deserve that kind of shit being brought against you, it isn’t fair. I know I’m not there with you, but just know that I’m always here for you, okay?’ Claude managed a small smile, reading those words. ‘You’re better than all of them, and you’re just doing what’s best for you while also trying to do what’s best for the whole Alliance.

‘I’m super grateful to you for the latter, and I guess I could also say I’m proud? Goddess, I feel like your mother or something, writing that.’ Letters from Almyra hadn’t arrived since his grandfather had died, and it would be a while before the next lot made it. Claude didn’t know if his mother would say that. ‘You didn’t have to do something that would give them that political leverage, but you did it anyway because you valued your happiness.

‘I don’t know, I’m sure you know exactly why you’re doing this and me repeating it all to you is probably really annoying, but I just want you to stay strong,’ the letter read. ‘Just keep going, and let me know if you ever have a decently free moment. It would be great to see each other again.

‘Ever your friend, Leonie.

‘PS: Tell Lorenz about how his father sucks. I know you two don’t get along but he can be pretty kind sometimes and I think he’d care.’

Claude couldn’t help but smile at the page in front of him. Leonie was there second guessing how important her words were, but in reality they meant everything to him. Just knowing that someone had his back, even if she couldn’t be here. Knowing someone still cared.

Claude would admit that he hadn’t put any thought into the suggestion Leonie had given him about talking to Lorenz. Politics was all about favours and calling them in, balancing what you were doing for someone else with what they were doing for you, and he wasn’t one to ask for favours lightly. If Lorenz’s father had decided that his body was up for political bargaining then he couldn’t just ask Lorenz to deal with it; it would tip everything in the direction of the Gloucesters if he decided to exploit it.

That said, he did talk to Lorenz fairly frequently these days. Count Gloucester usually considered himself too important to spend his time talking to ‘the little girl in the Riegan chair’ (those were not his strongest words for Claude, but they were the only ones he could bear to recall without his heart twisting painfully), so he sent Lorenz over to Derdriu every other day with messages.

“You always pull such ghastly faces when receiving a letter from my father,” Lorenz said. Claude honestly didn’t know why they didn’t just send a letter carrier like every sane person in Fódlan, but he wasn’t going to tell the Count off about something so trivial. He probably just didn’t trust strangers with his correspondence.

“He’s not all that fond of me,” Claude said, plastering a smile on his face. He hated that he couldn’t rip the letters up. Instead, he had to study them for further opportunities. He couldn’t just get rid of the constant references to everything the Count hated about him when they might be his next advantage.

“It is most unbecoming of you to show your feelings so openly,” Lorenz said. His words were so guarded these days. They were a few months into the stalemate against the Empire, and Claude’s shakily built neutrality was holding. He didn’t know how long that would be the case, but in the meantime the walls he’d spent a year breaking down around Lorenz had gone back up with only a thin veneer of respect remaining. That probably reflected Claude’s change in status more than anything.

After all, Claude was a Duke, and Lorenz merely a Count’s heir. He may as well pull a bit of rank, though it hadn’t really worked in gaining any concessions from Lorenz at the Academy (and yet, those were simpler times. Claude wished he could go back to them). “I only return in kind half of the contempt he shows me.”

“Merely half?” Lorenz asked. “Now, Claude, I know that you and my father do not get along due to a difference of opinion over the Empire issue, but you can hardly describe your relationship as one of contempt. It’s a difference in policy opinion! There are far more pressing things to unite you than divide you.”

Claude sighed. His patience for things that didn’t require buckets of the stuff ran very thin these days. “Would you like to read the letter your father just sent me, Lorenz?” he asked.

Lorenz tried, and failed, to look like he wasn’t bursting to read it. “I would perhaps be intrigued to see what has you so convinced my father loathes you,” he said. Claude gave it a quick scan for any really sensitive secrets (he didn’t trust the Count with much of anything, so there was nothing there) before handing it over.

It was sort of grimly satisfying, watching Lorenz’s face fall from the moment he read the opening lines of the letter. Claude had no idea what his relationship with his father was, but it wasn’t devoid of affection; if only because Lorenz probably believed in respecting his elders as a duty to undertake. Needless to say, Lorenz’s opinion of his father as a good man was probably being shattered right before his eyes.

Count Gloucester was capable of some truly creative insults when he put his mind to it. He usually used the same ones, but they were all obscene to the point that Lorenz probably wouldn’t have believed he wrote them had he not delivered the letter by hand himself. That was one reason why Claude couldn’t really do anything about the Count’s actions.

“This is- are all his letters like this? He did seem in a bad mood yesterday evening,” Lorenz said. Claude thought back to the other letters, all almost equally abuse filled, and nodded.

“This one is pretty bad,” he said, “hence the face. But they’re all pretty similar to this. Same tone, same kind of language.” Now Lorenz was pulling a face, and it was significantly more emotional than Claude’s when he’d received it.

“This is absolutely disgraceful,” Lorenz said. “I am ashamed that my father would use such foul language with someone I always assumed he viewed as a political rival. This would be inexcusable even if you were inept for leadership in every way.”

“Well, uh, thanks,” he managed. It was sort of odd, to hear someone just… say it aloud. Especially Lorenz. 

“I will be having strong words with him. I assure you that I will do my utmost to ensure something like this does not happen again.”

Claude blinked. He knew Lorenz was a good guy, deep down, but he hadn’t seriously considered this as a problem he could solve with the help of others. He’d seen it as something where he had to prove himself to get the naysayers to stop talking so much.

“Would you like me to deliver your reply?” Lorenz asked after a moment. It was only then that Claude realised he hadn’t been able to respond to Lorenz’s sentiment.

“I’ll get the reply to you tomorrow if you’re staying in the city overnight,” he said, as he always did. At least he had a script for this; if he hadn’t, he probably would have been speechless.

Maybe nothing would come of this at all, and yet he still felt better. Someone knew. Someone else objected. Even if nothing else happened, he wasn’t alone.

A few days later, Lorenz was back again with the next letter from his father. He seemed… excited, almost, handing it over. Claude would have to admit that he didn’t share the sentiment, until he read the first line.

‘To Duke von Riegan,’ it read, and that was as good a start as any. It made a change. ‘Before I engage in the main substance of my letter, my reply to your previous correspondence, I wish to apologise.

‘In my haste to challenge your legitimacy, of which I still hold significant doubts, I was blind to the correct course of action. As my son has informed me, the manner in which I challenged you had no honour and bordered on insulting.

‘Please accept my profuse apologies for pressing you on matters that have little bearing on your ability. Your incompetence has no relation to whether you are Duke or Duchess, and as such I will address you in your preferred manner from now on.’

That wasn’t the end of the letter, but that was all Claude needed to read for now. “I-” he looked up at Lorenz, who was looking at him expectantly. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“I most certainly did,” Lorenz said. “The vile manner with which he addressed you was a shame to the rivalry between our houses and a completely incorrect form of challenge. It was nothing short of harassment and I simply had to intervene.”

“Thanks, Lorenz,” he said. He had to suppress the urge to hug the man. To see Lorenz stick up for him, and against his father of all people, meant more than he could say. Even then, with all the politics between them, letting Lorenz know that probably wasn’t the best idea. 

Maybe one day he could tell him, if a day where they were no longer fighting ever came. “You’ve really lived up to the nobility you always preach.”

It was nearly a year and a half into the war with the Empire when Claude next saw Lysithea; his family (as much as one man could be a ‘family’) and hers weren’t on good terms because of the war, though he perfectly understood why they’d taken the stance they had.

Count Gloucester was throwing a big event, and he’d invited most of the nobility in the Alliance and a fair few from the Kingdom. Whether any Kingdom nobles would make it or not was another matter, given the ongoing tensions there. Claude hadn’t been informed if anyone from the Empire had actually been invited, but he had a couple of daggers on his person anyway.

It was a shame to go to a party where he couldn’t eat the food, but this was a risk he refused to take. His house was in a rather precarious position without an heir (something that he was constantly reminded of and did not want to think too hard about), and this would all fall apart if he died. So he wouldn’t take the risk, even if his host felt insulted.

The good thing was that, despite all the tensions, he got to see Marianne, Hilda, Lorenz, and Lysithea again, all in the same place. That was good, at least. He felt like he could talk to them properly, felt like he could breathe easier.

He’d been feeling awfully tense lately. Like he couldn’t do anything. Like he couldn’t move without making a misstep. Seeing his friends still okay, still around and looking a bit older but most importantly still alive, was good.

His priority was talking to Lysithea. She worked herself to the bone, trying to help her family, and always stayed at home when the Count or Countess came to any conferences in Derdriu. But, funnily enough, she was hard to get the time to speak to. When he wasn’t being accosted by someone, she was in the middle of her own conversations, and it wasn’t until the late hours of the evening that he managed to catch her.

“You haven’t eaten anything all evening,” she said, the moment he managed to approach her out in the moonlit grounds of Lorenz’s home. They were pretty much alone, and anyone else who was having a conversation wanted just as much privacy, probably.

“I didn’t realise you were keeping such close tabs,” he said. He was starving, but there was no way he was eating anything unless he was sure it was safe. He’d live. He didn’t have much of an appetite anyway.

“It was obvious,” she said, in that tone of voice that she always had. Of course she’d noticed. “Though I don’t think I blame you. The Empire would happily take us all out if it meant you were out of the picture, I’m sure. You know the Count invited Edelgard?”

“I didn’t,” he said. “I’m glad she didn’t show. That would have been a little too tempting for anyone who wanted to upset the power balance in Fódlan, and I would have had to spend all night watching for Hubert’s knife in my back.”

“Agreed,” she said. “She’s an interesting woman. In another world, maybe we would have seen eye to eye.”

“You’re allowed to like her ideals,” Claude said. There were certainly a fair few things she said that he agreed with, but also so many things he wished she’d told him. “But that’s not why I came to say hello. I wanted to know how you’re doing.”

“Well enough,” she answered with a shrug. “There’s a lot to do, and I feel like I don’t have all the time I want to do it. But I’m okay. How about you?”

For a moment, Claude felt like lying. He felt like plastering on the same smile he’d been using all night, wide and dangerous and telling everyone he knew exactly what he was doing. But Lysithea would see straight through him. “Surviving,” he said instead.

“That bad, huh?” she asked. She looked him up and down. She’d grown a little, but she was still short. “I’d like to say you’ll pull through, but you look awful.”

“Well, I haven’t eaten since I arrived and I’ve basically been on my feet since then too,” he said, with a weak chuckle. Ouch, bad move, his ribs hurt. Lysithea’s expression changed again; he must have winced.

“Have you made any progress on that thing you were making back at the Academy?” she asked. “With all those plants.” That could mean anything, of course, because everything he made involved plants and he made a lot of things, but he still knew exactly what she meant.

“Not enough to make any difference,” he said with a sigh. He’d been taking the foul-tasting, incomplete concoction for months now and nothing had changed. Nothing at all.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, before a clock chimed and Lysithea looked inside. “I have to go,” she said, “but in your next letter, invite me to Derdriu specifically. I think I might have an idea.” She met his eyes and patted him on the shoulder.

“You had to stand on your tiptoes to do that,” he said with a wry smile.

“Shut up,” she said fondly. She looked towards the main party again, and quickly put her arms around him. “Keep going, okay?” she said. “I can’t- just hold on. We’ll work something out.”

And then she was gone. Claude hadn’t realised he was so transparent. Or maybe Lysithea was just even more observant than she let on.

He did what she’d suggested as soon as he got back to Derdriu, and within a fortnight she was visiting for an ‘indefinite period’ to ‘assist with some research.’ Her words, not his, but Claude got the message. He just hoped she could actually help.

She got to work immediately upon reaching the city. “I know I said indefinite,” she said, dumping some notes onto the desk in Claude’s private office, “but my parents need me. Also indefinite sort of sounds like you’re detaining me even though you’re not, so I don’t want them to worry.”

“Sure,” he said. “So, uh, where do we begin?”

“Get me one of the bottles of it, your list of ingredients, and tell me how you make it,” she said. “I know you’re the expert with all these plants and potions, but I have some ideas.”

He did as she asked, trying not to bemoan it too much when she tipped the bottle into a pan on the stove and started heating it up. “I need to experiment,” she explained. “You just use plants, right?”

“And water,” he said. “And, uh, some sugar. It tastes really foul and I have to get a lot of it down.” It went unsaid that even with the amount he forced down every day, it wasn’t enough. It didn’t do a damn thing.

“Eggs and fish will work too,” she said. “Just as some ideas for more things, if it’s hard to get the right vegetables.” She was poking the mix of solids now the water was gone. “You can use beaten egg yolk as a liquid so you don’t have to dilute it so much.”

“I can’t eat raw egg, Lysithea,” he said with a slightly nervous laugh.

“Hm? Oh, good point,” she said. “Maybe not. But I’d stop diluting it if I were you. It’s clearly not strong enough as it is.”

For the next few days, they both worked extensively on trying to mix up something more potent that was also edible. “How good at magic are you?” Lysithea asked one afternoon. They’d been at it for a couple of hours, once Claude had finished the bare minimum of paperwork he could focus on at a time like this. This was the best shot he had at feeling alive again. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity while Lysithea was here.

“Not great,” he admitted. “But passable, depending on what you want me to do.”

“If you put magical energy and um…” Lysithea reached over the table and pulled a bunch of herbs off one of the shelves, “this one together, in the rest of the mixture, then it should magically enhance the effects of this on your body. It intensifies it by about ten times in things I’ve read, so be careful. It might be a bit much?”

“I’ll experiment,” he said, not really willing to admit that he’d do anything to get this stupid, forsaken potion to do something. Anything. “Should we get to work mixing something up?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “And once it’s done, I think my job here is done. I’ll be heading home.” Claude wasn’t pleased by that, but he understood. Officially, they moved in different circles now. Maybe one day that would change, but he had to acknowledge that they couldn’t spend too much time together. The aims of their families were opposite, for now.

They worked in silence, putting all the things together that he’d spent years testing for the right chemicals. It smelled absolutely vile, and it only got worse when Lysithea guided him through magically preparing the herbs. When it was done, it was bright green, much brighter than it ever had been before.

“That’s foul,” Lysithea said, scrunching up her nose. “You drink that?”

“It’s not normally this bad,” he said, but he’d drink it like this anyway. He had to have hope.

“Right,” she said, holding the separate bottles as Claude poured it in. She squinted. “Are these labelled ‘magic man juice?’” He nodded. Lysithea made a noise that sounded somewhere between disgust and disbelief. “I cannot believe you, Claude. It wasn’t even magic before now. Anyway, just take a little bit at first; if it does nothing then have more, but don’t overdo it. It might mess around with your blood, and you don’t want to get sick.”

“Yeah, fine, sure,” he said, and she shot him a glare. “Okay! I mean it. I won’t overdo it. And I’ll say you poisoned me if I do.” He smiled at her, and she shot one back, along with an exasperated eye roll. “Thanks, Lysithea.”

“No problem,” she said. “I couldn’t stand to see you look so pathetic at that party. And tell me when it works, okay?”

“Of course,” he said, and he did. He kept her updated on every little thing, sending letters as soon as something new happened (slower than he wanted, of course, but fast enough). And, barely before he could register it, it was easier to breathe. Easier to think. He was on the right track, thanks to her, and he was determined to make sure she knew it.

Every so often, Claude dropped in on the restaurant Raphael helped run with his family. Actually, he tried whenever he had time, which meant every couple of weeks for an afternoon or evening. Every time, Raphael and Maya grinned at the sight of him.

Somehow, it was sort of like coming home, even if he’d never lived with the family. But they were so homely, and supportive, and sweet. He couldn’t help but think of them that way. So when he dropped by one afternoon after finishing all his pressing tasks for the day, he knew it would be a highlight. Not that calling it that would be difficult when he’d spent the day arguing with various nobles about Faerghus again; Dimitri had been dead for two years and the fighting was still going on.

“Claude!” Maya called as soon as she spotted him walk through the door. She jumped over the bar and headed over. “Raph! Claude is here!” Raphael’s face appeared from where he was working in the kitchen, and he grinned.

“Hi Claude!” he said, waving. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be done with this and we can catch up. Maya, take his order, okay? And tell Pippa to head down from her break if she can.”

“Sure,” she said, walking Claude over to a table. “How’ve you been?” she asked. She squinted. “Are you trying to grow a beard?”

Claude laughed. “Trying is the key word there,” he said. “Yeah, I am. Not working yet though, is it?”

She looked at him again. “Nah, not really,” she said. “But it’s definitely growing a bit. It just looks kind of rubbish right now.”

“Thanks, kiddo,” he said, leaning over to ruffle her hair. She scowled at him, and he returned it with the most satisfied grin he could. “What would the chef recommend today?”

“Potato stew,” she said. “Oh, and Grandpa made cake yesterday, I think we have some left?”

“Sounds great,” he said. Honestly, he’d eat almost anything they served here. Raph loved cooking almost as much as he loved food, it seemed, and Maya had a real talent for it too.

He sat on his own for a few minutes, watching the bustle of the street outside and the handful of patrons in the restaurant. He’d never seen it full to bursting or anything, but Raphael assured him that they got by just fine with the numbers they managed to attract.

After a bit, Raphael came to join him, bearing two plates of food. “I’m taking my break,” he said. “Thought it would be good to give such a loyal customer some company.”

“You can just say you wanted to chat with a friend, you know,” he said with a smile, and Raphael returned it. “How are you doing?”

“Great,” Raphael said, his smile widening. “I know I always said I wanted to be a knight and all, but this is pretty good too. Don’t need to do any of that stuffy noble stuff or book learning for this.”

“Sounds good,” he said. “Wish I could-” he stopped as his voice cracked, and he shot Raphael a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Wish I could skip out on that right now. As I’m sure you can imagine, it can get pretty embarrassing.”

Raphael laughed. “I think it’s pretty cool,” he said. “I don’t know how you and Lysithea managed it, but it’s working. And hey, it’ll stop eventually.”

“Hopefully sooner rather than later,” he said with a slightly nervous laugh. It was getting ridiculous, and a couple of times he’d noticed people he was having serious negotiations with hold back their laughter. It just made him look young and inexperienced.

“It’s a good opportunity, though,” he said. “I don’t know much about chemicals and stuff like you and Lysithea do, but you can make the most of it and bulk up way easier.”

“Huh, okay,” he said. He didn’t really know how to take that statement; he hadn’t really thought about it before. He wasn’t exactly a wimpy person, but he supposed he hadn’t been training as much as he used to either. It was probably noticeable for someone like Raph. “How would you do that? If you were me, that is.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Raphael said. “Weight lifting will help you build up your arm muscle strength, which you need for drawing heavier bows anyway. Ignatz kind of struggles with anything heavier than a steel bow, but you’re pretty fast.”

“Right, okay,” he said, mentally noting it. He didn’t really know what else to say, as this was definitely more of Raphael’s area of expertise. “And you’re sure that the vile stuff I swallow every morning helps with that?” So far, he just felt like he’d been more irritable and that his body was changing in ways that were still embarrassing rather than particularly affirming.

“Positive,” Raphael said. “Half of the stuff in that thing helps you retain muscle anyway. I know you don’t like to eat much meat.” He’d never said that, but Raphael had clearly noticed anyway. “But stuff like eggs, fish, and vegetables are all really good for keeping and building up muscle.”

“That… makes sense,” he said, and Raphael grinned across the table. “Thanks, Raph. I’m not sure if I’ll use that information as much as you do, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Glad to help!” he said. “Leonie said in her letters that you’d been sounding sort of down again. I’m not really good with emotional stuff, and I can’t help you with politics, but I can give you a hug?”

Claude looked up from his food, and Raphael really did look concerned. Sure, he’d been feeling a bit down lately and he’d written as much in a letter to Leonie because she was always so encouraging, but it hadn’t been too bad. Five moons ago, the worry was warranted, but now? “I’m fine,” he said. “But thanks for the offer. I’ll keep that in mind too.”

“No problem,” Raphael said. “We’re always here, okay? I mean, only Ignatz and I are physically here, but everyone’s got your back with this. So just say the word whenever.”

It was like he’d said; going to see Raphael was like coming home, and he always left feeling warmer than he had before.

As sure as the rising and setting of the sun, the days and moons cycled round and the time came for the largest annual event in the Alliance. In Claude’s humble opinion, it was the worst time of the year

Claude loathed the Riegan Stag Ball. It was simultaneously the most stressful and most important night of the year, and he spent months organising it every single damn year. This was the sixth one he’d attended, and the fourth he’d organised. He despised it with every fibre of his being.

But he had to do it and he had to pretend to enjoy it. He’d survived it in 1181 after his grandfather died, in 1182 when he’d barely been able to fake a smile, and in 1183 when the grapefruit cordial inexplicably had him cramping and throwing up. He could survive it this year.

Even if, this year, he was feeling pretty down for no reason at all. Maybe he was losing momentum, or he was sick of the contrast between the way people saw him and the way he looked, or maybe he just wanted things to go back to how they used to be. When the world was simpler and his biggest worry was his grade on the next test. When the Professor was still alive.

But this was exactly the time when he had to keep his chin up and a smile firmly on his face, so that was what he did. He organised the ball, got an outfit tailored that didn’t hug his body too much (he’d filled out a little at the waist but that couldn’t hide his thighs or his chest, and he didn’t think that would ever change. It stung, but he was happy with how far he’d come), and planned all the food. He picked out the musicians, invited guests, and braced himself. Once it was done, it would be over for another year.

The evening came, and the guests started to arrive, but he was looking for one face in the crowd in particular. When it came to events, Hilda arrived early without fail. Claude knew her game, of course, but he didn’t say a word about it, half afraid that she’d think it unwelcome.

He smiled at her, waved, and she stood on her tiptoes and waved back before immediately coming to greet him. “Hi, Claude!” she said. “Long time no see. When was the last one of these things, again?”

“Three moons ago in Edmund territory,” he said with a laugh, like she didn’t remember. She definitely did. “But it’s good to see you again, Hilda. Are you going to head inside? I’m staying out here to greet people for now.”

“I may as well stay,” she said, rocking forward onto her toes and looking out over the entrance in front of her. She waved at someone she knew. “It’s nice weather out here for this time of year, anyway.” She was bundled up in a white coat and lavender-coloured scarf, but she was right; it was pretty mild for late autumn.

“Goddess, Hilda, anyone would think you didn’t want to talk to anyone else,” he said with a wink.

“I don’t need to go anywhere else to talk to other people,” she fired back. “You’re the man of the hour, as always. I think everyone will head your way at some point, so unless I stick with you I probably won’t get to talk to everyone.”

There was a little flaw in her logic, but he didn’t point it out. The moments he spent with Hilda made this whole excruciating experience so much easier to bear. They talked together for the next half hour, watching and greeting everyone who came through the doors.

Once he’d made his welcoming speech and loaded his plate full of food, the politics began. This was the main point of the ball, for most of the people here - Claude included. This was vital for maintaining a good reputation with all the minor lords and the knights and the wealthy traders and, well, everyone of note.

This was also why Hilda was here. She stood at his side, a plate of food in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, and she talked. Most of the time, she just joined in with the conversations, but other times, she said things Claude could never say.

The thing about the Riegan Stag Ball was that he couldn’t cause a scene. He couldn’t do anything that would piss someone off, and this was the night when he was meant to be the ultra accommodating host. If he fucked up tonight, he could be repairing broken relationships for moons to come, and that was something he couldn’t afford while teetering on the edge of war with the Empire.

Of course, this meant that a lot of people saw tonight of all nights as a good chance to be rude to him. They could launch into their political tirade and greet him with a “good evening, Duchess” and he wouldn’t be able to say a word to interrupt them until they finished. By which point it would be rude, because the moment would have passed and to not address their concern would be unacceptable.

Alternatively, they would start berating him about the future of his house. They’d count down the years between the late Duke Godfrey’s untimely death and Claude’s own age (the Duke had been forty when he died; Claude did not see the correlation, especially considering the evidence that pointed towards an assassination) and worry about what Claude would do without an heir. They’d talk about securing the inheritance, the importance of Crests to prove legitimacy. All the while, Claude had to grin and bear it.

That was why Hilda stood by him. Hilda would stand there, a sickly sweet smile on her face that anyone with a brain could see was insincere, and she would talk. And oh boy could she talk. The moment someone approached with their greetings to the Duchess, she’d insistently say that there was no Duchess, that she and Claude were just very good friends and there was no need to start rumours, and if they did there would be consequences because her brother was Holst Goneril, didn’t they know?

And when they started talking about what Claude needed to do better, what he should do to make the Alliance and his house more secure, she started talking about how young he was. About how he was cute, basically still a kid, and then she’d start rambling about something Claude did when they were both seventeen and at the Academy, making fools of themselves. It was very, very good at distracting people, and Hilda always told a good story.

When it came to dancing, Hilda captured his first dance every time. Well, he bowed to her and asked her to dance with him, and she always said yes. It served as an example. A reminder that he led when he danced, and a reminder that he would ask women to dance with him. Not that he objected to dancing with men, but most men couldn’t dance backwards.

Once the dancing started to die down, Hilda was at his side again. She waved people out when they left, the same easy smile on her face. She helped Claude wrap everything up, even though she always said that she hated doing anything that required much effort. Once that was done, she sat with him while he processed the evening, each of them with a cup of tea (chamomile for him, mint for her) clasped between their hands.

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” he asked. He was tired of it going unsaid, consequences be damned. She was a good friend and she deserved his appreciation. “You could have more fun if you just talked to the people you liked.”

“I want to do this,” Hilda said firmly. “Besides, it’s fun! I get to threaten nobles I don’t like with the most powerful general in the Alliance; it’s perfect. And I get to bother people who want to hurt you.”

“I have thicker skin than my beauty implies,” he said. He appreciated it, he really did, but he didn’t want her going out of her way for his sake. “It’s very much normal, as much as I hate it. I’m used to it.” It still hurt, but that didn’t make his statement less true.

“You shouldn’t have to be,” she said firmly. “Claude, I- no. We’re friends, right?”

“Of course.” There was no need for hesitation. Hilda was, without a doubt, his best friend.

“Then let me do this,” she said. “I know you know this, and I know you’re probably sick of hearing it, but you worry us sometimes. I don’t like seeing you sad, and I hate seeing you hide everything. There is absolutely, beyond all doubt, nothing better than being able to help you with so little effort. So as long as you want me there, I’m here. Can you get that through your thick skull of yours?”

“I hear you loud and clear,” he said, his smile spreading far wider than he thought possible when he was this tired. “Thanks, Hilda. I’m sure you already know this, but you’re the best friend a guy could ask for.”

“I knew,” she said, returning his grin, “but it doesn’t hurt to hear it again.”

“Um, Claude?” It was unusual for Marianne to interrupt him, so when she spoke up, he stopped immediately. He’d invited Marianne to stay for a few days while her father was travelling elsewhere, in the event that she wanted some company. Usually, she said no; they both knew it was him who was more likely to want the company anyway, while she enjoyed being alone.

This time, though, she’d accepted, and he’d gone for his usual method of filling the silence between them with inane chatter. He loved Marianne’s company, not for what she said but for how well she listened. And when she had something to say, he always wanted to return the favour. “Fire away, Marianne,” he said with a smile.

“I hope you didn’t mind me doing this, and I’m really sorry if you do mind. Um, it was probably an invasion of your privacy, and I’m sorry, but-”

“I’m sure it was fine,” he said firmly, attempting to catch her gaze. When she looked up, he gave an encouraging smile. She’d grown so much over the last four years, gained so much confidence, but she still needed a push in the right direction sometimes. That was what friends were for.

“My adoptive father has a lot of contacts abroad,” she said, “and some of them are from Morfis. He doesn’t talk to them all that often, and sometimes he hands off their correspondence to me to give me more experience answering their letters.”

“That sounds interesting,” he said. He, alongside most people, knew very little about Morfis. Basically nothing at all, really. Marianne probably knew more than most just by reading those letters.

“It is!” she said, a light in her eyes that Claude treasured every time he saw it. “Anyway, one of them told me about how she was basically… a magic surgeon? You know, when things go wrong and they get infected, sometimes magic can’t save it, so she cuts limbs off.”

“That’s grim,” he said. He tried not to think about battle injuries like that, even if they were the reality of war.

“A little,” she admitted. “But I- Goddess, it does sound really bad when I tell you like this. I’m really sorry, and I promise I didn’t mention your name or anything in the letters, but I asked her if she knew any surgeons who… did chest surgery.”

“Oh, right,” he said, trying to keep his tone as light as possible. Trying not to think about all the possibilities. He kept his eyes up and resolutely did not look down. Tried not to let his mind even drift there. “What did she say?” Don’t hope, don’t hope, don’t hope. You’ll be disappointed, Claude. Don’t even think about it.

“She said she knew someone,” Marianne said. Claude felt like his heart might have stopped. Just a little. “And then contacted her, so she sent me a letter and said to pass it on to whoever it was who was asking. And, well, I know you didn’t ask, but-”

“Thank you,” he said, and Marianne’s face lit up. She slid the letter across the table, and it was all Claude could do to not snatch it up. “Really, Marianne, thanks. You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“But I wanted to,” she said, still smiling. “I didn’t look too closely at what she was talking about, and it looks like it could be expensive and time consuming, but I know… I know it’s something that bothers you.” That was putting it mildly, but he always did put it mildly, even when he was talking to friends.

It took a couple of months of communication, and then another month waiting for the magician to cross the sea, but it felt like no time at all and an absolute age at the same time for Claude. Marianne stood with him as he greeted the party from Morfis at the harbour, and then came with him as they travelled back to his home in Derdriu.

“When the young lady had said you could pay, I hadn’t quite imagined this,” the surgeon said. Her name was Sonya, and she towered almost a head above Claude. She smiled at both him and Marianne as she spoke, her accent heavy. Claude felt bad for how little of the language of Morfis he knew (enough to exchange pleasantries in the incredibly rare event of a visit), but she seemed to be getting along fine. “I suppose people like us really do get everywhere.”

Claude let out a chuckle, but he didn’t think he could quite hide how nervous he was about this. He was incredibly on edge, but in a sort of excited way. He hadn’t really been able to keep his mind in one place for the last week. “Thank you again for coming all of this way,” he said. “I hope you see now why I couldn’t travel to Morfis and leave my duties.”

“Of course,” she said. “No need to worry about thanks. It’s always interesting to travel outside of Morfis anyway. Fódlan is… quaint.”

Claude laughed. “It really is,” he said. Hopefully not for too much longer, of course. It was less than a year until the millenium festival and he was hoping against hope that something would change.

“And thank you again for offering to be on call while I work,” Sonya said, directing her attention to Marianne, who flushed.

“Oh! It’s no problem,” she said. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be, anyway. I think I’m more worried than anything else.”

“No need,” she said with an encouraging smile. “I’m sure you’re a talented healer.”

“Marianne’s about as good as they come,” Claude confirmed. He was also very glad she would be around, though he didn’t want to say that he needed support, exactly. This was just very much unknown to him, and it was comforting to have a familiar face around.

Sonya took the night to rest, and the next day she got to work. Not that Claude remembered any of that bit, nor did he experience it; he’d gratefully taken her offer that he be knocked out while she worked, as interesting as it would probably be to watch.

What he did remember, though, was waking up. He was sore, really sore, and everything either hurt or had no feeling at all. Marianne was next to him, watching him - she’d been asked to monitor him just in case. When she saw him wake, she smiled like nothing he’d ever seen from her before. “Do you want to watch while I redo your dressings?” she asked.

“Could I get some water first?” he asked with a grin, and she laughed lightly, going to get a glass.

“Careful sitting up,” she said. “You’re going to scar like anything. They’re quite the battle scars.” That made sense; it had been a really long battle. Life-long, even.

Gingerly, Claude pushed himself up. His back and chest were a mess of stiffness and pain, but he managed it, with a couple of winces. Once he was sat up, he gratefully accepted the water. “So,” he said seriously, grinning wickedly at Marianne. “What’s the result, healer? Will I live?”

Marianne laughed. “I think you’ll pull through,” she said. “But I’m afraid we had to perform an emergency operation on the battlefield… I’ll let you see for yourself.” She smiled at him before going to the cupboard for some fresh bandages. “The wounds aren’t really open anymore,” she explained. “They’re just a bit tender. This is more to make sure they don’t get infected if they do reopen.”

Carefully, she undid the current wrappings and pulled them away. Claude stared. He closed his eyes, and opened them, and stared again. “I-”

He was not much of a cryer. He was Claude von Riegan and when he was a boy and people shouted names at him in the street, he didn’t cry, because he knew they were wrong. But when he saw himself the way he was meant to look for the first time, he cried. He cried for all the hours he’d spent wondering if he could ever look the way he wanted to. He cried for the nights he’d spent awake, hating every second of his existence.

He cried for the young man who hadn’t been able to smile despite the friends he had right in front of him. The people who cared for him so deeply that they’d all go out of their way to support him. Every single one of them.

Claude didn’t believe in the Goddess. He definitely didn’t believe in prayer or blind worship. But if there was anything the years gone by had taught him, it was that he could believe in his friends. His wonderful, irreplaceable Golden Deer.