Chapter Text
14 Wyvern Moon, 1176
It’s been two years since the first letter from Fodlan arrived: the one from Duke Riegan of the Leicester Alliance, who expressed his joy at having discovered where his daughter ran off to all those years ago, and his sorrow at having to deliver the news that her brother—the heir to House Riegan—had died in a terrible accident. The letter begged her to come home and inherit in her brother’s stead, apparently. Claude had never known any home but the palace in Almyra before then, but he was intrigued to hear more.
Unfortunately, his mother wasn’t terribly keen to tell him anything more. She dismissed the letter as irrelevant, saying that she hadn’t spoken to her brother in over ten years and the fact that House Riegan was on the brink of collapse and would fall if she didn’t come back to inherit meant nothing to her; she was the warrior queen of Almyra, now, and damn the rest. So Claude took it upon himself to learn about his mother’s family, and even back then he knew enough to know that if his mother forfeited her inheritance, he was well within his rights to claim it for himself.
And one day soon after, a crowd of other children in the marketplace recognized him and tried to goad him into fighting each of them one by one, then jeered him as a coward and pelted him with rocks and rotten fruit when he refused. And when he came home to tell his mother, she told him he should have accepted their challenge and beaten them all, to show them he was no coward; and if he couldn’t do that, he needed to train harder and get stronger. He couldn’t rely on his parents to fight his battles for him, she said. That was the night he packed a bag and ran for the border.
Upon proving his identity—and thus, legitimacy—through his Crest, House Riegan and the Leicester Roundtable accepted him (if, in most cases, reluctantly) as the rightful heir to his grandfather’s title. That was when the second letter came: the one from King Lambert of House Blaiddyd, of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, welcoming the new heir and delivering greetings to Claude from his own son and heir of roughly the same age, Prince Dimitri.
Since then, more letters passed between the two boys. It was nice, Claude thought, to correspond with someone who had never seen him in person. Because someone who had never seen him in person didn’t know he was…different from everyone else here. He learned that Dimitri liked to ride horses and that it was much colder where he lived.
And now, another letter has come. This one is from Grand Duke Rufus, Dimitri’s uncle, informing them of the awful tragedy that has befallen the royal family. Duke Riegan doesn’t tell Claude everything, but he sneaks into his grandfather’s office late at night to read the letter himself. He learns what has happened to Dimitri’s family and friends…and he learns that Dimitri is still alive, despite that. The duke plans a trip to Faerghus, to deliver condolences and allow the two boys to meet in person at last.
Claude arrives in Fhirdiad full of nervous anticipation and a vague, nauseating dread. He’s sure that Dimitri will hate him, when he sees him. The children in Derdriu do, after all, and so do their parents—why would the Blaiddyds be any different? Dressed in his best finery, after a solid week of cramming in etiquette lessons on how to behave and speak in the company of Faerghan royalty, the 13-year-old heir of House Riegan accompanies his grandfather until the adults leave him alone with the crown prince so they can have an important political meeting of one kind or another.
Claude refuses to let Dimitri see how terrified he is, but he reminds himself that the other boy just lost his parents a few months ago, so he probably shouldn’t joke his way through this the way he’s used to doing. And so, when the door closes behind him and he’s face-to-face with the prince, all he can think to say is, “…hi. I’m Claude.”
It had started so well. So promising. Dimitri had his friends, thick as thieves they always were, but he still remembers vividly the day that he 'met' Claude. The young prince was always waiting, breath bated, for those letters from the Alliance; whenever a messenger would seek him out to deliver one, young Dimitri would tuck himself away in his room, hidden away in his bundle of blankets to settle in and read, to learn more about him. If anyone had asked, he would have said wholeheartedly that Claude was his friend, and he remembers hearing father remark to Uncle Rodrigue about his pride. Pride that Blaiddyd and Riegan had 'forged a connection', he said.
His father. As Dimitri sits here, waiting anxiously for his Uncle Rufus to usher Claude into the sitting room, his thoughts take a turn for the worst. When the door opens, the flames still dance across his vision... it isn't until his uncle's hand finds his shoulder that the prince is dragged harshly back into reality, though he's gotten good at hiding when his thoughts drift. The only sign is a slight widening of the eyes, and then Dimitri forces his posture to relax again...
His uncle's introduction of Claude is a blur, he'll admit, because now that his mind is back in the present, Dimitri is all anticipation and nervous excitement again. He feels like he's known the boy forever, and yet they're only now seeing each other's faces—that's quite a big deal, isn't it? Uncle Rufus gives him a stern reminder, something about propriety, something about manners, before he and his entourage filter out.
Soon, it's only the two of them. Dimitri turns to Claude, eyes wide and breath in his throat. It's really happening?
"Claude," he repeats, softly, as if testing the name out on his tongue. As if he hasn't said it so often, by now, telling his friends and family about the boy from the Alliance who's become his friend. When he speaks, Dimitri can't help but marvel at that, too. Of course he has a voice, everyone does. But now the prince has heard it.
Propriety indicates Dimitri should greet him, formally, as the heir of the Kingdom to the heir of the Alliance. What he does instead is approach the boy, watching him in apparent wonder, before reaching for his hands and taking them gently into his own. Claude is shorter than he expected him to be, even if not much. By the time his eyes have drifted from their hands to Claude's face, Dimitri is smiling again, like normal, like always.
"I can't believe you're here." It's whispered; talk too loudly, and he may wake himself up.
There’s a part of Claude that literally can’t believe Dimitri’s reaction...for a moment, he suspects the prince is making fun of him, setting him up for humiliation. Or worse. The last time he thought someone his age truly liked him and enjoyed his company, he almost died. Surely, the prince of Faerghus wouldn’t pull such a thing during a diplomatic visit, though?
But looking up at Dimitri’s wide blue eyes--the boy is taller than he expected from the letters, huh--and seeing his wondering smile, it’s extremely difficult to stay suspicious. He had no idea Dimitri would be so...well...cute. And his voice is soft and pleasant. When the prince takes his hands, he can feel his face flushing with warmth. No one’s ever treated him like this before, like he’s something special, like his presence alone is worth being happy about--even at the Riegan estate, the celebrations weren’t really in his honor, but that of his Crest. His existence as heir. Not him, as a person. It’s...hard to take this in.
“Uh…” What does Claude say to that? Oh, right--all that etiquette training is good for something after all, it seems. Duke Riegan was adamant that he observe all the proper protocols for dealing with Faerghan royalty, even though he never did so in writing in any of his letters. Those protocols are very different from the ones he learned back home, but he’s a quick study, and he’s suddenly reminded of what he should be doing. He clears his throat, giving Dimitri a small bow even while he leaves his hands in the other boy’s gentle grip. “It’s an honor to finally meet you, Your Highness. I...guess I should have said I’m Claude von Riegan, heir to His Grace, the Duke of House Riegan of the Leicester Alliance.” But he can’t help sneaking in a smirk. “But you knew that already.”
Oh. Oh, of course, he— Dimitri had nearly forgotten that this is, first and foremost, diplomatic. Official business. He's grateful that they're alone here, or else he'd be chastised to his room and back. The prince seems to realize his blunder quite quickly and nearly stammers. "Come now... you're always Claude in your letters. If you won't tell, I certainly won't—o-or if you're simply more comfortable with that, then... that's also fine." How odd this feels, knowing that this is his friend and feeling as if he's meeting someone new entirely. It's that thought alone that he can't get over... knowing that he had someone out there to talk to, who had never judged him for the things he wrote in his letters, and–- and here he is, face to face...
Claude lets out a small sigh of relief. "I was hoping you'd say that. Is it...okay if I just call you Dimitri in person, too?" He really doesn't want to screw up this Fodlan nobility thing, knowing how mad people will be in Derdriu if he makes a fool of himself or does something... 'uncouth' in front of the Faerghan royalty. Besides, it seems like the prince really does actually like him even in person, so he wants desperately not to do anything to offend. He doesn't want to go back to having no one he can talk to without pretending or feeling defensive all the time.
That question has the prince putting a hand on his chin. "I don't mind at all. I think... I can ask Rodrigue. He's-– he was one of father's closest friends. His advisor. He is... looking after me." Probably miraculously, that reminder seems to catch Dimitri off guard only for a moment. "There are probably people around here who would get upset if you did, but... I don't mind. I want you to just call me Dimitri."
Claude thinks about offering his condolences for Dimitri's loss, at the mention of his father and his obvious, if brief, dip in mood. But the prince doesn't seem to want to talk about that, and Claude completely understands that desire. So instead he grins, hearing Dimitri encourage him to defy these noble protocols already. "Well, maybe I'll just do it where those people can't hear me. And then whenever they're around and I call you 'Your Highness,' you'll know I'm really secretly calling you Dimitri instead. ;)"
"Then I'll do the same. And that way, they have nothing to get mad about. Um, what is it that I'm supposed to be calling you?" Dimitri doesn't even appear inclined to pretend that he knows...
Claude rolls his eyes at his own words: "When they want to be formal, they call me 'Master Riegan.' Which sounds stupid. But when you say it, it'll be like our own private joke."
"Master Riegan? That does sound..." Quite stuffy. That's almost as bad as 'Your Highness.' Dimitri nods, determined. "Yes, like... something just for us. It will have to do."
Something just for us. The thought feels a bit strange to Claude, but in a good way. And after all, haven’t they already got something just for them? Their letters are theirs alone, always have been.
"Have you ever been here in Faerghus before?" Dimitri asks.
Claude shakes his head. "No, never. It's cold here, you weren't kidding." He's starting to feel a little more at ease, at the reminder of their letters. It's a little easier now to see the prince as the same person he'd written to all that time, when he could only imagine what his friend might look like. "Have you ever been to Derdriu?"
The mention of Derdriu manages to banish those flickers of melancholy that appeared only moments ago, as Dimitri's mind goes into overdrive trying to picture the city through the bits and pieces he's been told by Claude. "I haven't!" He fumbles for a moment with the wooly shawl around his shoulders, untying the fastener at his chest to free himself of its weight... he hesitates, before stepping just slightly closer to the other boy. "Every time I say I want to go, Sylvain just says I'd melt if I did."
Claude watches the prince remove his shawl and hover nearby in some confusion. He rolls his eyes at the nonsense this Sylvain has said--he remembers Dimitri mentioning his friends in his letters, and Sylvain is the silly one, as he recalls. "You won't melt, that's ridiculous. It's on the water, so it's cool there even in the summer."
Dimitri looks a bit skeptical, but he nods. "Are you... cold?"
Claude blinks at the question. Is that what he's doing with the shawl? He's really just going to...let him borrow it? Just like that? Doesn't that go against some rule or something...? "Uh...actually, yeah, a little. But you don't have to..." He trails off, his face reddening again. Dimitri's so nice. And it really seems to be sincere. He hasn't given Claude a single dirty look or sideways glance yet.
The prince moves carefully, bringing the shawl to wrap around Claude's shoulders, fumbling for a minute before he manages to secure it around him, and takes a step back to admire his handiwork. It's a little big on the boy, considering it was tailored for himself, but he guesses that must make it even warmer for him. He nods, satisfied. "Being cold won't do! I want to show you around, but they won't have fires going until after sunset. And besides, some of the best parts are outside, too. I hope you don't mind that..." But then a thought occurs to him, and Dimitri looks at him with wide eyes. "Oh, I didn't even think—are you tired? Isn't it a long ride from Derdriu to here? Would you... rather just sit?"
Claude's ears just keep burning as Dimitri wraps the shawl around him with such deliberate care. The only people to ever do things like this for him before were servants. But Dimitri's his friend...is this the sort of thing friends do in Faerghus? He has to admit, the shawl does its job well. "I don't mind. I like the great outdoors. Besides, now I have this to keep me warm." He shrugs his shoulders a little to indicate the shawl, grinning. "And sure, it's a long ride, but I'm not tired. I want to see everything."
Dimitri doesn't seem entirely convinced at first, but he takes Claude at his word. The young prince nods and begins to pace, hand to his chin, as he considers their options. "Well, there are plenty of places to go. I don't think it will be a problem where... tell me, do you want to get something from the kitchens first, or go out to the stables?"
Claude hasn’t felt hungry all day, mostly because his dread of what Dimitri would think of him ruined his appetite. But now, with that weight lifted from his shoulders, food sounds appealing. “Let’s visit the kitchens first, I haven’t eaten much all day.”
"Well, that won't do." By this time of day, they've usually got plenty of sweets and snacks cooked up for the staff, and it's no secret that the Prince of Faerghus is beloved by the servants of his household: he's certain they're willing to spare a pastry or two for him and his cherished friend. Dimitri steps to him with a smile, and offers his arm. "In that case, let's be off! Food first, and then you can meet Aramis."
Claude takes Dimitri's arm with only a second's hesitation; the gesture has all but erased any lingering doubts he had of the prince's sincerity. It seems a bit like a dream, really, to be here in a Faerghus that seems just like the letters described; to be not only in Dimitri's physical, actual presence, but practically spoiled rotten within minutes of meeting him. Now that he's pretty confident that they really are friends and Dimitri somehow doesn't care that he's different, all the excitement he felt upon first hearing that they were coming to Fhirdiad comes back in a rush. "Yes! I can't wait. I feel like I've been waiting to meet your favorite horse forever. Then what?"
"Hmm... well, that's up to you. Rodrigue will be in the yard training, so we'll want to stay away from there if we can, but everything else... wherever you want to go, we will." Dimitri leads them to the door and into the hall, footsteps light, greetings soft whenever they should happen to pass by a servant or a guard; even when met with the occasional questioning glance, his grip on Claude's arm never once seems to falter.
Wherever you want to go... Dimitri keeps saying these things. Truth be told, Claude wants to go everywhere, do everything--anything and everything that's part of Dimitri's life, he wants to see it. He didn't have friends like this in Almyra, or in Derdriu...but maybe here in Faerghus, things are different. Maybe this is the sort of place he was looking for when he crossed the mountains they call Fodlan's Throat here.
Still, he can't help eyeing every person they pass warily, looking for signs of disgust or disdain, signs that they don't want him here and don't like that he's hanging around their prince. He's overheard too many adults at the Riegan estate tell their children not to talk to 'that strange boy'--it was one such incident that prompted his grandfather to take him aside and tell him that under no circumstances is he to reveal where he's from or who he is there. As far as anyone else can know, Claude grew up in Derdriu and no one needs to know anything about why he only recently became known as a noble there. So it's with some trepidation that he walks alongside Dimitri as they venture outside that room where they were alone. But the prince's steadfastness in never making him feel like he doesn't belong exactly where he is--by Dimitri's side--helps more than he could ever express.
"I still think that the best places in Fhirdiad are outside of the palace," Dimitri says after a minute or so. "Maybe we can go out into town... do you remember that ornament that I sent you?" It was some months back, a delicate little glass deer that he'd nearly broken trying to get it back to the palace in his excitement.
Claude's face lights up. "Of course I remember! Look--" He unbuttons the top few buttons of his jacket and reaches his fingers under the collar of his shirt (and the shawl) to pull out that same ornament, now turned into a gold-backed pendant that he wears on a leather cord around his neck. "I asked my grandfather to take it to a jeweler. This way I can carry it around with me without risking breaking it."
Dimitri's breath catches in his throat. He'd wanted to gift him something special, something unique, but to tell the truth, a part of him had thought that Claude would simply put it somewhere, left on a shelf to ogle occasionally, and nothing more. But he really... A cautious hand reaches out, brushing a gloved finger carefully across its surface, and warmth blooms in him. He kept it, he really did... "There are all kinds of things in Fhirdiad like that. Oh, and we can get you a better cloak, and better gloves and a scarf—you'll be so cold here, but I won't let you freeze."
Gods, Claude thinks, is he cursed to spend all his time in Faerghus blushing like an idiot? Dimitri's reassurance--'I won't let you freeze'--hits home like a blow. No one has ever said anything like that to him before, either; he was raised to take care of himself, because to ask for help shows weakness. To rely on someone else is an admission of uncertainty at best, and more often cowardice. But what he's learned about Dimitri through his letters doesn't make him seem like a coward to Claude--if anything, he's always gotten the impression that the prince is quite brave. And certainly, his own mother could never be called a coward with a straight face, and she's from Fodlan, too. Claude himself, though...well. That thought is best left unfinished...ironically. Ha. “Let’s do it, let’s go into the city after I meet your horses. I want to see it all. Show me everything.”
"Everything," Dimitri echoes. For a second longer the prince seems dazed, almost disbelieving... before his eyes flicker back to meet Claude's, and he smiles wider than he's been able to since his parents died. "I will. I'll show you everything!"