Chapter Text
It figured that even a routine training exercise would go horribly wrong. That was just the kind of year Claude had been having.
Granted, when he put himself in the Alliance lords’ boots, he understood. A convenient heir arriving at the last moment was horribly disappointing to, say, Count Gloucester, who’d been eager for the downfall of House Riegan, confident that he could assert himself as the new dominant force. It was also quite suspicious. Why had the Duke not produced this grandson previously?
There were answers to those questions. But revealing his Almyran heritage would only make some of the lords more intractable, and (perhaps, more than he was willing to admit, this was the real reason) require Claude to be open and truthful about himself.
And so: off to the Officer’s Academy, because that was the proper thing to do, expected of any young heir. As luck would have it, Gloucester’s own son was attending this year, and Claude’s enrollment prevented Lorenz from assuming his “rightful” position as the head of the Golden Deer House. All politics, naturally - a deft maneuver by his cunning old grandfather to set the tone early.
Claude was no fool. Fodlan was no different from Almyra in some respects. Gloucester had a fancier title than his father’s rival warlords, but both knew a threat when they saw it. And both had their methods for removing threats without staining their own “honor.”
He kept his eyes open. Tested his food and drink before eating (which had become a depressing, near-reflexive routine). Didn’t turn his back on Lorenz whenever they marched off to practice formations. Didn’t open up, even to the commoners in the House - you never did know what harm it’d do to let something slip.
Ironically, when the first real danger came, it had nothing to do with the Count. Instead, a random (or seemingly random) troop of bandits, who saw the heirs to the three countries all in one place and decided…
Actually, what had they decided? To kidnap the young lords for ransom? Surely they knew it was a death sentence. The idea of such unskilled assassins felt wrong, too. If this was some enemy trying to kill the three of them, they’d done an unusually stupid job of it.
All this raced through Claude’s head as he, himself, raced away from the ambush. He could figure out the truth later, presuming he wasn’t kidnapped and/or killed.
Even with all his physical training, he couldn’t run forever. He was flagging by the time he spotted the village, but at least he’d put some distance between himself and the bandits. And as meager as this village was, it was at least the semblance of a defensive position, with wooden walls and a little gate on one side. Enough to funnel the bandits around and buy him some time… he hoped.
Dimitri and Edelgard, too, had outpaced the bandits. The young prince wore an expression of confusion, while she looked more annoyed than anything. An interesting reaction to an unexpected bandit attack - at best, she didn’t lack confidence in her fighting skills. At worst... Claude filed that thought away for later.
“What are you doing?” Dimitri asked.
“Three of us, a dozen of them. We needed to change conditions to have a chance.” He was already stringing his bow.
“You just ran away,” Edelgard accused.
“You wound me, Princess. It was a strategic retreat to a better position.”
“There are innocent people in this village, and you’ve put them in danger!” Of course, the heart-on-his-sleeve prince would be more worried about that than his own skin.
“We’re clearly the targets,” Claude argued. “They’ll focus on us. Now, if you two would kindly stop complaining long enough to watch my back…”
His hasty plan half-worked. The bandits had only one approach, and the lack of cover gave Claude the perfect line of sight to fire, wounding or killing a handful of them. But there were still far too many for three alone to handle by the time they’d closed into melee range.
Dimitri and Edelgard both fought ferociously - the power of those mysterious Crests, no doubt, since they both seemed much stronger than a normal person should be - but the sheer weight of numbers couldn’t be overcome.
An axe bit into the prince’s arm, his lance clattering to the ground. Four men surrounded the princess, seconds from overwhelming her. And Claude himself was backed into a wall, the bandit leader bearing down on him with a wide grin and axe raised high.
Before the bandit could swing, a sword flashed out and cut his axe in two, splintering the hilt. Then a tall, masked man stood between him and Claude, sword in hand.
“Jeritza?”
What was their taciturn fencing instructor doing all the way out here? He hadn’t been part of the training exercise. Claude was certainly happy to not be dead, of course, but that part of him that needed answers wasn’t happy at the coincidence.
Fortunately, Jeritza was a much better fighter than he was a conversationalist. In moments, most of the bandits lay dead, and their disarmed leader turned tail and fled.
“Well,” Claude drawled, “That was lucky.”
Edelgard gave him a brief, searching look, but said nothing. She was soon busy helping Dimitri stand and walk, in any event. The prince’s arm wasn’t broken, but he clearly needed to get to Manuela’s infirmary as soon as possible.
Then the Knights, led by Captain Jeralt, thundered into the village. About a minute too late to do any good, but they certainly knew how to make an entrance.
Concern all around. Praise for Jeritza and his quick action in saving the three young heirs. Sad news, mournfully delivered - the Black Eagles’ professor, who’d been leading the training exercise, hadn’t run quick enough. Jeralt had found his body back in the woods.
Back at the monastery, days later, only Claude was suspicious when Jeritza was rewarded with a promotion - the professorship that his predecessor had tragically vacated. And even Claude couldn’t put his finger on exactly why the situation rubbed him the wrong way.
All he knew was that something felt off, that his instincts were telling him to be careful. And they hadn’t let him down yet.
Eyes open, back to a wall. He’d make it through this year somehow. He always did.