Chapter Text
Claude enjoyed it when things went his way. When he was little, he would take his risks and play with the hands of death as if it were nothing but an old friend; running and jumping into the arms of chance. He was a man of strategy, and his actions were always in his favor. If it didn’t benefit his agenda, there was nothing to be done in that field. He was a calculated leader. That’s what he was known for.
But the day he saved Dimitri, he found himself being the exact opposite. It would have been easy to let the man chase after a ghost and meet his end. It’s not like it would have stopped Claude in his efforts to pursue the dream of a unified Fodlan, but seeing the crazed look in Dimitri’s eye flared an instinctive feeling in him: familiarity. His heart felt connected to the raging blonde diving straight for the spears of an Imperial soldier, and his body yearned for their paths to cross.
And so they did.
The hit from Dimitri wasn’t unfamiliar to Claude. In their time at the academy, they had often found themselves in front of the other’s weapon in playful endeavors. Arrow to lance in jovial competitions with smiles on their face. No, the killer look in his friend’s eyes was quite the opposite from the soft gazes he would receive—flinches that would often allow Claude to gain the upper hand.
There was no flinch. There was no quiet laughter, and there was no way Claude would win.
“Claude!” Hilda screeched from a far distance as he went tumbling to the ground. Dimitri threw him a frown of disgust, but he didn’t falter. He continued forward towards the path Edelgard had fled, but Claude had already stood back up and his bow seemed to almost shoot itself. The arrow pierced Dimitri’s armor above his knee, and the brute was forced to slow his pace.
An Imperial soldier noticed the crippled lord behind him, and in a moment’s notice turned back around to perhaps finish the job. What could he possibly be looking for? The glory of killing the prince in a moment of retreat? Still, the man let out a strained cry, and Claude didn’t even have to blink before he fired once more right through the man’s chest: dead.
Dimitri who had closed his eyes to prepare for death whipped his head back at Claude in a frenzy. In a way, he almost looked angered that the man had been killed. As if dying was exactly what he wanted.
When the Alliance got word that a suspicious force bearing the Blaiddyd banner had made fast progress towards Gronder field, Claude had made his suspicions. He’d never truly believed that Dimitri was dead. Back then, it had seemed like a crazy pipe dream to have his hopes up, but when he saw the face of a man who’d been believed to be long underground, he had been overjoyed. With the Kingdom on their side, their chances of ending the war would increase ten-fold.
But when the dead prince allowed a low growl to come from his throat at the idea of joining together, the deer came to realize that his dreams were still only fantasies.
“Why did you...”
Dimitri muttered under his breath, but he simply shook his head and stood. It was the first words the man had spoken without screaming. Claude would have gladly said more, but the prince took a quick turn in the opposite direction and made a mad dash to get away. It would have been easy to take down his other knee and carry him back to the Alliance—back to safety, but Claude found himself just watching the man retreat. This was fine he supposed. It was better than watching the Kingdom’s only hope come crashing down.
That was two months ago.
It had been two months since Claude had saved a shell from death. It had been two months since they had connected eyes, and it had been two months since he’d been struck down. His wounds, still not fully healed, ached against his back as if they were still fresh with blood. However, he was forced to ignore it in the hindsight of upcoming events.
The Alliance was cornered. After five long years, they’d finally reached their limit. Edelgard wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity when it was dangling in front of her reach, and so she was readily taking it. Had she forgotten their playful rivalry at the academy? Were the close bonds they’d shared over feasts a faded memory—something that didn’t even exist and was instead conjured up in his soul?
No, of course not. It was war: a war she had started, and a war she had a high chance of winning.
Now she was sending her troops straight to his location. His head was on a bounty now, and Claude knew he had to be smart about this or else someone would become a wealthy man. He was running out of options fast, and turns out that when the bickering nobles were confronted with a problem, they would finally shut up.
There were many nights where Claude would ponder what he would do if they did manage to capture him. His confidants had no answers, and for once in his life, the master tactician was without schemes.
“Send a letter to Faerghus requesting their aid. Maybe we can rely on them.”
“But the Kingdom is still under heavy surveillance of the Empire. We couldn’t possibly ask them for help.”
“Do as I said. The longer you spend going against me, the less time we have before Arundel arrives,” Claude believed that maybe it was foolish. There was no certainty that the rebellious Blue Lions would retake their home. There was no certainty that they were even still alive after disappearing into the shadows once more since the battle.
Still, Claude understood the position he was in, and he was willing to take risks in moments as intense as the one he was experiencing right then. Dimitri owed him in a sense. Would the man who was so hyper fixated on loyalty to his peers be willing to show that same mercy to an old ally? While Claude hated putting his trust in such foolish ideals, he found himself laying his life on the line for a simple act of kindness.
This had to work.
It didn’t. It wasn’t long after the message had been sent that a passing merchant informed the Alliance leader that the Kingdom was still in Edelgard’s command. No one had appeared on the outskirts of the capital. No one had seen the prince and his soldiers. No one was coming.
He wasn’t much of a crier, but that night in the small corners of his room hidden from the eyes of those that may judge him, he may have shed a tear.
The plans had to be changed. Without the added brute force, Claude would have to perform a guerrilla strategy to try and slow them down while his people escaped. Only then would he have to decide in surrender or a strategic retreat (neither truly being up to his present control, but it was something he could grasp onto as an idea).
“Are you sure this is going to work, boy? You’re not sounding very confident,” Judith’s rough voice ripped him from his thoughts, and he focused on her leaning figure. She had been working just as hard as him to replace their former plan, and it showed in the creased indentions forming on her face. Her eyes, which had been full of fire the previous month, now dulled down to a boorish shade.
“It has to work,” but hadn’t he said the same thing about the Kingdom which was now turning its back to his plea? Judith’s mouth twisted in disapproval and her stance portrayed that she wanted to say more, but Claude had already departed. There were more things to worry about than his partner’s lecturing over his rule.
The city was evacuating. They weren’t going to depart in time for the upcoming attack, but it was something to hope for. The people left in waves and droves with their heads hanging low to the ground. No one had anticipated that the Alliance would fall so far from its highlighted glory. This was the same nation that had separated from the Kingdom in a valiant war cry that could be heard for centuries? This was the nation that bore some of the most dedicated warriors to be shown to Fodlan’s history books?
Claude would rather the soldiers hate him than have to deal with their blood running through his fingertips. He couldn’t keep that on his conscience, and there was one person, in particular, he couldn’t have die for him.
“Hilda.”
The girl turned around in her seat with her head slightly tilted to the side. Her cheeks were less full than usual—hollow with the weight of the war weighing on them. Still, unlike Judith, her eyes sparkled at her name, and she perked up at the familiar face.
“Claude.”
It was a curtesy bow that didn’t last long. The girl seemed to be stifling her laughter from her usually light-hearted companion, but the man was only allowed a hint of a smile to pass along his face before his eyes went cold again.
“Cute. How are the convoys going? Are all of the supplies secured yet?” When Hilda realized that he wasn’t going to laugh on her lovely bow, she pouted her expression and leaned on the wall. “Don’t tell me you don’t know because it was too much work.”
“I’m not that bad Claude. Besides the merchants from the east side of town, I can assure you that we’re all set for the most part,” that was a relief. If something were to happen—if they were to lose...
Perhaps it was best not to think about that, but when his lingering eyes traveled up the girl’s work down attire and somber expression, he couldn’t help but have thoughts—terrible thoughts.
“Hilda, maybe you should leave with them,” she seemed to roll her eyes at the pure idea of it. He knew she wouldn’t oblige, but he wished that she would at least consider the idea with an ounce of maturity. “Your brother would give me an earful if he found out even a scratch found its way to his baby sister,” the attempt at a light-hearted joke flew right above the now annoyed Hilda’s head. Instead of a laugh, he received a menacing glare.
“I’m not going to die if that’s what you’re thinking, Claude. I may be lazy, but I’m not just going to fall asleep on the battlefield,” At the admittance of calling herself the same term everyone used to describe her demeanor, her cheeks paled a small amount in color. “Besides, if anything you should be the one retreating. Your wounds haven’t healed, and you’re planning to fight like that?”
“How did yo—“
“Marianne told me. You’re a danger to yourself out there, and Dimitri and his goons are cowards for not coming to our aid after they did this to you in the first place,” the last part was added just to make fun of the situation, but Claude simply sighed and closed his eyes to try and process what he should say next. It was obvious he had no hope of convincing her, and honestly, the thought of having her by his side comforted him. “I say we abandon this place and make a refugee somewhere on the coast.”
“Then the Alliance will be declared as defeated, and all of the poor defenseless citizens of the nation will fall as well,” He snapped back without missing a beat, and she simply gave him a sheepish grin.
“It’s better than dying for a cause we can’t win, isn’t it? Are you really planning on dying for this?” Hilda removed the smile from her face and met his eyes. Claude was almost taken aback by the weight of her question: was he willing to die to end a war they couldn’t win? Was he willing to put his soldiers in the hands of the goddess and pray that they’re carried through battle safely after his passing?
Some may call his ambitions boyish pipe dreams that children had when they were dreaming up solutions for problems they had no experience with. He hadn’t told anyone of his plans; with the attention directed more closely on the war then what came after, he wasn’t sure he could. Still, could such a faraway dream truly be worth dying for? Was the unification of Fódlan really that important that it meant more than his life?
“Of course not. That’s why we aren’t going to die in this battle,” his confidence shined through his words, and her expression softened once more. “I’m glad to have you by my side, Hilda. Let’s make it through this battle together. You still have to meet my parents after all,” both of their smiles returned for the briefest of moments, and the small girl stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.
“Whatever you say, Leader.”
The days following up after their discussion were grimmer than the last. Nobles bid their farewells to the capitol as they gathered on various boats and wyverns. Many of them left Claude with their best men, but others turned their cheeks and muttered disasters under their breaths for his demise.
Lorenz was among the evacuating nobles. It wasn’t as if the man had wanted to go the second the option of available. In fact, he had become insistent that he stayed and fight a few times. It was sworn duty after all. Still, Claude somehow managed to convince the uptight man to retreat in case something were to occur where he became unfit to lead after the battle.
They both knew what “unfit” meant in the situation, but avoiding those topics became a common method among the remaining troops.
There were some nights before the battle where Claude became unstable. His anguish over Dimitri’s pure betrayal found its way creeping into his dreams, and he couldn’t help throwing a pen or two at the wall. Of course, the carcass of his former friend wouldn’t believe in silly stuff like loyalty anymore. How could he after striking Claude down in such a manner and not even flinching?
Claude had been a fool.
Still, he wished that the mumbled words at Gronder had meant something. They had felt so incomplete and broken as if he would perhaps finish them at another time—another meeting. On top of that, he had questions. He wanted to know so much about the prince’s survival, but it had been foolish to believe that the man would agree to be interrogated. The Golden Deer could tell anyone that his methods were often too blunt to shy away from.
The day arrived, and Claude situated himself in a small gazebo looking out towards the bay. Before any battle, he always felt his nerves on edge; the rush of adrenaline in his blood surged and pulsed under his skin as if it was alive and breathing. A sick feeling washed over his stomach as the waves below him ravaged and spit their fury into the open air.
Something in him told him to refresh in the salty taste surrounding the port, but the sound of rushing feet drew his attention back to the present.
“Claude, Arundel has arrived,” Judith laid a hand on his shoulder plate, and another sigh found its way to his lips.
“He’s come earlier than expected, hasn’t he? Aren’t you happy I set everyone up earlier now?” It was a sad smile, but it was a smile nonetheless. Judith was stern-faced staring back at him, but the way her mouth twitched made it as if in another time she would have chuckled. “I’ll go get my wyvern.”
“Boy,” her grip didn’t let up when he tried to depart. Instead, she drew him closer to herself with a small amount of resistance. “Stay out of the fight for this one. I get if you can’t retreat—I do—but stay back here.”
Claude eased himself from her hands and shook his head.
“No can do, Judith. It’d be disgraceful—and don’t call me boy.”
“But you’re injured, Boy. The chances of you screwing everything up are higher in this condition. Don’t you understand that?” A sense of aggression entered her tone the more she talked. Of course, he understood that his death was more likely with his inability to move as well, but he had no other choice. They were after him and only him. They wanted his head. Retreating now would result in a non-strategic chase to the middle of nowhere that would leave him in more risk than the battle ahead.
He’d dug his grave, and now he had to lay in it.
“Go to your post, Judith,” avoiding her question to the best of his ability, he waved her away. She stood still in her spot for a few more wavering seconds before realizing that trying to change his mind would be near impossible. The tapping of her feet into the opposite direction continued until he couldn’t hear her anymore—until the only noise in his ears was a thick intermission and the crashing waves below.
The battle began shortly after she departed. Claude waited a few seconds until he could faintly imagine the tormented screams in the distance before he made an effort to find his wyvern. Despite staying, Claude had no desire to head into battle. He wished for something—anything to happen that prevented it, but this was real life. The goddess wouldn’t protect him here.
The fight had only begun a few minutes prior to his arrival, but the blood spilled was already painting the streets. In the distance, a strong war cry spilled out into the air, and to his left, an Imperial soldier alerted Arundel of his presence.
In seconds it felt like all eyes turned towards him, and he gave his new audience a little wave before pulling Failnaught out and dodging an incoming attack. Another arrow shot towards him—and another—-and another until he realized that being so low to the ground might be detrimental. Flying a little higher would make it harder for any archers to shoot him down, and he was a decent shot from the distance he was willing to create.
He tugged on the strings of his bow and placed an arrow between his fingertips. Claude aimed at the head of a soldier who had just cornered a civilian and fired right through his chest.
Claude pulled another arrow from his bag and readied his aim once more. The glare in his eyes focused on another soldier who seemed to notice him first and began to run the opposite direction. He squinted and fired.
Arundel was in the distance, and Claude had to admit that something about the man made him uneasy. The way he carried himself was beyond his comprehension: confident and boastful but a slithering secrecy wandered under his facade. His posture was tall and calculated, and the icy state he fixated on Claude made the lord shiver. Although he was too far away to hear, the movement of his mouth alone caused about half of the army to focus on him.
“Claude!” A frantic Hilda shrieked below his wyvern, and Claude swiftly moved to the left to avoid whatever she had been warned him about. Right as he positioned himself out of the incoming weaponry, a lance breezed past his face. If he had dodged a moment too late...
He tilted his head at Hilda to give his thanks before flying higher into the sky to try and prevent such a mistake from occurring again. He’d been distracted.
But it seemed the rest of the army was also becoming increasingly flustered. One by one it seemed that Claude had become nothing but a memory to their attention, and he wondered what could have possibly occurred.
“It’s the Blaiddyd flag! What could have p...” but the shout died out, and Claude knew the look on his face probably showed more weakness than he would like to admit. In a desperate attempt to confirm, he lowered himself slightly in the air and stared into the distance—towards the entrance of the city.
Dimitri stared back at him.
Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd with his scruffy hair and crazed eyes looked directly at Claude with a ready army of troops behind him as if he hadn’t left Claude in a hopeless state for weeks.
As if he hadn’t caused so much suffering within the Alliance leader with his silence.
Still, Claude knew he was smiling like an idiot. The forces Dimitri brought weren’t large in numbers, and he seemed to be lacking his fellow students, but it was still him. He had still come—in a manner of speaking—to save Claude.
His adoration was only short-lived. The wyvern he rode on let out a piercing scream, and his sudden descending spoke volumes in his head. He’d been shot down. Another arrow shot upwards into his shoulder, and another one found his leg as he fell.
He knew people were shouting his name and clinging to their swords once his allies realized his situation; however it was as if the only thing he could focus on was the sound of the wind moving past him. It slapped his hair against his face and cluttered his nostrils until the very thought of flying suddenly seemed to be suffocating.
Claude’s breathing picked up, and he desperately pulled at the reigns for his wyvern to do anything: to move or to fly upwards and land in a safer manner, but the creature tumbled and fell further and further. To brace for impact, he shut his eyes as tight as possible and clenched his teeth.
And then Claude collided with the ground.