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Insomnian winters were things that made Titus miss Gralea up to include the experimentation and grueling years of training to wield the Glauca armor. He made a point of distinguishing between Lucian and Insomnian because he was Lucian and only in this corner of the supposed Six-blessed continent where the winters were always like this . Nasty things that were cold and wet, precipitation more semi-frozen slush than snow. And the winds. They came from every direction despite the massive wall around the city, dagger sharp and howling even through his thick winter coat. It was bad enough that this early morning he made a detour in his commute for one of the many coffee shops that dotted each intersection. Standing outside at a prudent distance the one he had chosen — it was the closest and he craved something to thaw the Insomnian chill deep in his bones — was one of the newer faces in the Kingsglaive. Barely eighteen — Galahd acknowledged adulthood and its responsibilities as young as sixteen, which made recruiting a hassle since any child who remembered the invasion wanted to serve — his braids hung over the high collar of his heavy knee-length pea coat, the rest of his bright hair hidden by a cap pulled low over his ears.
"Lazarus?" He didn't quite expect the young man's name to come out but it was out there and he turned around, looking a little startled. Luche couldn't decide whether to wave or salute, managing a mangled gesture before shoving his hands back into pockets.
"Captain! Sir! I didn't think you visited coffee shops."
"I typically don't. Are you one to visit coffee shops?"
That was where the young man hesitated as his eyes kept skipping back to the door of the shop and Titus. He opened his mouth but just then a young woman with dark hair but the same braids with different beads hurried out of the shop in just her apron despite the gale that swept down the street. Pressing the cup and bag into Luche's hands she smiled before sprinting back inside.
"Your girlfriend?"
"Ah, no sir. She's a foundling like I am. She got a job here as I got recruited. We found out the hard way the owner is not kind to 'outsiders.'" His jaw clenched. "So I stop by on the days she works and she always brings me out coffee and bread."
The anger intrigued Titus. Would it be that easy to begin shaping soldiers for a coup? Surely not. "And the owner does not know she is Galahdian?" Purposely using the Insomnian way to say their ethnicity than the correct way, that he knew well enough having Ulric and Ostium under his command these few years. It created the bristling anger he hoped for.
"Thinks her braids are a new fashion trend. What other reason would someone with dark hair and pale skin have them?" The bitterness was palpable yet when he drank from the travel cup he was suddenly lighter. "But let them Lucians think what they want. Galahdans stick together."
Nodding, Titus began to walk to that exact coffee shop. When Luche's acquaintance recognized him her eyes grew round and meekly filled his order and even more meekly thanked him for coming after seeing his name on the card he offered her. Returning outside, Luche had already finished whatever was in the bag and nursed his hot drink.
"Lazarus." He looked up in time to catch a pastry. "Eat more. The more magic you use the more calories you will need."
***
They ran into each other again, more specifically Titus caught the young lady before she risked a cold by running out into the sleet to deliver Luche his coffee. He made his order, black coffee, 'the friend's order,' and half a dozen pastries, ten of which would be devoured by Luche before they got to the Citadel. He always tipped her with cash that she stashed in her apron. She smiled gratefully and he knew she watched him wait and surprised Luche with the coffee. It also separated the two so when they spoke it heightened his chances of being discussed in a positive light. He knew how skinny Luche was; Ulric and Ostium were the same way when they enlisted. Eating in the mess hall twice a day gave them the bulk and muscle they needed to be effective fighters. Luche was still growing into his skin let alone muscle and magic. Luche ate like an orphan did, quickly and without wasting a single crumb. When Luche finally sipped his drink, Titus had to give into a small amount of curiosity. After all, he could smell its difference as he waited for him.
"Why do you come here for coffee?" He was sure there were other, cheaper places in the lower city where the refugees lived that Luche could patronize.
"Elena knows how to spice the coffee right. It may be all pre-ground but the spices are better quality and she knows how to make it without her boss seeing." Luche told him, slowly becoming more comfortable around him. It had him naming people that in the lower city closed ranks, distrustful of Lucian attention. "It is worth waiting in the cold. I am used to winters in Galahd and they were bad but here the concrete just holds the cold until the city is one giant icebox. At least we had wind breaks to protect us from the cold ocean winds."
"Your coat seems to serve you well."
That had Luche smiling down at the thing. "Yeah. Last gift I was given before I disembarked the boat here. Sailor's kid grew out of it and thought it could fit me since my old coat was getting too tight in the shoulders. Keeps me warmer than yours keeps you. Sir," the hastily tacked honorific onto his informal and potentially offensive comment.
He chose to ignore it. Luche wasn't wrong. No Galahdan wearing that sort of coat looked cold. "No trouble with your clothes?"
"No sir. Just the braids and my hair color. Nyx says to ignore the Lucians because we're the ones seeing the world while they stay trapped in the city."
"'The Lucians,' hm?"
"Not you, sir. Nyx says we can trust you."
That little kernel of information made him smile as Luche worked to keep stride.
***
It wasn't hard to 'coincidentally' meet up with Luche outside the coffee shop with the young man's coffee and extra pastries. After all he made the duty roster and Luche was young and eager to share information. Titus made a point to patronize every shop and cafe that Luche mentioned in the upper city and the Galahdans there seemed to relax a little when he entered. Excellent; Luche was already speaking about him. All of them foundlings, orphans even before the Empire invaded. None of them knew that attack was a calculated push on Regis' more compassionate nature since everyone old enough on the continent knew Mors cared about protecting precious Insomnia and was willing to damn the rest of Lucis to do it. Since they didn't know, they trusted him as much as Luche did with much less effort.
Maybe Niflheim's strange Chancellor knew what he was talking about.
Titus continued to ingratiate Luche to himself, offering extra training, even getting him more food which was probably the most effective offering. Galahdans — at least those over a specific age — didn't inherently believe pretty words. It was action they put greater stock into, were willing to lose their lives for leaders who fought with them rather than hide behind a Wall. Though the foundlings coming with the other refugees wanted something to believe in because hatred and bitterness made pretty, superficially invested words more compelling. All of it had Luche mentioning other newly of age refugees: Axis, another Galahdan, as well as Tredd and Sonitus. The last two were from Lucian outlands in Cleigne.
He looked into the three and they would meet what he needed in the future. He couldn't approach them the same way he had with Luche. Their mornings over spiced coffee and pastries gave him easy insight into the faction of Kingsglaive that wasn't blindly loyal to the Crown but steady meals and getting to live to see the next week. Returning home was a goal for when they had enough money, enough strength to fight their way back tooth and nail. That determination would end in bitterness and it would be what he needed in another decade or so.
They were the key for the internal betrayal, the foundlings' voices for whispered conversation in the dark edges of society. But it was too soon to be open about treason and inevitability, murder. Specifically, fratricide considering how the Kingsglaive acted as its own clan. Let the young ones dream of returning home, reclaiming it, stay starry eyed. He would keep that dream fed until the dreamers wanted to take action, were strong enough to take what they think they wanted — what he really wanted and what would ensure he never had to don the armor again, never see another Lucis Caelum on the Lucian throne again. Until then it was morning walks with a young and naive Luche Lazarus while coffee and pastries kept them warm when dreams and ambitions could not.
Perhaps the Chancellor was right. All it took was a cup of coffee and a listening ear to sow the seeds of treason and rebellion.