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Cyril knows a visit is on the horizon when envoys descend from the sky, their wyverns put up in his care. What he doesn’t expect is that it is so soon coming, Claude not even in the southern stretch of Ordelia territory for a full day before he turns up on Cyril’s actual doorstep.
It’s been months since they’ve last seen each other, and it’s only official business that brings them together now—Claude’s first trip back to Fódlan since superseding his father as King of Almyra. But even that title does not keep him from splaying out, head propped up on a book, as he dozes.
“Real nice way to come call on someone,” Cyril says, coming up the walk.
Claude stirs, alert even in sleep, and Cyril does not miss the tension that runs through Claude before he registers Cyril before him. He slumps back then, smiling over an indulgent yawn. Slowly climbs to his feet and wraps Cyril up in an inescapable embrace, kissing both his cheeks.
“Missed you, kid.”
“Don’t call me kid, I’m just as grown as you are.”
“I don’t know. Aren’t you still growing?” Claude pulls away to survey Cyril better. “I think you grew again.”
“That’s literally impossible,” Cyril responds and manages to get his door open and usher Claude forward. “Get in already before you can make any more of a scene.”
Claude sweeps right in, making himself at home as he gives himself a tour of Cyril’s accommodations while Cyril puts on a pot for tea. Some would say it’s simple, basic living, but it’s just to Cyril’s taste and the greatest collection of items that Cyril’s ever owned, thoughtfully selected and placed.
It’s a little too easy to look on it sentimentally as the twilight streams in from the wide windows. The plants and herbs that line the windowsill. The forget-me-nots he grows on his table.
Claude stops at Cyril’s bookshelf and growing library and turns, grinning. Hands off the book that had been doubling as his pillow. “Got this for you, by the way. I think you’ll enjoy the main character. He reminds me of you. Really no-nonsense. Clever and observant, too.”
“Thanks,” Cyril says drily. “I’m going to need a new bookshelf at the rate you keep foisting books off on me.”
It’s the wrong thing to say, Claude perking up as he turns back to the shelves. “Do you need one?”
“You are not getting me a bookshelf.” Cyril pivots in both direction and conversation, settling down at his table with their tea. “Didn’t you just get here? You’d better not be slacking off just to see me.”
Claude takes up his own cup, sitting down across from him. “You’re one of my favorites, Cyril. You know that, right? I’d make time for you, even out of thin air.”
“And the meetings were driving you mad,” Cyril wagers.
Claude puts his head down on the table. “The kind of meetings that go absolutely nowhere, everyone more concerned with their own petty grievances than doing any actual good.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Cyril says.
“Unfortunately.” Claude straightens, his hair mussed. “But forget that for now. I want to hear from you.”
Cyril humors him, fielding his every question, and it’s easy to paint a good picture as he relaxes in his own seat, tired but in the best way, knowing he’s filled his day with good work. Enjoying the wide-ranging connections that raising and keeping wyverns brings.
Eventually, though, Cyril grows tired in a different way—agitated, the more Claude talks around the other reason he’s come until Cyril has to pointedly call him out on it, their tea long cooled.
“You have anything else to say to me?”
The change that comes over Claude is nearly immediate as he sobers. “So you know the thing I’ve mostly been up to in Fódlan, yeah?”
At last, down to business. “Hard to miss it, the way you’ve spread the word. Tracking down Almyrans across Fódlan and even beyond. The orphans who’ve scattered.”
“So you’ll know why I’m tracking them down, too.”
“Offering all of them free schooling or trade apprenticeships,” Cyril supplies, and he only has to wonder what this conversation means to Claude that he had not broached the topic in a letter first.
There’s a lull, and Cyril does not mind one, but he does not miss the way Claude sits upright, leaning forward. Anxious to find his words. “I’ve spoken to plenty of orphans from along the border since you, but you were the first. You were also the first person to make me realize I had to do something to make amends. If you want to come back, there’ll be a place for you, too, Cyril.”
“There you go again, trying to rope me into something I never asked for.”
This time it is no lull that sits between them. It’s a silence as taut as a thumb upon a bowstring, its arrow set to strike. It’s Claude that had taught Cyril half his technique, and it had never been lost on him that Claude shoots in a distinctly Almyran style.
The both of them defined by two places, two peoples. There were those who did not know what to do with them, but that did not mean they couldn’t make and find their own means to belong.
“Doesn’t make much sense for me, does it?” Cyril finally says, already expecting Claude’s disappointment, as quick as it flashes across his face. “Why would I go back to start all over again when I have a place here?”
Here, at least, he has friends and contacts. Able to look after his own affairs now, working hard at learning to read and write in common Fódlani. He’s never known how to do either in Almyran, and it is rare that he has a chance to practice. Even Claude switches back to Fódlani to ease their conversation.
Sitting back, Claude makes a show of sighing. “I thought you’d say as much. I wish you were closer, but there’s not much I can say when you’re out here, proving people can find their place amongst each other, wherever they are or come from.”
He says it easily, as if he has had nothing to do with ensuring that kind of future in Fódlan, but Cyril knows better. Has fought for that future alongside him.
“You’re seeing to your own dream in Almyra, welcoming and inviting people from the world over.”
“Oh so you do read my letters.”
Cyril frowns. “I respond, don’t I?”
Claude laughs. “With way less words than I do.”
“I like actually getting to the point,” Cyril argues.
Claude takes the hint, knowing when to rein himself in. “You’re right, it is my dream coming to life. But I can’t very well repair and grow relations with people from other lands if I don’t make sure we’re taking care of our own, too. Wherever they are.”
He holds Cyril’s eye. Serious and intent. “If you’re not interested in coming back for any opportunity, you have to take the full recompense. I won’t take no for an answer.”
Cyril’s already shaking his head, expecting this battle. “I don’t have any need for it. The gold won’t change the past. What I lost or what I’ve been through.”
“You could use it for the future though. Take on more business. Maybe get your own house.”
“As if you don’t already keep sending business my way,” Cyril says and Claude is quick to cut in with his usual defense.
“Where else am I supposed to send people when you’re the best? You let me do so little for you to begin with.”
“For good reason. You love to get carried away. And a house? Why would I want one when I’m enjoying living alongside everyone here, no distance between us?”
Claude sits quietly with that, appreciative of Cyril’s simple honesty as he always is. “You always know just where my vision is lacking. But I still wish you’d take the gold for something.”
“If I needed it, maybe. But I don’t. I live comfortably by my own means. And I have people looking out for me if it comes to that.”
It had taken some doing. Questioning who was really on his side after a childhood of loss and being misled, but he knows there are still people he can count on. He’s been lucky in that regard.
“You know that would still be true if you took the gold for yourself, right?” Claude has to ask.
“Yeah,” Cyril says. “But if you give it to me I’m only going to use it for someone else. What about my old village? The people who may have managed to make their way back there? Or someone who’s struggling more since losing their family. Those are the people I’d rather the gold go to. They need it more than me.”
Claude studies his empty teacup in defeat. Finally, he shakes his head and when he speaks it is at his most earnest. “I’m not sure the world deserves you, Cyril, but I’m grateful we’ve got you anyway.”
Cyril’s never been one for grand compliments, but he holds the warm affection close anyway. “Just keep trying to make it better, Claude. That’ll do for me.”
“I’m trying,” Claude promises, and it’s that pledge that brings his present visit to an end, a schedule that can’t be put off any longer.
“No slacking off,” Cyril chides as Claude drags his feet to the door.
“Wouldn’t dream of it with you checking up on me,” Claude says. “You’ll keep writing, won’t you?”
“When I have time for it.” Even as he rolls his eyes, Cyril is holding back a smile. “You know I’m keeping busy.”
“Yeah… yeah, I’m glad for you. Just remember to take it easy once in a while for me, okay?”
“When I can,” Cyril allows, and Claude grins, pausing on the threshold. Hopeful.
“You know, we’ve been talking lately. Thinking about a Golden Deer reunion in Almyra next year. Will you come then?”
The question hangs there between them, and Cyril knows he’s let it linger too long, the way Claude rambles on, nervous even. “Name any delicacy and you’ll have it for our feast. Anything you want really, I’ll make it happen.”
The King of Almyra, for all his accomplishments, hanging upon Cyril’s estimation and approval. It is more than a little surreal, but first and always they are friends.
“I’ll come,” Cyril says. “Got to see everything you’ve been doing for myself. But you know there’s plenty of reason to go even beyond Almyra.” He smiles freely. “I’d never miss a chance to see family.”