Chapter Text
Claude chalks the light flickering up to his eyes playing tricks on him in the dead of night. The musty command tent, filled to the brim with documents, tomes, maps, and scrolls, is a surprisingly comfortable place to work when it's not bustling with people. It reminds him of the Academy's Library; what a shame it was he couldn't spend more time ferreting out secrets in that massive catalog...
His train of thought takes him from the library to their battle a few days ago, deep in Ordelia territory. Solon, the man who masqueraded as Tomas for those few months Claude was at the Academy, escaped despite the best efforts of the Deer. Byleth and Shez had the man pinned thanks to covering fire from Lysithea and he should have been desperate as a cornered rat and yet... He had the presence of mind to use whatever strange magick he used to escape. For an otherwise perfect deployment, it was a bitter note on the day.
The flickering of his lamp draws Claude's attention away from his thoughts. "Ha," Claude chuckles to himself, "They say you should burn the midnight oil, but they never tell you what you should do when the midnight oil runs dry." A Glance confirms the lamp's reservoir had indeed run dry while he was working.
Claude toys with the idea of simply calling it a night. These documents weren't even his responsibility; normally he entrusted Lorenz with most of the domestic affairs while they were in Leicester itself. Despite Lorenz's... archaic views on things, his steadfast dedication to protecting the common folk made him excellent at issues revolving around them. Granted, he often needs someone to explain to him how commoners live, but he does well once he understands.
The only reason Lorenz isn't handling these documents as he left camp in the afternoon to check on some bandit activity in Gloucester. They certainly could wait for Lorenz to return... but the people needed these supplies to rebuild after Solon's bandits caused so much damage. Claude sighs. There's more lamp oil in the recreation area, he can borrow some of that. With a crack of his neck, he pushes his chair out from the desk and makes his lazy way towards the kitchens.
"The real question," Claude says to himself, "Is what kind of treat do I alleviate from the kitchens to get myself through the evening?" Images of the various items he saw in the pantries during dinner flash through his mind as he approaches the dining hall. The camp is dead quiet, though he can spot the torch the Gatekeeper keeps lit in the evenings even from here. Hardworking guy, that Gatekeeper.
A single sound echoes softly as Claude is mere moments from the pastries of his dreams. He glances in its direction, the soft clanking seems to be coming from the training grounds. It's not unusual for his command staff to do evening training... but the moon is already waning, it must be closer to the morning than evening. Claude detours, deciding to put his stealth training from Shamir into action. Claude debates whether he'll scold his target for pushing themselves too hard or commend them as he makes his way toward the back corner of the yard where the sound carries from.
He's only a few hay bales, archery targets, and weapon carts away from his quarry when a warm, fiery, and vaguely ethereal light flares from the same place he's headed. It's a familiar light to Claude, it's the same kind of light that emanates from Failnaught while he holds it. But there isn't a chance in hell Hilda is training this late at night, Lysithea has Thyrsus and Balthus is off with the wolves... Who the hell is using a hero's relic in his camp then?
Claude glances at the interior of the weapon cart he's hiding behind. He grabs a training sword, desperately wishing (not for the first time during this war) that he was able to get those swordplay certifications from the Officer's Academy before it closed. There's no way Dimitri could get this close to camp without being spotted, Felix maybe... If it was Ingrid he could find a bow a drive her off but-
"Damn it, damn it, damn it!" a familiar voice growls. Claude steps out at the sound of it, training sword left behind.
"Lysithea? What are you-" the words die on his lips as he watches Lysithea swing about Thunderbrand, the relic left behind from their battle with Catherine.
"Lysithea," he shouts with more urgency than before, "What's gotten into you? You know as well as I do using that is dangerous without the crest of Charon!" Thunderbrand swings towards him, shaky but still terrifying with it's forked blade angled at him. Lysithea registers just who she's pointing the blade at and drops the battle position.
Claude, out of practiced habit, takes in the younger girl's features in the moment he has before she turns away from him again. There are bags under her eyes and her dress is rumpled from heavy exercise. Her annoyance at being interrupted lasts only a moment before darker thoughts take over her expression again. In short, something is definitely bothering her.
"I'll be fine Claude. I'm quite busy here, so if you wouldn't mind," she trails off, leaving her dismissal obvious in the subtext. She lifts the sword up, taking up a basic stance before cycling through a series of them. If he was grading her performance at the Academy, Claude would fail her in a heartbeat; she has a shaky hold on Thunderbrand at best, her arms are quivering from the weight of the weapon and each stance she takes get sloppier and sloppier.
"I don't think you will Lysithea," Claude says in the same tone of voice he would order his soldiers, hoping it gets her to acknowledge him properly.
"I guarantee you. Thunderbrand can't do anything to me."
Claude steps forward, shoulders squared. "Last I checked, Charon isn't spelled the same as Gloucester."
"Congratulations Claude, you can spell," Lysithea replies drily. Claude's in her space now, and she forgoes the barely held battle stance to let the tip of Thunderbrand rest on the ground.
Claude's only a foot or two away from her now, looking down at her scowling face. "Then fill in the blanks for me Lysithea."
Her eyes narrow and her mouth purses. Claude's encyclopedic knowledge of his friends and foes tells him that's her internal debate expression. Good, hopefully she caves or at least, gives up Thunderbrand so she can leave the conversation. He'll take either, Lysithea's not one to press when she's this upset over something.
Lysithea's lips solidify into a scowl. "It's none of your business Claude."
Claude's own eyes narrow. He's played it nice but he's not letting her hurt herself like this. He reaches for Thunderbrand, then moves at the last minute to grab Lysithea's wrist instead. She exclaims in alarm and the last-minute change keeps her from ducking out of his reach.
"Let it go Lysithea!" Claude says, tightening his grasp on her wrist.
Lysithea pulls wildly at his grasp. "Let me go Claude, or so help me...!"
Claude only tightens his grip. "I'm not going sit by and watch you get hurt!"
"I told you, I won't be!"
"And why the hell wouldn't you be?!"
"Because I have two crests!" Lysithea shouts, louder than Claude had ever heard her. His grip on her wrist slackens. Her pulling against it stops. "Because... I have two crests," Lysithea says more quietly.
The wheels in Claude's head, the ones that have guided him through every battle in this war, spin like mad despite the late hour. He cycles through solutions at high speed until settling on what must be the truth.
He releases her wrist. "The... the experiments Solon and his people did?"
Lysithea lets Thunderbrand's point rest on the ground. She's yet to make eye contact with him, not since she blurted out her secret. She simply stares down at the ground. "Yes, Those are... that is..."
"Hey," Claude says softly, coming closer to her. He places his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you into revealing your secrets."
When she says nothing, he crouches down, so she can see his face despite the angle. He puts on his laziest grin and winks at her. "What say you to some desserts?"
Thunderbrand is left on the training field. Claude leads Lysithea the short distance to the dining hall, where she sits down on the counter as he rummages through the cabinets. She says nothing and doesn't look at him. He turns back to a newly opened cabinet to find what he was hunting for.
"Ah-ha, what say you to some Macarons?" Claude asks, turning the plate clearly made up for tomorrow towards Lysithea. She doesn't reply, but he's pretty sure he's found the best treat he's going to get on short notice. Claude closes up the closet and brings the tray over to Lysithea, placing the tray down next to her, then hopping up onto the counter himself.
Claude mulls over things to say in his head, looking at his boots in a mirror of Lysithea's posture. It's rare he can't come up with something to say, even to buy himself time to come up with something better. But Lysithea... Lysithea knows his ways and has seen through his facades before. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if she figured out his Almyran connections already. He can't put on a front with her, nor does he want to.
"It's rare you have nothing to say," Lysithea's voice cuts through Claude's thoughts. He glances over to see her with a macaron in hand, a bite already taken from it.
"You read my mind, actually," he replies with a quick flash of a lazy smile.
A ghost of a smile crosses her own lips. "I suppose I'll have to put you out of your misery then," she says quietly. She stretches her arms above her head with a hearty sigh.
"I'm not mad at you, to start Claude. You already knew about my condition and the details of it aren't any more secret than its existence. Linhardt figured me out ages ago... and I think Edelgard might have back when we were at the Academy."
"I take it your second crest is Charon then?" Claude was all but sure it was, but it kept them talking.
"Yes. That was the one the blood experiments... injected into me. Thunderbrand is of no threat to me." Lysithea takes another bite of the macron.
"But why the sudden interest? You've made it more than clear martial combat isn't your style in the past."
Lysithea freezes mid-bite. Claude waits, trusting he hadn't truly angered her yet, till she composes herself.
"Solon... Solon got away," she says in a quiet voice at first, then slowly rising in volume and pace. "Solon got away and that giant foreheaded twat is one of the ringleaders who did this to me, to house Ordelia, to my family! With one more blade pointed at him maybe he'd have hesitated and Byleth or Shez could have lopped his gigantic skull off his neck!" What was left of the macaron crumbles to the wooden floors in her clenched fists.
Claude hesitates only for a moment before responding. "You know it's not your fault that he escaped Lysithea."
Lysithea clearly bites back a retort as she takes in his words. The tension in her shoulders relaxes and her death grip on the remnants of the dessert fades. "I do. But you have to understand Claude. That man took half my life away before I could even live it. He took relatives from us, nearly drove my parents mad with grief, and-"
Claude takes Lysithea's hand in his own. Her small hand squeezes his like it was wringing the very life from it. Claude barely notices.
"What you suffered can't have been easy Lysithea. I may not know the full extent of it, but I see how it's forced you to grow far beyond your years. But you don't have to bear that burden alone anymore. We will find Solon, and he will face punishment for his crimes. I promise you this."
A long moment passed while the words sink in for Lysithea. Slowly, her grip once again loosens, at least enough to not be hurting Claude. Neither breaks the contact. Instead, Lysithea looks to Claude.
"I... could do well to remember that, I suppose. Are you sure the King of Leicester has the time for one of his General's personal vendettas though?" Lysithea says, an attempt at banter that falls short from the quivering of her voice.
"I became king to further my dreams Lysithea, not to be shackled down by archaic responsibilities." He grins wryly. "And in my dreams for Fodlan, you're standing right beside me. If I have to direct the entire Leicester army on a manhunt for Solon to make that happen, I swear to you I will."
Lysithea looks at him with surprise etched into her petite features.
"No matter how much Lorenz complains about it," Claude adds with a wink. That elicits a giggle Lysithea.
"You are truly a selfish king then," Lysithea replies. "Thank you, Claude. I'm... lucky to have met you."
"And I you, Lady Ordelia," Calude quips with the best mock bow he can give seated. Lysithea reaches for a second macaron and this time Claude joins her in doing so.
"You can't do that though," Lysithea says to the room at large, yet still as if she was whispering it in Claude's ears.
"And why not?"
"Because we have a war to win first. That's more important right now," Lysithea replies, her voice soft and calm.
Claude pauses mid-bite of his dessert. He wants to tell her that she's far more important. That he'd mobilize the entire army for her... or any of the other Deer. They'd lost enough from this war and he wasn't about to lose any of them if he can help it.
He bites down. But he can't say that. He can't deny that the war affects their whole country. And he can't deny that not trusting in the Deer's ability to survive is what caused him to make the mistakes he did in Ailell. She knows these things too, no doubt. Lysithea's always connecting the dots on his schemes first, always the one to find a flaw in them that not even he spotted. She's a brilliant commander and leader, and she knows Solon is simply out of reach for them at this exact moment, no matter how much she and Claude wished he weren't. Claude sighs.
"It may be our priority... but it's not more important," Claude replies, surprising himself. Perhaps he could say what he wanted to say. It just... slipped out. Lysithea's face reads with surprise as well... and maybe a faint blush?
She searches his face for a moment. He puts down his many walls to show the sincerity of his words in his eyes, in his unguarded expression. She'd pick up on that. He knew she of all people would.
"I..." She starts after what felt like hours. "Thank you, Claude."
"Simply stating the fact," he replies. That gets her to look away from him entirely. She's for sure blushing now. A part of him, the part that's usually running the show, reminds him teasing Lysithea must be done carefully. But his overtired mind ignores that part of him. It also doesn't question why teasing no longer feels like the right way to describe his words.
"I'm glad you stumbled across me tonight Claude," Lysithea says, a faint smile on her lips as she looks at him. She hops off the counter. "Though perhaps we'd best head to our tents before tonight becomes tomorrow."
He smiles softly. "We might be too late for that, all things considered." He hops off the counter as well. "No more midnight Thunderbrand practices, alright? If you seriously want to pick up the sword, let's have Holst," Lysithea grimaces, "or perhaps Byleth", Lysithea breaths a sigh of relief, "to train you properly."
"It's a deal," Lysithea replies with a nod that rolls into a yawn. "Good night Claude. Try to get some rest."
"The same to you Lysithea," he says to her as she walks away. "The same to you."