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The conversation takes place in Claude's private chambers. Both a blessing and a curse. There is more comfort to be found there, but that comfort is a pitfall all its own. It's easier for Lorenz to keep his composure in an official setting, an office, a war room, or a cabinet meeting. Here, in the warm light filtering through golden drapery, sitting in a chair a stone's throw from a bed he's intimately familiar with, it is harder to remain detached. The feeling of safety that comes upon him in this room is like some insidious oil, causing his mask to slip where it usually fits so firmly. The harder he tries to hold onto it, the more it seems to falter. Lorenz can feel his carefully-crafted composure threatening to fall to pieces, which only makes him all the more desperate to clutch it close.
The eyes are not unkind. Quite the opposite, despite how Claude's gaze always holds within it a quality that makes Lorenz feel as if he is being picked apart. Once upon a time, that used to unsettle him. He is used to it now, however, and knows that while Claude is indeed picking him apart, Claude is always picking everyone and everything apart. It is not targeted or malicious as Lorenz once thought it to be. He knows better now and has long since learned to spot the truth of the matter. He can recognize the softness of Claude's expression; he can identify the gentle concern there as well. Concern that, finally, Claude allows himself to display, at least when he is amongst those he trusts.
Currently, those green eyes monitor from where Claude sits across from Lorenz. The small table for two had been commandeered when they'd begun taking meals together in private on a semi-regular basis. Though, as the war progressed, the wooden surface has become more familiar with maps and documents than meal trays.
At present, a cup of sweetened hibiscus tea sits woefully neglected between the two men. Lorenz can hardly tolerate that it will go cold, but to unclasp his hands from where they are clutched in his lap to pick up the teacup is simply unthinkable. His hands are shaking far too much. One needn't be as observant as Claude to know something is very wrong if Lorenz is sloshing tea all over the table. It would betray the depths of his unease far too clearly. It isn't that he thinks he must hide such a thing from Claude, specifically. Only that such blatant weakness is unseemly, and Lorenz must hold himself to a higher standard.
It is too easy in this room to slip from that standard. It is too easy in this room for Claude to assure him he can let down his guard.
With recent events, however, Lorenz finds himself destabilized. Adrift. As such, he must cling to any vestige of stability he can grasp. His standards, his mask, are all he has to hold onto.
Slippery as they seem, they are not much of a comfort at this moment.
Lorenz doesn’t know what to do. He doesn't know what he should think, what he should feel. The revelations of the past twenty-four hours, and the hours of planning as a result of those revelations, have left him drained beyond belief. He had initially shoved down his reaction to the news, unable to allow his personal feelings to interfere with vital planning and preparations. He had put a lid on the pot, but now the contents are boiling over and spilling through, no matter how he tries to keep the lid tightly shut.
Never in his life had it ever occurred to him that his father would betray the Alliance.
Certainly, he has long been aware of his father’s self-serving nature. Once, Lorenz had believed his father to be focused on protecting the people of Gloucester, as they were his responsibility. As one grows up, however, one must leave behind childish ideas. As Lorenz had shed the last vestiges of his childhood, as he had come out from beneath his father's shadow, he had seen plainly in the light what had always been hidden from him. His father did not care for the people of Gloucester. He cared for the power he held over them, the resources and assets he could gain from them, but not for them as people. Not for their safety, well-being, and happiness. Not the way a proper noble should. Not the way Lorenz does.
And now he has shown as much openly by defecting to the Empire, by enabling their tyranny, their slaughter. Rather than defending the people of the Alliance, his father has chosen surrender and appeasement, trading Leicester gold for the bloody crimson and dismal ebony of the Empire. Lorenz's stomach turns to think of it. He cannot fathom how his father could do such a thing, how he can live with himself afterwards. The fact that Lorenz himself has been all but disowned seems almost secondary in comparison.
In truth, being cut off from his family hurts less than Lorenz had expected.
As he sits across from Claude, remembering the support his friends had shown him when news of his father's betrayal reached their camp, he realizes… It does not feel as if he's lost his family. His family is there, here, still around him. The Golden Deer have become more of a family to him than his own House. They support him openly; they care for who he is rather than what he is, rather than what he can do for them. They do not threaten him or disregard him or condescend to him. They do not treat him like a puppet. They do not weaponize their love and approval to keep him in line.
The most profound ache is how little he aches for the loss of his relationship with his parents. The utter absence of pain is, in and of itself, its own particular and peculiar agony. However, it is a sensation quickly overshadowed by the gratitude and fondness that overcomes him when he looks upon his fellow Deer.
He is pulled from his thoughts as Claude repeats his name for— Well, Lorenz isn't sure. For the third time? Fourth?
"Lorenz—"
"Yes. Yes, apologies, I… My mind wandered." He admits, and there is no annoyance when Claude looks upon him. Only solemn understanding.
"I'd be shocked if it stayed in one place," he admits, his eyes taking in every aspect of Lorenz's current demeanour. The slumped shoulders, the drooping of his usually-rigid posture, the almost-full and nearly-cold cup of tea. "Would you like to share where it's wandering off to?"
"Nowhere important. I merely… As disappointed as I am with my father's decision… I find I am a bit shocked with myself. As upset as I am that he has turned his back on the Alliance, I do not find I care overmuch that he has turned his back on me as well."
"He's disowned you? Already?" Claude's eyes go wide, but Lorenz shakes his head.
"No. No, not quite. He has, however, made it very clear what will happen if I do not return to Gloucester to do as he bids. He has made me aware of his expectations and the consequences of not meeting those expectations." Lorenz sighs. "So it may as well have already happened, as there is no reality in which I would abandon you all."
"...Yeah, about that…." Claude starts in a tone that immediately sets Lorenz on edge, has him narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Claude is up to something. Claude is always up to something. "As sweet a sentiment as that is—and believe me, it's very sweet and very much appreciated—you might have to."
"Have to? Claude, what on earth are you talking about?" Lorenz feels a chill run through him, lacing the blood in his veins.
"Hear me out, okay? You're not going to like the idea, but it's a good one, and if you let me explain, I'm sure you'll understand why it's necessary."
"I'm listening," he complies hesitantly. He knows that Claude's plans, even when Lorenz is not entirely at ease with them, tend to benefit their cause. He trusts this will be no different. At least, he trusts that until Claude continues:
"I need you to betray us."
Lorenz is fairly certain his heart stops for a moment there.
At the very least, it breaks a little bit.
"I beg your pardon?" He would shoot up from his seat in indignation if he didn’t think his knees would give out, if the ice that has filled his veins weren’t weighing him down. "Claude, my dear, I think perhaps we should fetch a healer. Clearly, you are unwell. Addled in the mind." Lorenz hates how his voice wavers. He hates everything about this.
"No such luck, I'm afraid. Much to everyone’s dismay, I'm as clear-headed as ever." It takes a bit of the edge off, that Claude himself appears chagrined as he details his plan. Even if he believes this to be for the best, it is clear he takes no joy from it. "This is a chance we can't afford to pass up. An opportunity to have one of our people on the inside."
"You cannot possibly expect me to believe that you do not have spies in their midst already—"
"Of course I do, come on, who do you think you’re talking to?” He gestured to himself in emphasis. “They aren't in the inner circle, though. They aren't generals. But you? You're a skilled and decorated general, too experienced for them not to take advantage of what you bring to the table. Your loyalty is, in theory, guaranteed to them if they think you're still beholden to your father, which we'll let them think you are. You were always close to Ferdinand, right? He's one of Edelgard's closest advisors now. If he vouches for you, they'll take that to heart. All of that adds up to a situation where it's almost guaranteed they'll let you in on war councils. You'll be privy to things my spies are kept away from."
As Claude explains, Lorenz can't argue his logic. He wishes he could, but he cannot. He does not reply. He does not move or say a word. He is silent and still for so long that, eventually, Claude reaches across the table and lays a hand on its surface, palm up. It takes Lorenz a moment to will himself to move, to prompt his numbed limbs into action, to lift one of his hands from its place in his lap and place it in Claude’s own. Once he does, Claude’s other hand comes up as well to clutch Lorenz’s in both of his own tightly.
"I know you don't like the sound of this.” He starts, his tone soft and private, divorced from the persona he takes on when taking charge and giving orders. “I know it'll be hard for you, to say the least. Not to mention the amount of danger it puts you in…" Claude falters as he says that, in a way he never would if they were not alone as they are. When it is just the two of them, he doesn't try so hard to hide the fear that statement invokes in him.
Claude takes a breath and continues:
"I wouldn't put you in this position if I didn't think you could handle it, and if I didn't think it would be the best course of action for us. As it is, we need every advantage we can get, and this is an opportunity we can't afford to pass up. Your father has put you in what is, for you as a person, an awful position, and I am genuinely sorry for that. I'm also sorry that I am planning to capitalise on it, but what is an awful position for you as a person is the perfect position for you as a general, for us as a country and as an army. As much as I don't want to make this any harder on you than it already is, it could mean the difference between victory and defeat. Lives can be saved on our side if we know their movements ahead of time."
"Claude," Lorenz finally manages to speak, though his voice is soft and his tone is hollow. "There is no need to explain to me why the needs of the many outweigh my personal comfort."
"That's not—" Claude starts, then cuts himself off with a sigh. "That's not my intent. I just… I needed to say it outright, so there’s no misunderstanding: I know I'm asking a lot. Maybe even too much. Almost definitely too much. I know I'm proposing a plan that will hurt you at best and kill you at worst. I know that as commanders in this war, we both understand this is bigger than ourselves. But it's important to me as your partner that you know I don't relish asking this of you."
“Of course I know that,” Lorenz assures him. “I know that because I know you, Claude. Sending me behind enemy lines isn’t something you’d do lightly, or at all if there were better options.” That seems to reassure Claude somewhat, at least. A tension bleeds from his shoulders, and some of the intensity in his gaze softens.
“You’ll need to be extremely careful,” Claude tells him. “Hubert doesn’t miss a trick. If he catches you, the only mercy you can hope for will be a quick death, and even that’s unlikely. We’ll need to devise some escape route before we do this, and you need to promise me you’ll use it if you suspect that he’s onto you.” He squeezes Lorenz’s hand, and the strange edge from earlier tints the green of his eyes once more. “I don’t want this to end up with you being tortured for information.”
Lorenz has to agree with him on that. He certainly doesn’t want this to end up that way, either.
—
The good news is the plan doesn’t end with Lorenz being tortured.
The bad news is that he gets found out at what is simultaneously the worst and best moment. The worst, because they are in the midst of battle, and suddenly his allies are enemies. The best, because it is a battle with the Golden Deer, and if he can get to them before the Empire butchers him, he can rejoin their forces.
He is fortunate that his training as a Dark Knight has bolstered his magical resistance. Hubert is on a warpath, determined not to let the viper in their midst slither away, and if Lorenz hadn’t trained hard to withstand such attacks, he’d have been down for the count about five Mires ago. Having lost his horse earlier in the battle, he is not fast enough to evade most attacks. He won’t last long this way. His resistance is being worn down. He barely manages to dodge out of the radius of Banshee, the scream of the spell rattling his eardrums from behind, but to look back would spell his doom.
The beating of hoofs closing in on him from the right captures his attention, and he only barely manages to stop short enough to avoid being trampled by a horse or skewered by its rider’s lance. With Hubert coming up behind and Ferdinand coming back around to block off the way forward, Lorenz wishes he had the magical capacity to Warp. As it is, it would seem the mercy of a quick death was imminent after all.
Until the beating of wyvern’s wings thundered overhead, blindingly white scales reflecting the vicious sunlight beating down on the battlefield. Lorenz dives to the left, behind the rubble of some decimated stone structure, just as a barrage of arrows pelts the area where he’d been. The panicked whinnying of Ferdinand’s horse nearly drowns out the pained sound Hubert makes as he is struck.
Almost immediately, however, he can hear another horse quick-approaching and looks around the edge of the rubble in time to see Bernadetta rushing across the field, bow drawn, aimed for the wyvern above. At first, some fancy flying keeps Claude from getting hit, but soon enough that proves unsustainable. In a hazardous manoeuvre, he guides his wyvern into a near-nosedive. Once he’s close enough to the ground, he leaps off, the great winged beast taking off and hurrying upwards and out of range once more, well-trained and knowing what it is meant to do. Claude hits the ground running and rolls into a crouch behind the rubble Lorenz is sheltering behind. As he does, Lorenz shoots off a spell around the edge to throw Bernadetta off, to prevent her from immediately pursuing.
As he lets loose the spell, he takes in the situation. Hubert is nowhere to be seen until Lorenz spots Ferdinand on his steed in the distance with a dark figure seated behind him. Likely bringing him into range of a healer. That leaves Bernadetta and her battalion as the main obstacle between them and their side of the battle. As skittish as she is, Lorenz has learned well in his time with the Black Eagles that her fearful nature only makes her all the more fearsome in battle, fueling her with a desperation that would not allow her to be easily defeated.
“How many spells do you have left, do you think?” Claude asks breathlessly while Lorenz pulls back behind the rubble, an arrow flying through where his head had just been. Claude nocks another arrow of his own and kneels up to draw and shoot above the rubble before quickly ducking back down.
“I can manage perhaps three stronger spells or one strong spell and a handful of weaker ones,” Lorenz told him. “I can still use my lance in a pinch-”
“I’d rather not let them get that close.” Of course not. Keeping them at range is risky, as Bernadetta is best at a distance… But so is Claude. If they let the enemy get that close, he’d be at as much of a disadvantage as her. Moreso, as he’s on foot while she still sits astride her mount. A moment passes, and then a light gleams in green eyes, which Lorenz recognizes well. Claude has a plan.
“What would you have us do, then?” He prompts, and his companion grins.
“Charge up a single strong spell, as powerful as you can manage without totally draining yourself.” As Claude speaks, Lorenz nods and begins to do as he says, preparing a casting of Death. “We’ll combine our attacks, I’ll shoot through the spell, and its power combined with my Hero’s Relic should thin out the numbers of her battalion and hopefully throw her into disarray. The moment they’re hit, we run for it. It isn’t far until the line Leonie is holding. If we can keep them at a distance with smaller spells and weaker shots while we’re running, she’ll come to meet us when she sees us. Once we join reach her and her battalion, we’ll have the cover we need to get out of this.”
“Very well. I am ready when you are,” they lock eyes for a moment. This meeting under fire is the first they’ve seen of each other in far too long, the first they’ve been in proximity. Lorenz wishes dearly that they could have a proper reunion, but it just isn’t safe. All the same, Claude’s grin melts to a fond smile as they hold each other’s gaze, and the butterflies that come alive in Lorenz’s stomach have no care for their current circumstances.
“Maybe try being slightly less attractive while you’re at it. It’s distracting.” Claude quips, though Lorenz knows him well enough to be aware that as much as he plays the fool, he doesn’t miss a thing. He may say he’s distracted, but the analytical gleam in his eyes says something else entirely.
“Perhaps you ought to spend more time looking at the enemy than at me,” Lorenz retorts, the gleam of his prepared spell coating them both in the violet aura of dark magic.
“What a cruel request! I haven’t been able to look at you in months, how am I supposed to look away now?” Despite his complaints, he pops up above the rubble to let loose a few more shots and assess the situation outside their cover.
“You can look at me all you like when we aren’t actively under fire!” Lorenz scolds as Claude comes back down again. Their eyes meet, verdant against violet, and Lorenz knows what Claude is about to say before he even says it.
“I’ll be holding you to that,” he grins. Then he braces, his Hero’s Relic begins to glow, and Lorenz also readies himself in response. He is anticipating it when Claude yells: “Now, Lorenz!”
The spell is cast before the last syllable is spoken, the hissing cadence of Death cut through by the thrum of a bowstring. Fallen Star is a technique Lorenz has seen from afar but has never got to see as close-up as he currently is. Unfortunately, there is no time to admire. Their combined attack has thinned out the numbers surrounding them, scattering and confusing the survivors, and they only have a short window of opportunity to leave cover and run for it.
Lorenz only turns when the sounds of their pursuers grow too loud, too close, driving them back with Fire and Mire, but he only has a few casts of each before he can feel himself reaching a threshold. If he pushes any further, he’s risking magical exhaustion, which won’t benefit anyone. Just as he realises he has no more dispensable magic, he spots Leonie’s orange hair atop her steed. Thankfully, she has opted for a proper horse rather than a pegasus for this battle. Lorenz doesn’t want to think about how doomed they’d be if she were forced to face an archer from a winged mount.
Leonie and her battalion rush forward, a flood of opposition that utterly drowns their pursuers. Lorenz and Claude don’t stop running, though. They keep going until they’re well and truly surrounded by their people, until they reach Lysithea, who gives them a rundown on where they stand in the battle. They’ve almost got control of the area, the information Lorenz had gathered for them as a double agent giving them such an advantage that they’re winning handily. Lorenz is ridiculously grateful that his gruelling months in such a role have not been for nothing.
Not long after, the battle is decided. A decisive victory for the Golden Deer, thanks in no small part to the intel from Lorenz. It’s a shame that he can no longer provide such an advantage, but he is relieved all the same. From the expressions of his friends, they feel much the same, and none so much as Claude.
In a tent long after the battle is won that night, Lorenz finds himself wrapped in an embrace so tight he can scarcely breathe, and the subsequent kisses steal what little breath he’d managed. He ends up on his back on a bedroll, warm lips branding kisses onto every inch of skin they can reach, whispering praises against goosebumps and whispering gratitude that Lorenz has come through such a risky plan with his life.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done,” Claude admits quietly, so quietly that perhaps Lorenz isn’t meant to hear. He’s buried his face against the curve where Lorenz’s shoulder meets his neck as if he can hide there indefinitely. “I don’t know how I would’ve gone on if my plan had gotten you killed. Those were the longest few months of my life.”
“It is done now, and we have both made it through. Do not torment yourself with thoughts of what could have happened. Rejoice over what is happening instead. I am alive, in your arms, and we will come through this war side by side.” He promises, comforts, and Claude lifts his head to meet Lorenz’s eyes. Delicately, Lorenz threads his fingers through the dark curls of Claude’s hair, brushing strands out of his face only for them to bounce back to where they’d been a moment later when that hand moves to cup his cheek instead. Claude leans into the touch, a gleam in his eyes alarmingly similar to tears that will not fall.
“I’m holding you to that,” he repeats the words he’d said on the battlefield, his smile crooked but genuine, his eyes watery but warm. Lorenz leans upwards to kiss him and plans to keep doing so until they’re too exhausted to do anything but fall asleep in each other’s arms.