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When the years pass, this passes with it.
The war took and warped memories. This is a reality that Claude knew before the war, but he did not understand until he survived it. The Edelgard and Dimitri he called his fellow house leaders and peers do not survive in the chronicles, tales, and histories. The war shapes those stories. Memory becomes shakier against dominant narratives with each passing year.
Claude is King of Almyra. He was Duke Riegan, leader of the Leicester Alliance. There is very little of that he remembers that does not compete with the popular bards and minstrels, who embellish and change their words and facts to make a pretty coin. Claude does not resent them. Everyone has to make their living.
Yet, sometimes the new twists and turns in the tales of the war that united Fódlan dreg up old wounds. Claude likes to think himself free of remorse and regrets, but it is the mundane, private memories from prior to the war that give him pause in his later years. Looking back, he cannot help but doubt because his memories are so idyllic and calm. The weather of Garreg Mach was so mild that it was odd, and the sky remained calm even when a blizzard ravaged the north or a heatwave roasted the south. Food was plentiful in the last months of the Officer’s Academy operations, and Claude did not think about it running out.
Then:
Edelgard already had her path. Dimitri had started to become the man he would be remembered as. Claude was eager to learn and find a place for himself in the world.
They were young and beautiful and proud. They were not afraid of each other nor did they understand fully what each could do. They had not gone to war with each other yet.
This is one such memory.
~
On a mild morning, Claude, Dimitri, and Edelgard sit down to breakfast in an otherwise deserted Dining Hall.
“This is funny,” Claude says. “I don’t think we have ever eaten together without prompting.”
“I have never seen you awake this early,” Dimitri says, earnest rather than critical.
“It is a rare sight,” Edelgard agrees, much more of a tease.
It is early. Claude had returned from a short trip to Derdriu, filling in for his grandfather at a society event. Edelgard had been awake for most of the night, writing letters and catching up on recent court documents. Dimitri is always awake at this time, tending his horse alongside Ingrid, Ferdinand, and Marianne. The kitchens have just finished baking the day’s bread, and the soup is slightly thinner without its usual long simmer.
None of them mind. It is still excellent for sopping up with bread. Claude uses a bit of crust to scoop an onion fragment. Edelgard, who has already finished her soup, smears a generous portion of jam on her remaining slice. Dimitri leans forward, sipping soup from his spoon over his bowl.
“How was the trip?” Edelgard asks as Dimitri swallows.
“Not bad,” Claude says, popping the crust and onion in his mouth, chewing briefly, and swallowing. “Like, the event itself was totally overblown—lots of toasting, carousing, and grandstanding. But the food was good, and there was a dance.”
“Oh?” Edelgard says, pausing the path of her bread and jam towards her mouth. “Did you dance with anyone?”
“Of course,” Claude says, which earns him raised eyebrows from both of his dining companions. “I got invitations, and it’s sad to leave anyone who wants to dance unattended.”
Edelgard breathes out through her nose as she takes a bite. Dimitri straightens, reaching for the last slice of bread on the rack.
“You are a good dancer,” he says, taking the slice and tearing it in half. “I am afraid my own dancing would be…”
He looks down, clearly wishing he had not spoken at all, and puts a whole half of his bread into the remainder of his soup. Edelgard valiantly chews and swallows her food without laughing. Claude laughs, although he softens the notes because Dimitri turns the colour of the jam.
“Well, I for one look forward to the ball after the White Heron Cup,” Claude says.
His voice rises a bit. It makes both Edelgard and Dimitri look at him with some surprise.
“What?” Claude asks.
“You seem very enthusiastic,” Edelgard says, although her own tone does not entirely lack enthusiasm.
“Mhm,” Dimitri says, putting a spoonful of soaked bread in his mouth.
Claude can tell they are really calling him out on the sincerity of his words. It does not sting, though, because this is possibly the most normal conversation they have had. The only conversation more honest was when they beseeched Jeralt and Byleth, then simply mercenaries, for help.
“Aren’t you looking forward to it?” Claude asks because now he is very curious. “It is the only time aside from graduation we will get to have fun together without also needing to go into combat.”
Edelgard blinks. She takes another bite from her bread, eyebrows drawing slightly together. Dimitri looks between them both, somewhere between curious and pensive.
“I suppose, when you put it that way,” Dimitri starts, returning part of his attention to his bread and soup, “it is something to look forward to. I may only hope that I am not selected to dance.”
“You will have to dance at the ball,” Edelgard says, faintly scandalised; she speaks through the last of her bread and jam without realising it. “It would be impolite.”
“I mean the Cup,” Dimitri says, too polite to call out her slip in etiquette. “I… You’ve seen the costume…”
Claude bursts out in a laugh as Edelgard’s eyes widen in sudden understanding. Dimitri looks back down into his soup with such concentration it could hold the answers to all of the world. Edelgard
eats the last of her bread and jam with a grimace as Claude snorts on
his laughter.
“I see your position now,” Edelgard says, quite gravely.
“It is not so bad,” Claude says, but it is gentler than his usual teasing.
“At least everyone gets to wear modesty shorts.”
Dimitri grimaces on his mouthful as Edelgard shakes her head. Claude grins as he stretches. He stands, picking up his empty bowl and cup.
“Well, I better finish some reading before lessons start,” he says as Edelgard moves to clear her place as well. “This has been nice.”
“Yes,” Edelgard agrees, a faint note of surprise in her tone.
Dimitri nods. Swallows.
“It has.”