OPEN POST: Claude von Riegan - Fire Emblem: Three Houses

[leicesters]

OPEN POST blah blah you know the drill! Leave me a starter, toss in a meme or picture prompt, or ask for a starter and I'll write you one.

Compliant with all Three Houses routes, plus Golden Wildfire from Three Hopes. Let me know if you have a preference!

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[backstreetbard]

[ Dorothea knows what people think about her. She's heard the whispering of soldiers and students alike, each epithet and rumor less kind than the last. It shouldn't bother her; it bothers her immensely. Not only does a low public opinion hurt her chances at finding a suitable spouse, but every overheard 'gold digger' or 'harlot' is like a little knife trying to sink into her ribs.

She has to prove herself. Not just to prove them wrong, but for her own peace of mind as well. If she can make it look effortless when she summons lightning or swings a sword, then she'll have earned her place here, and their whispered insults won't find their mark so easily. For this reason, she follows a strict training regimen outside of her class' scheduled times. Her routine is strenuous--not unlike Lysithea's, in a way, but including swordplay and exercise in addition to increasingly complex spellwork practice, regular dates with eligible suitors, and a beauty regimen of balms and serums to keep her skin and hair looking their best.

That's why she's at the training ground at this ungodly hour, very technically breaking curfew. It’s exhausting, but she likes to avoid sharing the space when she can avoid it if she’s going to be looking anything less than perfectly put-together, and only the goddess knows how difficult that can be when the people like Felix seem almost to live here.

She tenses up in the middle of a form when she hears the door creaking open, sprinting without thinking to the shadowy corners behind the columns that line the grounds. If it’s a guard, she’s certainly going to be hearing about it from one of the higher-ups—probably Seteth, if she had to guess. He always seems to enjoy harping on people when he thinks they’re misbehaving.

Carefully, she peeks out from behind the column, hoping to get a bead on whoever it is she’s going to have to sneak past if she wants to get out unnoticed. ]

[leicesters]

[Claude's prone to frequently breaking curfew to snoop around. And why shouldn't he? The other house leaders do it all the time, and while he doesn't have the slightest inkling of what they're doing, their business is their own, as far as he's concerned. He may be sneaky, but he's not paranoid, and he definitely isn't about to spy without a good reason.

What interests him more is exploring the monastery. Without knights, professors, Seteth-- or hell, even Lorenz-- breathing down his neck, Claude has almost entirely free rein of the monastery, so long as he's careful.

Tonight he's brought his bow and arrows to the training ground, ostensibly to train in private. He's not even bothering to hide his presence, whistling cheerfully as he enters. Soon, he sets up a number of targets and is practising firing on enemy vital points. He doesn't miss a shot, though he thinks that's hardly impressive when they're stationary. Still, it's fun to get in some uninterrupted quality training time... at least for now.]

[backstreetbard]

[ The fact that it's Claude here training instead of someone with more apparent drive... should that be surprising? He is her new house leader, after all--a nobleman, but a much more laid back one than the insufferable Ferdinand or pretentious Lorenz. He probably wouldn't even think to lecture her about breaking curfew like some of their more self-important classmates, especially since he's guilty of the same crime.

As she watches from her vantage point, it's clear that he's a talented marksman at the very least. Dorothea knows that Edelgard doesn't seem to think much of Claude's lackadaisical attitudes, but the boy has skill in spite of the deficiencies other house leaders might ascribe to him. Dorothea hasn't really gotten to observe him in action much to this point, as their their skill sets are different enough to keep her otherwise occupied, but this feels enlightening for a whole host of reasons. Is he like her, then? Does he come out at this hour to practice without scrutiny to make it seem like he's more naturally gifted than he really is when other people were watching? She could respect that, honestly; he's an actor like her--a fact she'd recognized before she'd ever transferred over.

After a few minutes, she decides it's probably better to attempt a stealthy retreat than to stay hidden in the shadows spying on him like a creep. The sandals she's wearing won't click against the stone floor like their boots would, but the sound of the door opening would draw his attention well before she could slip out unnoticed. Lysithea is the only one in their class who knows how to use warp, and even if Dorothea could manage it, the accompanying flash of light would be conspicuous.

Casting about for a second, she stoops to pick up a few pebbles from the ground, taking one and throwing it across the hall. It clatters as it hits the stone floor, hopefully providing a second or two of distraction so she can get bolt behind the column closest to the door. ]

[catwalknotrequired]

[She’s gotten used to Lunatian’s and how frequently they have big celebrations. They don’t need much of an excuse to organize a big event to encourage the moonblessed to mingle and generate chroma. She supposes she can’t blame them. Though back home Valentine’s Day is more one-sided than this. And she did take the time to make giri-choco for the boys it just needs to be delivered. But that could wait for the day of, there was no rush it wasn’t like it wouldn’t keep in the fridge.

A break would be nice. Strolling among the vendors that have set up booths to see chocolate making supplies, chocolates, fancy gifts, and other novelties for the holiday. Some things are universal. She’s just glad that the Anaconda 5000 isn’t making a reappearance as some sort of terrifying party game after the mess when she first arrived. There are areas spaced out that form dance floors ringed by tables and chairs, decorated trellis’ and candlelight. Small quartets or bands play music to encourage others to dance. While still, other spaces seem to have brought back Lunatia’s version of mistletoe.

It’s enough to make Ann smile and occasionally laugh at the lengths the natives will go to encourage positive physical contact among the moonblessed. But she hangs back not quite sure what she wants to do or try. There are some aspects that she’s still not entirely sure of outside of her friend group. Though she’s leaning heavily toward dancing. At least it’s easy enough to leave once she’s gotten tired or had enough. And she wanders a little closer to one of the nearest dance floors trying to hear the music to see if it would even be music she’d like.]

[leicesters]

[Claude's curious about the festival himself, and he finds that the parties here are much more his speed than the stuffy balls and functions held by the nobility or the church. Although he's new in Lunatia, he's dressed down into something a little more fitting the place, as ever keen to blend in and learn what he can about his new surroundings. He's good at adapting, after all.

Still, he's leaning more towards just observing the dancing and festivities himself, weaving his way through the crowds for anything that might catch his eye. Which is round about the time he notices a striking blonde girl, someone who looks around the same age as him.

Finding someone his age is as close to familiarity as he's going to get when everyone's from different worlds, so he sidles over with an easy grin.]

May I have this dance, milady? [He offers his hand and a formal bow, before his grin widens and he continues,] ...Is what I would say, but somehow I don't think that's how things are done around here.

[catwalknotrequired]

[Ann's almost gotten the courage up to dance by herself when he approaches her and while she might have been okay dancing solo there's something to be said about dancing with a partner. If you're going to look like an idiot may as well do it with someone else. Unless they're a good dancer in which case please don't laugh at her.

The smile he gets at the formal request followed by her laughing may seem a little rude at first, but she found it funny. Maybe a little charming in throwing formalities to the wind sort of way.] Not usually no.

[She places her hand in his and leads them a little further onto the dancefloor. Not at the center but they're not on the edge anymore either. It's a nice middle ground. Though the other dancers aren't exactly dancing in a way that speaks a great deal to propriety, pressed close together as they are while music from the quartet fills the air on chroma powered speakers. It doesn't look like any kind of dance she knows and coming from modern-day Japan that isn't saying much.

She's grown more comfortable with the whole chroma generation thing the longer she's been here, but she still gets a little nervous with complete strangers. This is exactly why she loops her other arm around his neck so they're touching but there's still some small amount of space between them while remaining face to face as she sways to the music.]

I'm Ann by the way.

[reorienting]

[True to his word, Glenn can easily be found - nearby but mostly out of direct line of sight. Not like he's hiding, but it's easy enough to learn how to not draw unwanted attention.

[No matter the place, alcohol has a distinct scent, and is comforting in its familiarity.

[Wherever Claude happens to be, Glenn's there waiting just a bit beyond, and outside, sketchpad in one black-gloved hand and a stick of graphite in the other. His gaze is rooted, for the moment, on a cluster of flowers, sketching away, while he's crouched in the dirt with his knees somewhat close to his chest.

[Until he senses the scent of alcohol has gotten stronger, and he looks up. It's good that they've met in person at least once before; however fleeting. Glenn's able to recognize him by face the moment he steps out.]

Had enough of your post-test festivities, for the moment?

[leicesters]

[Claude's not usually given to drinking much, or at all, both because he likes to keeps his wits about him, and because he has no desire to get on the wrong side of the professors or the Church. Well, more than he already gets on their bad sides just by being him, anyway. Even so, Balthus managed to rope him into hanging out in Abyss for a while, and one thing lead to another...

...Which is how Claude reemerged, walking only slightly off-balance and a little flushed from the alcohol when he spots a certain someone sketching outside.]

For the moment. What are you up to? [He's leaning to peek at his drawing.]

[reorienting]

Sure. I'm drawing that flower over there. Here, go ahead and look as you like.

[Meeting him halfway, Glenn just offers Claude the entire sketchbook. There is, in fact, a flower on the page, made to look unusually large compared to the surrounding grass, as if looking at the flower from the dirt and upward.

[There are more drawings, too, if Claude feels like flipping through the pages. Of mostly people and insects up close in intimate detail. There's also a rough portrait of Claude himself, drawn from memory.]

Claude & Felix - Verdant Wind AU

[whatafuck]

[Through the years following Edelgard's surprise attack on Garreg Mach, Felix has spent much of his time struggling to defend Faerghus' borders against the Adrestian Empire's unbridled aggression. He prefers to lead his soldiers on the front lines, staring down death during each battle and walking away just a bit more hardened than before.

Sylvain worries about him. Ingrid tries to discuss his recklessness sometimes. But without Dimitri changing his orders or complaining, Felix sees no reason to change his behavior or alter his strategies. Edelgard holds nothing back in her boundless ambition. She and her generals will notice any sign of weakness and exploit it ruthlessly. So Felix refuses to give her that opportunity.

Is he wrong to do what must be done?

Of course, the war grows more complicated when word arrives of the Professor's seeming return from the dead and the Alliance's claiming of the abandoned monastery at Garreg Mach. It's an amazing strategic stronghold that both the Kingdom and Empire have hoped to seize but never managed, which makes both rulers turn some of their attention back to the region they had been mostly ignoring up until that point.

On top of that worrying development, Felix's constant risk-taking eventually catches up to him during a skirmish with Empire forces. His troops win the day, but Felix sustains a serious injury to his leg during the battle. His second-in-command urges him to return to Fhirdiad for proper treatment, and without a skilled mage at their back, he can't find a good reason to refuse.

That is how he ends up back at the capital, a few days late to hear the news that Claude von Riegan himself was captured during a clash with troops led personally by King Dimitri. Undoubtedly that loss would hit the Alliance hard. Claude was supposedly working hard to keep the various nobility united, so what might happen with him gone? Would Byleth take over? Or would everything fall apart?

While recovering from his injury, a slower process since he didn't get much help straight away, Felix is around to hear much more about the war overall than before. He can't help his growing curiosity over Claude's imprisonment- he remembers him well enough when they were both students and can't imagine he allowed himself to be caught easily. Maybe there's more to this story than Dimitri can tell. That wouldn't surprise him in the least.

He asks around and soon learns that Claude is being held in a guestroom designed for such an important prisoner. It's comfortable enough, though the room had been carefully cleared of anything that could make for a good weapon. While better than a cell, it must still be terrible to be stuck in one space, not knowing the fate of one's people left behind.

With his leg still stiff and aching and a perfect storm of boredom, frustration and curiosity kicked up within him, it doesn't take much for Felix to decide to pay Claude a visit. His status alone is enough for the guards to grant him access to their noble captive's quarters. Felix only starts to doubt his decision when he steps into the room and hears the door shut and lock behind him.

What is he going to say? He and Claude barely know each other. Just another poorly thought out plan, he thinks to himself bitterly, knowing that Sylvain and Ingrid would be sighing and shaking their heads if they knew.]

So. You're the talk of the city.

[Claude looks different. More mature. Shockingly handsome.

He looks like a leader, even dressed down and trapped as a prisoner. Felix can't quite make eye contact. Even after all these years, he still struggles with that.]

Too bad you got caught. I never got the chance to fight any of your knights.

[leicesters]

[Claude is nothing if not shrewd, always staying one step ahead of his opposition. Still, impeccable judge of character though he is, he could never quite get a read on King Dimitri. Driven mad with grief, or rage, or both, Claude had always wondered the king would lash out at the Alliance in some fit of paranoia instead of focusing his efforts wholly on their mutual enemy.

Claude could play the long game, however. In Garreg Mach were anti-Imperial forces gathering not under the banner of the Alliance, but the banner of the Crest of Flames. Believers from any walk of life in Fodlan, Alliance or not, would be attracted to the knowledge that their leader was the successor appointed by the Archbishop herself, that Seiros' will was being enacted. It inspired more loyalty than Claude ever knew he could, even if he felt a little guilty for using Byleth in that manner.

On the other hand, Claude had lead only a portion of the Alliance's army up to the northern border when he heard Dimitri was making a move. It was a desperate battle, and when he realised it wouldn't be a simple skirmish at the border, but an attempt to topple the very Alliance itself, Claude ordered those who could to flee, while he himself raised the flag of surrender.

As an outsider, he had to put the pieces in place that his army wouldn't collapse even with his loss, or even if he wasn't able to inspire everyone to trust and follow him. All those careful calculations were playing dividends, and now he had to trust Byleth to handle the rest despite his capture.

Meanwhile, here in the Kingdom, he had to play whatever cards he had left. So that meant being patient and being a good prisoner, hoping that perhaps Dimitri might want to talk to him soon. At the very least, he's banking on the knight-king to at least be honourable enough to keep him as a diplomatic prisoner, and not put him to the sword the moment he feels he's outweighed his use.

So far, no joy. He's bored, mostly. He's managed to persuade his captors to give him a few books, and even a chessboard -- even if he has no one to play with but himself. But he isn't allowed a quill and ink or parchment, lest he write some secret message to a spy in the castle. They wouldn't even give him a room with a decent view so he could observe the goings-on around the castle or in the city. His reputation as a master tactician was unfortunately backfiring on him insofar as they were cutting off any possible means he could use to leverage his situation.

At least the sky never really changes, even if it's much colder and overcast here compared to what he's used to. He's sitting by the window with his chin propped in his hand when he has an unexpected guest to finally break up the long monotony of imprisonment. Startled from his thoughts, he looks to the door and blinks in surprise.]

Ah... Felix. [Another one Claude could never get a read on in their academy days. He'd been quiet, intense, and loved training, but there always seemed to be some deep-seated anger...

Maybe he'd come to vent a little of that anger on the enemy. Still, Claude keeps a neutral smile fixed in place. No need to provoke one of Dimitri's generals.]

You could always let me go again, then you could fight as many of my best knights as you please. [He jokes. As if it would ever be that easy.]

[whatafuck]

[Huh. Claude remembers his name. He's actually surprised to hear it, even if he probably shouldn't be. Everyone, including Felix, knows Claude's reputation as a master tactician.

He's still confident enough to believe himself above manipulation. And glancing around the room, it seems impossible to imagine how Claude could possibly pull any tricks. Dimitri is obviously paranoid about his rival, even while he's safely locked up in the capital. Regardless, it's unlikely that he will execute someone so important. Unlike Edelgard, Dimitri doesn't hate Claude with a terrifying passion.

Who knows what he plans to do next? Felix is here to recover from his wound, not to come up with strategies.]

That's tempting.

[There's nothing he loves more than a good challenge. Felix would love to fight the Professor again, though he has no idea if that's a possibility. And since he was injured, he knows he has room to improve when fighting Edelgard's knights. The ultimate challenge would be facing off against someone like Hubert. He... struggles against mages... and Hubert is a master of long range offensive magic. There aren't many like him to practice against in Faerghus.]

But his beastliness wouldn't be too pleased. Guess you're stuck here for now.

[He wouldn't normally insult Dimitri in front of an enemy, but Claude is a former classmate. That, and he doesn't feel like an enemy. The way he smiles and holds himself probably adds to that perception.]

[fiveyearnap]

[ Getting a week off, away from Garreg Mach, is easier and yet more dangerous than Byleth had anticipated. For his part, Seteth is understanding. The Grand Duke of the Alliance has requested her presence in Derdriu; it would look bad to turn him down, and there's no real reason on paper that she can't leave the monastery of her own volition.

Rhea makes her displeasure known the following day as Byleth is packing what little she has but might actually need on such a trip, summoning her for a stern lecture about how ill-advised it is to take the Sword of the Creator away from the monastery outside of a church-sanctioned mission. Byleth informs her that the sword will remain under lock and key in her father's office until her return, and while that technically satisfies Rhea's complaint, it also obviously does nothing to quell her displeasure. It will be something to be more mindful of in the future, but for now, the archbishop will just have to deal with the fact that Byleth is at her own disposal.

She and Claude get an early start, leaving after classes conclude for the week on Friday afternoon. It's a solid two-day flight to Derdriue with a brief layover at a quaint inn in Daphnel territory, and Byleth knows they're getting close when she can smell the tang of the ocean on the wind.

They set down on the Riegan estate's lawn on Saturday night, both eager to stretch their legs after a grueling flight, and the pair of them are ushered into the manor proper while other stable hands see that their wyverns are taken to the aviary to rest. Byleth isn't bold enough here to hold Claude's hand out in the open, but she walks close enough by his side that he'll be able to hear her when she asks: ]

Do you think he'll like me?

[ It's a rare feeling, these nerves, like the adrenaline that fills her before a battle. She's never sought another person's approval in her life, and the thought that she might not receive it is unsettling to her when it feels like so much is riding on it. ]

[leicesters]

[Claude had tried to keep her nerves at bay on the journey with his usual chatter and joking around, and the closer he got to Derdriu, the more he filled her in on the Aquatic Capital's unique location ("did you know it was built on wooden stakes shoved into the water, and somehow the whole thing has stayed standing for centuries?"), but even he can't distract her once they've arrived. Servants and retainers are staring openly at the pair of them, and Claude is sure they're curious about him as much as her. He wasn't kidding when he'd told her before that he's as much an outsider as she is, but he doesn't react to it except to roll his eyes when they're not looking.

To her question, he keep his voice low, but he can't resist offering a cheeky wink when he replies.]

You're a fantastic warrior, you have the Sword of the Creator, and you're knockout gorgeous. Plus, you have a way of getting most anyone to follow you. He'd be crazy not to like you.

[And if he doesn't, it's not like he has much of a say in the matter anyway, but Claude doesn't voice that part aloud. Once they're shown inside, they're ushered through the rather opulent entrance hall to a side chamber, and asked to wait while Duke Riegan is summoned from his chambers.

Even inside, Claude looks for all the world like he's also a guest rather than someone who belongs there, glancing around at the portraits of previous dukes and duchesses watching them solemnly from the walls, before picking a plush mahogany chair and plopping himself down.]

Pretty different from Garreg Mach, right? Things in the monastery are so... austere. Further afield, though, Fodlan nobles are all about the fancy life. [It almost seems like a contradiction, given how most nobles put on airs of being pious, but... that's Fodlan.]

[fiveyearnap]

[ Byleth chooses to remain standing, not quite ready yet to take a seat. There’s no danger here, but she prefers to stay at the ready in unknown situations, and this qualifies in more ways than one. It gives her the opportunity to peruse the portraits, looking for familiar features in the likenesses of Claude’s relatives and ancestors. Safe to say he stands out among the rows of pale faces, but he’s beautiful to her. Just the thought of him fills her chest with warmth.

She’s about to turn back to him when a pair of striking green eyes catches her attention. The woman in the portrait is lovely, seated beside a handsome young man, the both of them sharing the same green eyes and auburn hair. Those keen eyes, though—Byleth is sure she’d recognize them anywhere. Before she can ask him about the painting, however, a retainer steps into the room to announce the arrival of the Grand Duke. Byleth turns, at attention, stepping closer to the center of the room as he enters it.

Oswald von Riegan isn’t what she was expecting. She’s not sure what she was expecting, in truth. A man in his seventies, back straight and proud in spite of the cane he uses to walk, a head of graying red hair—he cuts an imposing figure, though he’s not the tallest or broadest man Byleth has ever seen. He has the look of a man secure in his position, in his intellect and political power.

Byleth doesn’t even attempt to play at proper courtly manners, instead opting to bow as warriors do when he is announced to the room. She can be nothing but herself, and hope that is sufficient. ]

@ fiveyearnap - Dragon AU

[leicesters]

[It was a royal coming of age ceremony with a seemingly impossible premise: hunt down a mythical beast no one had ever seen, but which allegedly haunted the northern pine forests of Almyra. Failing that -- which each successive generation did -- bring back proof of some lesser but still valuable hunt or token of victory in battle.

Yet Prince Khalid couldn't afford to treat the ceremony lightly. Even if he secured a successful lesser hunt, there was no guarantee it would earn him the respect he so desperately needed in the Almyran court, particularly when his older siblings had already accomplished their own lesser hunts. He needed to do better than them, and perhaps, out of desperation, intuition, or just some god taking pity on him and guiding him, he extended his range further to the north when his initial search bore no fruit.

It was colder here, and Khalid wasn't used to the tall trees compared to the deserts and wide-open prairies that surrounded most of the lands beyond the capital city. Still, he persisted on foot, his wyvern close by should he need to call her, his bow and arrow in hand. Days of tracking and observation take him to the foothills of the mountains, where he finds unusual evidence of a predator. Not a wyvern, he's sure, but seemingly no ordinary wild animal, either. If not them... then what?

He decides to hunt and kill a deer, leaving its fresh carcass in a clearing to see whether it will entice anything more than scavengers. Then he waits, using the undergrowth as cover.]

[fiveyearnap]

[ The thing about rare creatures is that they are often rare because they have been hunted before, and that makes them wary, and wary prey is dangerous. It might smell a freshly-killed deer and even come to investigate, but a beast with such a keen nose would pick up other scents, too--scents foreign to the stretch of territory it calls home.

It might even circle around to find the source of that unusual scent, and so the hunter becomes the hunted.

It moves with such stealth that it doesn't even snap a pine needle under its claws, going slowly, slowly, until the intruder is within sight. It waits. It springs.

The impact of a solid, warm body against his will surely knock the wind from Khalid's lungs as they both tumble to the forest floor. Pinned with his face pressed into the detritus, he'll find no sudden claws or teeth closing on his neck or digging into his skin, but instead, a nose carefully sniffing his hair and his face.

Then he's rolled over to face his attacker, green eyes meeting green. She is not the massive dragon of lore, but she isn't human either. Slender horns poke out of her hair, and her ears are long and tapered. She has leathery wings that stretch from her back, and a tail as well, and scales covering her flanks and her sides.

Oh, and she's entirely nude, though that seems less pressing than the fact that she's some kind of dragon woman.

She continues her investigation of him, snuffling at his face for a moment before she speaks. Her voice is hoarse and low from disuse, and her words are certainly none of the languages spoken in Almyra (or in Fodlan, for that matter). She's looking at him almost expectantly, eagerly. Have fun figuring this one out, Khalid. ]

[leicesters]

[Khalid is sure he's a goner from the second he feels that body impact his, and for a moment he can only squeeze his eyes shut, hoping that if his death is about to come, it will be a mercifully quick one.

But it isn't. He's flipped over, eyes wide as he looks her over. A dragon... woman? So he found his mark after all... or rather, she found him. He can't reach his sword, and the bow in his hand is useless as this proximity. He can't make out even a shred of what she's saying, either.]

Please don't kill me. [He begs, though he both has no idea if she'll understand him, and no incentive for her spare him. Except maybe that she's curious more than aggressive.] The deer's more than enough for you to carry off, right? Take it and I'll never come back.

[His eyes flick over to the carcass, hoping she'll get his meaning. And hoping she doesn't just take it as inspiration for how he'll wind up soon enough.]

[leicesters]

[It had been a few weeks since Faerghus's invasion of Derdriu. Claude had done what he could, even using the Almyran navy for the element of surprise, but the combined might of King Dimitri's forces and the Church of Seiros still proved too much. Claude surrendered peacefully and ordered the withdrawal of both Leicester and Almyra, and he'd been prepared to cede his leadership to the Tempest King.

What happened instead was a little different. Dimitri, perhaps on the instruction of Rhea or one of his advisors, was still wary of the influence the Empire had on the western houses of Leicester -- Gloucester, Ordelia, and also a few minor houses. They also understood that Claude had been the glue holding the Alliance together in amongst all its infighting, and by capturing rather than killing Claude, the Kingdom had a better chance of both rallying anti-Empire houses and those still chomping at the bit to cede to Adrestia. He was also, most likely, the one thing holding back further attacks on the border at Fodlan's Throat.

Claude, for his part, has accepted defeat gracefully, even if he hasn't been especially cooperative in the power games between the Kingdom and Empire. He's expressed little desire to be a puppet ruler to Dimitri and Rhea, but Rhea's paranoia is such that she and Dimitri aren't about to just let him go, either, at least not until the war is over.

Which means he's effectively a prisoner in Faerghus for the foreseeable future. He's been given comfortable lodgings and kept catered for, but otherwise his contact with the outside world is null and void, and anything he might use to concoct a scheme -- parchment and ink, books that will offer even vaguely useful knowledge, even anything he could use as a weapon -- have been kept well away from him, leaving him with not much to keep an overactive mind like his occupied beyond his crushing boredom. Not even his spies in Faerghus will be of much help in reaching him here.

So when one of his guards announces he has a visitor -- the son of the King's Shield, at that -- he's completely taken aback, but quick to offer a disarming smile as Felix enters the room.]

Well, well! To what do I owe the pleasure? Feeling nostalgic?

[bestswordmaster]

[This shitshow of a war has already been going on for too long, in Felix's opinion, and it's only been a couple of years. In that time, little changed until recently. The boar went from barely clinging to a semblance of civility to walking around the palace with a dead and hollow look in his eyes, playing at rulership with the Archbishop's hands on his reins and coming alive only on the battlefield, where he earns his title of Tempest King with the brutality Felix knows he harbors within tempered by some echo of the decent man he should have been.

Oh sure, here and there the king grows half a spine and stands up to Rhea, or conveniently fails to mention a plan of his until it's already carried out, but by and large he's effectively a puppet king under the Church's heel, and Felix can't stand it. He's not sure whether this is better or worse than what Dimitri was like at the academy, but they're both infuriating enough that it doesn't really matter.

Lately, though, things have shifted. Felix tries not to pay much attention to the vagaries of politics; his father is welcome to it all. He's a soldier, not a parchment-pusher. But some things are inescapable when you're the heir to the second most powerful noble house in the Kingdom, and one of them is Claude von Riegan.

The Alliance has been the wildcard this whole time, teetering on the knife's edge between sides of the war. No one has had any idea what to expect from Duke Riegan. Hours of pointless arguing in circles at war councils have proved it many times over. And then suddenly, Rhea declared that it was time to take Leicester back before Claude had a chance to sell his people out to the Empire. Or capitulate to the western Alliance lords' wishes, or get assassinated, or whatever.

So they did, catching Leicester's capital in a pincer attack by sending half the army through the mountains into Daphnel and the other half across the sea from Fraldarius straight to Derdriu's port. Felix was part of the latter half, naturally, playing second in command to Rodrigue while Gilbert did the same under Dimitri on the western side. So he was there when the Tempest King defeated the Master Tactician, and he was there when the order was given to capture rather than kill their foe.

Felix is glad for it, because now he has the opportunity to see how Claude operates up close.

Coming into the room, he gives the Alliance's leader an obvious once-over, evaluating him with a sharp eye. The man seems perfectly at ease, but then, he always did. No one is that laid-back, especially not people with the kind of responsibilities and cunning that Claude has, and Felix is no stranger to the sort of people who cover up everything with a facade of disinterest and casual humor - he is, after all, Sylvain Gautier's best friend.

He folds his arms and lifts his chin, scoffing.]

Hardly. I've come to get a closer look at the man people call the 'Master Tactician.' Even back at the academy, you had a knack for winning against long odds with unexpected moves.

[A smirk crosses his face.]

But all your schemes didn't cut it this time. It's almost a shame. You're an intriguing opponent.

[leicesters]

Eh, I'm nothing special these days, just a glorified war trophy.

[Or a bargaining chip, or a decidedly uncooperative source of intelligence. He shrugs and gestures to a table by the window; it's about the most interesting spot he has in his long captivity, because he can at least see a little of the world going by without him.]

Feel free to sit and join me for a chat all the same, if you like. [He knows Felix prefers to 'chat' with swords, if what he recalled of their Academy days is still true, but that's the last thing anyone is going to let Claude do, so this is the next best thing.]

@ esybil

[leicesters]

[continued from here]

[Claude, to his credit (?), does struggle to sit upright as asked, grabbing Byleth's arm to help pull himself up. The room is spinning and his vision is hazy, so he has to blink a few times before she comes into focus.]

Alright, but only because you were so polite about it. People should mind their manners in my esteemed company!

[You know, the company of a drunk guy on the floor. Very esteemed.]

[esibyl]

[ had it been anyone but Byleth his response may have been received poorly, but as it was she merely gave a non-committal grunt in reply, helping him rest against the now closed cabinet doors with a surprising gentleness before stepping away; returning moments later to offer the esteemed house leader a glass of water. ]

Here.
Don't drop it.

[ she crouches now so that the two are eye level. ]

What did you eat yesterday before you started drinking?

[ladyofthemoon]

[There's an unfamiliar guest on the grounds of Garreg Mach Monastery, one that no one can recall seeing arrive. She could be mistaken for one of the students were she wearing a uniform, but her clothes aren't distinguishable as belonging to any of neighboring nations.

She sits in one corner of the food court, a wine glass in her hand that she nurses as she watches people come and go with vague disinterest. Where did she get the alcohol? Who knows, but she seems to be waiting for someone.]

[leicesters]

[Claude spots the unfamiliar face while he's looking for somewhere to sit, noticing her foreign-looking dress and that she's apparently sitting by herself. As often happens, his curiosity gets the better of him, so he carries his tray over.]

Hi! Mind if I sit here? It's pretty busy today.

[Which is true, there aren't many seats left, but it's also true Claude's not exactly bursting at the seams with friends to sit with, house leader or no. He'd much rather bother the person who sticks out like a sore thumb.]