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

[ 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. ]

[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.]

[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?

[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.

[ 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. ]

[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.]

[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?

[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.]

[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.]

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