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Day 2: Cold & Warmth, Faerghus & Almyra, Horseback & Wyvern Riding (fly and release)
"I really don't think this is a good idea," Dimitri says, while Mori stares at him, unblinking.
Wyverns can apparently blink, which is something that Dimitri never particularly considered before in his life. There's never been any need to. While wyverns may prosper in certain areas of Fodlan, Faerghus hadn't been one of them, and so he's still not entirely sure just how he should act here. He's also not entirely sure what it means that Mori has opted to not blink at all as he stares at him, brilliant red eyes far too noticeable in a frame of white scales.
In complete contrast, as usual, Claude doesn't seem bothered at all. If anything, he seems right at home here in the courtyards that are spread throughout the Almyran palace. A lot of Claude seems at home here, where he goes by King Khalid instead of the comfortably Fodlish name Dimitri had known him by when they had met as youth. He wears his clothing well, light material with intricate designs along his sleeves, his collar, and that is worn so - well. Dimitri has, more than once, needed to force his eyes upwards instead of the expanse of Claude's chest which peeks out from his open front.
He had to do the same thing back when he was a schoolboy in Garreg Mach, with the way Sylvain wore his uniform shirts and how nothing ever seemed to fit Raphael. It's always been a rather terrible weakness of his that he's tried not to think about, and, he supposes, something of an incredible one.
But it's not only Claude's clothing that he seems comfortable in. It's... so much of Almyra, and something that Dimitri had spotted almost the instant that his retinue had been greeted in the Almyran throne room. Claude knows the culture here, and the people, and where everything is. He seems comfortable here where they stand now, head lazily cocked to the side, a braid resting along his shoulder. There hadn't been any hesitation in the way he'd left behind anyone in his throne room, despite how no guards had followed him, and no hesitation in the direction of his feet.
Dimitri can't tell if he's so at home in both places, or if he's not at home in either of them. He can't help wonder about the day he'll get to learn that.
"You worry too much, Mitya," Claude says, voice light and eyes bright. "I'll be riding with you, so you'll be in the best hands in all of Almyra. I mean, Felix went riding with me, and look at him now."
There's not really any need to look, but Dimitri does anyway, because it's not hard to find Felix in the courtyard. Initially, he'd sent his friend and future duke as a sort of... preparation group, along with Hilda Goneril. This whole thing was, after all, a meeting meant to strengthen the newly forged bonds between Fodlan and Almyra. There are still a lot of people on both sides, Dimitri knows, that are incredulous that this sort of thing can hold out, and Almyra is especially doubtful that it can be in any way good for them.
Fodlan, in that aspect, is a little easier to persuade. Five years of war has taken much out of all of them, and, frankly, they can't afford to keep going. Even without Dimitri's own deep desires for peace between Fodlan and every other country, his desire for them to reach out, a desire that is very similar to Claude's... It's just common sense. But you know what they say about common sense...
So. He had sent a party ahead of his own, a good couple of months ago so that they would have time to settle in and plenty of time to deal with any problems that could potentially arise. Hilda and Felix had simply made sense, at the time. The Goneril name holds weight in Almyra, he knows that much, and even Claude himself had said that Felix would feel right at home in Almyra. The perfect diplomat to a country like this one.
That's more true than Dimitri could ever have foreseen, apparently. Felix making a lot of rivals in the arena is not surprising. (Friends? Dimitri isn't sure. A couple of them seem obsessed with this competitive fiery gremlin of a swordsman.) Felix taking to wyvern riding? To the point that, even now, he's passionately in a discussion with Ingrid, Sylvain, and Rodrigue on the one he's taken to commonly using over the past two months?
Well. Mainly, Felix is in a discussion with Ingrid, with the pair of them no doubt deep into the differences of pegasi and wyverns and how that applies to the way one battles. Rodrigue just seems happy to be there and a part of the discussion. Even as Dimitri watches, he offers some observation or another, drawing his son's attention for an answer. They've been getting better lately, Dimitri thinks, and isn't just hoping. Felix doesn't avoid him as much. Rodrigue seems to know a little better, now, what verbal pitfalls to avoid.
Sylvain is also there, because he adores Felix and Ingrid, but he is also dying, Dimitri thinks. Poor Sylvain. None of them are exactly used to this kind of sweltering heat, no. Even Felix allegedly got heat exhaustion the first day he arrived... not helped by the fact that he got into a fight with one of Claude's brothers, apparently. A fight that he won. But he's adapted well, a tan along his skin that only seems to make his amber eyes all the brighter. Sylvain isn't so lucky, as is evident by the splotches of red all across his person where skin either peels or has been slathered in a kind of lotion that Hilda manages to procure for him out of pure pity.
But Felix says something while looking particularly excited, something they all haven't seen in a long time, and Sylvain smiles in a way that suggests he's surrendered to dying if he gets to see this.
"I really don't know how you managed to do it," Dimitri says, finally tearing his eyes away from the group that's a little ways off. Mori is still staring at him. When Dimitri stares back, there is a single... slow... blink. He's not sure if that means anything. "Felix made it clear ages ago, when we were young, that he didn't care for horseback riding into battle. I don't think he even cares for horseback riding for leisure."
"Those were horses," Claude says glibly. "Wyverns are a different beast entirely." He laughs again. "You guys really don't have anything to do with wyverns much up north, do you?" Reaching over, he finally takes initiative himself, and guides Dimitri a little closer to where Mori is lounging.
Dimitri is still not entirely sure about this, but he allows Claude this. He's the expert, so he would know, right? "The climate doesn't appeal to them, from what I understand," he says, wondering if Mori can smell snow somehow lingering on his person despite the fact that it long melted away. "It's often too cool for them to truly thrive in, and the animals that live there are not suited to be preyed upon for flying predators like themselves. I believe someone in the Galatea family tried many years ago, to see if they would fair better than pegasi..."
They're closer to Mori now, who just stays right where he is. Claude is laughing. "You know, I think I faintly heard a bit about that, but the classes I took in Garreg Mach were a little more focused on the connection between what were, at the time, three different countries... And, obviously, the studies I did before attending were mostly on making sure my Leicester Alliance knowledge was up to snuff." He winks at Dimitri, guiding his hand forward until it's held out towards Mori.
Funny, how similar this sort of thing is to becoming familiar with a horse, or a dog, or cat. Dimitri hadn't thought wyverns would do the same. And yet Mori stirs, letting loose a puff of air from his nostrils so strong that it sends Dimitri's hair and clothes fluttering about his person. The wyvern takes in his scent for a moment, idly curious, but Dimitri's heart can't stop pounding. He feels for certain that, at any moment, Mori will remember the time when he flung a spear at him because Claude had been too noisy for his already voice-cluttered mind. He has to, doesn't he? Do wyverns just forget when blond dastards throw spears at them? Do human faces just blur together after a point?
Mori parts his jaws, just the slightest bit, to - it would be a little bit disingenuous to say that he bites Dimitri. All he does is rest Dimitri's fingers inbetween his teeth, as if testing the reality of him, before he lets them slip right out. He prefers instead to bump his snout against his hand, and Dimitri blinks. Going off of old habit, without even thinking, he starts to pat Mori's nose like he would a horse, or dog. Once again, Mori slowly blinks.
While Dimitri adjusts to this, Claude continues on the conversation as though it never stopped. "So, what's the Galatea wyvern story?"
Oh - Right. Dimitri clears his throat. "Well, for one thing, it costs far too much money to properly stable wyverns in Northern Fodlan. We have to account how they deal with snow, and our cold winters. Additionally, while pegasi can be left to graze, it takes a bit more care to feed wyverns. If we let them loose, then they might pick off valuable farmlife, or reduce what meat we can catch ourselves. Only a family with overwhelming fortune can tend to them, and, well, the families that could do that often weren't interested." One of those top families, after all, was the Fraldarius family, and Dimitri is fairly certain the entire lineage has a certain... temperament that lends itself to watching over its people rather than make frivolous purchases. "There was another issue as well."
From where he'd been smiling at Dimitri's hand patiently stroking Mori's snout, Claude glances up in that undeniable curiosity of his. "Oh?"
A smile starts to creep up onto Dimitri's lips. "The wild pegasi population rather objected to the existence of wyverns in their winds. Most of their natural predators wait for them down on the ground, you see, to interrupt them when they're feeding, old, young, or injured. In the air, well... In the air, they went on the offensive. So, according to records, whenever they saw a wyvern in their territory, with a rider or not, they would dive down at it, often in groups. Pegasi seem like very gentle creatures, so similar to horses and with the wings of birds... but they have a bit of kick to them."
Claude snorts out a laugh, hand going to his mouth, and Dimitri beams that he was able to catch the little joke. But then it's his turn to laugh as Claude cheekly says, "No wonder Ingrid likes them!"
It takes a few moments for them to stop laughing and, when they do, Dimitri is surprised to find that Mori has relaxed fully into his palm, and that his own tenseness has eased away somewhere. He pauses for a moment, glancing at Claude from the corner of his eye, and is met with a smile in response. "So, relaxed enough to try a ride now?" he asks, winking.
Really, that's a question Dimitri isn't entirely sure he has a real answer to, but he still nods. "I should at least try it before I scare myself off completely," he says. "Shall I help put his saddle on?" It seems rather big, after all - much bigger than the horses he's far more used to.
"If you like," Claude says easily, leaving Mori's side to drift towards the massive stables proper that house royal wyverns. They're bred exclusively for the royal family, from what he understands, but the king's in particular is given special preference in terms of housing. Saddles are apparently another thing entirely... Although maybe that's simply because this is Claude, who forgoes any sort of fancy declaration and instead chooses a saddle of well worn leather. Dimitri knows just from the look of it that Claude has spent an untold amount of hours up in the air. He knows, because he has a saddle back in Fhirdiad for his horse that is worn in very much the same way.
While they work, Claude continues to talk to him, their hands pulling over leather and tightening straps as they do so. "So, is it a heights thing? I never would have taken you as someone to get so worried over riding a wyvern. Certainly you can't be worried about fighting one. I mean, literally the other day, one of my brothers challenged you, and so you grabbed his wyvern by the mouth and dragged it onto the ground again, with your bare hands."
Dimitri suspects that's going to get talked about a lot for a while now, and he sighs. "The alternative was shooting the wyvern out of the air with a throwing spear," he huffs in explanation for what feels like the hundredth time. "I didn't want to do that when it was just a fight for pride instead of one where one's life was on the line. That wouldn't be right." He's gotten rather tired of taking out innocent steeds when their riders are the ones who made the decision to drag them into a war, after all.
Over Mori's back, Claude's eyes shine fondly at him. "Of course," he says. "You've said so twice already to me, Mitya. But that doesn't take away from the point that you did face down a wyvern, so I'm crossing any fear of them off the list of why you might be wary of riding one."
He hesitates. "...You're going to find it rather silly to consider, if I say it aloud."
"Well, now you have to tell me, if you're going to preface it with that."
It's true; Claude can't let interesting sentences lie. Dimitri lets loose a slow exhale. "...I'm worried I'll hurt Mori." A small burst of laughter sputters out from Claude's lips, and Dimitri sighs. "I know. Wyverns are obviously very sturdy, and there's clearly a reason why Almyra favors them. But I worry regardless. I know wyvern riding means holding on even tighter with one's legs than with a horse, for example, and..."
Claude's finger rests on his lips, and Dimitri stops, blinking. Immediately, his gaze flickers over to his friends, and Rodrigue. There's no need to worry. Far from paying any attention to him and Claude, they all seem to be fussing more over Sylvain as Rodrigue patiently and gently begins to lead the redhead somewhere with more shade and likely a pitcher of water. His eye goes back to Claude. Satisfied that he has his attention fully, Claude raises an eyebrow. "Dimitri..." A small thrill goes through him of the use of his name, even as much as he adores the nickname Claude uses. "Have you ever hurt one of your horses?"
"They're two entirely different creatures, so I hardly think that counts," Dimitri tries to say, only to have that finger press even more insistently against his lips.
"Have you?" Claude repeats, verbally pressing just as much as his finger is physically doing so.
He... Well. Dimitri is not a liar by nature. His shoulders slump. "...No."
Claude nods, perfectly satisfied, and his fingers smooth out along the corner of Dimitri's mouth, slide up into his hair. "I am fairly certain - although I admit that I don't have every single bit of evidence that exists for this claim - that you've never hurt an actual living being that you didn't mean to hurt," Claude says, smiling at him. "Now, we could talk about the times you did mean to... but that doesn't detract from my point. You don't want to hurt Mori, right?"
"I want to make a very good impression on him," Dimitri admits, which is no doubt just one more thing adding to his stress about wyvernriding.
The smile stretched along Claude's lips only seems to grow, not in amusement, but in fondness, that Dimitri wants to make a good impression on his wyvern. And here Dimitri had fussed on if he would make a good impression on his parents, which his lover hadn't seemed to care much about at all. "You've made a fine impression on him," Claude says, so confidently that Dimitri has no choice but to believe him. "And I know you won't hurt him. So just accept my faith in you as the truth, alright?"
Slowly, Dimitri reaches up to rest his hand along the back of Claude's own. "When you say it like that," he murmurs gently, "what else can I do but follow your every wish, my star?" And Claude blushes, and he laughs, and he swats at him a little bit before finally coaxing him up onto Mori's saddle.
While he's never ridden a pegasus before, even the more sturdier and furrier variants that are found up north in the lands which used to be Faerghus, Dimitri still roughly understands how they fly. Most prefer, at their leisure, to get a least a trotting start, with a preference towards outright galloping when there is enough room. (There often is, in fields where they graze naturally, or the pens humans keep them in.) When worst comes to worst, they can occasionally hop straight into the air, although Dimitri has heard from Ingrid that it's inadvisable with the strain it causes on the pegasus's body. Still, all in all, it seems like a smooth transition from land to air.
Wyverns are not smooth. It's a little like trying to sled down a rocky hill, for a moment, with Mori's wings clapping beats of air into Dimitri's ears and the world shaking wildly. But then there's a jolt - he briefly sees one massive clawed foot shove up against a stone structure that he'd been wondering about - and they're airborne. A couple more jerks, Mori's wings finding the winds, but things only become all the more smooth from there.
Before he knows it... They're miles over the city, the buildings all below them like the fine details in a masterfully crafted bracelet. Far down below, he can see the brightly colored stalls from the marketplace, like radiant jewels set with the utmost care. And that's just the marketplace. No one in the Leicester Alliance - former Leicester alliance - could have ever known that Almyra was so beautiful before... and, as he holds tight to Claude, he thinks how much they can help change that.
Being a king is nothing he ever truly wanted, the weight too heavy at times to a point that he's sure it would have crushed him if not for the guidance of someone like Rodrigue, and the support of his friends. But when Dimitri thinks of how he can help change things, of how he and Claude are in the perfect position to help guide their countries to a time where neither of what happened to them can happen to anyone else... He thinks he's glad for it.
Flying is not an activity where one can really have a casual conversation. Claude yells back to him, pointing out different places, and taking him in long but shallow dives that has Mori skim over rooftops. Dimitri isn't entirely sure how polite that is, but Claude doesn't get in the actual way of anything, and no one calls him out so... Well, he just has to trust he knows what he's doing. Claude is in the middle of calling back to him, something on if he has somewhere in particular he wants to go... but then his hand rests over where Dimitri's is wrapped around his waist, and he pauses. Like that, Claude redirects Mori back towards the palace, and soon they're passing by the courtyard, towards the more private areas meant for the king.
While a lot of the courtyard is for anyone, guests and palace regulars alike, Claude has his own space. Dimitri got the pleasure of viewing it, the first day he'd arrived. Despite Almyra's reputation as a desert, they have plenty of plantlife, too, beautiful greenery and brilliant flowers that simply need some attention and knowledge to thrive in places like the palace. Even more relevant would be the pool that Claude has there, however, one that is situated right beneath the balcony of his bedroom.
As Mori flies closer, Dimitri glances down at it and lightly squeezes Claude's arm to get him to stop the wyvern from landing on the railing to his bedroom. Below them, with the sun still high in the sky, the material used in the pool *really* almost seems to glitter like a jewelry box. The architecture of Almyra really is something else, so different to Faerghus or even Fodlan as a whole, and the colorful designs which have been inlaid into Claude's pool really show that. Similar patterns line the paths leading to this little space, making it feel as though he's walking in a painting.
Claude calls back to him, having mistaken his gesture for something else. "I just got worried about how hot you felt, Mitya! You were sweating a little too much. I thought the cooler air up there would help, but I suppose not."
Always so considerate. Dimitri presses his smile to the back of Claude's ear. "I just couldn't stop being nervous despite myself," he tells him, glad that the lack of wind rushing around them makes it easier to talk even considering Mori's wingbeats. "At any rate... You don't see Rodrigue anywhere, do you?"
"No," Claude answers, looking back at him and pausing as he watches Dimitri start to untie the eyepatch from around his head. A grin starts to creep up onto his face. No doubt he already has an idea of what Dimitri wants to do. "Afraid that he'll tell you off for being improper?"
"Oh, no," Dimitri says. Rodrigue isn't Gilbert. "He'd laugh." That information makes Claude laugh, too, even as he accepts Dimitri's eye patch and ties it quickly and skillfully around one of Mori's horns. Dimitri barely sees him do it, honestly, because he's too busy carefully balancing himself on Mori's back... and then jumping off, avoiding his wings to land straight into the pool.
It's a shock, the feel of cold water rushing over his head, tugging at his hair, filling the little gaps of him that it can reach. Dimitri is just adjusting to floating when he feels more than hears the impact of something else - someone else - landing in the water down besides him. There's no stopping the laugh that literally bubbles out of him, and he presses his boots to the bottom of the pool so that he can push himself up. By the time he breaches the water's surface, Mori has already landed nearby, and there's no gusts of wind to buffet him. Maybe he wouldn't notice anyway. He's laughing the second there's air in his lungs, and Claude soon joins him.
For a moment, that's all the two of them do: laugh, soaking in the light of a brighter future, and their hands join together underneath in the water.
Wyverns can apparently blink, which is something that Dimitri never particularly considered before in his life. There's never been any need to. While wyverns may prosper in certain areas of Fodlan, Faerghus hadn't been one of them, and so he's still not entirely sure just how he should act here. He's also not entirely sure what it means that Mori has opted to not blink at all as he stares at him, brilliant red eyes far too noticeable in a frame of white scales.
In complete contrast, as usual, Claude doesn't seem bothered at all. If anything, he seems right at home here in the courtyards that are spread throughout the Almyran palace. A lot of Claude seems at home here, where he goes by King Khalid instead of the comfortably Fodlish name Dimitri had known him by when they had met as youth. He wears his clothing well, light material with intricate designs along his sleeves, his collar, and that is worn so - well. Dimitri has, more than once, needed to force his eyes upwards instead of the expanse of Claude's chest which peeks out from his open front.
He had to do the same thing back when he was a schoolboy in Garreg Mach, with the way Sylvain wore his uniform shirts and how nothing ever seemed to fit Raphael. It's always been a rather terrible weakness of his that he's tried not to think about, and, he supposes, something of an incredible one.
But it's not only Claude's clothing that he seems comfortable in. It's... so much of Almyra, and something that Dimitri had spotted almost the instant that his retinue had been greeted in the Almyran throne room. Claude knows the culture here, and the people, and where everything is. He seems comfortable here where they stand now, head lazily cocked to the side, a braid resting along his shoulder. There hadn't been any hesitation in the way he'd left behind anyone in his throne room, despite how no guards had followed him, and no hesitation in the direction of his feet.
Dimitri can't tell if he's so at home in both places, or if he's not at home in either of them. He can't help wonder about the day he'll get to learn that.
"You worry too much, Mitya," Claude says, voice light and eyes bright. "I'll be riding with you, so you'll be in the best hands in all of Almyra. I mean, Felix went riding with me, and look at him now."
There's not really any need to look, but Dimitri does anyway, because it's not hard to find Felix in the courtyard. Initially, he'd sent his friend and future duke as a sort of... preparation group, along with Hilda Goneril. This whole thing was, after all, a meeting meant to strengthen the newly forged bonds between Fodlan and Almyra. There are still a lot of people on both sides, Dimitri knows, that are incredulous that this sort of thing can hold out, and Almyra is especially doubtful that it can be in any way good for them.
Fodlan, in that aspect, is a little easier to persuade. Five years of war has taken much out of all of them, and, frankly, they can't afford to keep going. Even without Dimitri's own deep desires for peace between Fodlan and every other country, his desire for them to reach out, a desire that is very similar to Claude's... It's just common sense. But you know what they say about common sense...
So. He had sent a party ahead of his own, a good couple of months ago so that they would have time to settle in and plenty of time to deal with any problems that could potentially arise. Hilda and Felix had simply made sense, at the time. The Goneril name holds weight in Almyra, he knows that much, and even Claude himself had said that Felix would feel right at home in Almyra. The perfect diplomat to a country like this one.
That's more true than Dimitri could ever have foreseen, apparently. Felix making a lot of rivals in the arena is not surprising. (Friends? Dimitri isn't sure. A couple of them seem obsessed with this competitive fiery gremlin of a swordsman.) Felix taking to wyvern riding? To the point that, even now, he's passionately in a discussion with Ingrid, Sylvain, and Rodrigue on the one he's taken to commonly using over the past two months?
Well. Mainly, Felix is in a discussion with Ingrid, with the pair of them no doubt deep into the differences of pegasi and wyverns and how that applies to the way one battles. Rodrigue just seems happy to be there and a part of the discussion. Even as Dimitri watches, he offers some observation or another, drawing his son's attention for an answer. They've been getting better lately, Dimitri thinks, and isn't just hoping. Felix doesn't avoid him as much. Rodrigue seems to know a little better, now, what verbal pitfalls to avoid.
Sylvain is also there, because he adores Felix and Ingrid, but he is also dying, Dimitri thinks. Poor Sylvain. None of them are exactly used to this kind of sweltering heat, no. Even Felix allegedly got heat exhaustion the first day he arrived... not helped by the fact that he got into a fight with one of Claude's brothers, apparently. A fight that he won. But he's adapted well, a tan along his skin that only seems to make his amber eyes all the brighter. Sylvain isn't so lucky, as is evident by the splotches of red all across his person where skin either peels or has been slathered in a kind of lotion that Hilda manages to procure for him out of pure pity.
But Felix says something while looking particularly excited, something they all haven't seen in a long time, and Sylvain smiles in a way that suggests he's surrendered to dying if he gets to see this.
"I really don't know how you managed to do it," Dimitri says, finally tearing his eyes away from the group that's a little ways off. Mori is still staring at him. When Dimitri stares back, there is a single... slow... blink. He's not sure if that means anything. "Felix made it clear ages ago, when we were young, that he didn't care for horseback riding into battle. I don't think he even cares for horseback riding for leisure."
"Those were horses," Claude says glibly. "Wyverns are a different beast entirely." He laughs again. "You guys really don't have anything to do with wyverns much up north, do you?" Reaching over, he finally takes initiative himself, and guides Dimitri a little closer to where Mori is lounging.
Dimitri is still not entirely sure about this, but he allows Claude this. He's the expert, so he would know, right? "The climate doesn't appeal to them, from what I understand," he says, wondering if Mori can smell snow somehow lingering on his person despite the fact that it long melted away. "It's often too cool for them to truly thrive in, and the animals that live there are not suited to be preyed upon for flying predators like themselves. I believe someone in the Galatea family tried many years ago, to see if they would fair better than pegasi..."
They're closer to Mori now, who just stays right where he is. Claude is laughing. "You know, I think I faintly heard a bit about that, but the classes I took in Garreg Mach were a little more focused on the connection between what were, at the time, three different countries... And, obviously, the studies I did before attending were mostly on making sure my Leicester Alliance knowledge was up to snuff." He winks at Dimitri, guiding his hand forward until it's held out towards Mori.
Funny, how similar this sort of thing is to becoming familiar with a horse, or a dog, or cat. Dimitri hadn't thought wyverns would do the same. And yet Mori stirs, letting loose a puff of air from his nostrils so strong that it sends Dimitri's hair and clothes fluttering about his person. The wyvern takes in his scent for a moment, idly curious, but Dimitri's heart can't stop pounding. He feels for certain that, at any moment, Mori will remember the time when he flung a spear at him because Claude had been too noisy for his already voice-cluttered mind. He has to, doesn't he? Do wyverns just forget when blond dastards throw spears at them? Do human faces just blur together after a point?
Mori parts his jaws, just the slightest bit, to - it would be a little bit disingenuous to say that he bites Dimitri. All he does is rest Dimitri's fingers inbetween his teeth, as if testing the reality of him, before he lets them slip right out. He prefers instead to bump his snout against his hand, and Dimitri blinks. Going off of old habit, without even thinking, he starts to pat Mori's nose like he would a horse, or dog. Once again, Mori slowly blinks.
While Dimitri adjusts to this, Claude continues on the conversation as though it never stopped. "So, what's the Galatea wyvern story?"
Oh - Right. Dimitri clears his throat. "Well, for one thing, it costs far too much money to properly stable wyverns in Northern Fodlan. We have to account how they deal with snow, and our cold winters. Additionally, while pegasi can be left to graze, it takes a bit more care to feed wyverns. If we let them loose, then they might pick off valuable farmlife, or reduce what meat we can catch ourselves. Only a family with overwhelming fortune can tend to them, and, well, the families that could do that often weren't interested." One of those top families, after all, was the Fraldarius family, and Dimitri is fairly certain the entire lineage has a certain... temperament that lends itself to watching over its people rather than make frivolous purchases. "There was another issue as well."
From where he'd been smiling at Dimitri's hand patiently stroking Mori's snout, Claude glances up in that undeniable curiosity of his. "Oh?"
A smile starts to creep up onto Dimitri's lips. "The wild pegasi population rather objected to the existence of wyverns in their winds. Most of their natural predators wait for them down on the ground, you see, to interrupt them when they're feeding, old, young, or injured. In the air, well... In the air, they went on the offensive. So, according to records, whenever they saw a wyvern in their territory, with a rider or not, they would dive down at it, often in groups. Pegasi seem like very gentle creatures, so similar to horses and with the wings of birds... but they have a bit of kick to them."
Claude snorts out a laugh, hand going to his mouth, and Dimitri beams that he was able to catch the little joke. But then it's his turn to laugh as Claude cheekly says, "No wonder Ingrid likes them!"
It takes a few moments for them to stop laughing and, when they do, Dimitri is surprised to find that Mori has relaxed fully into his palm, and that his own tenseness has eased away somewhere. He pauses for a moment, glancing at Claude from the corner of his eye, and is met with a smile in response. "So, relaxed enough to try a ride now?" he asks, winking.
Really, that's a question Dimitri isn't entirely sure he has a real answer to, but he still nods. "I should at least try it before I scare myself off completely," he says. "Shall I help put his saddle on?" It seems rather big, after all - much bigger than the horses he's far more used to.
"If you like," Claude says easily, leaving Mori's side to drift towards the massive stables proper that house royal wyverns. They're bred exclusively for the royal family, from what he understands, but the king's in particular is given special preference in terms of housing. Saddles are apparently another thing entirely... Although maybe that's simply because this is Claude, who forgoes any sort of fancy declaration and instead chooses a saddle of well worn leather. Dimitri knows just from the look of it that Claude has spent an untold amount of hours up in the air. He knows, because he has a saddle back in Fhirdiad for his horse that is worn in very much the same way.
While they work, Claude continues to talk to him, their hands pulling over leather and tightening straps as they do so. "So, is it a heights thing? I never would have taken you as someone to get so worried over riding a wyvern. Certainly you can't be worried about fighting one. I mean, literally the other day, one of my brothers challenged you, and so you grabbed his wyvern by the mouth and dragged it onto the ground again, with your bare hands."
Dimitri suspects that's going to get talked about a lot for a while now, and he sighs. "The alternative was shooting the wyvern out of the air with a throwing spear," he huffs in explanation for what feels like the hundredth time. "I didn't want to do that when it was just a fight for pride instead of one where one's life was on the line. That wouldn't be right." He's gotten rather tired of taking out innocent steeds when their riders are the ones who made the decision to drag them into a war, after all.
Over Mori's back, Claude's eyes shine fondly at him. "Of course," he says. "You've said so twice already to me, Mitya. But that doesn't take away from the point that you did face down a wyvern, so I'm crossing any fear of them off the list of why you might be wary of riding one."
He hesitates. "...You're going to find it rather silly to consider, if I say it aloud."
"Well, now you have to tell me, if you're going to preface it with that."
It's true; Claude can't let interesting sentences lie. Dimitri lets loose a slow exhale. "...I'm worried I'll hurt Mori." A small burst of laughter sputters out from Claude's lips, and Dimitri sighs. "I know. Wyverns are obviously very sturdy, and there's clearly a reason why Almyra favors them. But I worry regardless. I know wyvern riding means holding on even tighter with one's legs than with a horse, for example, and..."
Claude's finger rests on his lips, and Dimitri stops, blinking. Immediately, his gaze flickers over to his friends, and Rodrigue. There's no need to worry. Far from paying any attention to him and Claude, they all seem to be fussing more over Sylvain as Rodrigue patiently and gently begins to lead the redhead somewhere with more shade and likely a pitcher of water. His eye goes back to Claude. Satisfied that he has his attention fully, Claude raises an eyebrow. "Dimitri..." A small thrill goes through him of the use of his name, even as much as he adores the nickname Claude uses. "Have you ever hurt one of your horses?"
"They're two entirely different creatures, so I hardly think that counts," Dimitri tries to say, only to have that finger press even more insistently against his lips.
"Have you?" Claude repeats, verbally pressing just as much as his finger is physically doing so.
He... Well. Dimitri is not a liar by nature. His shoulders slump. "...No."
Claude nods, perfectly satisfied, and his fingers smooth out along the corner of Dimitri's mouth, slide up into his hair. "I am fairly certain - although I admit that I don't have every single bit of evidence that exists for this claim - that you've never hurt an actual living being that you didn't mean to hurt," Claude says, smiling at him. "Now, we could talk about the times you did mean to... but that doesn't detract from my point. You don't want to hurt Mori, right?"
"I want to make a very good impression on him," Dimitri admits, which is no doubt just one more thing adding to his stress about wyvernriding.
The smile stretched along Claude's lips only seems to grow, not in amusement, but in fondness, that Dimitri wants to make a good impression on his wyvern. And here Dimitri had fussed on if he would make a good impression on his parents, which his lover hadn't seemed to care much about at all. "You've made a fine impression on him," Claude says, so confidently that Dimitri has no choice but to believe him. "And I know you won't hurt him. So just accept my faith in you as the truth, alright?"
Slowly, Dimitri reaches up to rest his hand along the back of Claude's own. "When you say it like that," he murmurs gently, "what else can I do but follow your every wish, my star?" And Claude blushes, and he laughs, and he swats at him a little bit before finally coaxing him up onto Mori's saddle.
While he's never ridden a pegasus before, even the more sturdier and furrier variants that are found up north in the lands which used to be Faerghus, Dimitri still roughly understands how they fly. Most prefer, at their leisure, to get a least a trotting start, with a preference towards outright galloping when there is enough room. (There often is, in fields where they graze naturally, or the pens humans keep them in.) When worst comes to worst, they can occasionally hop straight into the air, although Dimitri has heard from Ingrid that it's inadvisable with the strain it causes on the pegasus's body. Still, all in all, it seems like a smooth transition from land to air.
Wyverns are not smooth. It's a little like trying to sled down a rocky hill, for a moment, with Mori's wings clapping beats of air into Dimitri's ears and the world shaking wildly. But then there's a jolt - he briefly sees one massive clawed foot shove up against a stone structure that he'd been wondering about - and they're airborne. A couple more jerks, Mori's wings finding the winds, but things only become all the more smooth from there.
Before he knows it... They're miles over the city, the buildings all below them like the fine details in a masterfully crafted bracelet. Far down below, he can see the brightly colored stalls from the marketplace, like radiant jewels set with the utmost care. And that's just the marketplace. No one in the Leicester Alliance - former Leicester alliance - could have ever known that Almyra was so beautiful before... and, as he holds tight to Claude, he thinks how much they can help change that.
Being a king is nothing he ever truly wanted, the weight too heavy at times to a point that he's sure it would have crushed him if not for the guidance of someone like Rodrigue, and the support of his friends. But when Dimitri thinks of how he can help change things, of how he and Claude are in the perfect position to help guide their countries to a time where neither of what happened to them can happen to anyone else... He thinks he's glad for it.
Flying is not an activity where one can really have a casual conversation. Claude yells back to him, pointing out different places, and taking him in long but shallow dives that has Mori skim over rooftops. Dimitri isn't entirely sure how polite that is, but Claude doesn't get in the actual way of anything, and no one calls him out so... Well, he just has to trust he knows what he's doing. Claude is in the middle of calling back to him, something on if he has somewhere in particular he wants to go... but then his hand rests over where Dimitri's is wrapped around his waist, and he pauses. Like that, Claude redirects Mori back towards the palace, and soon they're passing by the courtyard, towards the more private areas meant for the king.
While a lot of the courtyard is for anyone, guests and palace regulars alike, Claude has his own space. Dimitri got the pleasure of viewing it, the first day he'd arrived. Despite Almyra's reputation as a desert, they have plenty of plantlife, too, beautiful greenery and brilliant flowers that simply need some attention and knowledge to thrive in places like the palace. Even more relevant would be the pool that Claude has there, however, one that is situated right beneath the balcony of his bedroom.
As Mori flies closer, Dimitri glances down at it and lightly squeezes Claude's arm to get him to stop the wyvern from landing on the railing to his bedroom. Below them, with the sun still high in the sky, the material used in the pool *really* almost seems to glitter like a jewelry box. The architecture of Almyra really is something else, so different to Faerghus or even Fodlan as a whole, and the colorful designs which have been inlaid into Claude's pool really show that. Similar patterns line the paths leading to this little space, making it feel as though he's walking in a painting.
Claude calls back to him, having mistaken his gesture for something else. "I just got worried about how hot you felt, Mitya! You were sweating a little too much. I thought the cooler air up there would help, but I suppose not."
Always so considerate. Dimitri presses his smile to the back of Claude's ear. "I just couldn't stop being nervous despite myself," he tells him, glad that the lack of wind rushing around them makes it easier to talk even considering Mori's wingbeats. "At any rate... You don't see Rodrigue anywhere, do you?"
"No," Claude answers, looking back at him and pausing as he watches Dimitri start to untie the eyepatch from around his head. A grin starts to creep up onto his face. No doubt he already has an idea of what Dimitri wants to do. "Afraid that he'll tell you off for being improper?"
"Oh, no," Dimitri says. Rodrigue isn't Gilbert. "He'd laugh." That information makes Claude laugh, too, even as he accepts Dimitri's eye patch and ties it quickly and skillfully around one of Mori's horns. Dimitri barely sees him do it, honestly, because he's too busy carefully balancing himself on Mori's back... and then jumping off, avoiding his wings to land straight into the pool.
It's a shock, the feel of cold water rushing over his head, tugging at his hair, filling the little gaps of him that it can reach. Dimitri is just adjusting to floating when he feels more than hears the impact of something else - someone else - landing in the water down besides him. There's no stopping the laugh that literally bubbles out of him, and he presses his boots to the bottom of the pool so that he can push himself up. By the time he breaches the water's surface, Mori has already landed nearby, and there's no gusts of wind to buffet him. Maybe he wouldn't notice anyway. He's laughing the second there's air in his lungs, and Claude soon joins him.
For a moment, that's all the two of them do: laugh, soaking in the light of a brighter future, and their hands join together underneath in the water.