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Day 4: Deer & Lion, Mythical Creatures, Fairytales (once upon a night)
"Claude! What a perfect chance encounter. Could I speak to you?"
That is, at most and not counting his name, two sentences. They are very simple sentences. Claude still needs a second to take them in, even as he looks up at the call of his name to where Dimitri is standing a small distance away. He blinks one eye, then the other, and finally two at once. Oh, yup, he's still there. He must still be awake. Claude grins, gesturing to one of the chairs next to him. The library is empty at this time of night, so there's honestly plenty of room for Dimitri to sit at... but why be needlessly unfriendly? "Well, how could I refuse the crown prince of Faerghus himself?"
Like always when it comes to his station being pointed out, especially so flagrantly, Dimitri goes faintly pink. Even at a distance, Claude can see the color staining his cheeks. "You could refuse easily," Dimitri insists, even as he steps forward a little more into the ring of light Claude's candle radiates. "You're here so late at night, working diligently at your studies, after all. If this is an inopportune time for you, please let me know." He even refuses to take the seat just yet, standing on the opposite side of the table.
Claude isn't exactly working on "his studies", but rather a lot of different questions, mysteries, and leads that he's stumbled upon ever since he was accepted into Garreg Mach. He declines to mention that, and instead just chuckles. "So stiff, Your Princeliness," he says, even though he has to admit that this is one of Dimitri's charm points as much as it makes him so terribly stiff to deal with. The why makes all the difference: not the stiffness of a noble holding up to proper protocol, but the tenseness of a man who knows he could very easily bull over many people's boundaries without a thought, and so thinks so terribly carefully. "But don't worry. I could use a break."
That's enough to tug away the tension in Dimitri's shoulders, the way his spine steels itself so much, and he finally relents to joining Claude in the seat besides him. "I must say, I do admire you, Claude," Dimitri says, carefully adjusting the house leader cape he still wears so carefully even this late at night. Claude had long ago unclasped his own, tossing it over the back of his chair where it still remains. "Perhaps I would do better in my own studies if I were nearly half this diligent."
"And just where would you find the time, Your Princeliness?" Claude teases, glad that Dimitri hasn't yet noticed the titles along the spines of what he's reading. It would kind of give the game away that he's doing something much different than studying for the next text. "I'm pretty sure you've spent up every little bit of spare time you have training."
There they are again, those rosy cheeks. Dimitri coughs into his hand, trying not to be too embarrassed. Claude doesn't think it quite works, but he lets him get away with it just this once. "So you've noticed that?" he asks weakly.
He has. He's slipped through the halls of Garreg Mach and all its shadows during far too late nights and far too early mornings, trying to ferret out all the secrets it has... and Garreg Mach has so many. More than he could ever have imagined, and those are just the ones that have come to surface in the first part of the school year. So he's passed by the training grounds and courtyards dozens of times, now, at all times of day and night... and it's been hard to miss Dimitri training so steadfastly as if preparing himself for some sort of war, for a fight he does not know if he can win or not.
Claude doesn't say that, just like he doesn't say a great number of things. Instead, he chuckles. "I don't think there's a person in the entire school that doesn't know," he says playfully. "Now, just why were you searching for lil' ol' me?"
Resting his hands delicately upon the table, Dimitri pauses for only a moment before forging onwards. "Well, when I have some spare time - which I know must sound impossible to you, with how much I train-" Claude smiles a little, glad to see that the stiff prince can joke a little bit after all. "I go down into the town below Garreg Mach. There are some children there who I teach swordsmanship to. Sometimes, the Professor accompanies me. As of late, however, things have begun to change a bit, and, during times of rest, or as a reward afterwards... I've been telling them stories."
He's been smiling this entire time, but now Claude's smile softens to something more genuine. This prince who doesn't even have to look at other people if he doesn't want to directs his gaze down to the people below him constantly, and does more than just look. He reaches out instead, teaches swordsmanship with his own two hands and tells stories to little kids who must be in awe that a prince is speaking to them so comfortably. If this were a school year as normal as the ones before it, actions like this from Dimitri, and others from Edelgard, could leave Claude feeling tentatively positive about the future ahead of them.
Unfortunately, it seems that this school year isn't going to be notable for just the future leaders (or at least supposed leaders, in his case) of the three nations of Fodlan attending the academy all at the same time.
Well, that's a backseat concern. For now, he can enjoy the mental image of eager and warm Dimitri, surrounded by starstruck children as he weaves tales about noble knights and adventurous kings and queens. He wonders how good a storyteller Dimitri is. He wonders if the prince does voices. "Sounds exactly like you," Claude chuckles. "Although now I'm so curious that I think I might want to tag along on these storytelling sessions of yours."
"That would be excellent!" Dimitri exclaims, leaning towards Claude with eyes bright, before he remembers himself with one hand rising over his mouth. He pulls back, although Claude thinks he wouldn't mind if he didn't. "I apologize - but, that leads to why I was interested in speaking to you. I've unfortunately begun to run out of stories to tell the children, and... I would rather not do too many repeats, at least not unless they specifically want me to. I've been fortunate enough that there have been some tales they've wanted to hear at least a few times more... but I don't think I have much more of that left."
Claude grins. "Ah, the ravenous curiosity of children..." It reminds him of being a kid as well, slipping away from the eyes of his brothers and digging through the library for not only stories, but ideas, information, skills..
"Quite." Dimitri's bright smile returns again. "So I was hoping that I could speak with you, and perhaps you could help. I imagine you have a wealth of stories that they've never heard before.
In his chest, Claude's heart briefly stops in place, a deer frozen by the sight of sudden torchlight. "Oh?" he asks, forcing his tone to be casual, and he hopes any confusion he shows goes right over Dimitri's head. "And what makes you think that?"
"Well, you are from the Leicester Alliance." The deer relaxes from its alert state, quietly moving on again. Claude breathes, and Dimitri continues to talk, unaware of how closely he'd brushed against something so secret and precious. "I thought that you might have some unique tales that never quite made their way to Faerghus."
Claude laughs, and there is no describing the relief in how he is still able to. "Less than you might think," he tells Dimitri, starting to pile his books up - spines facing away from Dimitri. Just in case. Always better to let others underestimate him, although Dimitri knows that he's still plenty clever in his own right. Just not how clever, hopefully. "I'm pretty sure they have some here in the library. Hey, tell you what - why don't you grab some Faerghus tales you recognize? I'll put these away and get some from Leicester."
It's a simple enough a task, a request, and right in line with Dimitri's own quest, so of course he agrees. Not much time passes before the two of them regroup at the table. The library is ultimately not that huge, and not too many of its resources can be directed towards children's fables... but there is still a non-zero amount of such books. For the culture, you know.
Besides, so many fairytales have a purpose to them, a meaning. Sometimes the rhythm is meant to keep track of something, like food or time. A great deal many more times, it's to teach a particular lesson. Children's fables shouldn't be overlooked, in Claude's honest opinion. They can tell a lot... and give inspiration to ideas, too.
With their respective and rather small piles set side by side for comparison, the two of them begin to flip through the pages in search of familiar titles and names. It's cute, honestly, the way Dimitri seems so excited about revisiting things he's heard in his childhood even though he's surely told them again and again to children over the past weeks. It's funny to see him stutter and blink, like a kitten realizing that it's not a tree trunk but the leg of a person that it's run into, when Claude points out to tales that are often incredibly similar in his own Leicester books.
In fact, sometimes the names or tasks haven't even been changed. There are more than a few instances of Loog somehow still managing to make the way across the borders. "He's a charismatic guy even in death," Claude teases Dimitri when the prince boggles over at the Leicester books. "It's just that once you remove strong notes of him being a Faerghus king, make him more of a legendary figure with a more anonymous kingdom to save or return to, that he became palatable for early Leicester folks when the Alliance was first established all so long ago. The stories are still fun and engaging, after all, so it'd be a pity to lose them completely... And so they became a little washed out in Leicester retellings."
Dimitri shakes his head, still a little wondrous. "I suppose I should be a little honored or pleased, shouldn't I? An ancestor mine still lives on in such recognition and fondness, even years after he has gone to better places."
"Hey, at least he's remembered fondly instead of terribly, right?" Claude chuckles, leaning back into his chair until the front legs are off the floor. "But now you can see why I'm not entirely sure that passing along fables from Leicester Alliance would help you a lot in finding new stories. When they aren't just the exact same story, they're often so similar that it probably won't pass muster with even a kid. Just goals or details or names changed, to make it more the Alliance's than Faerghus." He shakes his head. "Three countries that are so closely tied together.."
Folding his arms along the table, Dimitri tilts his head to the side consideringly and his eyes are still focused down on the book before him. "We really are... It's something I'd known academically, of course, but it's astounding how different it is to really understand our joined history when you look at something as simple as fables... Faerghus and Leicester were both once Adrestia, and Faerghus once occupied Leicester, and everything has simply never truly untangled." He suddenly chuckles. "Maybe I should offer to give Faerghus back to Adrestia, once Edelgard becomes Emperor, and travel around collecting tales to see the little differences and what details never actually changed. It would be fascinating."
Cladue muffles his laughter in his hand, keeps it from bouncing about the library. Their conversation is already tempting fate, with a monk or, worse, Seteth liable to follow the sound of conversation if they're not careful. "Oh, you should tell her that tomorrow," he informs Dimitri, eyes glittering. "Just as a joke. See how she reacts."
"Claude von Riegan!" No one does scolding quite like Dimitri does; he's going to make a great dad. He's going to be a fantastic dad, actually, because he immediately follows up with, "She would have my head for offering without following through, or at least putting up a fight." That's when Claude needs to bury his face into his arms, wheezing out laughter. Looking up again, eventually, he's met with Dimitri's pleased little grin.
It's so good to know that Dimitri has a sense of humor. Claude likes being with him a lot more, when moments like these peek out.
"Hey, she might not take her axe to you." Claude winks at him playfully. "Hubert might poison you in your sleep instead. Although hard to say if it would be for the joke, or for getting too close to his Lady Edelgard."
"You're terrible," Dimitri tells him, voice full of some emotion that makes his stomach warm pleasant. It doesn't last long, however, with Dimitri bracing his hands against the table. "Still, I should apologize. It turns out that I wasted your time all for nothing."
It'd be a shame to see him go, honestly. Claude watches him, letting himself carefully rock forward again in his chair. "Hey, it was a fun break," he tells Dimitri sincerely before he pauses. While a chance to continue talking with Dimitri longer isn't something to be unwanted, this... could be a chance for an experiment, too. "You know, they're not Leicester tales... but I might have some other stories that you could tell to the children, from a different country."
There. Bait laid down. Dimitri takes it without thinking, without suspicion, just looking at him in pleasant surprise. "Oh? What country?" he asks, just like Claude knew that he would.
"Almyra."
Claude already has a whole excuse prepared in his head, if this conversation starts to go south in the more unpleasant way. He always has excuses prepared just in case, for any number of things. He's had to use them, more than once, in the Alliance territories, and even a couple of times in Garreg Mach, although it comes up less here. So for Dimitri? For Dimitri, he imagines it will be no trouble at all to sail an excuse past him.
But he doesn't even need to go that far before Dimitri is smiling at him. "Of course you would know tales from there," Dimitri says, like it's the most natural thing in the world. "Your- passion towards study can never be underestimated."
There's a certain roll to Dimitri's tone that makes Claude laugh into his palm again. "Why do I get the feeling you meant to say nosy instead of passionate?" he asks, faux-accusingly. All Dimitri does is grin up at him beneath those pale eyelashes of his, just as faux-demure. It's the most relaxed they've ever been with one another, Claude thinks. Well, at least he doesn't have to worry. Dimitri seems to think that his knowledge is simply a result of study, of learning, no doubt as a result of him being the next Riegan heir. That works out for him.
"I can call you nosy if you'd like," Dimitri says, and seems to relish in the way that makes Claude have to muffle his laughter again. "Still, in regards to your question... I don't think the children would mind Almyran tales at all. If anything, it would be exciting, I should think. These are tales I doubt they've ever heard before, or most people in Fodlan as a whole, so that should make it all the more enticing to them." Dimitri adjusts his position against the table, no longer bracing himself to rise onto his feet, now, but instead resting his cheek in one hand. He's wearing gauntlets even now, despite the setting and situation. Claude makes a note to ask him about that, sometime. "I know I haven't."
Claude relaxes in his chair again. "Then I'm more than happy to spread my knowledge." And understanding. "Although I won't do this for free, you know."
A sigh rustles out of Dimitri, and Claude expects him to do that scolding crossed arms posture he does so often... but it's apparently too late at night, with Dimitri too comfortable, for the prince to bother with it. There's still that tone, however. "Seeking to take advantage of me then, are you, Claude?"
Faintly, Claude wonders if he should explain just how that kind of sentence can be taken, and if it's worth mentioning that he'd almost really rather the other way around, honestly. He doesn't. Dimitri has no idea, so best to let him live in bliss, and also maybe it would be funnier to see the day he realizes it for himself. Instead, he winks. "Well, I'd love to get an agreement out of you to let my house win Gronder Field-"
"Ha!"
"-but we both know that you're far too competitive to ever even consider it," Claude concludes, grinning wide. "So I'll ask for something a little more your speed, Your Princeliness. I want you-" And here he pauses, just for a little dramatic effect. He thinks they might have reached what are technically morning hours, so he thinks he's allowed a little play. "-to read me one of your favorite Faerghus fairytales."
Dimitri blinks, caught off guard, and Claude can almost see the way his brain is trying to turn over the trade with a hinted question that asks if perhaps Dimitri heard something. But he seems to be confident well enough to voice it, even if he's tentative when he asks, "You want me to tell you a fairytale?"
"Like you tell the kids in town," Claude confirms with a nod of his head. "Kids have less of a filter than adults do, so, if you were terrible at it, then someone would have told you to knock it off eventually. So there's a non-insignificant chance that you're not too bad... so I want to see what that looks like for myself."
"But we just talked about how similar Faerghus and Leicester tales are," Dimitri protests, looking a bit flustered. Poor him. He came in here just for help with coming up with stories, and now he's being put on the spot. Claude regrets absolutely nothing. "I'm certain you would get bored hearing the same old tales that you've always heard."
He hasn't heard, actually, not in the way that most kids hear fairytales and myths: from a parent, lulling them to sleep or as a reward for good behavior and hard work. Claude has only ever read Leicester tales, just like he's only ever read Faerghus ones. It's fine if Dimitri doesn't hear all that. Instead, Claude laughs at him a little more. "Weren't you paying attention? I want to know what kind of storyteller you are. That is more than enough for me. After all, even an old tale can shine like new in the hands of a different person. So, deal, or no deal?"
If he's honest, he'll honestly help out with the kids regardless on if Dimitri does anything. What can he say? It's just... something about watching a bunch of kids run around, yelling and playing and living, that settles something in him. Maybe it's his dreams for a better future for those same kids. Maybe it's his own past where he wasn't allowed nearly that kind of easygoing freedom. Who knows.
All he knows right now in the present moment is the way Dimitri thins those lovely lips of his and gives a nod. "Then... I agree. You said my favorite Faerghus tale, didn't you?" That was indeed what Claude said, and Dimitri ponders this for a moment. A beloved prince like Dimitri, he must have been told just about all the tales imaginable in Faerghus, and by people who really did look at him as though he held moonlight in his eyes, who would tell him stories before bed and hold him close while they did so.
Claude wonders when the last time was that Dimitri was told a story himself, or held so lovingly.
"All right," Dimitri says, nodding to himself. "Then, I may go with the story of Loog, and the immortal hound."
Because of course it's a tale about Loog, when there are practically entire libraries that could be dedicated to tales featuring Loog. Of course, when Dimitri is one of his descendants. Claude is absolutely the opposite of surprised, but is more than happy to make himself as comfortable as he possibly can be in a church library chair.
Right off the bat... It's apparent that Dimitri is a good storyteller. If nothing else, he is a good storyteller in the sanctuary of the Garreg Mach library, running on gods know how little sleep, stripped just a little bit of the shame which normally keeps him in his rigid role of Faerghus' perfect prince. The more the tale goes on, the more he begins to relax. Dimitri does do voices, from the start, too, but he also gestures - broad sweeps of his arms, the mimicry of holding a weapon, the tilt of a head with every question he relays from character to story to his voice.
"I hope- I do hope that this isn't too silly," he suddenly says, right in the middle of pantomiming Loog wrestling an immortal dog up in some sort of chokehold. It's the most hilarious little image, Dimitri's blank and flustered expression combined with how he's holding absolutely nothing up to his chest. It's nothing like what Claude sees in the daytime, in the rest of the world, where Dimitri holds himself so statue still like he's afraid he'll break something with his own existence.
But here, in the library away from their rooms, away from other people, where the ring of candlelight makes its own little world... It almost seems as though Dimitri can be free. Claude smiles at him, wishing it were so easy on his end. "Not at all, Your Princeliness."
It's easy to see why Loog and the Immortal Hound is one of Dimitri's favorite tales. Some of the reasons why are pretty obvious. It's his ancestor, for starters. It's full of all the kind of noble deeds and ultimate kindness that would attract the kind of proper prince that Dimitri is, too. Claude once saw a portrait of Dimitri as a young child, a young prince (and Edelgard, too, when Judith had been grilling him to make sure he knew his stuff upon entering Fodlan), and he can imagine that blue and gold child listening, enraptured and with wide eyes, to all the kind of daring stunts that Loog pulls off in the story.
But there are other things, too. Things he wonders if Dimitri has really thought in depth about. The story of the immortal hound is driven in no small part by revenge, after all, and setting wrongs to right. Like so many tales of Loog, it is a story that manages to ensnare child and adult alike for good reason... and, on the adult side, the revenge part appeals very much in a variety of ways. What does that say about a prince who has lost so much of his own family to a gory end, and believes, knows, that the publicly blamed targets are innocent?
Revenge can entangle one, drag them under dark waves that make it hard to see the surface again. Claude might be thinking too much into this, he supposes... but if he isn't, he hopes that Dimitri remembers that the tale of Loog and the Immortal Hound is also one defined more by its kindness than its revenge. It would be a shame to lose this bright eyed man besides him, hand circling aimlessly through the air as he tries to remember the proper wording for Loog's adventures.
At long last, Dimitri finishes up, settling back into his seat with an almost boyish flush to his face and his lips turned up in a shy smile that Claude thinks he's only really seen with the Professor. "I don't think I quite tell the stories that way with the children," he confides, leaning in a way that makes Claude lean closer, too. "But - I hope that was sufficient."
Oh. Oh. Claude's smile stays frozen in place for a second, and his heart does something pretty physically impossible and very impressive. This wasn't just because of the seclusion, or the lack of sleep. This... This was something done just for him, wasn't it? He tries to beat down his own traitorous little heart, trying to remind it that he doesn't have time for a serious relationship like this - because he's pretty sure a relationship with Dimitri, even just a fleeting crush, couldn't be anything but serious. He's too princely for anything else.
Only a lot of practice keeps Claude's smile on, and he hopes anything beyond it gets ignored in one way or another. "It was a delight," he says, and then winks. "I'll have to remember the time I got the crown prince of Faerghus to pretend to fight off invisible enemies for me."
Dimitri huffs. "You could see me doing that in the training yard every other day," he counters, eyes shining, and Claude has to block his laugh with one fist shoved inbetween his teeth.
"Touche," Claude concedes, wiping a small gathered tear of mirth from the corner of his eye. "Well then, I suppose it's time to uphold my end of the bargain then, huh? Now what story to tell..." He adjusts himself again; wooden chairs like this require a lot of fidgeting every now and then to find a new comfortable position. "Okay, so this is a story about an archer and a beautiful woman-"
"Is this going to be a self-insert tale?"
"Hush, you," he says, mimicking Dimitri's own scolding tone while the prince grins at him. Something about this whole situation feels a little delirious, and he almost can't believe it's happening. "Almyra tends to favor archers in its warriors, along with those who wield axes. Anyway. An archer and a beautiful woman, although they only appeared like a woman..."
It's a pretty fantastical tale, although, isn't that the same of all fairytales anywhere? Claude tells it as best he can, relying on his natural (hard practiced) talent at lying in favor of being any kind of storyteller. His father used to regale him with these same tales, a long time ago, before he was deemed old enough (too young) to defend himself against his own family. Claude can't exactly remember how he used to do it.... So he does the best he can, weaving a tale of an archer with swift legs, aided by a feathered and feminine being in order to fetch precious and tragic things to replace the stolen heart of a god. Claude had liked it because his father had put in some aspects of cleverness amongst all the battles that often attracted young Almyran children.
The entire time, Dimitri watches him, entranced, with one cheek resting in his gauntleted palm. It's... nice, having Dimitri's attention be on him and only him. Claude doesn't realize just how long the tale goes, however, how long he's been talking... until he feels a light pressure on his shoulder, and he freezes. Story completely forgotten, he looks carefully from the corner of his eye before slowly, slowly, turning his head.
It really is late. Dimitri has drifted off to sleep, leaning to one side further and further until his head has come to a gentle rest against Claude's shoulder. His hand is still pressed into one cheek, smooshing it up a little in a way that makes Claude's heart clench. For a second, Claude hasn't the faintest idea of what to do, just stays perfectly frozen in place before he swallows. "Oh, Your Princeliness," he murmurs, and Dimitri doesn't stir. "This is a little unfair, don't you think?"
That doesn't wake Dimitri up at all, and he just... he looks so peaceful, this way, and he's such a comfortingly warm weight against Claude. Is it even legal to wake him up when he looks like this? Claude is pretty sure it's illegal. It's so damn illegal. Shit. He's trapped here, isn't he?
Dimitri isn't the only person feeling sleepy, however, because Claude's so out of it that he doesn't realize they have a visitor in the library half an hour later until Seteth quietly and carefully clears his throat. Claude's head snaps up, although he takes a lot of care to not move his shoulder too much and mistakenly jostle Dimitri out of place. The notoriously strict bishop of the church stares at the two of them from the very edge of the ring of candlelight, a ring that has grown all the smaller since Dimitri first stumbled upon him. His arms are crossed, and he has one sharp eyebrow raised as he looks at them.
...Hm. Yeah. This is kind of incriminating, isn't it?
"Hello, sir," Claude says, assuming his best polite and Good voice, knowing very well that he always comes off all the more suspicious for it. "We were just hard at work studying, when the time got away from us." Against his shoulder, Dimitri makes an indistinct mumble in his sleep. Claude makes a mental note to speak even quieter next time, although he's not sure how long Dimitri has to keep sleeping, exactly.
Seteth steps closer and, gods and earth, he makes absolutely zero noise. Claude now understands how neatly Seteth can sneak up right behind Sylvain whenever he tries to hit on girls on Garreg Mach grounds, scaring the shit out of everyone involved. Is this a thing they just teach priests so they can catch people sinning? Can Rhea do this? While Claude ponders all these questions and more, Seteth leans over the table.
"The Original Collection of Northern Fodlan Legends, Folk Stories, and Fairytales," Seteth reads slowly and, in some fit of consideration for the dozing Faerghus prince on Claude's shoulder, quietly. "By Rebecca Parton." His gaze moves just as slowly up to where Claude is practicing his best Dutiful Student smile, well aware it's not going to work. Hey, it's good practice. "I don't believe I recall that being on the syllabus for Professor Hanneman or Professor Casagranda."
Well, he's caught as it is. Claude figures he may as well have some fun with it. "Well, no offence, sir, but Manuela gets to all sorts of things on the morning of a hangover," Claude says. "I don't think you could say for certain what she would or wouldn't put on the syllabus in a fit of post-breakup-morning outrage, right?" Claude winks, and Seteth looks like he is once again Suffering in his job. "Besides, I believe Professor Eisner never had a chance to run their syllabus by you, right? This could have something to do with their interesting and well practiced tactics on the battlefield."
Seteth's dead eyed stare says he is so very tired of the bizarre nature of his workplace, and Claude very briefly feels sorry for him. That goes out the window when Seteth deadpans, "What are you doing here out of your rooms this late after curfew, Claude?"
Dimitri once against makes a small noise, and they both go quiet, expecting that stupid gauntlet to slip from Dimitri's face and hit the table. It doesn't. He goes back to sleep. Claude looks back to Seteth with a helpless grin and tries to sort of... twitch his other and unoccupied shoulder up in an approximation of a shrug. "It was a personal project," Claude admits, glad that Dimitri's arrival allowed him to switch out the other books he was studying. Seteth is nice, but he is Rhea's right hand man, so... better safe than sorry. Things happened, and, well, I guess his royal highness here decided to catch up on his beauty sleep. You know you can never wake up a napping cat, Seteth."
"I am fairly certain the crown prince of Faerghus is not a cat."
"Of course he is. He's a Blue Lion. Those are just big cats."
Somewhere, Claude is sure that Alois is feeling a sudden surge of pride with no idea why. Right in front of him, Seteth just closes his eyes as he no doubt relives a million other terrible jokes and puns that Alois springs on him every single day. "You are going back to your dorm room, Claude von Riegan," Seteth tells him. What he doesn't add, but is implicit in the tone of his voice, is and that's Final, young man.
Claude just gestures at Dimitri. Despite this whispered exchange, not much of which ever really needed, the prince has slept straight through the entirety of it. It's an impressive talent, honestly. All Seteth does is look down at him and... Hm. Unlike the exasperation he's been using with Claude, his gaze seems to soften a little bit as he looks down at the slumbering prince. At the beginning of this, Claude thought that he would just sharply clap his hands or some such thing to startle Dimitri into awakeness once again.
But now he's not that surprised when Seteth makes his way around the table to Dimitri's side, and speaks a little louder, but still gently. "Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. Wake up."
It's a soft voice, like waking up a small kitten, but it seems to somehow jolt Dimitri wide awake, shocking him into a steel-straight-spine position and his eyes wildly blinking. Claude won't ever tell anyone, he long ago decided that, but he thinks he rather liked having Dimitri leaning against him, head to shoulder. "M'apologize," Dimitri slurs out, two different types of apology seeming to crash together on the way off his tongue. He wobbles in place, still half asleep at the very least.
Fortunately, despite the complaints of many a student who has been caught getting frisky by the patron Saint of No Canoodling Before Marriage, Seteth is a merciful soul. He reaches out now that Dimitri is properly awake, and steadies him with one firm but kind hand at the shoulder. "It happens to the best of us," he says, still using that same voice from before. "Come up, now. You and young Claude von Riegan here need to head back to your dorm rooms, and get plenty of rest for the classes ahead of you tommorrow."
At the rate night has been going, Claude highly suspects that they've long since reached early morning of that tomorrow. But maybe that would just make Dimitri more panicked and apologetic, when so far he's only the latter. Maybe Seteth thinks time is fake. Maybe it's because that sort of thing is complaining about semantics for most people who aren't farmers, upon which the difference between night and early morning does in fact matter very much. Either way, with one foot still in sleep, Dimitri nods agreeably, and allows himself to be shepherded out of the library. Well aware that he won't be allowed to stay behind or surge forward, and acknowledging that he probably can't surge ahead either, Claude tags along on Dimitri's other side.
There's no one besides the three of them in the halls as Seteth guides them along, at least not besides the usual guards from practically all corners of Fodlan. Well, them, the guards, and Claude thinks he spots Cyril trudging stubbornly through another hall perpendicular to theirs that's connected by one other hall. If it's Cyril, then that would explain why Seteth curses quietly under his breath and hustles off to do who knows what. Someone has to watch after Cyril, since gods know it won't be Rhea, apparently.
Claude, like a good student who's definitely not already in enough trouble already, stays right where he is. Honestly, the pragmatic reasoning is because he doesn't need to antagonize Seteth anymore than the overworked bishop already is. The more emotional reason... is because Dimitri seems barely capable of staying on his feet. Oh, he's doing his best to fake it, with his hands folded behind his back and his entire body making a very noble attempt at standing straight... But he keeps almost falling victim to gravity, with his only saviors being bodily instinct that has him jerk out a foot to stop him from falling flat on his face. Claude helps sometimes, too.
Besides... He looks up at Dimitri's sleepy face, and stuffs his fist into his mouth to stop his own laughter. There, right along Dimitri's cheek, his skin has been left with the unmistakable imprint of where his hard metal gauntlets had dug in with the likely intention of only staying there for a moment or two as Dimitri had listened to him. Only, then the minutes had dragged on, and Dimitri's mind had been dragged under, and, well. Here they are now: standing in the hall, waiting for Seteth to return, Dimitri with gauntlet impressions in his cheek.
Dimitri jolts a little more awake, not for the first time since they've been escorted out of the library, or even while they've both been standing here. This time, however, it's apparently the jolt needed to get some of his higher brain functions back into working order, and he looks down at Claude. You know, a proper actual look, instead of just blearily directing his eyes in a direction that Claude happens to be in. "I'm sorry, Claude," he says, voice still a little muffled with sleep, and finishing off with a yawn. "I didn't... catch the end of your story..."
"It's fine," Claude reassures him, even as he catches Seteth coming back from the hallway after no doubt convincing Cyril that sleep is a thing human beings need in order to do things like chores. "I can finish the story for you later." Seteth raises an eyebrow at the conversation he's walked back to, but doesn't comment on it, and instead politely allows it to continue as he, in turn, continues to herd them to their dorm rooms.
"You promise?" Dimitri asks, voice still fortunately quiet and low where it's weighed down by sleep. His boots and gauntlets make enough noise. They're right at the hallway of their rooms, now, and so this pleasant little night is coming to its end, now. A shame, honestly. Claude... thinks he rather likes it. He can understand, now, why so many people in the Alliance sighed about their school days in Garreg Mach. If it's like now, with those pretty blue eyes focused on him, and the memory of warmth on his shoulder still strong...
"I promise," Claude tells him, and even means it. Yet as he says the sentence, better thoughts spring into his mind, and he transfers them to be better words than those he just spoke aloud. "In fact, why don't I go with you into town next time? I can tell the kids the story myself, if you'd like." His lips quirk into a smile. It might even be an honest one. "Or why not make our own story, together?"
He doesn't mean much by it, really. He's not really thinking to mean much by it. But doesn't it make sense, for the two of them to team up for this kind of endeavor, no matter how silly it is? Dimitri has clearly spent plenty of time with the tales himself, recounting them to children. Claude has a good idea of all sorts of things, and is a fun liar to boot. It should be - ha - child's play.
But Dimitri must be - well. Claude has no idea what he's thinking about, what part of him is still half in some pleasant dreams and what part of him is awake. But a pretty blush blossoms on Dimitri's cheeks, and he stops right in place. And it's Dimitri; he stops when he stops and not even Seteth can move him. "Oh," he breathes, looking at Claude as though he just suggested something entirely different than a creative collaborative effort. "Our own story... Us, together. Of course."
And he leans down, and he kisses Claude.
It's only a soft thing, only on his cheek, but Claude's heart stops regardless, and suddenly he can't really see the rest of Garreg Mach. There's only Dimitri, so close that he can smell the herbs he must have used when so strictly following Teach's instructions during his shift helping in the kitchens. He smells like food, and nature, and somehow like home - or what a home must surely smell like, where one is always welcomed, always loved, always protected. A dizziness rushes through him.
"You promised," Dimitri reminds him as he pulls away, unable to tear his eyes away from Claude as well, even though he trips over his own feet more than a few times as he makes his way over to his room. "You promised, Claude, please - don't forget - oh, I'm sorry, Seteth, you were there - I'm sorry - Claude, it's a promise-" And then he manages to fumble the door open, almost barely avoiding a collision of his head with his door frame. The door clicks shut behind him.
Claude doesn't get a chance to tell him good night. He can't even get his own voice to work. All he can do is stare at Dimitri's door, his fingertips gingerly touching at the skin right beneath where Dimitri's lips had touched. Whenever he tries to think, it's just - fizzing, popping. Nothing.
Another quiet throat clear, and it's more instinct, or habit, that has him turn his head and look up towards Seteth. There's no sternness, no severity, anymore. If anything, the older man just looks faintly amused, and he adjusts his posture a little more. "In the event of more late night rendezvouses," Seteth murmurs, still staying politely quiet in the hall right outside the rooms even though anyone would surely have been woken up already by Dimitri's armor, "then I do recommend them happening outside the monastery grounds, Claude."
His face is burning. Claude isn't entirely sure if it's because of the (admittedly good natured) ribbing, or still from when Dimitri had kissed him. "I swear that wasn't planned," he manages out, before he turns around and hastily retreats to his own room again. Theoretically to turn in for the night. More likely, and what happens, is him flopping onto his bed and sending books tumbling everywhere so that he can shove his face into the pillow.
Well. It hadn't been planned tonight. But later, maybe. Hopefully.
That is, at most and not counting his name, two sentences. They are very simple sentences. Claude still needs a second to take them in, even as he looks up at the call of his name to where Dimitri is standing a small distance away. He blinks one eye, then the other, and finally two at once. Oh, yup, he's still there. He must still be awake. Claude grins, gesturing to one of the chairs next to him. The library is empty at this time of night, so there's honestly plenty of room for Dimitri to sit at... but why be needlessly unfriendly? "Well, how could I refuse the crown prince of Faerghus himself?"
Like always when it comes to his station being pointed out, especially so flagrantly, Dimitri goes faintly pink. Even at a distance, Claude can see the color staining his cheeks. "You could refuse easily," Dimitri insists, even as he steps forward a little more into the ring of light Claude's candle radiates. "You're here so late at night, working diligently at your studies, after all. If this is an inopportune time for you, please let me know." He even refuses to take the seat just yet, standing on the opposite side of the table.
Claude isn't exactly working on "his studies", but rather a lot of different questions, mysteries, and leads that he's stumbled upon ever since he was accepted into Garreg Mach. He declines to mention that, and instead just chuckles. "So stiff, Your Princeliness," he says, even though he has to admit that this is one of Dimitri's charm points as much as it makes him so terribly stiff to deal with. The why makes all the difference: not the stiffness of a noble holding up to proper protocol, but the tenseness of a man who knows he could very easily bull over many people's boundaries without a thought, and so thinks so terribly carefully. "But don't worry. I could use a break."
That's enough to tug away the tension in Dimitri's shoulders, the way his spine steels itself so much, and he finally relents to joining Claude in the seat besides him. "I must say, I do admire you, Claude," Dimitri says, carefully adjusting the house leader cape he still wears so carefully even this late at night. Claude had long ago unclasped his own, tossing it over the back of his chair where it still remains. "Perhaps I would do better in my own studies if I were nearly half this diligent."
"And just where would you find the time, Your Princeliness?" Claude teases, glad that Dimitri hasn't yet noticed the titles along the spines of what he's reading. It would kind of give the game away that he's doing something much different than studying for the next text. "I'm pretty sure you've spent up every little bit of spare time you have training."
There they are again, those rosy cheeks. Dimitri coughs into his hand, trying not to be too embarrassed. Claude doesn't think it quite works, but he lets him get away with it just this once. "So you've noticed that?" he asks weakly.
He has. He's slipped through the halls of Garreg Mach and all its shadows during far too late nights and far too early mornings, trying to ferret out all the secrets it has... and Garreg Mach has so many. More than he could ever have imagined, and those are just the ones that have come to surface in the first part of the school year. So he's passed by the training grounds and courtyards dozens of times, now, at all times of day and night... and it's been hard to miss Dimitri training so steadfastly as if preparing himself for some sort of war, for a fight he does not know if he can win or not.
Claude doesn't say that, just like he doesn't say a great number of things. Instead, he chuckles. "I don't think there's a person in the entire school that doesn't know," he says playfully. "Now, just why were you searching for lil' ol' me?"
Resting his hands delicately upon the table, Dimitri pauses for only a moment before forging onwards. "Well, when I have some spare time - which I know must sound impossible to you, with how much I train-" Claude smiles a little, glad to see that the stiff prince can joke a little bit after all. "I go down into the town below Garreg Mach. There are some children there who I teach swordsmanship to. Sometimes, the Professor accompanies me. As of late, however, things have begun to change a bit, and, during times of rest, or as a reward afterwards... I've been telling them stories."
He's been smiling this entire time, but now Claude's smile softens to something more genuine. This prince who doesn't even have to look at other people if he doesn't want to directs his gaze down to the people below him constantly, and does more than just look. He reaches out instead, teaches swordsmanship with his own two hands and tells stories to little kids who must be in awe that a prince is speaking to them so comfortably. If this were a school year as normal as the ones before it, actions like this from Dimitri, and others from Edelgard, could leave Claude feeling tentatively positive about the future ahead of them.
Unfortunately, it seems that this school year isn't going to be notable for just the future leaders (or at least supposed leaders, in his case) of the three nations of Fodlan attending the academy all at the same time.
Well, that's a backseat concern. For now, he can enjoy the mental image of eager and warm Dimitri, surrounded by starstruck children as he weaves tales about noble knights and adventurous kings and queens. He wonders how good a storyteller Dimitri is. He wonders if the prince does voices. "Sounds exactly like you," Claude chuckles. "Although now I'm so curious that I think I might want to tag along on these storytelling sessions of yours."
"That would be excellent!" Dimitri exclaims, leaning towards Claude with eyes bright, before he remembers himself with one hand rising over his mouth. He pulls back, although Claude thinks he wouldn't mind if he didn't. "I apologize - but, that leads to why I was interested in speaking to you. I've unfortunately begun to run out of stories to tell the children, and... I would rather not do too many repeats, at least not unless they specifically want me to. I've been fortunate enough that there have been some tales they've wanted to hear at least a few times more... but I don't think I have much more of that left."
Claude grins. "Ah, the ravenous curiosity of children..." It reminds him of being a kid as well, slipping away from the eyes of his brothers and digging through the library for not only stories, but ideas, information, skills..
"Quite." Dimitri's bright smile returns again. "So I was hoping that I could speak with you, and perhaps you could help. I imagine you have a wealth of stories that they've never heard before.
In his chest, Claude's heart briefly stops in place, a deer frozen by the sight of sudden torchlight. "Oh?" he asks, forcing his tone to be casual, and he hopes any confusion he shows goes right over Dimitri's head. "And what makes you think that?"
"Well, you are from the Leicester Alliance." The deer relaxes from its alert state, quietly moving on again. Claude breathes, and Dimitri continues to talk, unaware of how closely he'd brushed against something so secret and precious. "I thought that you might have some unique tales that never quite made their way to Faerghus."
Claude laughs, and there is no describing the relief in how he is still able to. "Less than you might think," he tells Dimitri, starting to pile his books up - spines facing away from Dimitri. Just in case. Always better to let others underestimate him, although Dimitri knows that he's still plenty clever in his own right. Just not how clever, hopefully. "I'm pretty sure they have some here in the library. Hey, tell you what - why don't you grab some Faerghus tales you recognize? I'll put these away and get some from Leicester."
It's a simple enough a task, a request, and right in line with Dimitri's own quest, so of course he agrees. Not much time passes before the two of them regroup at the table. The library is ultimately not that huge, and not too many of its resources can be directed towards children's fables... but there is still a non-zero amount of such books. For the culture, you know.
Besides, so many fairytales have a purpose to them, a meaning. Sometimes the rhythm is meant to keep track of something, like food or time. A great deal many more times, it's to teach a particular lesson. Children's fables shouldn't be overlooked, in Claude's honest opinion. They can tell a lot... and give inspiration to ideas, too.
With their respective and rather small piles set side by side for comparison, the two of them begin to flip through the pages in search of familiar titles and names. It's cute, honestly, the way Dimitri seems so excited about revisiting things he's heard in his childhood even though he's surely told them again and again to children over the past weeks. It's funny to see him stutter and blink, like a kitten realizing that it's not a tree trunk but the leg of a person that it's run into, when Claude points out to tales that are often incredibly similar in his own Leicester books.
In fact, sometimes the names or tasks haven't even been changed. There are more than a few instances of Loog somehow still managing to make the way across the borders. "He's a charismatic guy even in death," Claude teases Dimitri when the prince boggles over at the Leicester books. "It's just that once you remove strong notes of him being a Faerghus king, make him more of a legendary figure with a more anonymous kingdom to save or return to, that he became palatable for early Leicester folks when the Alliance was first established all so long ago. The stories are still fun and engaging, after all, so it'd be a pity to lose them completely... And so they became a little washed out in Leicester retellings."
Dimitri shakes his head, still a little wondrous. "I suppose I should be a little honored or pleased, shouldn't I? An ancestor mine still lives on in such recognition and fondness, even years after he has gone to better places."
"Hey, at least he's remembered fondly instead of terribly, right?" Claude chuckles, leaning back into his chair until the front legs are off the floor. "But now you can see why I'm not entirely sure that passing along fables from Leicester Alliance would help you a lot in finding new stories. When they aren't just the exact same story, they're often so similar that it probably won't pass muster with even a kid. Just goals or details or names changed, to make it more the Alliance's than Faerghus." He shakes his head. "Three countries that are so closely tied together.."
Folding his arms along the table, Dimitri tilts his head to the side consideringly and his eyes are still focused down on the book before him. "We really are... It's something I'd known academically, of course, but it's astounding how different it is to really understand our joined history when you look at something as simple as fables... Faerghus and Leicester were both once Adrestia, and Faerghus once occupied Leicester, and everything has simply never truly untangled." He suddenly chuckles. "Maybe I should offer to give Faerghus back to Adrestia, once Edelgard becomes Emperor, and travel around collecting tales to see the little differences and what details never actually changed. It would be fascinating."
Cladue muffles his laughter in his hand, keeps it from bouncing about the library. Their conversation is already tempting fate, with a monk or, worse, Seteth liable to follow the sound of conversation if they're not careful. "Oh, you should tell her that tomorrow," he informs Dimitri, eyes glittering. "Just as a joke. See how she reacts."
"Claude von Riegan!" No one does scolding quite like Dimitri does; he's going to make a great dad. He's going to be a fantastic dad, actually, because he immediately follows up with, "She would have my head for offering without following through, or at least putting up a fight." That's when Claude needs to bury his face into his arms, wheezing out laughter. Looking up again, eventually, he's met with Dimitri's pleased little grin.
It's so good to know that Dimitri has a sense of humor. Claude likes being with him a lot more, when moments like these peek out.
"Hey, she might not take her axe to you." Claude winks at him playfully. "Hubert might poison you in your sleep instead. Although hard to say if it would be for the joke, or for getting too close to his Lady Edelgard."
"You're terrible," Dimitri tells him, voice full of some emotion that makes his stomach warm pleasant. It doesn't last long, however, with Dimitri bracing his hands against the table. "Still, I should apologize. It turns out that I wasted your time all for nothing."
It'd be a shame to see him go, honestly. Claude watches him, letting himself carefully rock forward again in his chair. "Hey, it was a fun break," he tells Dimitri sincerely before he pauses. While a chance to continue talking with Dimitri longer isn't something to be unwanted, this... could be a chance for an experiment, too. "You know, they're not Leicester tales... but I might have some other stories that you could tell to the children, from a different country."
There. Bait laid down. Dimitri takes it without thinking, without suspicion, just looking at him in pleasant surprise. "Oh? What country?" he asks, just like Claude knew that he would.
"Almyra."
Claude already has a whole excuse prepared in his head, if this conversation starts to go south in the more unpleasant way. He always has excuses prepared just in case, for any number of things. He's had to use them, more than once, in the Alliance territories, and even a couple of times in Garreg Mach, although it comes up less here. So for Dimitri? For Dimitri, he imagines it will be no trouble at all to sail an excuse past him.
But he doesn't even need to go that far before Dimitri is smiling at him. "Of course you would know tales from there," Dimitri says, like it's the most natural thing in the world. "Your- passion towards study can never be underestimated."
There's a certain roll to Dimitri's tone that makes Claude laugh into his palm again. "Why do I get the feeling you meant to say nosy instead of passionate?" he asks, faux-accusingly. All Dimitri does is grin up at him beneath those pale eyelashes of his, just as faux-demure. It's the most relaxed they've ever been with one another, Claude thinks. Well, at least he doesn't have to worry. Dimitri seems to think that his knowledge is simply a result of study, of learning, no doubt as a result of him being the next Riegan heir. That works out for him.
"I can call you nosy if you'd like," Dimitri says, and seems to relish in the way that makes Claude have to muffle his laughter again. "Still, in regards to your question... I don't think the children would mind Almyran tales at all. If anything, it would be exciting, I should think. These are tales I doubt they've ever heard before, or most people in Fodlan as a whole, so that should make it all the more enticing to them." Dimitri adjusts his position against the table, no longer bracing himself to rise onto his feet, now, but instead resting his cheek in one hand. He's wearing gauntlets even now, despite the setting and situation. Claude makes a note to ask him about that, sometime. "I know I haven't."
Claude relaxes in his chair again. "Then I'm more than happy to spread my knowledge." And understanding. "Although I won't do this for free, you know."
A sigh rustles out of Dimitri, and Claude expects him to do that scolding crossed arms posture he does so often... but it's apparently too late at night, with Dimitri too comfortable, for the prince to bother with it. There's still that tone, however. "Seeking to take advantage of me then, are you, Claude?"
Faintly, Claude wonders if he should explain just how that kind of sentence can be taken, and if it's worth mentioning that he'd almost really rather the other way around, honestly. He doesn't. Dimitri has no idea, so best to let him live in bliss, and also maybe it would be funnier to see the day he realizes it for himself. Instead, he winks. "Well, I'd love to get an agreement out of you to let my house win Gronder Field-"
"Ha!"
"-but we both know that you're far too competitive to ever even consider it," Claude concludes, grinning wide. "So I'll ask for something a little more your speed, Your Princeliness. I want you-" And here he pauses, just for a little dramatic effect. He thinks they might have reached what are technically morning hours, so he thinks he's allowed a little play. "-to read me one of your favorite Faerghus fairytales."
Dimitri blinks, caught off guard, and Claude can almost see the way his brain is trying to turn over the trade with a hinted question that asks if perhaps Dimitri heard something. But he seems to be confident well enough to voice it, even if he's tentative when he asks, "You want me to tell you a fairytale?"
"Like you tell the kids in town," Claude confirms with a nod of his head. "Kids have less of a filter than adults do, so, if you were terrible at it, then someone would have told you to knock it off eventually. So there's a non-insignificant chance that you're not too bad... so I want to see what that looks like for myself."
"But we just talked about how similar Faerghus and Leicester tales are," Dimitri protests, looking a bit flustered. Poor him. He came in here just for help with coming up with stories, and now he's being put on the spot. Claude regrets absolutely nothing. "I'm certain you would get bored hearing the same old tales that you've always heard."
He hasn't heard, actually, not in the way that most kids hear fairytales and myths: from a parent, lulling them to sleep or as a reward for good behavior and hard work. Claude has only ever read Leicester tales, just like he's only ever read Faerghus ones. It's fine if Dimitri doesn't hear all that. Instead, Claude laughs at him a little more. "Weren't you paying attention? I want to know what kind of storyteller you are. That is more than enough for me. After all, even an old tale can shine like new in the hands of a different person. So, deal, or no deal?"
If he's honest, he'll honestly help out with the kids regardless on if Dimitri does anything. What can he say? It's just... something about watching a bunch of kids run around, yelling and playing and living, that settles something in him. Maybe it's his dreams for a better future for those same kids. Maybe it's his own past where he wasn't allowed nearly that kind of easygoing freedom. Who knows.
All he knows right now in the present moment is the way Dimitri thins those lovely lips of his and gives a nod. "Then... I agree. You said my favorite Faerghus tale, didn't you?" That was indeed what Claude said, and Dimitri ponders this for a moment. A beloved prince like Dimitri, he must have been told just about all the tales imaginable in Faerghus, and by people who really did look at him as though he held moonlight in his eyes, who would tell him stories before bed and hold him close while they did so.
Claude wonders when the last time was that Dimitri was told a story himself, or held so lovingly.
"All right," Dimitri says, nodding to himself. "Then, I may go with the story of Loog, and the immortal hound."
Because of course it's a tale about Loog, when there are practically entire libraries that could be dedicated to tales featuring Loog. Of course, when Dimitri is one of his descendants. Claude is absolutely the opposite of surprised, but is more than happy to make himself as comfortable as he possibly can be in a church library chair.
Right off the bat... It's apparent that Dimitri is a good storyteller. If nothing else, he is a good storyteller in the sanctuary of the Garreg Mach library, running on gods know how little sleep, stripped just a little bit of the shame which normally keeps him in his rigid role of Faerghus' perfect prince. The more the tale goes on, the more he begins to relax. Dimitri does do voices, from the start, too, but he also gestures - broad sweeps of his arms, the mimicry of holding a weapon, the tilt of a head with every question he relays from character to story to his voice.
"I hope- I do hope that this isn't too silly," he suddenly says, right in the middle of pantomiming Loog wrestling an immortal dog up in some sort of chokehold. It's the most hilarious little image, Dimitri's blank and flustered expression combined with how he's holding absolutely nothing up to his chest. It's nothing like what Claude sees in the daytime, in the rest of the world, where Dimitri holds himself so statue still like he's afraid he'll break something with his own existence.
But here, in the library away from their rooms, away from other people, where the ring of candlelight makes its own little world... It almost seems as though Dimitri can be free. Claude smiles at him, wishing it were so easy on his end. "Not at all, Your Princeliness."
It's easy to see why Loog and the Immortal Hound is one of Dimitri's favorite tales. Some of the reasons why are pretty obvious. It's his ancestor, for starters. It's full of all the kind of noble deeds and ultimate kindness that would attract the kind of proper prince that Dimitri is, too. Claude once saw a portrait of Dimitri as a young child, a young prince (and Edelgard, too, when Judith had been grilling him to make sure he knew his stuff upon entering Fodlan), and he can imagine that blue and gold child listening, enraptured and with wide eyes, to all the kind of daring stunts that Loog pulls off in the story.
But there are other things, too. Things he wonders if Dimitri has really thought in depth about. The story of the immortal hound is driven in no small part by revenge, after all, and setting wrongs to right. Like so many tales of Loog, it is a story that manages to ensnare child and adult alike for good reason... and, on the adult side, the revenge part appeals very much in a variety of ways. What does that say about a prince who has lost so much of his own family to a gory end, and believes, knows, that the publicly blamed targets are innocent?
Revenge can entangle one, drag them under dark waves that make it hard to see the surface again. Claude might be thinking too much into this, he supposes... but if he isn't, he hopes that Dimitri remembers that the tale of Loog and the Immortal Hound is also one defined more by its kindness than its revenge. It would be a shame to lose this bright eyed man besides him, hand circling aimlessly through the air as he tries to remember the proper wording for Loog's adventures.
At long last, Dimitri finishes up, settling back into his seat with an almost boyish flush to his face and his lips turned up in a shy smile that Claude thinks he's only really seen with the Professor. "I don't think I quite tell the stories that way with the children," he confides, leaning in a way that makes Claude lean closer, too. "But - I hope that was sufficient."
Oh. Oh. Claude's smile stays frozen in place for a second, and his heart does something pretty physically impossible and very impressive. This wasn't just because of the seclusion, or the lack of sleep. This... This was something done just for him, wasn't it? He tries to beat down his own traitorous little heart, trying to remind it that he doesn't have time for a serious relationship like this - because he's pretty sure a relationship with Dimitri, even just a fleeting crush, couldn't be anything but serious. He's too princely for anything else.
Only a lot of practice keeps Claude's smile on, and he hopes anything beyond it gets ignored in one way or another. "It was a delight," he says, and then winks. "I'll have to remember the time I got the crown prince of Faerghus to pretend to fight off invisible enemies for me."
Dimitri huffs. "You could see me doing that in the training yard every other day," he counters, eyes shining, and Claude has to block his laugh with one fist shoved inbetween his teeth.
"Touche," Claude concedes, wiping a small gathered tear of mirth from the corner of his eye. "Well then, I suppose it's time to uphold my end of the bargain then, huh? Now what story to tell..." He adjusts himself again; wooden chairs like this require a lot of fidgeting every now and then to find a new comfortable position. "Okay, so this is a story about an archer and a beautiful woman-"
"Is this going to be a self-insert tale?"
"Hush, you," he says, mimicking Dimitri's own scolding tone while the prince grins at him. Something about this whole situation feels a little delirious, and he almost can't believe it's happening. "Almyra tends to favor archers in its warriors, along with those who wield axes. Anyway. An archer and a beautiful woman, although they only appeared like a woman..."
It's a pretty fantastical tale, although, isn't that the same of all fairytales anywhere? Claude tells it as best he can, relying on his natural (hard practiced) talent at lying in favor of being any kind of storyteller. His father used to regale him with these same tales, a long time ago, before he was deemed old enough (too young) to defend himself against his own family. Claude can't exactly remember how he used to do it.... So he does the best he can, weaving a tale of an archer with swift legs, aided by a feathered and feminine being in order to fetch precious and tragic things to replace the stolen heart of a god. Claude had liked it because his father had put in some aspects of cleverness amongst all the battles that often attracted young Almyran children.
The entire time, Dimitri watches him, entranced, with one cheek resting in his gauntleted palm. It's... nice, having Dimitri's attention be on him and only him. Claude doesn't realize just how long the tale goes, however, how long he's been talking... until he feels a light pressure on his shoulder, and he freezes. Story completely forgotten, he looks carefully from the corner of his eye before slowly, slowly, turning his head.
It really is late. Dimitri has drifted off to sleep, leaning to one side further and further until his head has come to a gentle rest against Claude's shoulder. His hand is still pressed into one cheek, smooshing it up a little in a way that makes Claude's heart clench. For a second, Claude hasn't the faintest idea of what to do, just stays perfectly frozen in place before he swallows. "Oh, Your Princeliness," he murmurs, and Dimitri doesn't stir. "This is a little unfair, don't you think?"
That doesn't wake Dimitri up at all, and he just... he looks so peaceful, this way, and he's such a comfortingly warm weight against Claude. Is it even legal to wake him up when he looks like this? Claude is pretty sure it's illegal. It's so damn illegal. Shit. He's trapped here, isn't he?
Dimitri isn't the only person feeling sleepy, however, because Claude's so out of it that he doesn't realize they have a visitor in the library half an hour later until Seteth quietly and carefully clears his throat. Claude's head snaps up, although he takes a lot of care to not move his shoulder too much and mistakenly jostle Dimitri out of place. The notoriously strict bishop of the church stares at the two of them from the very edge of the ring of candlelight, a ring that has grown all the smaller since Dimitri first stumbled upon him. His arms are crossed, and he has one sharp eyebrow raised as he looks at them.
...Hm. Yeah. This is kind of incriminating, isn't it?
"Hello, sir," Claude says, assuming his best polite and Good voice, knowing very well that he always comes off all the more suspicious for it. "We were just hard at work studying, when the time got away from us." Against his shoulder, Dimitri makes an indistinct mumble in his sleep. Claude makes a mental note to speak even quieter next time, although he's not sure how long Dimitri has to keep sleeping, exactly.
Seteth steps closer and, gods and earth, he makes absolutely zero noise. Claude now understands how neatly Seteth can sneak up right behind Sylvain whenever he tries to hit on girls on Garreg Mach grounds, scaring the shit out of everyone involved. Is this a thing they just teach priests so they can catch people sinning? Can Rhea do this? While Claude ponders all these questions and more, Seteth leans over the table.
"The Original Collection of Northern Fodlan Legends, Folk Stories, and Fairytales," Seteth reads slowly and, in some fit of consideration for the dozing Faerghus prince on Claude's shoulder, quietly. "By Rebecca Parton." His gaze moves just as slowly up to where Claude is practicing his best Dutiful Student smile, well aware it's not going to work. Hey, it's good practice. "I don't believe I recall that being on the syllabus for Professor Hanneman or Professor Casagranda."
Well, he's caught as it is. Claude figures he may as well have some fun with it. "Well, no offence, sir, but Manuela gets to all sorts of things on the morning of a hangover," Claude says. "I don't think you could say for certain what she would or wouldn't put on the syllabus in a fit of post-breakup-morning outrage, right?" Claude winks, and Seteth looks like he is once again Suffering in his job. "Besides, I believe Professor Eisner never had a chance to run their syllabus by you, right? This could have something to do with their interesting and well practiced tactics on the battlefield."
Seteth's dead eyed stare says he is so very tired of the bizarre nature of his workplace, and Claude very briefly feels sorry for him. That goes out the window when Seteth deadpans, "What are you doing here out of your rooms this late after curfew, Claude?"
Dimitri once against makes a small noise, and they both go quiet, expecting that stupid gauntlet to slip from Dimitri's face and hit the table. It doesn't. He goes back to sleep. Claude looks back to Seteth with a helpless grin and tries to sort of... twitch his other and unoccupied shoulder up in an approximation of a shrug. "It was a personal project," Claude admits, glad that Dimitri's arrival allowed him to switch out the other books he was studying. Seteth is nice, but he is Rhea's right hand man, so... better safe than sorry. Things happened, and, well, I guess his royal highness here decided to catch up on his beauty sleep. You know you can never wake up a napping cat, Seteth."
"I am fairly certain the crown prince of Faerghus is not a cat."
"Of course he is. He's a Blue Lion. Those are just big cats."
Somewhere, Claude is sure that Alois is feeling a sudden surge of pride with no idea why. Right in front of him, Seteth just closes his eyes as he no doubt relives a million other terrible jokes and puns that Alois springs on him every single day. "You are going back to your dorm room, Claude von Riegan," Seteth tells him. What he doesn't add, but is implicit in the tone of his voice, is and that's Final, young man.
Claude just gestures at Dimitri. Despite this whispered exchange, not much of which ever really needed, the prince has slept straight through the entirety of it. It's an impressive talent, honestly. All Seteth does is look down at him and... Hm. Unlike the exasperation he's been using with Claude, his gaze seems to soften a little bit as he looks down at the slumbering prince. At the beginning of this, Claude thought that he would just sharply clap his hands or some such thing to startle Dimitri into awakeness once again.
But now he's not that surprised when Seteth makes his way around the table to Dimitri's side, and speaks a little louder, but still gently. "Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. Wake up."
It's a soft voice, like waking up a small kitten, but it seems to somehow jolt Dimitri wide awake, shocking him into a steel-straight-spine position and his eyes wildly blinking. Claude won't ever tell anyone, he long ago decided that, but he thinks he rather liked having Dimitri leaning against him, head to shoulder. "M'apologize," Dimitri slurs out, two different types of apology seeming to crash together on the way off his tongue. He wobbles in place, still half asleep at the very least.
Fortunately, despite the complaints of many a student who has been caught getting frisky by the patron Saint of No Canoodling Before Marriage, Seteth is a merciful soul. He reaches out now that Dimitri is properly awake, and steadies him with one firm but kind hand at the shoulder. "It happens to the best of us," he says, still using that same voice from before. "Come up, now. You and young Claude von Riegan here need to head back to your dorm rooms, and get plenty of rest for the classes ahead of you tommorrow."
At the rate night has been going, Claude highly suspects that they've long since reached early morning of that tomorrow. But maybe that would just make Dimitri more panicked and apologetic, when so far he's only the latter. Maybe Seteth thinks time is fake. Maybe it's because that sort of thing is complaining about semantics for most people who aren't farmers, upon which the difference between night and early morning does in fact matter very much. Either way, with one foot still in sleep, Dimitri nods agreeably, and allows himself to be shepherded out of the library. Well aware that he won't be allowed to stay behind or surge forward, and acknowledging that he probably can't surge ahead either, Claude tags along on Dimitri's other side.
There's no one besides the three of them in the halls as Seteth guides them along, at least not besides the usual guards from practically all corners of Fodlan. Well, them, the guards, and Claude thinks he spots Cyril trudging stubbornly through another hall perpendicular to theirs that's connected by one other hall. If it's Cyril, then that would explain why Seteth curses quietly under his breath and hustles off to do who knows what. Someone has to watch after Cyril, since gods know it won't be Rhea, apparently.
Claude, like a good student who's definitely not already in enough trouble already, stays right where he is. Honestly, the pragmatic reasoning is because he doesn't need to antagonize Seteth anymore than the overworked bishop already is. The more emotional reason... is because Dimitri seems barely capable of staying on his feet. Oh, he's doing his best to fake it, with his hands folded behind his back and his entire body making a very noble attempt at standing straight... But he keeps almost falling victim to gravity, with his only saviors being bodily instinct that has him jerk out a foot to stop him from falling flat on his face. Claude helps sometimes, too.
Besides... He looks up at Dimitri's sleepy face, and stuffs his fist into his mouth to stop his own laughter. There, right along Dimitri's cheek, his skin has been left with the unmistakable imprint of where his hard metal gauntlets had dug in with the likely intention of only staying there for a moment or two as Dimitri had listened to him. Only, then the minutes had dragged on, and Dimitri's mind had been dragged under, and, well. Here they are now: standing in the hall, waiting for Seteth to return, Dimitri with gauntlet impressions in his cheek.
Dimitri jolts a little more awake, not for the first time since they've been escorted out of the library, or even while they've both been standing here. This time, however, it's apparently the jolt needed to get some of his higher brain functions back into working order, and he looks down at Claude. You know, a proper actual look, instead of just blearily directing his eyes in a direction that Claude happens to be in. "I'm sorry, Claude," he says, voice still a little muffled with sleep, and finishing off with a yawn. "I didn't... catch the end of your story..."
"It's fine," Claude reassures him, even as he catches Seteth coming back from the hallway after no doubt convincing Cyril that sleep is a thing human beings need in order to do things like chores. "I can finish the story for you later." Seteth raises an eyebrow at the conversation he's walked back to, but doesn't comment on it, and instead politely allows it to continue as he, in turn, continues to herd them to their dorm rooms.
"You promise?" Dimitri asks, voice still fortunately quiet and low where it's weighed down by sleep. His boots and gauntlets make enough noise. They're right at the hallway of their rooms, now, and so this pleasant little night is coming to its end, now. A shame, honestly. Claude... thinks he rather likes it. He can understand, now, why so many people in the Alliance sighed about their school days in Garreg Mach. If it's like now, with those pretty blue eyes focused on him, and the memory of warmth on his shoulder still strong...
"I promise," Claude tells him, and even means it. Yet as he says the sentence, better thoughts spring into his mind, and he transfers them to be better words than those he just spoke aloud. "In fact, why don't I go with you into town next time? I can tell the kids the story myself, if you'd like." His lips quirk into a smile. It might even be an honest one. "Or why not make our own story, together?"
He doesn't mean much by it, really. He's not really thinking to mean much by it. But doesn't it make sense, for the two of them to team up for this kind of endeavor, no matter how silly it is? Dimitri has clearly spent plenty of time with the tales himself, recounting them to children. Claude has a good idea of all sorts of things, and is a fun liar to boot. It should be - ha - child's play.
But Dimitri must be - well. Claude has no idea what he's thinking about, what part of him is still half in some pleasant dreams and what part of him is awake. But a pretty blush blossoms on Dimitri's cheeks, and he stops right in place. And it's Dimitri; he stops when he stops and not even Seteth can move him. "Oh," he breathes, looking at Claude as though he just suggested something entirely different than a creative collaborative effort. "Our own story... Us, together. Of course."
And he leans down, and he kisses Claude.
It's only a soft thing, only on his cheek, but Claude's heart stops regardless, and suddenly he can't really see the rest of Garreg Mach. There's only Dimitri, so close that he can smell the herbs he must have used when so strictly following Teach's instructions during his shift helping in the kitchens. He smells like food, and nature, and somehow like home - or what a home must surely smell like, where one is always welcomed, always loved, always protected. A dizziness rushes through him.
"You promised," Dimitri reminds him as he pulls away, unable to tear his eyes away from Claude as well, even though he trips over his own feet more than a few times as he makes his way over to his room. "You promised, Claude, please - don't forget - oh, I'm sorry, Seteth, you were there - I'm sorry - Claude, it's a promise-" And then he manages to fumble the door open, almost barely avoiding a collision of his head with his door frame. The door clicks shut behind him.
Claude doesn't get a chance to tell him good night. He can't even get his own voice to work. All he can do is stare at Dimitri's door, his fingertips gingerly touching at the skin right beneath where Dimitri's lips had touched. Whenever he tries to think, it's just - fizzing, popping. Nothing.
Another quiet throat clear, and it's more instinct, or habit, that has him turn his head and look up towards Seteth. There's no sternness, no severity, anymore. If anything, the older man just looks faintly amused, and he adjusts his posture a little more. "In the event of more late night rendezvouses," Seteth murmurs, still staying politely quiet in the hall right outside the rooms even though anyone would surely have been woken up already by Dimitri's armor, "then I do recommend them happening outside the monastery grounds, Claude."
His face is burning. Claude isn't entirely sure if it's because of the (admittedly good natured) ribbing, or still from when Dimitri had kissed him. "I swear that wasn't planned," he manages out, before he turns around and hastily retreats to his own room again. Theoretically to turn in for the night. More likely, and what happens, is him flopping onto his bed and sending books tumbling everywhere so that he can shove his face into the pillow.
Well. It hadn't been planned tonight. But later, maybe. Hopefully.