Claudelix Week April 18 - Day 1 - Sparring / Archery / Competition

[warmskies]

 "Finally," Hilda groans, tugging at the hood of her cloak so that her eyes can be better shielded from the harsh desert sun. "That's the capital, right, Felix?"

He scoffs, even if he has to privately admit to himself that he can actually understand the reason for her complaints this time. He can't say he particularly likes the way sweat has been clinging to the back of his neck this entire journey either. It's nothing like Faerghus - or maybe more like Fhirdiad, to be specific, since it's not as though Faerghus exists anymore. "I thought you were the Almyra expert," he says dryly, eyes grazing over the shimmering stretch of city that lies before them. "They don't have a lot of established cities like this to start with, or did you lead me wrong there?"

"I never said I was an expert," Hilda says, in the kind of tone might use if someone insulted her favorite child, or something. "I've simply lived near Fodlan's Throat for most of my life. That's completely different."

Felix rolls his eyes. "Whatever you say." There's not a lot of time to indulge in her nonsense right now, however. Not with the city looming ever closer, and his heart beating harder in his chest.

Going through Sihoma, Almyra's capital city, is breathtaking. Even Felix has to admit that, and he's never been one for the more physical kind of arts, or caring about architecture. It's impossible to not notice in Almyra, however. It's completely different from Fodlan, because of course it is. There are trees, and mountains, and a lot more than just an endless expanse of desert - a common misconception about Almyra, Claude had told him in one of their letters - but there's still a lot working against them. Wood is valuable, used either carefully or cheaply, but not commonly.

Felix can see it in the various buildings that they pass, solid stone structures whose purposes are made clear depending on if they're simple smooth stone (with cracks and scuffs and wear from existing) to the fancier places with carvings all around doors or windows. They're incredibly different from the more nomadic structures they've occasionally stopped at, made to be disassembled as quick as possible while still withstanding the harsh winds and scorching sun.

What's not so different from there and here would be the looks that the locals give them as they pass through. Despite popular belief, not everyone in Almyra is a bloodthirsty warrior. That's not how a functional society works. You need your hunters, your caregivers, your merchants and the people who dye clothes and people who can butcher animals the best... So that means not everyone is going to look at them with the clear intent to challenge them to a fight. Which, admittedly, Felix would not particularly mind, but then it would take forever for them to get to the Sihoma Royal Palace.

But they're still Almyran. They can still tell apart his and his company's pale skin apart from the rest of them, and the caravan they're escorting with its brilliant colorization is kind of hard to miss. Blaring out their origin for all to see would be the tri-colored flag which waves loudly for all to see whenever the wind picks up: three solidly colored strips of red, blue, and yellow, and the heraldic beast which serves as their new sign, a griffon with antlers winding from its head. Felix finds it all a little gaudy, honestly, but it was what came out of months of bickering between what used to be three different countries.

If the majority of people they pass by think it's just gaudy, however, that would be a blessing. Instead, Felix catches more wariness and curiosity in their gazes as they pass through the main street that leads all the way to the palace. No doubt some of them think this will just be the prelude to a fight. Others likely doubt this will be a success, just like a bunch of other nobles in Fodlan.

That's fine. Felix gets a thrill out of overcoming odds and proving people wrong. He knows a couple of others that are exactly the same... one of them being right at the end of this enormous road.

In Fodlan, certainly in Faerghus, a castle is given the strongest defense possible. It is the last line, so to speak, although things should never get that  bad. For those in what used to be Faerghus, it's a lesson they're all especially concerned about it. Too many kings have been lost to  their foes, and too many snakes have slithered on inside when they weren't careful.

In contrast, the road to Sihoma's treasured castle is just a straight line - a symbol of the Almyran ideal that one should always be able to take on whatever comes their way. And what is a king if not an ideal? A lot of things, in Felix's opinion and experience knowing two kings, but try telling that to other people. It takes them hardly any time at all in getting to the massive stone walls around the palace, smooth stone leaving no handholds to clamber up. Felix wonders if that's on purpose, or just an afterthought. This is a country that favors wyverns.

Past those walls is when the architecture of the country truly becomes stunning. The stables seem like any other in Fodlan, that's nothing special, but once their personal belongings are taken by some porters to be placed in whatever rooms have been prepared, and their group is guided to the main paths that go up into the palace. The tiles seem to shine in the shun, the edges placed with different colored stone and tile. Felix is now far too familiar with the restless sands that make up a non-insignificant portion of Almyra, but it's hard to connect that to the palace when he can see lush greenery flourishing in the ground and from various pots.

Claude had written to him about this, too - that there's some sort of underground water source that Sihoma has access to. Apparently they guard it with their lives... Or maybe just the really smart people do. Whoever the equivalent of an Annette they have here in Almyra. Wait, no.... Felix already knows who that is, here.

It's the name that leaves the lips of their guide as the enormous carved doors into the throne room are pulled open. "Arriving for the honor of being in front of Almyra's King Khalid are the representatives from Fodlan, Duke Felix Fraldarius and Lady Hilda Goneril." And Felix steps forward.

It's like walking into a punch to the stomach. Like all throne rooms, it's an enormous space, and the pillars which hold up its roof have intricate carvings that seem to go from top to bottom. Sunlight glitters in from strategically placed openings, which help capture cooler breezes and guide them down into the room. It makes the space  feel brilliant and ethereal, while still bearable to be in.

Felix doesn't care about any of that, because there's something even more brilliant seated right there on the Almyran throne.

It's never really been any secret that Claude has always been attractive. He turned heads back when the Garreg Mach Officer's Academy was still a thing, to the point that even Felix could recognize it whenever he wasn't busy swinging a sword. That had been in the stifling uniforms of the Academy, however, or, when they were older and Felix rarely saw him across a battlefield, in Alliance finery to showcase just how much he was a part of their side.

But he's never seen Claude in thin and flowy white cloth that makes his skin seem all the softer for it. He's never seen Claude draped in various pieces of glittering gold, along his arms and hanging from his ears and wrapped around his throat, the darkness of his hair making them all the brighter. He has never seen Claude with a fine crown that twists throughout those curls of his, coming to a rest with intricate design upon his forehead.

Felix has never really cared for the knightly idea of kneeling for any lord, no matter how high their title. Claude, lounging on his throne with those brilliant green eyes of his and a confident smile, really tests that idea.

Almyran spills forth from Claude's lips, and Felix doesn't have to wonder about their meaning for very long before Claude speaks again, this time in Fodlish. No doubt a translation. "Welcome to Almyra, my friends." Grand. Proper. A little formal. It's offset almost immediately by the cheeky grin that flashes across his face, something more him, and his following words. "It's been awhile, huh?"

It's how antsy the long trip it's made him. It's the heat frying his brain. It has to be a lot of things, one of which Felix is steadfastly ignoring because it would mean admitting that Claude looking this attractive is driving him up the wall, and it all leads to him stepping forward, his hand on his sword, and saying, "Fight me." Behind him, Hilda chokes in a breath as subtly as she can. Around him, no one seems to particularly react to this, besides a couple of guards who stir in consideration that they might get an order soon. That, and a few other things, has Felix promptly add something onto his statement. "Or who's your best fighter here? I'll go against them."

Claude is already laughing delightedly before Felix has so much as finished those sentences, and the tall man standing besides him seems close to doing the same with how his broad grin stretches across his bearded face. Felix can faintly recognize him; he's helped deliver messages between him and Claude before.

"I mean, I was going to let you recuperate from the trip a little first," Claude finally says, laughter winding down into chuckles. His eyes are still glittering; once he had written that Felix would fit in well in Almyra. Felix doesn't mind proving him right in this case. "You know, shake the dust from the road out of your clothes, get some food in you, that sort of thing... Fighting someone when they're not at their best would be downright discourteous."

Felix, frankly, has a lot to say on if he's in any sort of state to fight or not, and what's discourteous. As it turns out, he doesn't get a chance to say any of it. The room has plenty of people in it, a few of them guards while others have apparently just been spectators, or other distinguished warriors and nobles and whoever is important and cares enough to be here. One of them is a somewhat dour looking man who has his arms crossed, and growls something out in Almyran.

As someone who doesn't really speak the language, Felix hasn't the faintest what he's saying, but he can practically taste the disrespect in the air, and Claude's gaze smoothly slides over to the man who is, apparently, a part of his court. "But it does seem we have someone here who's perfectly at home with discourtesy, so who am I to stand in the way of that kind of luck?"

Well, this is interesting. "Courtesy doesn't exist in a fight," Felix scoffs, even as he can feel his body becoming a little more alert, a little more intent, now that he knows there's something to push himself at. Funnily enough, it makes him feel more at ease, too. This, he knows how to deal with. "Shall we move outside, or does it matter if we fight here?"

Behind him, some of his retinue starts to back away, although Felix notices from the corner of his eye that Hilda isn't bothering. She's just sighing, twirling some of her hair about. He suspects she's gotten way too adjusted to him way too quickly, during this journey. Fortunately for the rest of them, Claude grins and flicks his hand through the air carelessly. "Oh, we can definitely move this to a proper arena," he says. "But, since you're the challenger, you get to declare the terms. Weapons, mounts, that sort of thing. You can also state what you're fighting for - glory, honor, general 'I don't like your face' reasons, what have you."

Huh. A reason, is that so? Felix turns that over in his head, just as the grinning man besides Claude speaks up. "You could, for example," he says, crossing his arms, "declare your intention to fight for King Khalid's honor, since your opponent insulted him in your presence."

Felix blinks. Claude shoots the man A Look that suggests, somehow, suggests he's sticking his nose in Claude's business, and they both know it. Claude has always been good at little things like that. Unfortunately, all the bearded man does is grin.

"That would certainly be an interesting choice," Claude says, with his tone clearly saying he sure wouldn't have suggested that but here they are now, he supposes. "Nobility from Fodlan fighting a veteran warrior of Almyra, to defend the Almyran king's honor... Although usually the king defend his own honor, Nader." 

Another jolt of movement from Hilda, and Felix bothers to pay her a little more attention this time. It lets him catch the wide eyed look on her face, her fingers frozen from where she's curled her hair around them. He can't blame her. Isn't Nader the name of a general...?

...Has Claude been sending a famous Almyran general running around as his messenger boy?

Said famous Almyran general and apparent messenger boy just shrugs and smiles at Claude's words. "I was just presenting it as a possibility, sire. After all, I don't know how much Almyran our distinguished guests know, so without it being told it was an option, they might not be aware."

"Your consideration is impressive, Nader," Claude says, his tone once again subtly shifting with the implication that Talks Will Be Had, But Later.

Well, whatever. Felix thinks he has a solid idea of how he wants to do this, now - although some of it was always going to be solid no matter what. It's just the fine details. So he scoffs, lightly, and says, "We'll start off with swords, for now. No mounts. First to disarm or force the other to the ground for three seconds wins. As for what I'm fighting for... I won't do it for the Almyran King's honor." Funny, how distant that makes Claude seem. "That is King Khalid's business, and he can handle it thusly. I'll fight out of recognition for the respect I have for him."

Felix makes sure to meet his opponent's eyes.

"Because by Fodlan standards, if all you can do is insult your leader while he's right besides you instead of confronting him on your own time, we'd label you as an all-talk coward."

Even as Felix's opponent seethes, Claude chuckles. "For what it's worth, he has challenged me before," he remarks, watching that man idly. "Most of the people in this room have. I say 'for what it's worth' because he lost." That certainly isn't helping the temper boiling off a short distance away from him, but Claude doesn't seem to care. He merely rises to his feet, jewelry jangling sweetly with the motion. "But anyway! The terms are set. It will be in the main arena in, oh... Let's say somewhere within the hour, however long it takes for both sides to be there and ready. I can escort you there, Duke Fraldarius - while the rest of your entourage is escorted to their quarters. They might be more interested in rest than you."

There's that shine to Claude's eyes again, all amusement, as they shift towards where Hilda is standing near to Felix. He doesn't even have to look over his shoulder to know that relief is practically melting off of her, and she'd likely be clenching a fist in victory if not for the setting. Sure, the locals likely wouldn't care, but... something, something, appearances.

Felix doesn't get it.

Still, just to be sure, he glances back at her with a quirked up eyebrow, because this is her best friend that they're talking about here. That apparently means very little to her, because all she does is bat her eyelashes in That Way. "Thank you for your generosity, King Khalid," she says, saccharine sweet like she wasn't a person who would do her best to slide stable cleaning duty onto him when they were teenagers. "And good luck, Felix!"

While Felix is rolling his eyes, Claude just chuckles and inclines his head in the direction of an open hallway that leads from the throne room. "In that case... Walk with me."

No one makes a move to accompany them, even without Claude saying a word. That, much like the straight road to the palace, is something that is also rather different from Fodlan. Felix has seen how smothered Dimitri is sometimes, always needing someone or another to be around him unless he gives word or has someone trusted at his side, like Ashe and Ingrid acting as his retainers. If there hadn't actually been a couple of assassination attempts already, Felix would find it absolutely maddening. He still does, just now he understands it's a necessary nuisance.

Clearly, no matter the many assassination attempts Claude has told him about before in their letters, Almyra has different priorities when it comes to its king. Either they don't worry about their king and his ability to protect himself, they don't care about what would happen to Claude, or maybe it's a mixture. Felix doesn't particularly care for that train of thought, what it means for Claude. He doesn't like Claude being somewhere on his own, with no one to watch his back. To let him know that someone does care if he lives or dies.

He hopes it's just that no one makes a move to interfere with Claude's business unless Claude himself demands it, leaving them all free to do other things. The remaining guards trickle out, the guide from before starts to usher Hilda and the others along, and Felix's opponent storms off. When Felix lasts glances into the room, the only people who seem content to remain are presumably posted guards.

Well, there's no point in dwelling on it too hard. Felix just falls quiet, letting Claude guide him through the halls that look as warm as they feel, save for the whispers of a breeze that make it all feel cooler. It is only when they are far away from any other rooms, any turns into another hallway or out near a garden with all its greenery, does he speak up. "You look nice," he mutters from the corner of his mouth, feeling sort of stupid and embarrassed despite those three words being so simple and mundane.

What's not so simple or so mundane would be the way Claude grins at him, the expression lighting up his face more than any fine silks or expensive jewelry could. "I hope so. I wore this for you." But then there's that glimmer of slyness, and laughter starts teasing at the edge of his tone. "Is that why you desperately needed to fight someone? Because I looked too good in this?"

Ugh. Trust Claude to nail him exactly, even though he's been here for less than ten minutes. Incredible. "Be quiet," Felix grumbles, because he can't exactly deny the claim. Instead, he tries to occupy himself by looking around. Just how far is this arena, anyway? For something like that, he figured they'd soon be seeing either more gardens as they'd reach what he assumes is an outdoor area, or they'd be going into deeper hallways away from the sun from something that connects to such a massive place.

Right as he's wondering that, however, Claude glances around quickly before stepping towards a door. With absolutely no hesitation, he pulls it open and ushers Felix inside. He has barely a moment to take in the fact that he's entered a bedroom of some sort, quiet and empty, before Felix twists around.

They're in private. That's all he needs to know before he grabs Claude by the waist and surges forward.

"Besides," he says breathlessly, "it was pick a fight, or do this in front of a crowd." And he presses in for a kiss he's been waiting on for far too long.

Apparently, he's not been the only one waiting ages for it. Claude wraps his arms around him immediately, tight, and returns every bit of passion he's given. When Felix pulls away for a breather, chest heaving, Claude presses their foreheads together. "I've missed you," he says breathlessly, fingers curling into Felix's clothes.

"The letters were barely enough," Felix agrees, shifting so that he can press his face down into the crook of Claude's neck. "And they're definitely not enough now. Not when I've seen what kind of cur and scumbags hang around you all the time." He takes in a breath through his nose, lets the scent of salt and something he doesn't know the name of settle in his lungs. Did Claude always wear perfume before? He doesn't think so.

Claude's laugh rolls throughout his body, and travels up through Felix with how close they are. "You're going to end up fighting my whole court," he says, nose nuzzling into his hair. It must feel horrible, slick with sweat and not having been washed.

Claude doesn't seem to care, however, and Felix just breathes in his scent again. Claude has never cared.

At least, Claude has never cared in concern to the state of his hair. He sure cares for a lot of other things, however, pausing in thought for just a moment before he says, "Are you sure you know what you're doing, sunshine? You've been traveling, and Almyrans fight differently from anything you're used to. Plus, he is a battle hardened Almyran warrior. He was calling me a coward for not jumping on your challenge."

"Nosy fuck," Felix deadpans.

Claude snorts, shifting against him. When Felix glances up at his face from the corner of his eyes, he can see that his lover has closed his own. "And Almyrans have different priorities, too. We're not that honorable. We want glory and victory, not honor. He'll do whatever it takes to win, and that might include cheating. He might even 'accidentally' kill you, and then blame it on the people of Fodlan being too weak and fragile." Before Felix can argue about either of those adjectives being applied to him, Claude adds, "You're an amazing fighter, but you're also at a few disadvantages."

There are so many things to address there, Felix almost doesn't know where to start, so he picks one thing out of all of it as he pulls back. "Do you think I fight honorably, Claude?" he asks, raising an eyebrow incredulously.

Claude has to grin at that. "Maybe not on purpose, but you're more interested in a straight contest of skill, aren't you? Seeing who's the better fighter? It's not about winning, for you."

"Bringing in different techniques, even if they're underhanded, still counts," Felix protests, before finally glancing back to see what this room is like. What is presumably Claude's room is like.

Claude's room is, unsurprisingly and as usual, dominated by books. Reminiscent of rooms he'd occupied back in Fodlan, it's messy because of that love for knowledge. Servants must not be allowed in here; Felix can't imagine they would leave the room in such a state. Even with books and paper scattered here and there, it's still very clearly nicely furnished with drapes of yellow silk, a palatial bed that reminds Felix faintly of home, and furniture that looks practical while simultaneously old and distinguished.

Possibly the most impressive feature of the room would be a massive set of doors at the far end of the room. They're made of mostly glass, able to be seen through out to a broad and beautiful balcony. The doors are shut, for the time being, and golden curtains are pulled roughly 3/4ths of the way shut... but Felix can imagine how open and airy the room must be when the doors are thrown open to the breeze. He can also imagine how open it is for assassination attempts. Unfortunate that Almyran royalty seems expected to be able to field all sorts of opposition.

It's enough to make Felix feel twitchy again, and he huffs slightly. "I'll just have to be smarter and quicker than him," Felix says, glaring at a corner. "But if you're really concerned-" He cuts himself off, going a little red as he shakes his head. "Nevermind."

Like a fox on a hen out of its coop, Claude immediately goes, "Tell me."

Ugh. He should have just kept talking, slid in a change of conversation topic or something. Then again, Felix supposes that wouldn't have really distracted Claude either. Unfortunately for a great many people, Claude is incredibly brilliant. And if Felix doesn't tell him now, he'll just get annoying about it, and, well. They have under an hour to enjoy with one another before Felix has to face down his opponent in the arena.

So succumbing to the inevitable, Felix blows out a snort from his nostrils and sends the full range of his annoyance towards some innocent silks that have done nothing but exist in his presence. "If you're really that concerned," he forces out, "you could... give me a massage to ease away the fatigue. Or something." It sounds exactly as stupid coming out from between his lips as it did while stewing around in his head, and Felix makes a face. Swallowing a sword would have been preferable.

Claude, being Claude, just grins broadly. "I could," he purrs in agreement. "I certainly want to make the most out of the hour we have anyway..." Reaching up, he slides his palm against Felix's cheek, just to hold him.

Once upon a time, Felix tried to tell himself that trivial romantic sappery couldn't work on him. He even actually believed it, for a while. As it turns out, he's only impervious to fake sappery, like the kind Sylvain and Lorenz used to try on women back when they were all students. For the real deal? For Claude's palm, soft but calloused against his skin? Felix can't help but soften, turning to press his face against it a little more.

From this angle, it's easy to see in detail all the jewelry that decorates Claude's wrist. It's an interesting mixture of plain bands and other things more intricately crafted. Yet out of all the things that he can see that rest against Claude's skin, it's a simple band of black string that catches Felix's attention. He knows it well.

He once tied that very same band in his hair to make a ponytail, keeping it out of his face.

He once tied it around Claude's wrist, a reminder to eat and stay safe and that he wasn't alone, before he disappeared on his own to an entirely different country where Felix couldn't follow.

Embarrassment burns atrociously in the pit of his stomach, and Felix tries to smother himself against Claude's palm. "We're going to need more than an hour at this rate," he mutters, even though he knows they won't get it. It takes him a second, a moment to clear his throat, before he dares broach the subject he really cares about. "Did it do you any good?" He swallows again, even though it feels like swallowing a rock. "The tie."

"Of course." When he glances at Claude's face again, the man's smile has become softer. "Just knowing it used to be yours... It makes it comforting to have with me. I play with it when I'm stressed, or when I need comfort... and I think of you." It's a sweet sentiment, but all the sweetness in Claude's smile shifts to mischievousness in a heartbeat. "Should I ask if my headband helped you, or will you curl up and die right here?"

Felix's skin burns hotter than the desert, although not quite as hot as what he has wrapped around his thigh, hidden underneath his boots and pants. "I was close to stripping off my shirt multiple times on the way here," he mutters, referring to how he would tie the headband Claude is referring to around his forearm, hidden under his sleeve. That was easy enough to do, back in Fodlan. He can still remember Claude tying it around his wrist, a mirror of how Felix had done the same for him. "I tied it around my calf instead. I thought about putting it in my hair, but I figured that, knowing you, I'd run into enough nonsense to start with."

Nonsense like Claude's chuckling, or the way he leans in to press a kiss to Felix's forehead. "You love my nonsense," he murmurs. "Gods, it's so good to have you here. I've missed everything about you, but I think nothing more than that sulky sweetness of yours."

Turning his head, Felix catches Claude's jaw with a quick kiss before he can move out of position. "Maybe I missed your nonsense," he says quietly, feeling kind of stupid and ridiculous and full of love. It's embarrassing. He does not, for perhaps the first time in a while, want it to stop. "It didn't feel right without you in Fodlan. You and your smart mouth..." Taking a breath, he remembers enough of their situation to pull back. "So where do I even lay down around here?"

Claude grins. "The bed, obviously." Reaching down, he takes Felix by the hand. "C'mon. I need to make sure you're in fighting shape... and having an excuse to be all over you after we've been apart for months isn't going to be something I'll complain about."

"I'd make a comment about you taking me to bed so soon, but it's not like you haven't seen my dick before when we've bathed together," Felix says dryly. He lets Claude pull him towards the bed for a few steps, no tugging away. Somehow, he thinks Claude wasn't kidding when he said he wanted to be close to him.

Another grin is flashed over Claude's shoulder. "It doesn't help that I'm already thinking of how to sneak you in here every night," he says cheekily, finally letting go of Felix's hand but not stepping particularly far away.

That's fine, so long as he's not crowding Felix and making it difficult for him to start getting out of his clothes. First goes his cloak, which sinks down to the floor in a pool. "Have you been having any assassin troubles?"

"Not much," Claude says with a smile. "There were one or two right after my coronation, but it's tapered off a bit. I've been proving myself left and right since I got back, and foiling everyone who tries to kill or interfere with me is something I've been doing since I was a kid. People are starting to realize it might be less trouble to turn me into more of the king they want than trying to wholesale replace me. Eventually, I might even get them to the point where they'll actually listen to what I have to say, instead of clinging to the same old tired ideas."

Felix grunts a bit, tugging off his shirt to drop to the ground along with the cloak. "So I won't have to put my hands on anyone for that reason," he says with a low huff. "Well, it's better that you're safe." If Felix is disappointed, it's only because he knows that he can't help with anything else. This is all in Claude's hands, for better or worse. In Felix's hands are the belts around his waist that hold his swords and that he starts to undo.

Meanwhile, Claude sits down on his bed, and clears aside some of the books that are there. "How have you guys been back in Fodlan?" he asks, watching Felix with a soft and undeniable fondness.

It's the kind of look that always makes Felix's heart feel weak so, of course, like an absolute ass, he gets closer to it once he's dumped his belts onto the floor with shirt and cloak. "It's all going well," he says, sitting down on the bed besides Claude. It's soft, which he's glad for - even if not for himself. "A lot of things you saw before leaving are growing stronger, like how three countries are slowly coming into one. Even the lands that used to be the Empire's are getting into it. That war lasted too long." Felix grimaces, mostly from memories of that miserable time, and because of what he has to say next - not because it's terrible, but because it's sappy. "Dimitri isn't a cruel or selfish king, after all. He's made sure to listen to people, especially those most affected."

Which doesn't necessarily make the nobles happy, but, fortunately and thanks to their old professor, they've got some people on that side of the country to help navigate it.

Simply hearing Dimitri's name makes Claude's smile grow all the softer with affection. "And what about you and Sylvain? You two aren't working yourselves to death, are you?"

"I make no promises." Felix never thought he was overworking himself before, after all, at least until people pointed it out to him - Claude among them. Experimentally, he lays back on Claude's sheets. Not bad, so far. The constant weight of books has apparently not harmed it in this area. "But... We're trying, thanks to what you told us before you left."

It had been a simple little thing, really. Nothing particular indepth or wowing. Just... common sense. Just simple advice to remind them that they only had to really work on the things that actually needed them, and that it was a matter of figuring out what those things were. What things could be handed over to Dedue, or Lorenz, or Ferdinand. If Ingrid could help out in one place, or Leonie in another. What things truly required the attention of a king, or a duke, or a margrave. Bit by bit, Felix thinks they might actually be getting a hang of it.

At least it seems to be what Claude wants to hear, because he reaches over to smooth his hand along Felix's shoulder. "Good. And... dare I ask how the news that I'm the new king of Almyra went over with our friends?"

Closing his eyes, Felix snorts. "What, didn't Hilda give you an earful already?"

Claude laughs. "A letter-ful, definitely... But believe me, there was so much in there about her and how she felt about it, she never really got to telling me how anyone else reacted. I expect she's just waiting to catch me alone and twist my ear in punishment. I don't think pulling rank as a king will save me."

When Felix slowly cracks one eye open, it's to see Claude's own gaze is absolutely shining in amusement and adoration of his friend. A good look. That doesn't change Felix 'would make the jump necessary to get his own king in a headlock' Fraldarius's next words. "And pulling rank shouldn't save you. But you don't have to worry; Dimitri has been trying to keep quiet on telling too many people about that detail. He says it should be your choice, and he doesn't want that taken from you."

This wouldn't be a wrong time to get all soft and mushy over Dimitri again. Instead, Claude's eyes gleam. "Could this mean I still have a chance to shock Lorenz senseless?"

"I bet Hilda sure hasn't told him yet," Felix confirms, sneaking his hand over Claude's.

Claude laughs, bright and pleased, lacing his fingers together with Felix's. "I have to say, the biggest regret I had beyond leaving all of you behind was not getting to see the look on Lorenz's face when he found out the truth about me... Well, his and Count Gloucester's. If that's still something I might get to have..." The shine of delight in his eye turns just a little wicked before he shakes his head. "That said, sunshine," he hums, nudging him, "you'd better lay down properly so that I can start this massage. Our time's limited, since you had to line yourself up an activity immediately."

"That's your fault," Felix says, grunting as he turns himself over to lay on his stomach. His arms don't quite know what to do here. It might have been his suggestion, but he's honestly never had a massage in his life. For lack of better idea, he keeps them down at his sides. "What else was I supposed to do?"

"Try not to get too obviously erect like a normal person," Claude says, and Felix just barely catches his wink when he glances behind him. Soon enough, he's out of sight, and Felix can feel his weight settle along his back. His hands are warm where they press down against his shoulders. "So how are you holding up in this heat, Felix? It's no joke here, especially for someone who's not used to the climate. You're going to need to be careful, drink enough water and dress lightly. This is especially true with the way you go for physical activity. I can nurse you through heatstroke, but don't be fooled by how appealing that sounds."

The red at the tip of Felix's ears could be either sunburn or embarrassment, and he refuses to consider which it might be. "I hate it," he says flatly. "It's not how I usually dress, but taking off more clothing to feel cooler isn't actually something I should do, apparently. Then I'll be facing the sun head on." Honestly, the sun being a celestial body shouldn't be something that discards it from being fought. Felix suspects part of that might be all the heat in his head talking, however. "Hilda is actually smart about this kind of thing, so she's made sure we have enough water... but then again, considering her family's connection to Almyra, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

"I didn't say strip down, I said dress lighter," Claude points out. "Lighter, looser fabrics. Almyra isn't the place for heavy armor, or any more armor than you really need. You're lucky you lean mostly towards leather armor already; Sylvain and Dimitri would cook inside their own plate here."

"We'd have a roast boar on our hands just because he likes wearing black," Felix points out, before anything else he could say is lost in a soft moan as Claude's hands finally dig down into his back muscles. They go gently at first, just trying to loosen the tension there up. Felix doesn't realize how many knots he has in his back until Claude starts to slowly work one out.

While he's lost in the feeling of Claude's hands, his lover keeps going. "This outfit isn't just for enticing you, you know. It's pretty practical in the heat. Granted, it exposes a lot more skin than I'd suggest you do, but my skin's more resistant to burning than yours." His fingers slide away, and they're replaced by a soft kiss right at Felix's shoulder blade. "You'll need to be careful in the fight. You'll overheat much more easily than your opponent, which is another advantage he has over you."

Felix sighs at the kiss. "So is that advice to go slowly, or finish it quickly...?"

When Claude sighs, it's not about any kiss, but something a little more frustrated, or perhaps exasperated. Felix has never been good at telling apart the differences in such little tells. "Felix, I love you, and I have a lot of faith in your skills with a sword, but honestly, your acting like the result of this duel is a foregone conclusion is making me nervous. You're in Almyra now, and I don't think you understand what that means. Fighting is basically the national pasttime here. Pretty much anyone you fight here fights as much and as hard as you do, whereas in Fodlan, you're considered kind of an extremist in that area. Everyone you fight here is probably as skilled in combat as you are, and a lot of them have more experience - and all of them are heat resistant in ways you aren't.

As Claude talks, Felix reaches back awkwardly, fingers blindly trying to find Claude and follow up his body. Even as he does so, Claude keeps talking. "At this point, I'm less worried about them being able to take you on even footing - which you're not on, by the way, can't stress that enough - and more worried that you're underestimating what it means to fight an Almyran warrior so much that they could beat you based on your own misconceptions." Claude makes his job easier for him when he leans down, and presses a kiss to the back of Felix's neck. "And I want you to win. For a lot of reasons, both personal and political."

With Claude so close, it's easier to curl his fingers into the soft hair along the back of Claude's neck. "I know," he says, trying to be as soft and gentle as he can make himself to be. It's an awkward attempt; Felix can't say he's really ever been good at it. Not on purpose. "I'm not going to be stupid about this, Claude. I'm not dismissing that I'm going up against a tough battle. But one of the first things I was taught - besides the obvious lessons of don't point the sword tip at your face and remember to wear a belt so your pants don't fall down around your ass - was that you shouldn't go into a fight assuming you'll lose right off the bat.

"That sort of thing will hold you back, keep you from striking your best or fighting as hard as you can. So I don't think that. I'm think I'm going to win, so I just need to figure out how." Felix takes a breath. "So let me rephrase: do you think it would be better for me if I went slow so that I don't overwork and overheat myself, get a better idea of how he fights, or would it be better if I went hard and fast so that I don't drag the match on, and possibly catch him by surprise? What would have the better chance for victory?" Awkwardly, he turns his head to try and look at Claude. "Or is there something wrong with that kind of thinking?"

"I don't know," Claude says honestly, still hard to see from this position. "Personally, I feel like going into a fight believing you'll win is a form of arrogance... but I think that's not necessarily an objective truth so much as us having different styles. I don't believe I'll win when I go out into a fight, but I don't believe I'll lose, either. I'm just focused on the moves I need to make, the strategy I need to use to get the optimal outcome. Sometimes that's not even winning in the traditional sense, like when the optimal solution is avoiding fighting all together."

Felix grunts out a sort of understanding noise, because that sounds like Claude. He just doesn't get to do much more than that, before Claude is nuzzling against his back.

"But what's worked for you so far has obviously worked," he continues on, "so maybe my thinking differently doesn't mean you ought to change anything in your approach."

Claude settles down against Felix's back, so that he's more just outright laying down there than anything. It's hard to keep Felix's hand in place, but he makes it happen anyway, fingers kneading into those soft curls. Maybe because of that, his voice gains a particular sort of soft lilt to it that pleases a small part of Felix's heart he tries to pretend doesn't exist most of the time. "As for what approach would be best... I think that's something you'll need to gauge for yourself in the moment. If you don't have enough of an advantage to seal the deal quickly, then going fast might just overheat you quickly instead. Then, you'll be compromised if he manages to hold you off. But going slow might let the heat wear on you. I think that's a judgment call only you can make based on your own assessment of the situation."

There. Felix feels himself relax a little, and not just because of Claude's comforting weight against his spine. This feels better - not only because him and Claude aren't arguing, but because he at least knows what to do when it comes to a conversation like this. "Then I'll keep that in mind. You said you fought him, didn't you?"

"I did," Claude admits freely and casually. "For an Almyran king to lose at anything is a disgrace to him. So, as far as that goes, pretty much everyone who doesn't like me has been challenging me, hoping they can discredit me by beating me in something. I've had to be pretty creative in making sure I don't lose... creative and bold."

Finally, Felix lets his hand slip away from Claude's hair, and he smiles a bit. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

He thinks he can hear a smile in Claude's voice, too. "Did you want me to tell you how he fights?"

"Possibly, if it's relevant." Felix folds his arm underneath his chin. "Challenger chooses the terms and all that, right?"

"Mhm. Which means I never get to set them," Claude says, laughing quietly. "Of course, conveniently, the weapons I'm best with also happen to be the weapons my opponents are the best with, since we Almyrans tend to specialize. So when it comes to duels, either we're both using unfamiliar weaponry, or we're both using weapons we're comfortable with." There's a light grunt, an ease off of pressure from Felix's back, as Claude sits up again. "He prefers axes and bows, for the record. So you'll have a weapon advantage, at least."

Claude's hands begin to get a little more aggressive, ruthlessly attacking the knots they find in Felix's back. His eyes flutter, and it takes a bit of work to keep speaking. "I thought so. I remember you mentioning that kind of thing in-" Oh, oh, there's one really gone at, and he has to press his face into the sheets to muffle the soft moan he makes. It takes him a second to recover. " - back in Fodlan. Mm. Wyverns and archers. But that means I won't know much on his sword technique... What kind of fighter is he? Aggressive, cautious, versatile?" Maybe if his opponent is the kind to go charging in, well, that would be a turn of luck for Felix, he thinks. Maybe he could use that against him...

"I think you can safely chalk up just about every typical Almyran warrior in the 'aggressive' category," Claude says, and Felix can hear the wry grin in his voice. "I'd say stubborn, too - the opposite of versatile in his tactics. If his move of choice doesn't work the first time, then he'll just keep trying until it does or you beat him, whichever comes first. But he's experienced, and he's got a good eye. If you leave him any openings, he'll be on them like a cat on a dragging string."

Claude pauses a moment, no doubt taking stock of how Felix is tensing in excitement beneath him. Only when Felix forces his muscles to relax does he start up again.

"He's also very good at predicting and dodging strikes. That's why such blatantly telegraphed tactics work for him - he just needs to last long enough for you to slip up, and then he'll capitalize on it in a heartbeat. So... easy to read, hard to actually beat."

In other words, a worthy opponent. Felix takes a breath, tries to tell himself that he has to be calm instead of getting too worked up about having a worthy opponent. It's just that Byleth has been so busy doing that job of theirs that he hasn't really had a worthy sparring partner... Well, he guesses they've all been busy. Rebuilding a continent isn't an easy thing to do. "I bet the fight between the two of you was interesting, then."

"Not very," Claude says, grin in his voice. "I just gave him a fake opening to lunge for and then tripped him. I'd say he's easily baited, but after that, well... Maybe less so."

Oh. Felix presses his face down into the sheets, body shaking for an entirely different reason now. When he finally twists back around to look up at Claude, his grin is as wide as his eyes are bright. "Honestly, the second you said he jumps on openings, I was thinking of that exact same tactics."

Claude's own grin is brilliant. "Great minds think alike," he says, before he presses down against Felix's body again, all to bring himself close enough for a kiss like he thinks Felix's grin is going to vanish if he doesn't steal a little bit for himself.

Felix doesn't mind. He kisses right back, even though it's not a very easy thing to do in this kind of position. That's fine; he'll take the discomfort in his body in exchange for the comfort that this kiss brings him. It's honestly... been far too long since he's seen Claude. The war took a toll on all of them, and Felix can't help looking to those he cares for as if to ensure that this really isn't a dream. To ensure that this is truly the reality he lives in, where the people he cares for are still alive and well, working with him towards a future where hopefully this doesn't happen again for a damned long time.

He can do that easily enough, for his friends in Fodlan. He sees Dimitri regularly, has dinner with Sylvain, waves to Ingrid when she flies overhead on her pegasus. Annette and Ashe visit. It's all easy enough.

But Claude... It's been far too long since he's gotten to see him, separated by so many miles and the tension between countries. Being able to be with him again is - Felix wouldn't be so dramatic as to say that his heart feels complete now, but definitely like he's gotten a drink of water after days of walking through the desert. Fitting, he supposes.

When they finally break the kiss, Felix lets loose a slow breath. "I'll have to see what he's like in battle to really say," he murmurs, "But I have a few ideas on what to try with him now. I bet since he thinks everyone from Fodlan is weak and cowardly, I can use that to my advantage as well. So... Even if I have a challenge before me, have some faith, alright?"

"I do." Claude smiles at him again, and cups his cheek. "Honestly, provided you don't get heatstroke, I don't think he'll beat you. I just didn't want you to underestimate him, because he can be a pretty tough customer. And he's hardly the strongest of our warriors."

"Mm," Felix grunts, letting Claude slide his hand away so that he can settle against the bed again.

In turn, Claude settles along his back, and his fingers press in against the hard knots of Felix's muscles. "I appreciate you not fighting for my honor, by the way. Nader would certainly have shamed your opponent in a way, by demonstrating how a foreigner isn't just stronger than him, but also respects his king more than him... But he was being a little short sighted, in my opinion. Someone else fighting for my honor doesn't look that great from the broader perspective... and I don't want to be too obviously friendly and aligned with Fodlan this early on in being king. I need to be in better standing in Almyra first, or they'll start talking about how I'm going to sell out Almyra to Fodlan because of my Fodlan sympathies or something. Better to be at least a little circumspect until I've won more respect here."

Felix has no idea how Claude expects him to follow all this political talk with his fingers destroying knots in his back like he is, but he does his best anyway. "There are some things that only you can have a say in," he agrees, relaxed against the sheets. "And honor, if you really believe in that sort of nonsense, is one of those things. Respect is definitely another such thing." So he'll let that part slide. Felix cracks open one eye, shifting his head to look back at Claude again. "So was me fighting in the name of respect better for your purposes...? I wasn't expecting that suggestion, so I was improvising a bit, although I don't regret calling him a coward." 

"I can promise it certainly didn't hurt," Claude promises him, working on the last big knot. "For both the respect, and the namecalling. Although honestly, whether or not you respect me won't mean much to anyone here until you've made them respect you. It could happen, though - especially when you win this fight. A Fodlan warrior, tired from the road, challenging someone the minute he walks into the throne room, and then winning... It'll be great."

While he'd love to respond to that properly, especially to show appreciation for Claude's change of words, Felix can't really manage it. Not when Claude finally decimates that last knot in his back, and Felix groans quietly against the sheets.

Unfortunately, as good as that change is, Claude follows it up with some bad news. "That said... I regret to inform you that it's best the two of us don't fight in any visible capacity while you're here. No matter who loses, there'll be a loss of critical esteem in the eyes of other Almyrans for the defeat, and I need them to think well of both me and the people of Fodlan, so that sort of goes against what I'm trying to do here."

"A pity," Felix mumbles into the sheets, slumped boneless against them. "I need to bully you more into teaching me more about archery." Ugh. It's almost disgusting how much better he feels after that massage. "But that's fine. If I win this fight-" His words a concession in their own to Claude. "-then that'll make Dimitri impressive when he gets here and we get to our regular morning matches. We've been working off stress with that... The matches are close most of the time, but he does win. Think you can work with that too?"

"Oh, I'm sure," Claude says, fingers spreading along Felix's back. "People from Fodlan beating each other won't have much of an impact on what Almyrans think of your people, beyond any specifics of how you guys win or lose. If they're good fights, they may well earn you respect no matter who wins or loses." There's a pause, and then the smile drifts from Claude's face. Gently, he pats Felix's back. "I do want to warn you in advance that you're probably going to be pissed off or terrified for me on more than one occasion on this visit, though. I don't think that's avoidable."

"Tch." Typical that there's a catch. Felix's fingers tap aggressively against the bed. "And I'm not going to be able to do anything about it?"

"Probably not," Claude tells him. "As you can imagine, all the challenges I get are dangerous, but... well, not all of them are duels. You'd probably be happier if they were. And I'm still averaging at least a challenge a week, so since you'll be here a few months as you help set up Dimitri's visit and then during that visit, well, there's no way you won't witness a few."

A few more annoyed taps. "So what other challenges were you getting?"

"Mostly diving or archery contests." Claude's fingers dip lower along Felix's back, more reassuring than they are massaging him now. "Archery contests are self-explanatory, and I don't have any problems winning those - and they certainly won't make you nervous. But diving... well, it's a straightforward test of nerve, and people do die sometimes during them." Felix's fingers go still, almost in direct contrast to the way Claude traces nonsense idle patterns along his skin. "You fly up high with your wyverns, and then you dive. Whoever pulls out of the dive first loses."

"I'm shooting them out of the damn air," Felix says, so furious he feels ice cold from it.

"Felix," Claude says, a soft laugh to his voice that makes his worries seem almost nonsensical despite the fact that Felix is still pretty sure he still just said people die during dives. "Relax, I've won all of those too." He must recognize that doesn't exactly reassure Felix, considering what 'winning' means in this situation, so he keeps going. "It's a good sign for going forward. In the past, well... For the sake of disgracing someone truly awful or hated, some Almyrans would sacrifice themselves in dives. Just... never pulling up. Racing their opponents all the way to the ground.

"Some have even leapt off of their wyverns, so their wyvern could escape even if they died - because it usually kills the wyvern too, and we care a lot about our mounts here. Being willing to go that far... It's the ultimate vote of no confidence for a king in particular, and a sign of shame for the opponent whether you're a king or not. To make someone hate you so much that they'd die to publicly shame you... It's understandably assumed that you must be an awful piece of work."

Hating someone so much that you would die to announce to the world there's a problem... Felix shifts his face out from the sheets, finding himself staring at nothing in particular. He doesn't think he's hated anyone that much - not his father, not even Dimitri at his worst. It's a stupid sort of thing, one one hand, but on the other, he thinks he gets it.

In a culture where combat is assumed, dying in battle doesn't mean as much as it might otherwise. So to go so high up, dive down with no plans of pulling up and seeing the sky ever again...

Claude's hand smooths along his spine again. "Everyone I've dived against has pulled up rather than eat dirt. They hate me now, but none of them hate me as much as they think they do - because diving ends in an inevitable disgrace for one competitor, no matter what happens. So if you issue a diving challenge, you either have to be prepared to die to win, or you have to believe your opponent is a coward who will pull up first. If anyone hated me enough to die for it, they would've already challenged me... And everyone who has challenged me has just been assuming I'm more of a coward than I am, so all I need to do is hold my nerve until theirs breaks. Which isn't hard." Another soft laugh, and Felix suspects he's winking. "Besides, I'm one of the best wyvern riders in Almyra, and all the diving practice I've been getting isn't making me any worse at it. I'm better at pulling out of steep dives now than anyone who could challenge me."

Now that is reassuring. Not as reassuring as Claude's hand finding his when Felix blindly fumbles back for him again, however. "That doesn't make me like it any more."

"I know. There's a reason I warned you in advance." With Felix's hand in his, Claude leans down to press another kiss to the back of his neck. "I'm sorry for the worry it's going to cause you, but answering these challenges is winning me the respect I need. It's getting better, even now. People are starting to have to acknowledge me. Some are even on the verge of respecting me, and I do have a few people, like Nader, that I can rely on here. I'll be able to work with all of that soon." Sitting up again, Claude trails his fingers up Felix's back. "Poor Dimitri when he gets here... I think you'll handle it better than he will. He might have a heart attack."

"You'll be lucky if he doesn't pick a fight before I do," Felix snorts, letting his own hand drift down to Claude's thigh. It's comforting, just to touch him there with a light knead. "You know how his temper gets sometimes, even if it's gotten better than before."

"I know," Claude sighs, more desperately fond than exasperated. "I love you both so much." With that simple little sentence, he brushes aside some of the hair that's escaped Felix's messy bun, and presses another kiss to his shoulder.

What a terrible bastard. Felix starts to wiggle underneath him in an attempt to turn onto his back. "Do you want me to just kiss you already?" Felix accuses, even as Claude lifts himself up just enough to let him do as he wants.

Claude laughs. "The answer to that question is never going to be no."

"You and Sylvain are exactly the same," Felix says with a scoff, settling his hands on Claude's hips. "Do massages usually go like this? Because I don't think they do."

"Only the best ones," Claude says, winking and curving one palm along Felix's cheek. Without thinking too hard about it, Felix turns his face to nuzzle against it instead. "Anyway, I was pretty much finished, so now we can just do whatever we like for the next, oh... twenty minutes or so. Then we should get going. Earlier, if you have any preparations you need to make."

Closing his eyes, Felix thinks. "You could help me pick what sword I'll use," he suggests after a second. "If you want. I actually brought a few different ones."

"Couldn't that affect how well you do?" Claude asks, frown apparent in his voice even if Felix can't see it. "What if I choose one that makes it harder for you?"

"Then I'll veto you," Felix says, finally squinting open one eye. "I said help me choose. I'll use my own experience to see if there's reason not to. And I can tell you about why I'm doing it, or why another sword might be better suited."

With their positions as they are, it's easy enough to feel Claude relax. "Fair enough," he responds with a grin. "Although in that case, I wonder why you need my help at all..." Slinking downwards like he can just sink into Felix's rib cage, Claude folds his arms across his chest and rests his chin atop them. "Could it be for the sentimental value of your lover blessing the sword you're going to use to fight someone who impugned his honor...?"

Felix promptly squeezes his eyes shut again with a noise he tries to make disgusted. "Honor has nothing to do with it. Ugh! It's just... a good couple's activity."

Claude's grin is at its most terrible when it's so potently smug that Felix can feel it down to his bones just hearing him speak. "So it is a romantic thing." He wiggles a little, all to make himself even more comfortable. "Then of course I want to do it with you." 

Terrible. Incorrigible. Felix really can't believe him. Felix also wraps his arms around Claude's waist, linking his fingers together at the small of his lover's back. "Ten minutes, then, for doing whatever we like. Which is apparently just laying here, judging by you."

"I want to be with you," Claude murmurs, shifting against so that he can lay his head against Felix's chest. "Touching you, ideally. But honestly, just having you here would be enough on its own. We could be doing anything." Another soft laugh, but this one isn't soft from any sort of humor or relaxed feeling. "It's been lonely."

Typical. Didn't he say that he had people he could rely on not that long ago? "I knew that would happen," Felix mutters, rubbing the back of Claude's clothing with his thumb. I was worried that would happen. "It's just one disaster after another. You seriously have no one around here on your side besides Nader."

"Well, there's my parents," Claude grins. "Who you will be meeting tonight."

Felix goes still. "...How perceptive are they?"

"Extremely." Claude's grin doesn't seem to be lessening at all, the bastard. "Although, to be fair, with my father it may be restricted to just things of a dangerous nature. Schemes and threats and the like. A king's got to sleep with one eye open and all. But my mother... I've never been able to get anything by her. Believe me, I've tried."

Felix swears under his breath. "Do they already know about your love life? Because while you've been gone, my father has definitely picked up on some of mine."

"Not explicitly, no, and they haven't asked. Considering how my parents hooked up, they don't have much business trying to dictate what I do in my love life." A chuckle rolls out of Claude. "But my mother's definitely dropped some hints that she could tell I've been pining for someone back in Fodlan."

"She can tell you were pining with your face?" Felix asks incredulously, twisting his head so that he can stare at the exact same face he's talking about.

Claude bursts out with a laugh so intense it nearly rolls him off of Felix's body. "What's that supposed to mean? Do I have a face unsuited for pining?"

"You know what I mean! You're pretty good at acting."

"I am," Claude agrees, still grinning. "But she is my mother. How often do you really fool your father?"

Felix thinks about that for a moment, ponders getting into an argument on it all, before deciding otherwise. "I'm apparently a terrible liar, so that doesn't count," is what he announce instead. "It's not the same at all."

Shaking his head, Claude says, "I think with parents, it doesn't matter how good you might be at lying to everyone else." He closes his eyes. "They've known you since you were first learning to tell them, after all. They know all your tricks."

In the back of his mind, Felix thinks of the territory at the most northern part of Fodlan, and the family that lives there. He thinks of Sylvain laughing away little injuries, of staying with his family or at the royal castle in Fhirdiad for as long as he could. He thinks of being lost in the mountains, in the snow, for ages, and the people who should be watching for such things being so completely oblivious. "I think that just means your parents actually paid attention," he says, before letting his head thud back against the bed. "...Will they say anything? Your parents."

"Probably no more than enough to let you know they know," Claude murmurs. "They'll try to get a measure of you, though."

"I hope that doesn't mean fighting me, because my schedule is filled for today," Felix says flatly.

Claude only grins, because of course he does. "It might. That includes my mother too. You'd better be careful of her; she's got a punch like a mule's kick."

A small annoyed noise sounds off in Felix's chest. "Maybe I should start scheduling a fight with every single person in this place. Dimitri said that as a joke, before I left, but I might have to make it reality."

Patting him with just his fingers, palm not moving at all, Claude laughs. "It won't be necessary once you've fought a few people here. Once they've seen you in action and start to respect you, then you can just limit yourself to the fights you want. People won't be throwing challenges at your feet anymore."

"So I'll definitely have to win this battle, then," Felix scoffs. "I wasn't thinking of that when I first challenged him."

"I'm just glad I was able to slip in that warning about mounts. If you hadn't specified against them, most Almyrans wouldn't hesitate to bring their wyvern to a fight even if their opponent was on foot, and they'd feel any imbalance in the fight would be entirely on you for not laying down the terms better. Not that you haven't taken out wyvern riders before..." Claude shakes his head. "But it'd just be one more thing working against you."

Felix snorts. What a way to put it. "Definitely a thing against me, but can you imagine me somehow getting on his wyvern and punching his stupid face in until he fell off?" It probably wouldn't happen that way, he knows. That doesn't make it any less worth it to hear Claude laugh at the mental image.

As much as Felix would like to hear him make that sound for a long while yet, Claude soon quiets himself. "Speaking of, I'm going to guess that it's about time to get up."

With a reluctant grunt, Felix unwinds his arms from Claude's middle. "You're going to sneak me in later on tonight anyway, right?"

"Absolutely." Claude winks, pushing himself up. "I have a few secret passages around the place, actually, so I should be able to sneak you in pretty easily. And, of course, if you can stand riding on Mori at all, I can have him fly you to my window... Or at least pick you up with him."

That certainly has Felix perk up. "First of all, I've never ridden a wyvern before," Felix points out. "Second, is no one going to question the giant white wyvern flying around at night?"

Sliding off of the bed, Claude stretches his arms up over his head. "No, I ride him fairly regularly, and at all hours. He knows his way around, too, so sometimes I just let him fly me up to my window and then let him go afterwards." A lazy grin stretches over his face. "So people will just think it's me riding him around, no big deal."

Felix gets up onto his feet himself with a grin of his own. "I look nothing like you. Should I cover my face?"

"Just fly high," Claude tells him, and grins when Felix starts to mimic his stretches. Felix doesn't see what's so funny; it's important to stretch before any sort of match. "Or you can fly with me, and I'll make sure no one gets close enough to see who's on his back. But the nice thing about having the only white wyvern - besides my father's, that is - is that everyone just assumes it's me riding him. I've used that before."

"Well, I'll trust you not to let me fall off, then."

While Felix fetches the layers he had shed off, Claude plops down onto the edge of the bed to watch him. "Never," he promises. "But it'd help if you held me nice and tight." There's another grin when Felix huffs at him. "So, did your weapons go with the rest of your things to your room, just like all the others did as they headed to their rooms? I can take you there."

"I made sure to keep a couple of mine on me," Felix says as he glances up at Claude from beneath his bangs, although that probably doesn't need to be said. Not with how he's putting his belt around his hips, swords a reassuring weight there. "But I have more, and yeah, they should have gone to my room. Honestly, once I'm done with this nonsense, it'll be interesting to see what kind of blade holds up best against Almyran melee weapons."

"Swords are actually one of our lesser used weapons." As he explains, Claude glances over to the door, as if debating whether he should bother with it just yet. "We tend to lean towards short axes and spears - and bows, of course." His sudden pleased grin is Felix's only warning before he says, "Actually, I've arranged for there to be a small tournament during Dimitri's visit, where you'll get to see all sorts of Almyran fighting styles. It's not really one you can participate in, since it's meant to demonstrate Almyran techniques, but - well, you're not going to have any problems finding fights here anyway, obviously, so I hope it's not too much of a disappointment."

The coy bastard barely has any time to finish his sentence before Felix steps over to him, his shirt not even done up properly, and hauls Claude up onto his feet and into a kiss. "You know exactly what I like," he murmurs against Claude's lips, satisfied when he feels those arms wrap around his own waist.

He can feel those just as well as he can feel Claude's smile against his mouth. "I knew it would make you happy," Claude says. "And I know it'll interest Dimitri and Sylvain too, even if nobody could care as much as you do." He pulls back from Felix, and finally makes his way over to the door. Felix follows behind him, remembering to do up his front as he does so. "But I want to show you guys the best parts of Almyra. That's why I've got some local craftspeople visiting who make clothes and accessories, so Hilda will twist my ear a little less. I had the kitchens figure out some interesting cheese dishes for Dimitri, too, after we get back from riding some of my favorite horses from the royal stables."

"Busy," Felix comments, even as he remembers to sweep up his cloak from the ground. Generously, Claude waits for him by the door and only opens it when he's good and ready.

Instead of falling silent, however, Claude keeps talking; he must be confident in this area of the palace grounds. "The only person whose tastes I don't know how to cater to is Sylvain. Aside from loving the people around him, I don't know what special interests he really has. He's too focused on other people."

"Art," Felix says without batting an eye. "Every culture has art of some kind, and Almyra isn't any different, right?"

"Of course," Claude says automatically, blinking at him in surprise. Felix doesn't see what the big deal is. At least, not until he starts asking follow up questions. "He likes art?" Claude tilts his head to the side thoughtfully, moving through the halls of his home just as automatically as his earlier answer had been. "Well, I do know he liked Bernadetta's writing... and Ignatz's painting... but he encouraged a lot of people in pretty much anything they were doing, so I never thought that was necessarily indicative of an artistic bent."

"I know, he's a pain in the ass like that," Felix says flatly, before he reaches back to tug his hair out of its bun. He can just feel that it's not right, and he'd rather fix it up now, long before the fight starts, than have it bug him right in the middle. "But... I think he has an especially soft spot for art. The Gautier family is definitely one of the more martial and sports oriented families in Faerghus." Which is saying a lot, considering Faerghus. "They're nobility, so they've put in the bare minimum to care about that kind of thing, especially in terms of decorating their home... But it was never a priority, especially for someone they'd pegged as their heir."

Thinking about it, the bullshit they'd all put on Sylvain's shoulders despite not caring for the actual person one bit... Felix's lip curls, and he has to take in a slow hiss of breath inbetween his teeth to calm himself down. In the public space of the halls, Claude doesn't reach over to hold his hand, but their shoulders brush, just a bit.

Right. Felix gains control of himself again. "Anyway," he continues. "I think he likes art so much because it's so different from what his family cares about. There's an appreciation for it since it isn't something they'd care for or encourage. When we went to Derdriu, and he liked the cuisine so much? It's the same." He shrugs after a moment, maybe a little too hard. "Well, I suppose it's just a guess on my end. It's not like I ever asked."

"I think if anyone could guess Sylvain's preferences accurately, it's you," Claude says, smiling a little before he takes a turn down another hall. Felix wonders how long it will take for them to get to his room, and what it will even look like. "Don't worry."

"Who said I'm worrying?" Felix grumbles. "You're the one who was thinking about it. At any rate, with such a wide array of things to do that are nothing like what's in Gautier territory, there's bound to be something he likes. I wouldn't worry too much."

Another light shoulder bump, and then Claude perks up. Presumably, one of the doors down the hall they're in now is the door he's looking for. "That is true," Claude agrees, searching the doors carefully as they pass them by. "I've just wanted to share Almyra - the good parts of it, beyond the idiot displays of bravado and border skirmishes - with all of you for so long. But I didn't know what parts of Almyra would specifically appeal to Sylvain, so I haven't arranged anything special for him..."

"It shouldn't be too late to invite some artists or poets to the palace," Felix points out, glancing out to the windows that light their way. Too high up to be overheard easily. It's a reassuring feeling.

"Almyra doesn't have much use for sculptures or paintings really," Claude says, looking thoughtful. "We're often pretty nomadic, after all, and practical because of that. I suppose most of our artistic talent go into our textiles, our architecture in the permanent cities we do establish, and things like metalworking and leatherworking." He suddenly grins. "And we're not really much for poetry, per se, but we've got plenty of musicians."

Felix waves his hand dismissively. "Music with lyrics is just poetry with accompaniment," he says, and gets to enjoy the way Claude has to bite back his laugh so that no one overhears. It's satisfying, and made all the more so when Claude finally finds the right door for Felix's room. It's really nothing special, not like the kind of over the top catering to nobles that would have to be done in Fodlan, but still clearly made with beautiful craftsmanship from the stone to the furniture to the curtains hanging over the window.

There's really no need to wait. Felix immediately heads over to what he recognizes as his things, everything still fortunately packed up. He'll have to get it all out, but, later. He has more important things to focus on for the time being. While he pulls out the other swords he wants to show Claude, his lover's voice continues to drift up from behind him. "You know, while I know that, I wonder if some people around here do... Anyway, I was going to prepare a proper feast for Dimitri's arrival anyway, and that inevitably includes music and food. Sylvain should love it, in that case."

"Exactly. Now be quiet, and let me know what you think." With his swords all retrieved, Felix lays them down in a line on the floor. Even now, he feels a sense of pleasure and satisfaction at his collection. Some of it is thanks to the Fraldarius armory, of course, but others are things he's picked up and chosen all on his own to serve him magnificently in combat.

He can feel Claude sink down besides him, his weight and warmth at his arm. "Can you tell me a little bit about what I'm choosing from? I'm the bow guy, after all, not the sword guy. That's a title I think you've proudly claimed."

Felix rolls his eyes, although that might be true, before he reaches for the first sword out of the lot, one which he had packed with his things instead of carried on his person. "Did I ever tell you about my Zoltan sword?" he asks, unable to stop the eagerness in him from leaking into his voice.

"I don't think so, but now sounds like the perfect opportunity."

"It's incredible; Zoltan was a master swordsmith." Unsheathing the blade, Felix reaches over for Claude's hands so that he can get a feel for it himself. There are some things that are impossible to truly describe with words, he thinks. Certainly his words would fail him. "I got lucky - I was looking over some swords a merchant had picked up from somewhere, and most of them were just the typical fare. Despite that, I managed to spot this one that was different from the rest." A smile starts to appear on his lips. "I bought it, of course, and double checked with someone to confirm my suspicions. The craftsmanship is incredible, isn't it?"

Carefully, testing it, Claude hefts up the sword with minimal issue. "It really is," he agrees, eyeing the blade. "I'm not even that experienced with swords, but I can tell the balance is perfect. And it's beautiful, too." He sends a sly but genuine smile over to Felix. "Although not nearly as gorgeous as you are when you're talking about it."

Felix huffs and tries not to sink into one of his usual embarrassed scowls. He's still embarrassed, of course. "Less flattery, more focusing on swords, alright?"

"It's hard, since I haven't been aching for swords for months." Ignoring more of Felix's blush, Claude sets down the Zoltan sword so that he can glance at the rest of the lineup. It's not the longest one Felix has, but he likes to think it's varied enough. "Is there anything particularly special about the other blades that I'm not experienced enough with swords to recognize at a glance?"

He doesn't have to ask twice, and Felix immediately reaches for the - "Well, I wanted to see how the Wo Dao might do in Almyra," Felix says, after making sure that the Zoltan Sword has been placed down with the utmost care. He's not as concerned about the Wo Dao, although it is an incredible blade in its own right. "Feel how light it is."

Claude whistles as he tests the blade, not even needing to swing it to feel the difference between it and a Fodlan weapon. "Might not be a bad choice for not overheating yourself while you're using it..."

"That's what I was thinking. And look at how different the style of blade is compared to those from Fodlan." Felix gestures to the Zoltan sword and all the rest to make his point. "You have to fight with a completely different style to make full use of it, but when you do, it goes through obstacles like a work of art. I've practiced using it, including asking Shamir for help, so I like to think that I can wield it well enough. It also might be different enough from what my opponent is used to in Fodlish opponents that it could give me a slight advantage."

Handing back the Wo Dao, Claude looks over the last two. "I recognize a standard Faerghus blade with the third one, since I've seen plenty of people use it, but the last one looks a little more unique."

Trust Claude to pick up on a minor detail like that. Felix picks it up. "You've heard of the brave series of weapons, right?"

"Mhmm. I've used brave bows, myself." Claude perks up, interested. "So that's a brave sword?"

"Yeah." But before any of that... Felix glances over to Claude. It may not be his primary focus, but he's still an archer himself. "Are the bows a little heavier than average as well?"

Claude's answer comes with a grin and a nod. "But they handle incredibly. You can draw twice as fast if you can handle the weight. I've always wanted to know the secret behind their construction."

"Same," Felix agrees with a wide grin. He'll never be a blacksmith, but just to understand what goes behind a brave sword... "That's true for the swords as well. Once I've adjusted to the weight, it's an incredible weapon. I feel like I can press so much more, go harder on the offensive, while wielding a brave blade." He guides Claude's hands to the hilt again, and tries not to think about how Claude subtly leans against him. "Still, the weight is something to keep in mind. Because I tend to go even more on the offensive with it, the sword also needs constant upkeep to stay in good condition. It's not something I'll want to wield for a long battle; it might give out long before I do."

Claude nods with him, but doesn't answer. He doesn't lift the sword, either. He just keeps his hand underneath Felix's, where he's still holding onto Claude and sword both. It's not really a big deal in any way, Felix knows that. No doubt Claude is just thinking, and has forgotten that he's sitting so close against him. That happens, sometimes. It's the plague of tacticians, he's pretty sure. But... still.

"I bet using the sword's own weight can help you move it faster, once you've gotten the momentum behind it." Claude looks up at him again, after a cursory glance of the swords. "I think, looking at all these options, I'd go with the Wo Dao. There's no downsides to using it in a quick fight, and, in a prolonged one, it's got an edge over the others because you won't have to work as hard using it. The speed it can give you with its light weight might let you catch your opponent off-guard. No small number of Almyrans favor strength and size, your opponent included, but those bulky muscles can come at the cost of speed." 

"I think you mentioned that before," Felix says, before his brain is promptly set on fire with how Claude leans in to press a kiss to his jaw.

"You're smaller than he is," Claude continues, like he hasn't done anything wrong, "and you've always been quick. Even if you don't necessarily go for blitzkrieg tactics, leaning into keeping ahead of him is probably the best way to push the advantages that you do have." There's that grin on his face again. "Besides, I wouldn't want to dirty something so lovely as Zoltan's work on him."

Okay, that has Felix grin too, and he huffs out a quiet little noise that mmmmight be a laugh. "I agree. Once I got to experience for myself how hot the desert is, the Wo Dao has always been on the back of my mind. And, even more, I like the pettiness of your suggestion."

"Isn't my pettiness more in reference to what I'm saying not to use?" Claude teases, and laughs when Felix leans in with his nose against that soft fuzz along his jaw. "Although I'm glad that you agree with me."

"Semantics," Felix grumbles, kissing Claude's jaw. "It's a factor regardless." Still, he finally remembers to let go of Claude's hand so that, in turn, Claude can put down the brave sword. With his weapon finally decided on, well, he really should make his way to the arena sometime soon. He doesn't want anyone to think of him as a coward, after all. 

That doesn't mean he has to be reckless with putting away the rest of his weapons who won't be joining him for this particular match, however. He still wraps them up and stores them away safely. All of it happens to the tune of Claude teasing him, saying things like how only a truly dedicated word lover like himself would handle his weapons in such a way. Silly, honestly. Felix can't think of any swordsman who would treat his swords like trash.

"Did the massage help in any way?" Claude asks, while Felix is attaching his sword of choice to his belt.

Felix nods. "I feel more limber," he says, not thinking it's any sort of assurance until he sees Claude's hands lose some of their tension where Claude has them folded. "With that in mind, the Wo Dao is an even better choice." He'll be able to move... maybe not at his quickest, considering he's still fresh from the road instead of from a bed, but quicker than how he would have before.

"You're going to be incredible," Claude says, leaning in to peck him on the cheek again. "I can't wait to watch you... and getting to see that guy sat down by someone else for a change is just a bonus. He's been a thorn in my side for years." Hasn't Claude only been a king for a relatively short amount of time? Felix doesn't have a chance to put that question to voice before his lover nudges him. "But after the fight, I'm giving you a royal order to relax. You'll need to cool down at the very least. There's a nice pool in the courtyard that's right under my window that's for royal use; we can relax in that a bit. Great place to relax in on a hot day."

Because it's in his nature, Felix can't help but huff. "You're not my king," he grumbles, neglecting to say that he sometimes doesn't even listen to his king on a lot of days. Not without some arguing, anyway. Claude's grin says he knows that. "And isn't every day in Almyra a hot day?" He pauses, just long enough to satisfy his contrary nature, before he lets out a breath. "Still, with this heat, I don't think you'll find me complaining. I'll fight no matter the location, but I am wondering how an entire culture got like this in such an insufferably hot place."

"The heat's just another opponent," Claude says, winking as he escorts Felix along to the door of his room. "But then again, the cold is apparently another opponent for you and everyone else from Faerghus. It's kind of impossible to adjust a body to two different climates, so you either have a body that can handle Faerghus temperatures, or a body that can handle Almyra temperatures... And you can't change that, at least in one generation."

"Ugh."

"Anyway, I should go out ahead of you, reach my seat in the stands." Claude lets out a slow breath of his own, jewelry lightly jingling as he crosses his arms. "We'll be together as much as I can arrange it for the next couple of months; we probably don't need to give people any more reasons to talk. But first, let me give you directions on how to get to the arena..."

It's honestly not that confusing or difficult a route to memorize, quite frankly. Felix has visited noble houses that are a lot more annoying, filled with meaningless but expensive clutter. The Almyran royal palace is better in that regard, with tapestries or carvings along the wall that help him find his way through this new environment. He knows he's going the right way when he ends up in the open air gardens of the palace, and a small walled arena is before him with a little entrance he knows is for combatants. Even as he makes his way through that short path, Felix rests his hand along the pommel of his Wo Dao.

He'll win. He just has to figure out how to get there, and complete the journey. Exactly as he told Claude.

What's more surprising than the arena is that there's actually a decent buzz in it already, something he can hear even before he steps out onto the arena floor itself. Raising an eyebrow, Felix tilts his head back just enough to get a look at the stands. Word of mouth works fast in Almyra, maybe even faster than in the Leicester Alliance. The stands aren't packed, but they're pretty well populated all the same, especially considering how the duel is taking place so soon after the challenge was initially issued. Felix can even see Claude in a particular box clearly intended for royal use, and maybe any guests who've earned the honor. There's also Hilda, having settled in neatly with a brand new outfit, and she wiggles her fingers at him.

Well, spectators or no, the result will be the same no matter what, and Felix refocuses on the two other people that are ahead of him and waiting as he strides towards the center of the ring.

Nader is an easy enough figure to recognize, after all, and Felix never forgets the face of people who annoy him quite like his opponent has. Incredibly, the bastard seems even more sourfaced than before, which Felix didn't think was possible. Up close, he's definitely larger than Felix, and he's also using a large sword to match... just like Claude said he would.

In contrast, Nader seems to be having the time of his god damn life. "The terms have been set," he says with a grin, "and I doubt neither of you need reminding. Prince Afshin, Lord Felix Fraldarius, are you prepared?"

...Wait.

Felix doesn't stand there gobsmacked or anything. He just tilts his head to the side, brain clicking all the little details into place. "Prince?" he echoes, and he sharpens his focus even more in Afshin's direction.

For the first time, his opponent smiles, and the instinctive feeling Felix has to bite down is that he wants to grind it into the dirt. It's a thin, sharp, smug sort of thing. He'll find no end of satisfaction wiping it off. "Prince," Nader confirms mildly in the meanwhile. "Prince Afshin is one of King Khalid's many older brothers. Third oldest, wasn't it?"

"Yes." It's all Afshin says for now; he doesn't appear to have an interest in talking to either Felix or Nader. Incredible how he's apparently related to Claude of all people, but, then, Felix supposes that's part of the problem.

Nader shakes his head. "King Khalid is the youngest of his family," he informs Felix, although this isn't particularly new information. "And the only child of our most recent former queen, Tiana. The former king Darius' children of his earlier unions have a... strained relationship with His Majesty." For all that he's putting on a pretty neutral front, Nader also doesn't really hide the dead eyed look he gives Afshin. "Normally, we wouldn't speak of the political tensions of the Almyran royal family with an outsider so frankly, but Lord Darius' older sons are - as you may have noticed, Lord Fraldarius - vocal in their disapproval of King Khalid, so you'd hear about it regardless." He cocks an eyebrow at Felix. "That said, you might want to ask a man his name before - or at least when - you challenge him in the future, if you don't want surprises. A man can win a fight blindfolded, but it doesn't usually improve his chances."

"Oh, don't misunderstand." Felix's gaze flicks to Nader. "I would have challenged him no matter what. That he's a prince means frankly nothing to me, with how inconsequential that title is."

After all, to be a prince doesn't mean that one is naturally more skilled or talented or powerful in any way besides, really, monetary at best. Felix respects Dimitri now because he is a proper leader, someone who wants to make the lives of people better and safer. Him being a prince is only valuable because it allowed the two of them to meet sooner, when they were children... And, well, obviously how his Crest affects things.

But if there's one thing that Leonie taught him... It's that someone can be strong or clever or talented, they just had to fight all the harder to get to where they were. A prince, as far as he can concerned, can be lazy or talented, and that's really just like any other person.

No, what's important about Afshin being a prince is what it means in terms of his family. What's important is that this means he's related to Claude. He's known for a long time that Claude has so few people to rely on, even back when he thought it was really none of his business, and as recently as his and Claude's last letters to one another. To have so many siblings, half or not, and yet be unable to rely on any of them...

Felix's blood has always boiled, whenever he's stopped to think about it for longer than five seconds. It's the heat of someone who, even if Glenn haunted him for so many years, at least it was buoyed with the memories of his brother looking out for him. It's the heat of someone who had to watch Sylvain show up with strange bruises and scratch marks as a child, and wishing he could have later drove a sword into Miklan's chest.

Family shouldn't mean anything in particular, Felix feels, but it shouldn't mean your family should fucking try and kill you, either.

Right now, at least, his blood isn't boiling. Instead, even with the heat bearing down on him, it feels ice cold. Lifting his chin up like he isn't the shortest person in the arena, he makes sure to meet Afshin's eyes. "I was just thinking that it explained a few things, like my opponent's prior actions. I suppose I should apologize; I mislabeled you. You're more than a coward. You're a jealous one as well."

It would have worked well to Felix's advantage if this sort of thing could have worked up Afshin, but apparently his opponent isn't the hot headed type. All that happens is his lip curls slightly... and he actually speaks. To Felix. In Fodlish. What an honor. "To know cowardice, one must first know courage," he says, his voice low and full of contempt. Your people swim in sniveling softness like a fish swims in water, and you think your yapping holds meaning here? You can barely stand in the full light of our sun without shriveling, and you have yet the nerve to think of yourself as strong."

Afshin rests a hand on his hip. "My brother, soft-hearted coward that he is, at least has some true blood in him. He knows our ways, even as he tries to subvert them. But what are you? A pampered lapdog with delusions of grandeur, fresh from a single war, imagining yourself a wolf. As little as I respect my brother, or agree with anything he does, it's only at his command that I fight you at all. To demand I respect him by issuing punishment is his right as king, while he holds the throne. I welcome it. Perhaps he may yet show spine, thought he will never rule as a true Almyran ought.

"But understand - this fight demeans me. My opponent demeans me. You are a chittering squirrel, and no true Almyran would so much as acknowledge your noise. It is beneath our dignity." He narrows his eyes at Felix. Frankly, Felix is more distracted by the fact that he's fairly certain he can hear Hilda laughing, and he's not sure if it was at the pampered dog comment or the chittering squirrel one. "The shame of having to so much as acknowledge an insolent, ignorant Fodlan noble, of having to accept a duel with one as though one of your kind could ever be a worthy and equal opponent to an Almyran warrior, is a punishment - and Khalid knew this."

It's incredible how someone who can claim blood relation to a person, who has grown up with them, can know so little about them. Felix has years of dealing with his father to know that this doesn't have to be so strange, and yet it's incredible every time. Felix makes a show of rolling his head, even though Claude's massage erased the knots he was burdened with before.

"Remember those words," he says. "Every last one." He'll be sure to shove them back into that nonstop chatterbox of a mouth, after all, along with a heaping helping of sand. With that said, he looks back to Nader. "Anything else I should keep in mind for this match, with the terms established?"

Whether it's because he believed Afshin deserved his own time to insult Felix in turn or because he's only a general in comparison to a prince, Nader has listened to this whole exchange impassively. At Felix's question, however, he finally shifts to glance over to him. "Nothing, except that this isn't a blood match. The duel is simply to surrender or incapacitation, nothing more." His gaze flicks to Afshin. "For diplomatic reasons, among others."

Afshin snorts.

"Then I think we're done here," Felix announces, his hand finding his sword once again. "Now, it's time for our blades to do the talking." They're the only things that matter here, in the end.

Nader nods, glancing to both of them before he turns away to make for the exit out of the arena, or at least one of a few. "Once I'm out of the ring," he calls over his shoulder casually, "the two of you can start on your own time."

What a rather relaxed way of doing all of this. Felix almost thinks he could really learn to like it. Yet now isn't the time for thinking such trivial thoughts. Instead, he draws out his sword with a smooth confidence, and begins to circle around the arena with his eyes on Afshin. His opponent has the same idea, a definitive weight in his large sword that Felix can almost feel even though it's not in his hands. Both of them end up in a similar position, in the end: facing one another, swords ready, and able to see from the corner of their eyes exactly when Nader disappears through the exit.

Felix wastes no time whatsoever. He lunges forward, and aims to fight exactly as he always does with no hesitation.

Afshin is apparently of the same mind about it, his own sword already cleaving forward. Even as Felix dodges the attack, he can admit in the back of his subsconscious mind that it's a good move with a good stance behind it. As much as he would like to destroy Afshin's pride in the blink of an eye... This is better. Yeah. This is definitely better. It would have no meaning to it if it could be something reached like that.

So, in that way, it's good that Afshin, for all that he's a dastard , is an experienced one. When Felix retaliates with a blow of his own, Afshin uses the size of his sword to its best ability and blocks him. Again, an exchange, again, a dodge. Over and over. Claude pegged his brother perfectly, back when he told Felix about him, but perhaps it would always have been clear what kind of warrior he is even if Felix had gone in completely blind. All too soon, they fall into a sort of rhythm with one another: Afshin pushing onwards with his experience and endurance, while Felix pushes his body to match him with his quick feet and penchant for technique.

In a way, it's almost soothing. Felix is reminded of practicing against wooden dummies in Garreg Mach, in the Fraldarius estate, everywhere, finding the perfect way to strike. This time, however... This time the dummy can strike back, forces him to keep moving.

Felix bares his teeth in a grin. Yeah. He's going to like Almyra.

They continue to go at one another underneath the intense sun, again and again and again. To everyone else, it must look like they've locked themselves into a stalemate. Felix wouldn't blame anyone for thinking that, not when none of them have never attended school with him or seen him at war. All he does is keep pace with Afshin - never surpassing him, never lagging behind, just sticking to the same rhythm that the two of them have established with one another.

On one hand, of course this is going with the plan he first thought of when Claude described Afshin's fighting style... but, honestly, Felix would have done this anyway with an unknown opponent who he isn't planning to kill. Every blow exchanged or avoided is another piece of the puzzle that makes up Afshin's fighting style. And when he knows it all... Then that's how he'll beat him. So even though he lunged forward so quickly at the beginning of the match, Felix doesn't go as quickly as he could have. He doesn't yet take full advantage of his blade's capabilities.

Of course, this is the kind of knowledge that he can only gain and use effectively if he manages to last. And Afshin is a relentless opponent. Yet still, Felix waits. He watches, Afshin's technique practically beaten into his bones-

There! Felix spots the perfect moment in a heartbeat, twisting about in all the moments where he's previously parried or blocked in a particular way. As he twists, he adds his own spin, quite literally in a way, as he tilts the tip of his sword downwards and into the dirt of the arena. It's dry, and a bit hard, but it gives just enough for him to fling it up towards Afshin's face in a hail of dirt and dust.

It's a bit of a bastard move, one that draws out coughed curses and no doubt its share of furious tears that Felix can't see... but that's fine.

He told Claude he doesn't particularly care about honor either.

A burst of speed. A clang of metal. That's all it takes as Afshin's blade goes flying out of his hand, with Felix following up with a quick and brutal kick to his legs. A big guy makes a big impact, one that Felix relishes in the sound of as he straightens up. Sweat seems to cover every single bit of him, his clothes sticking to skin that's gone red with exertion and the sun's neverending heat. It feels especially intense at his cheeks, which must make him a mess to look at... but Felix doesn't bother to care for the time being. Instead, he just points his sword straight at his opponent, the sleek blade shining brilliantly. "Do you yield?" he asks - or perhaps demands, a vicious little twist to his voice.

Afshin glowers at him for a moment, pride still demanding that much, before he lowers his head with a huff. Pride means nothing in the face of results after all. "...I yield. You fought well."

Haaa. Felix finally lets loose a long, relaxed breath that isn't worth thin and fast by the demands of battle. Claude was apparently right, when he talked about the kinds of things that Almyrans traditionally value: strength, skill, and the result of all of that clashing. Afshin isn't exactly accepting this gracefully, judging by his reluctance and glare, but Felix doesn't need that either. Flicking away the remains of dirt that are on his sword, he sheathes it with otherwise little preamble. Later on, he'll really have to treat it well after everything it went through... "It was a good fight," he agrees simply. He'll give him that much, at least.

More buzzing is going through the stands, but Felix has never cared what other people have said about him. Instead, he focuses on one seat in particular. Up in his little box, Claude is grinning wide enough that Felix can see it even down on the ground where he's standing. "So does the King of Almyra find this fight satisfactory as well?" he yells upwards, forcing the sound up and out of a far too dry throat. This is probably going to bite his ass later, honestly, if not outright kill him. All the talking, and fighting, and now yelling? Oh well.

"Exemplary, in fact," Claude calls back, seeming to have a much easier time of it. The stadium carries his voice well. "Seeing the strength and skill of warriors from both Fodlan and Almyra is a rare opportunity, and I vastly prefer two fighters who've chosen to compete, at the top of their game, to forced border skirmishes. Or, of course, open war. I feel like circumstances such as these allow for a much purer expression of one's strengths and talents... and, of course, it permits for the selection of only the finest competitors, rather than chaos where who you fight is entirely a matter of chance."

Felix... suspects that this speech isn't really for him. Or, at least, it would be strange if it was, because this is all stuff he already knows. So he stays silent, listening as Claude continues. Fortunately, the things Claude says next are for him.

"And what of you, Lord Fraldarius?" Claude is still smiling, and Felix likes to imagine (as much as he'd never admit it) that his eyes are a little brighter when they focus on just him. Prince Afshin has fought the people of Fodlan before... though perhaps none so skilled. Perhaps, after today, his opinion of them will change." Felix really doubts it, but he doesn't let that stop him from feeling a little pleased at the praise from his lover. Which is stupid, and he knows it. Ugh. "But as for you - having fought one of our fine Almyran warriors, are you satisfied? Diplomats from Fodlan are rarely so eager to battle, but my people might be more fondly inclined towards yours if they were."

They both know that the real answer is that he'll never be satisfied, that he wants to rest up and throw himself into yet another challenge, another duel, another way to improve his blade...

But also he's hot and exhausted and pretty sure he has a headache coming on that's going to be all the worse once the adrenaline wears off. So Felix cuts to the case, only barely remembering that tact exists. "It was a good battle to start my stay with," he says, and doesn't say anything else about Afshin's character. He's made his views plenty known beforehand, after all. "Let's hope talks with my king go half as well, although he'll likely be satisfied by the state of Almyra's warriors himself."

Ever so faintly, he likes to think he can hear  Claude chuckle. "I'm sure our warriors would say that they don't need anyone's approval," Claude replies, his smile now something a little more subtle. A smirk, more likely than not. "Nonetheless, praise and recognition are pleasant from any source, aren't they? And it's said that it takes a skilled warrior to recognize another, since those who lack skill can't appreciate what they can't comprehend." He pushes himself up onto his feet, hands braced against what's before him. "That said, Lord Fraldarius... To fight so well without even resting after a long journey is all the more commendable in turn. I look forward to seeing just what you can do once you're in peak condition. But for now, you've earned your rest, and Almyra's climate is particularly harsh on those not used to it. I invite - dare I say urge - you to get some rest. Any diplomatic discussions or talks of preparations for King Dimitri's arrival can wait until tomorrow, at the very least."

"I'll accept that invitation," Felix says, more coolly than he feels, before he turns and walks away, through the same exit that he saw Nader leave through an entire battle ago.

Hilda finds him crouched behind some particularly large decorative plants, ignoring the possibility of any bug that could survive this wretched weather just so he can leech some faint coolness from them.

"Oh, you," she says, with the kind of exasperated fondness that really doesn't belong to someone like her. She hasn't even known him since before Garreg Mach - and really before the reunification of the country. Who said she could use that kind of tone with him? He sure didn't. Ignoring the fact that she's used that tone for probably the entire trip here. "You really couldn't hold back, huh?"

Somehow, he suspects she's talking about something else entirely besides fighting. He'd really like it if that was just the heat exhaustion hitting him. "Is there anyone else around?" he asks instead, getting to the more important point.

"Nope. Everyone's still talking back in the stadium. I came out just a little bit early, although it's not as though anyone has learned to miss me yet here." Before he can point out Hilda's particular brand of arrogant slyness (that will almost certainly work), he hears something else. Something beautiful. The sound of sloshing water. He forces himself to look up, eyes landing on the waterskin she wiggles in one hand. "I thought you might need a little assistance."

"I will say anything you want me to say if you give me that waterskin," he tells her seriously. "I'll even indulge your ego and say you're pretty."

Hilda only laughs at him some more, and she offers both of her hands: the one holding the waterskin, and the other with the palm up. "I know I am. For now, let's just get you back to your room."

With Hilda not in a state of utter exhaustion, it's easy enough to slip back to their room without anything embarrassing happening, and Felix collapses face first into his bed the second he's physically able to. It may not be the coldest bed he's ever laid in, but compared to the desert sun and his own burning hot body, it may as well be paradise. Frankly, he'd be perfectly content to just lay there, but Hilda manages to coax him to turn his head a little, drink whatever is left inside of the waterskin. With that done, his sandpaper throat parched to some degree, Felix closes his eyes for a moment again.

On the side of the bed, he can feel Hilda's weight as she sits down there, and there's the soft sound of beads clinking against one another - she's probably working on another one of her bracelets or necklaces, some other bit of jewelry. She did that often on the way here... And, in that aspect, it's a reassuring sound. One he can relax to as he lets his body finally soak in some much needed rest.

But the most reassuring sound of all is hearing the door to his room open, and Claude's voice following right after it.