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DMCL Day 3 - Soulmates
He's in the middle of doing all his pre-education about Fodlan when he learns about their extremely strict view on soulmates.
It's actually pretty fascinating, from his point of view. Everything else suggests that the different countries which make up Fodlan tend to be pretty different from each other in all sorts of ways. Even their main religion isn't that much, depending on what direction you're more in. The things like fashion may influence one another, but can go vastly different ways because of the climates, and just local sensibilities. What's necessary in the Kingdom is nothing more than a funny little dream down in the Alliance. Vice versa.
Yet when it comes down to soulmate marks? It feels like everybody over there agrees on just what it's like. On how it's about as much of a mystery from their Goddess as their Crests. On how much it means a whole lot of things - mainly, he suspects, the kind of excuses they have to make when one's soulmate doesn't fit the political needs of the family.
The common folk, at the very least, seem to have it a little easier on that front. You know. So long as it's not someone of noble blood they're bound to.
He's still in the middle of casually debating on if this is better or worse than how Almyra views it when he finally makes it into the Academy. Considering his family (on this side) and their reputation, he's not particularly surprised when he's made the leader of the Golden Deer. He's not surprised when he hears who the other two house leaders are. And, certainly, he's not surprised when he manages to fly under the the shadows, fitting right in without either of them suspecting a single thing. Why would they? There are maybe a few strange things, but it's all the basic gossip. No one would suspect the wild truth.
Just like they'd never suspect the wild truth of a little song he's been hearing ever since he was born, and which rings louder than the church bells when he comes to stand in front of the academy professors side by side with his fellow house leaders.
All his life, he's heard something of this song. Like instruments that could be found nowhere in all of Almyra. Even while young, he'd come to understand quickly what this meant for him - that this was how his soulmate mark was opting to manifest. A gentle far off lullaby, almot more a hum than anything else while he'd been in Almyra, indistinct and pleasant for it. Stepping onto Fodlish soil, and it'd sung ever higher - patient like a tense bowstring is patient, all trembling energy.
And in the high-ceiling rooms of the Academy, it's practically an orchestra singing out its triumph.
Claude keeps smiling throughout the entire explanation of their duties, what it is that they're expected to do, and doesn't move a hair out of place more than he means to. Doesn't let it show how that song has shifted from tension, to something almost more like an anxious hope. At least he's always keeping an eye on the people around him; that means it's really nothing different for him to watch how Dimitri and Edelgard are acting. Unfortunately, they're not acting too much at all that he can see. Edelgard just focused with pure determination on what's before her and maybe even what isn't, while Dimitri plays the perfect young student as he stands at attention. Already so military, before they've even gotten into any of the classes at this military academy.
Still, sometimes things require taking a gamble. Going on a gut feeling. It's not the most logical thing in the world, but if there's one thing Claude has learned in his life, it's that luck also can never be discounted. So he makes a choice, and, when the little pre-class meeting ends, he follows after Dimitri.
"Can I help you, Claude?" Dimitri doesn't hesitate in asking, maybe less than a minute after they've exited the room and are strolling out into the sunny day which spreads over the outside gardens.
No big reaction, Claude notes. No real indepth glance over his person, only the flicker of any stranger taking in another stranger coming up to them. Maybe he's playing it cool? Maybe his soulmate mark is something else entirely. Or, and this could be embarrassing, but Claude made the completely wrong call.
Well, if he's not going to give him a big reaction, Claude figures he'll return the favor. At least his game face has always been pretty excellent by way of necessity, if he may say so. "Oh, just flipped a coin and thought that I'd go along with you," he says cheerfully enough. "There's only two other house heads, after all, and I just have the one body. Although I have to admit, I don't think I've ever seen someone as stiff as you!"
Why did he say that. Well, alright, so yes, it is true, and also something maybe he was thinking, but if this is his soulmate, maybe he should try to be a little more suave rather than as playful and teasing as he's been making himself out to be for... a really long time he supposes. It's so embedded in him now, his primary method of defense against anyone trying to find someone they can take advantage of, that they can needle, something more than some silly relaxed guy with a smile... Maybe it's a little too embedded.
Well, either way, it seems to fluster the guy enough, and his back actually seem to go even straighter - and Claude thought that was a pretty tall order to begin with, considering it seems so stiff and straight as is. Impressive, really. "We are at a military academy," he says, just a little bit defensively. "This much is only proper." But then, a bit of hesitation. "Or is it different in Leicester?"
So, stiff, but still willing to engage in casual conversation with a guy who teases him, and is interested in other nations. Or, you know, his close neighbor at the very least. Perhaps there's something to be said about soulmate marks and how they fit people, or destiny, or whatever. Claude isn't really studied in that sort of thing.
All he knows is that these marks are pretty damn important in the broader culture of anywhere but especially with nobles, and that it's not too bad that this is the guy who he is pretty and reasonably sure is his soulmate.
It takes a little bit of effort, but Claude manages to cajole him to head to the mess hall for a late lunch while he tells him aaaaaall about the Leicester Alliance. If nothing else, he figures, even if he's wrong then he'll have made a decent enough ally in the crown prince of Faerghus. That's not too bad a thing to do, especially early on.
"Considering the food that they make here has to be served to a bunch of nobles and even royalty, I imagine it's pretty decent," Claude says conversationally as he takes a seat down at one of the long tables. "But then again, I like to think that I'm a pretty open-minded person, so I doubt it'll bother me too much!" Or, rather, it can't bother him any worse than most meals bother him. In some ways, he's very picky, and other ways, he's not picky at all. How can he be, when any food will have to do, so long as it isn't poisoned?
He's not sure if Faerghan princes have to deal with similar issues in their court... and yet there's something to Dimitri's gaze which tells of some story or another as he sits opposite of him. A sort of - it's not wariness, Claude knows wariness, he's seen it in his own face just looking in the mirror. A sort of something.
"Every chef works extremely hard to make the dishes that they do," he says, which sounds like the sort of mealy mouthed polite talk some nobles do, except there's such an edge of sincerity to Dimitri's voice that it's impossible to mistake it for anything else. "The ones here at the academy are surely no different, and so I am certain that the meal tastes absolutely lovely." Idly, in the back of his head, Claude notes there's something sort of off about that sentence. Which there shouldn't be. It's a very normal sentence. It's just something, and so, like so many somethings, he tucks that into the back of his head for later. It might mean nothing. Might mean the opposite, one day.
In the present day, he just grins, and reaches over to nudge at Dimitri's bowl of soup to press it closer to him. Nothing too invasive, of course. Doesn't put his fingers over the rim. Just goes to the curve of the dish, keeps it all in plain sight. A show of good faith. "Well, I suppose that's true, but then, you'd better reward all that hard work, right, Your Princeliness?"
It comes to him on a whim, that nickname. A silly little thing, as most nicknames should b. Kinder, at least. If nothing else, it catches Dimitri off-guard, who blinks at him a few times before huffing and very delicately picking up a spoon. "Princeliness? Really?"
Ah, so he's not so upset as to really scold him. If he didn't know better, Claude might almost think that he's rather fond of that stupid little nickname teasing at his station. Certainly he's not as upset as someone in his station could be. Claude just grins at him, picking up his spoon. (Good metal, he notes. Would probably detect the common poisons.) "What? I think it's a nice title. Maybe it might even catch on in high nobility culture."
"Oh, I should hope not." Dimitri starts to smile just a little bit, then, as he takes in a spoonful of soup. That's around when Claude is prepared to let the conversation lull into something a little more relaxed, not as active, in the fairness of them being able to use their mouths for things like eating.
...It's just. He can't help it. He's still somewhat looking over at Dimitri when he notices it. A reaction, a jolt of his shoulders, eyes just a little wide. No swallowing, not immediately. Instead, his hand stays somewhat near his mouth, almost as if hiding it.
Claude hasn't even had his own bite of literally anything yet, but he can't help it. He's nosy at heart. Maybe deeper than the heart. He grins over at Dimitri. "What, bug landed in your soup? We might be in for a bad school year if that's the case." Not serious, of course, because he thinks there'd be a big mess with some of the tastes in nobility-
"No!" Dimitri blurts out, so fast and hard that it actually makes Claude jump a little. He recovers after a second, setting the spoon back down awkwardly. He notes that the handle is just a touch bent. What he also notes is the soft pink of embarrassment which colors Dimitri's cheeks. "No. No. I apologize. I suppose I was just... startled by how good the soup was, here."
That's a pretty intense reaction over just some good soup. Then again, Claude supposes soups must be a pretty big thing over in Faerghus, which isn't too well known for verdant and bountiful crops, or anything like that. A good soup might just bring a man to that level of surprise.
....Nah. It still doesn't feel right.
Yet secrets aren't something that can be ferreted out in one afternoon after a first meeting - not in most cases, anyway, and it's usually not a good sign in some capacity if they are. So Claude grins, and teases, and eats the soup himself. It's pretty nice for soup. Not quite as flavorful as he's used to in Almyra, clearly a nice safe middle to account for the three different nations the Academy has to cater to, but it's nice.
Far nicer is how much more lively Dimitri seems to become over the course of lunch. Not that he's reserved, or shy, not exactly... Just that he perks up. In the background, the music lifts from its norm - the tension which always underlies it even on brighter notes, the thunderous burning drive of it. It lifts, and Dimitri's smile lifts up a little bit too, and things seem... nice. It's the start of the school year, in a place where he'll have to lie to everyone to keep a very important secret, but, in that moment, things seem nice.
So, the school year ends up being the opposite of nice.
In the heavy dark of night, Claude stands in the place he calls his room and stares out the window, in the direction of the Academy. This far away, and there's no way for him to see the thick smoke of desolation that no doubt still burns in its ancient halls. Even if the fire there has gone out, it still burns brightly in other ways all over this continent. War burns hot, after all.
He remembers seeing Dimitri there, during the raging battle. How he turned his violent hatred towards Edelgard, towards the Empire, in defending the students who had to escape.
Edelgard had allegedly promised their safety. But then, she'd promised some things in the beginning of their school year, too, and a lot of those promises had ended up in ash. If no one can trust her word, then Claude thinks that's just something she's going to live with. Unfortunately, he has a feeling she was prepared to live with that shattered trust a long time ago.
Speaking of things shattered... He recalls the ferocity, the violence, with which Dimitri went after the Empire. He wonders if he'll really be in fit enough state to go to his uncle, and demand them prepare for the war ahead of all of them.
Claude is still staring out the window, mind churning with everything that needs to be done, the people who might last and who likely won't, the ways the war will ripple out, when someone comes to the door. "There's been.... developments in Faerghus. His Highness, Crown Prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, has been put to death for the murder of his uncle, the regent."
Shattered enough to bear bloody wounds and snarl like an animal in the face of so many soldiers... Perhaps a man in such a state truly would kill his own blood in a fit of rage.
And yet, Claude still remembers looking at his back, seeing how he stalwartly put himself inbetween encroaching soldiers and innocent students who had not expected a war at a place such as the Academy. How he had never let a single enemy pass. How, even in his despair, he somehow still managed to have a heart like that, even while the song had practically screamed despair and rage and heartbreak.
"I see," he says. "Thank you for the update on Faerghus. I doubt some will take this lying down." He can think of a few stubborn noble families who won't bend the knee to whoever is behind this little stunt - Cornelia if he recalls its workings properly.
And he'll be sure to investigate this matter of Dimitri's death, too.
And he'll be sure to investigate this matter of Dimitri's death, too.
It's actually pretty fascinating, from his point of view. Everything else suggests that the different countries which make up Fodlan tend to be pretty different from each other in all sorts of ways. Even their main religion isn't that much, depending on what direction you're more in. The things like fashion may influence one another, but can go vastly different ways because of the climates, and just local sensibilities. What's necessary in the Kingdom is nothing more than a funny little dream down in the Alliance. Vice versa.
Yet when it comes down to soulmate marks? It feels like everybody over there agrees on just what it's like. On how it's about as much of a mystery from their Goddess as their Crests. On how much it means a whole lot of things - mainly, he suspects, the kind of excuses they have to make when one's soulmate doesn't fit the political needs of the family.
The common folk, at the very least, seem to have it a little easier on that front. You know. So long as it's not someone of noble blood they're bound to.
He's still in the middle of casually debating on if this is better or worse than how Almyra views it when he finally makes it into the Academy. Considering his family (on this side) and their reputation, he's not particularly surprised when he's made the leader of the Golden Deer. He's not surprised when he hears who the other two house leaders are. And, certainly, he's not surprised when he manages to fly under the the shadows, fitting right in without either of them suspecting a single thing. Why would they? There are maybe a few strange things, but it's all the basic gossip. No one would suspect the wild truth.
Just like they'd never suspect the wild truth of a little song he's been hearing ever since he was born, and which rings louder than the church bells when he comes to stand in front of the academy professors side by side with his fellow house leaders.
All his life, he's heard something of this song. Like instruments that could be found nowhere in all of Almyra. Even while young, he'd come to understand quickly what this meant for him - that this was how his soulmate mark was opting to manifest. A gentle far off lullaby, almot more a hum than anything else while he'd been in Almyra, indistinct and pleasant for it. Stepping onto Fodlish soil, and it'd sung ever higher - patient like a tense bowstring is patient, all trembling energy.
And in the high-ceiling rooms of the Academy, it's practically an orchestra singing out its triumph.
Claude keeps smiling throughout the entire explanation of their duties, what it is that they're expected to do, and doesn't move a hair out of place more than he means to. Doesn't let it show how that song has shifted from tension, to something almost more like an anxious hope. At least he's always keeping an eye on the people around him; that means it's really nothing different for him to watch how Dimitri and Edelgard are acting. Unfortunately, they're not acting too much at all that he can see. Edelgard just focused with pure determination on what's before her and maybe even what isn't, while Dimitri plays the perfect young student as he stands at attention. Already so military, before they've even gotten into any of the classes at this military academy.
Still, sometimes things require taking a gamble. Going on a gut feeling. It's not the most logical thing in the world, but if there's one thing Claude has learned in his life, it's that luck also can never be discounted. So he makes a choice, and, when the little pre-class meeting ends, he follows after Dimitri.
"Can I help you, Claude?" Dimitri doesn't hesitate in asking, maybe less than a minute after they've exited the room and are strolling out into the sunny day which spreads over the outside gardens.
No big reaction, Claude notes. No real indepth glance over his person, only the flicker of any stranger taking in another stranger coming up to them. Maybe he's playing it cool? Maybe his soulmate mark is something else entirely. Or, and this could be embarrassing, but Claude made the completely wrong call.
Well, if he's not going to give him a big reaction, Claude figures he'll return the favor. At least his game face has always been pretty excellent by way of necessity, if he may say so. "Oh, just flipped a coin and thought that I'd go along with you," he says cheerfully enough. "There's only two other house heads, after all, and I just have the one body. Although I have to admit, I don't think I've ever seen someone as stiff as you!"
Why did he say that. Well, alright, so yes, it is true, and also something maybe he was thinking, but if this is his soulmate, maybe he should try to be a little more suave rather than as playful and teasing as he's been making himself out to be for... a really long time he supposes. It's so embedded in him now, his primary method of defense against anyone trying to find someone they can take advantage of, that they can needle, something more than some silly relaxed guy with a smile... Maybe it's a little too embedded.
Well, either way, it seems to fluster the guy enough, and his back actually seem to go even straighter - and Claude thought that was a pretty tall order to begin with, considering it seems so stiff and straight as is. Impressive, really. "We are at a military academy," he says, just a little bit defensively. "This much is only proper." But then, a bit of hesitation. "Or is it different in Leicester?"
So, stiff, but still willing to engage in casual conversation with a guy who teases him, and is interested in other nations. Or, you know, his close neighbor at the very least. Perhaps there's something to be said about soulmate marks and how they fit people, or destiny, or whatever. Claude isn't really studied in that sort of thing.
All he knows is that these marks are pretty damn important in the broader culture of anywhere but especially with nobles, and that it's not too bad that this is the guy who he is pretty and reasonably sure is his soulmate.
It takes a little bit of effort, but Claude manages to cajole him to head to the mess hall for a late lunch while he tells him aaaaaall about the Leicester Alliance. If nothing else, he figures, even if he's wrong then he'll have made a decent enough ally in the crown prince of Faerghus. That's not too bad a thing to do, especially early on.
"Considering the food that they make here has to be served to a bunch of nobles and even royalty, I imagine it's pretty decent," Claude says conversationally as he takes a seat down at one of the long tables. "But then again, I like to think that I'm a pretty open-minded person, so I doubt it'll bother me too much!" Or, rather, it can't bother him any worse than most meals bother him. In some ways, he's very picky, and other ways, he's not picky at all. How can he be, when any food will have to do, so long as it isn't poisoned?
He's not sure if Faerghan princes have to deal with similar issues in their court... and yet there's something to Dimitri's gaze which tells of some story or another as he sits opposite of him. A sort of - it's not wariness, Claude knows wariness, he's seen it in his own face just looking in the mirror. A sort of something.
"Every chef works extremely hard to make the dishes that they do," he says, which sounds like the sort of mealy mouthed polite talk some nobles do, except there's such an edge of sincerity to Dimitri's voice that it's impossible to mistake it for anything else. "The ones here at the academy are surely no different, and so I am certain that the meal tastes absolutely lovely." Idly, in the back of his head, Claude notes there's something sort of off about that sentence. Which there shouldn't be. It's a very normal sentence. It's just something, and so, like so many somethings, he tucks that into the back of his head for later. It might mean nothing. Might mean the opposite, one day.
In the present day, he just grins, and reaches over to nudge at Dimitri's bowl of soup to press it closer to him. Nothing too invasive, of course. Doesn't put his fingers over the rim. Just goes to the curve of the dish, keeps it all in plain sight. A show of good faith. "Well, I suppose that's true, but then, you'd better reward all that hard work, right, Your Princeliness?"
It comes to him on a whim, that nickname. A silly little thing, as most nicknames should b. Kinder, at least. If nothing else, it catches Dimitri off-guard, who blinks at him a few times before huffing and very delicately picking up a spoon. "Princeliness? Really?"
Ah, so he's not so upset as to really scold him. If he didn't know better, Claude might almost think that he's rather fond of that stupid little nickname teasing at his station. Certainly he's not as upset as someone in his station could be. Claude just grins at him, picking up his spoon. (Good metal, he notes. Would probably detect the common poisons.) "What? I think it's a nice title. Maybe it might even catch on in high nobility culture."
"Oh, I should hope not." Dimitri starts to smile just a little bit, then, as he takes in a spoonful of soup. That's around when Claude is prepared to let the conversation lull into something a little more relaxed, not as active, in the fairness of them being able to use their mouths for things like eating.
...It's just. He can't help it. He's still somewhat looking over at Dimitri when he notices it. A reaction, a jolt of his shoulders, eyes just a little wide. No swallowing, not immediately. Instead, his hand stays somewhat near his mouth, almost as if hiding it.
Claude hasn't even had his own bite of literally anything yet, but he can't help it. He's nosy at heart. Maybe deeper than the heart. He grins over at Dimitri. "What, bug landed in your soup? We might be in for a bad school year if that's the case." Not serious, of course, because he thinks there'd be a big mess with some of the tastes in nobility-
"No!" Dimitri blurts out, so fast and hard that it actually makes Claude jump a little. He recovers after a second, setting the spoon back down awkwardly. He notes that the handle is just a touch bent. What he also notes is the soft pink of embarrassment which colors Dimitri's cheeks. "No. No. I apologize. I suppose I was just... startled by how good the soup was, here."
That's a pretty intense reaction over just some good soup. Then again, Claude supposes soups must be a pretty big thing over in Faerghus, which isn't too well known for verdant and bountiful crops, or anything like that. A good soup might just bring a man to that level of surprise.
....Nah. It still doesn't feel right.
Yet secrets aren't something that can be ferreted out in one afternoon after a first meeting - not in most cases, anyway, and it's usually not a good sign in some capacity if they are. So Claude grins, and teases, and eats the soup himself. It's pretty nice for soup. Not quite as flavorful as he's used to in Almyra, clearly a nice safe middle to account for the three different nations the Academy has to cater to, but it's nice.
Far nicer is how much more lively Dimitri seems to become over the course of lunch. Not that he's reserved, or shy, not exactly... Just that he perks up. In the background, the music lifts from its norm - the tension which always underlies it even on brighter notes, the thunderous burning drive of it. It lifts, and Dimitri's smile lifts up a little bit too, and things seem... nice. It's the start of the school year, in a place where he'll have to lie to everyone to keep a very important secret, but, in that moment, things seem nice.
So, the school year ends up being the opposite of nice.
In the heavy dark of night, Claude stands in the place he calls his room and stares out the window, in the direction of the Academy. This far away, and there's no way for him to see the thick smoke of desolation that no doubt still burns in its ancient halls. Even if the fire there has gone out, it still burns brightly in other ways all over this continent. War burns hot, after all.
He remembers seeing Dimitri there, during the raging battle. How he turned his violent hatred towards Edelgard, towards the Empire, in defending the students who had to escape.
Edelgard had allegedly promised their safety. But then, she'd promised some things in the beginning of their school year, too, and a lot of those promises had ended up in ash. If no one can trust her word, then Claude thinks that's just something she's going to live with. Unfortunately, he has a feeling she was prepared to live with that shattered trust a long time ago.
Speaking of things shattered... He recalls the ferocity, the violence, with which Dimitri went after the Empire. He wonders if he'll really be in fit enough state to go to his uncle, and demand them prepare for the war ahead of all of them.
Claude is still staring out the window, mind churning with everything that needs to be done, the people who might last and who likely won't, the ways the war will ripple out, when someone comes to the door. "There's been.... developments in Faerghus. His Highness, Crown Prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, has been put to death for the murder of his uncle, the regent."
Shattered enough to bear bloody wounds and snarl like an animal in the face of so many soldiers... Perhaps a man in such a state truly would kill his own blood in a fit of rage.
And yet, Claude still remembers looking at his back, seeing how he stalwartly put himself inbetween encroaching soldiers and innocent students who had not expected a war at a place such as the Academy. How he had never let a single enemy pass. How, even in his despair, he somehow still managed to have a heart like that, even while the song had practically screamed despair and rage and heartbreak.
"I see," he says. "Thank you for the update on Faerghus. I doubt some will take this lying down." He can think of a few stubborn noble families who won't bend the knee to whoever is behind this little stunt - Cornelia if he recalls its workings properly.
And he'll be sure to investigate this matter of Dimitri's death, too.
And he'll be sure to investigate this matter of Dimitri's death, too.