Chapter Text
When Claude stared at himself in the mirror, he wasn’t sure what version was staring back at him. Was he the charismatic student talking circles around his classmates? Was he the blood-stained prince pulling a dagger out of an assassin’s back? Was he the calculated schemer always slightly out of reach? Or was he someone else altogether?
He wasn’t sure.
He flexes his knuckles, wincing at the bruises starting to appear. He examines them; blue, purple, old bruises starting to yellow. He runs his other hand over them, enraptured by the steady throbbing in his hand. He barely flinches -it was nothing compared to his childhood in Almyra, and he had the scars to prove it.
The House Dark Magic tournament had been running for only a few days when Hilda had challenged him to enter, capitalizing on his pitiful attempts at dark magic. Make it two rounds, Claude, and I’ll take kitchen duty from you for a month. He had smirked and shook her hand, grasping it a little too long and a little too tight. He had, somehow, made it to the semi-finals, where he clashed with a fiendish, bloodthirsty Hubert. Within a second, the mage had him splayed out flat on the ground, and the tournament master called the match. Hubert strode over and offered his hand and when he took it, he felt a shock crawling up and down his arm. Hubert grinned like an apex predator who was feasting on his dinner, hissing a colorful slur for good measure. It was reserved for people who looked like him, those who didn’t match the perfect light color spectrum that Fódlan prided itself on. He had moved quickly, lunging at the taller man, forcing him on the ground, and then he was punching him over and over and over until the tournament master had to pull him away.
The throbbing in his knuckles started then, but he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over his face as he took in Hubert’s split lip and black eye. Manuela had rushed, voice harsh and scolding but he tuned her out, rage still burning bright throughout his body. He was panting hard when he looked away and saw their new professor staring at him with her endless, lifeless navy eyes. He lifted his chin in a challenge, and for a moment, he saw life ignite in her iris until it was quickly extinguished by Hubert’s moaning. She broke their gaze and gestured to her student who slowly dragged himself up from the floor, his split lip leaving a trail of blood down his shirt. If he was disappointed she didn’t look back at him when leaving the facility, he didn’t show it.
Claude knows he’s curious, which Hilda so lovingly calls nosy. Questions get asked and when answers are withheld, or the answer doesn’t quite add up to his calculations, he makes it his mission to twist someone’s wrist just a hair tighter until the truth is revealed. Curious. Nosy.
He figures that’s the reason that he is leaning against the wall outside of the Black Eagles classroom, knuckles still swollen, and a dagger being thrown from hand to hand. Manuela’s punishment was unenthusiastic and ineffective - she had refused to heal his injuries. It was fine by him, truly; the pain grounded him in the bittersweet reality of his life. Poetic, he thinks, pushing the point of the knife into his thumb.
The new professor’s eyes had held an answer to a question that he hadn’t asked yet, one that was formulated when his fist connected with her student’s mouth. All he knew about her was taken from the small moments that he had observed in the common areas and their fateful meeting in Remire Village. That night alone had told him everything and nothing like she had laid out points across a blank map and asked him to connect them with no guidance.
He could feel the tension between him and the professor since returning from Remire. Even he had to admit he was disappointed when she had chosen to lead the Black Eagles. Fighting beside her had felt like an intimate dance at a public event, one that teetered on the edge of life and death. It was natural, choreographed to perfection, and yet, he had never met her before. He knew when she was going to slide under his extended bow arm to cut down an enemy and he knew when she was going to leave her left side open for him to cover. He could have attributed it to similar combat research and ignored the Eastern techniques in her footwork, but the year was starting too slowly and Claude von Riegan loved a good challenge shrouded in an air of mystery with just a hint of irksome disappointment.
His eyes are still unfocused, lost in his thoughts when blue crosses into his line of sight.
“That knife looks sharp, Mr. von Riegan,” the new professor interrupts his thoughts. “You could hurt yourself.”
He grins, all teeth, meeting her eyes. “Claude,” he corrects her. “The danger of the injury is part of the fun, isn’t it, Teach?” The title slides out his mouth before it forms in his mind, and he’s attached to it instantly. She’s not a stuffy Hanneman professor type, but she’s also not overtly similar to Manuela either. If there’s a spectrum, he figures that she lies somewhere near the portion that describes a deadly, young (he notices, his eyes analyzing the unblemished, fair skin) professional that demands and deserves unadulterated respect while being rough around the edges. Her newly coined moniker fits her like that dagger always clipped to her front.
She flicks her hair out of her face.
“As fun as attacking my student, I am sure,” she responds, plucking the dagger out from between his hands mid-spin. She twirls it around her fingers, showing off, before handing it back. She gestures to his fingers. “How are those knuckles, by the way?”
“Better than Hubert’s split lip.” She crosses her arms over her chest. He feels the weight of her blank gaze dragging over him, probably trying to decipher his intentions. Her eyes narrow.
“What can I help you with?” She asks.
“What makes you think I need help?”
“You are hovering outside of my classroom on a Sunday.” He purses his lips but doesn’t respond. Shaking her head, she walks away from the classroom.
“Good point,” he finally admits, matching her pace as she crosses the courtyard. “I do have something that I’d like to discuss with you.” When she says nothing, he continues. Not a talker. “I wanted to know why you chose the Black Eagles class over the other two.” Over the Deer, over me, his mind populates unwillingly.
“It was a matter of measuring my teaching abilities against each house,” she responds, devoid of any emotion. Rehearsed.
“You’re being vague here,” he scratches the back of his neck. “Mind spelling it out for me?”
“As much as you continue to pretend to hide it, I am well aware of your intelligence. How about you spell it out for me instead?” He gnashes his teeth together but finds himself unable to refuse her request.
“You went with the class that needed the most help where you could provide it. The Black Eagles are gifted magically but physical combat is something that they lack. Hanneman and Manuela would essentially be teaching them things they already know - you wanted to balance them out. Give everyone a fighting chance.”
“Exactly.” She betrays nothing and continues on her way out of the Officers Academy.
“Still,” he fills the silence, “it would be an honor studying under you.” He almost bows, but figures that would be too much.
“I am sure,” she repeats, “but it was not a matter of choosing Edelgard over Dimitri.” She pauses. “Or you.” She’s seen through him, he realizes too late, and he wonders when that began. “I went where I was needed.”
“Who says I, the Deer, I mean, don’t need you?” His slip is calculated but she doesn’t rise to the bait. The flirt flys over her head and crashes into the ground behind her, reminding him of his cousin’s unfortunate accident.
“I am still here to advise you in more of a mentorship capacity if you so wish.”
“I might take you up on that,” he purrs.
“Although you did punch my student unprovoked,” she stops outside of the cathedral.
“It’s funny how lies turn into truth.” The anger is there again. “Can you ask Hubert what slur he spat at me? I can’t remember if it starts with an ‘m’ or an ‘s’.” She turns toward him, her whole body now angled at his.
“Excuse me?” That glimpse of fire is back in her eyes.
“Ask him,” he shoots back.
“I will. That is unacceptable,” she responds, surprising him. “I will plan to have a conversation with him.”
“No need, Teach.” He shows off his knuckles again. “I’ve got it covered.” Her face returns to its blank state. She tilts her head, searching his eyes once more. He feels naked under her gaze but squares his shoulders even so.
“Well,” she says. “I will be around if you are serious about mentorship.”
“That might not be a great idea seeing as we are from rival houses.” He attempts to look forlorn but it falls flat.
“Not rivals,” she rushes out. She looks past him. “Not rivals.” He steps away from her and her eyes snap back to his face.
“I’ll leave you to it, Teach.” He gestures towards the cathedral where he hears the light crooning of choir practice and makes out the imposing statues in the background.
“Will you be joining me?” She asks and he absently thinks that this is not the way that this conversation should be going. He shakes his head.
He hasn’t made peace with this Goddess or the ones in Almrya - how could someone be expected to do so when their prayers were ignored at a young age while his half-siblings knocked out his teeth and whispered bastard? Marianne and Ignatz prayed enough for the entire Golden Deer House combined.
“I’ll say my prayers later,” he lies. “Say hello to the Goddess for me.” He adds, his voice taking on an acidic tone that he didn’t plan. She says nothing of his shift and instead nods, walking into the building, taking unquestioned answers with her, and leaving behind the light scent of pine.
When she bows her head down to pray, she only has one request: for Claude to sever whatever ties that he’s trying to build around her. In her head, Sothis laughs. Dear child, she says, that would be like asking the sun not to rise.
He doesn’t realize that he’s staring daggers into his tea until Dimitri politely clears his throat. His mind never slows down, never once takes a break from overanalyzing every interaction he’s ever had. As he glances up, he notices the cocked head, the expectant look in the Prince’s eyes and it registers that he had promptly stopped listening during a simple, friendly conversation. Again. Dimitri is not one to complain and hasn’t been since he was introduced to the heir. He knows that he’ll just have to shrug and bat his eyes, blame it on the heat, and Dimitri’s face will turn a pretty pink until he repeats whatever question he asked.
It’s not wholly difficult to run circles around the two other house leaders, but it does take more strategic planning than he had thought. The two were smarter than he had originally given them credit for, a conclusion he had come to reach after Seteth had forced them into Church-mandated bonding time at the beginning of the year. His first interaction with them had included bickering between the two royals with a carefully placed quip on his part every few sentences. It was an odd experience, but not an entirely unwelcome one. He had extracted information from the two of them, the needle barely prickling their minds as he bottled up their hopes, fears, and secrets for safekeeping. The information is filed in the recesses of his mind, stored next to the professor’s affinity for pine: Dimitri, the brave, chivalrous Prince that hides a darker side that piques his interest, and Edelgard, the calculating, sharp Princess that is fueled by some misplaced sense of destiny.
Two ends of a double-edged dagger that he balances across his finger.
Allying himself with the two of them will pay dividends down the line, wherever and whenever that line ends. He inserts himself into their lives like he was never not there and is surprised to find that he enjoys their company for differing reasons, just separately. Remire Village had affirmed that for him.
So, he takes tea with Dimitri, or studies with El until some corner of his mind almost labels them as friends.
He sees his classmate less now that she’s obtained the expertise and tutelage of their new professor. He assumes that she’s bleeding her dry for every piece of knowledge that she holds close to her chest; after all, it’s what he would have done if she had chosen him. He tries not to dwell on the missed opportunity but it burrows deep into his veins, a persistent itch that he can’t quite scratch. It doesn’t help that he replays their meeting in his mind until the images meld into one another, and continues to feel unsettled about the way that it’s all played out thus far. He tries to shake off the backward nature of the situation, of how her decision feels like the wrong one low in his gut, but he fails.
“Claude,” Dimitri, golden boy Dimitri, says. “Are you alright?” He widens his eyes and taps his temple.
“You know me,” he shrugs. “I got carried away thinking about my next scheme for Manuela.” His companion frowns.
“You should be careful,” he advises, voice taking on a regal tone. “Our professors mean well and are trying their best with our training. You don’t want to get on any of their bad sides. It may not be a good idea.”
He nods vigorously. “You can count on me, Dimitri. Your guidance always sets me straight. Somewhat.”
As intended, Dimitri’s face goes pink. Claude revels in these moments when he can unnerve the prince just enough that his perfectly crafted world goes off-kilter. In moments like those, it’s easier for him to pretend like he’s another student, not another heir to a seat he doesn’t understand, struggling to fill a role he’s not sure is truly available to him. He takes note of the receding blush.
They sit quietly in the gazebo, capitalizing on the break between their classes. The sun warms his back and reminds him of his childhood, but he pushes that thought away before it can manifest into something like longing.
“So,” he says, breaking the silence. “What do you think of Teach?” Dimitri arches an eyebrow and Claude clicks his tongue. “Sorry, the new professor,” he drags out.
“What is there to think about? The Officers Academy and the Black Eagles will benefit greatly from her experiences.” Claude stifles the urge to roll his eyes.
“And what if I ask the question to my friend Dimitri and not the crown prince of Faerghus?” A light twitch of his lips and he knows that he’s wrapped the royal around his finger again.
“To be honest,” he lowers his voice, leaning in and placing his cup down. “I was incredibly impressed by her battle prowess during our run-in with the bandits. I thought that she would be a great addition to Lions, but it seems she thought otherwise.”
“Do you think there was a legitimate reason why she chose Edelgard?”
“As opposed to an illegitimate one?” He scoffs. “Not everyone is as untrustworthy as you believe, Claude. Her reasoning is probably a sound one.” He crosses his arms over his chest, the sun warming his exposed forearms. He’s reminded that he has to get out of the sun soon lest he looks too similar to Cyril and the other Almyran workers.
“One of the reasons I’m still alive is because of my genuine distrust of others,” he adds but continues quickly to avoid any follow-up questions about his revelation. “What reason would she have for choosing El over us?”
He, of course, already knows the answer after his verbal war-of-the-words with the professor only a week or two prior. Withholding information from others is second nature at this point and the idea that Dimitri would be in on the true reasoning fuels him to continue on the conversation. Claude, however, never gives out anything for free; it needs to be an equal exchange of goods or a test of some sort, whether it be patience or in this case, intelligence.
Dimitri does his adorable head tilt again, knitting his eyebrows together as he pieces his thoughts together. His companion takes a long drag of tea, comfortable with the uncomfortable silence.
“Well,” he finally sees, “if I were the professor, I would have gone with the house that most needed my assistance in the fields that I most excelled at. In that case, the Black Eagles need more combat experience and the professor is a trained mercenary. It only makes sense for her to go where she’s most comfortable.”
Claude nods, impressed. “Very nice, Your Majesty. There may be hope for you yet,” he teases and is rewarded with a rarely seen smile.
“What about you, then? You seem interested in the professor and her choices as of late. Is there something that’s bothering you?”
Ah. That’s when the barrier goes back up, having inched down during their banter. He’s careful about what he reveals to others, not wanting to give anyone any sort of leverage over him. He’s not quite sure when Dimitri realized his true intentions of the conversation.
“It’s nothing,” he shrugs, leaning back in his chair and waving to a passing student.
“You’re deflecting.” For a moment he sounds exasperated, but then the picture of the perfect prince is replaced. “I’m here for you if you want to talk.”
He’s been feeling exceptionally lonely recently, so he bites the bullet and answers the question laid before him.
“Something doesn’t feel right. With her decision, I mean.” He scratches his chin. “I’m half the noble that you are, so, unfortunately, piecing my thoughts together is proving troublesome.” He’s lying, of course, never one to undercut himself, but he’s not exactly sure how to say I felt something on the battlefield with the professor that I haven’t felt in a long time; partnership and safety. All of that information out of his mouth would be fodder for the gossiping animals at the academy.
Dimitri waits, patient as ever, until Claude figures out something to say; something that is believable and keeps the prince’s trust, but nothing crazy like the truth. Even he’s not that unbalanced. He closes off again.
“It’s hard to not take her choice personally, is all. Edelgard v.s. us. Why her?”
“I understand. I think we should give more credit to the professor. I’m sure she wouldn’t make such an important decision based solely on our personalities.”
“If she did, then she'd be teaching the Golden Deer,” he winks, backpedaling from a conversation that has turned too personal. Thankfully, his classmate takes the hint and doesn’t push too hard.
“You may be right. However, you also may be thinking too much, as you usually do.”
“I can’t fault you there,” he acquiesces. “But maybe you’re not thinking enough, Dima.” He flushes at his nickname.
“Hardly-”
“You two have started to think?” Edelgard walks up to the pair, her white hair tousled by the wind, and a sweet smile on her lips. He’s reminded of the wolves he’s seen in the wild, and how peaceful they look until they find your vulnerability and attack.
“Only because you are so much more intelligent than us, Princess! How else are we two simpletons to keep up with you?” He snaps into the version of himself that is much more tailored to Edelgard - she tends to look down on him for his less than regal upbringing, as far as she knows. She huffs and he peeks around her shoulder, lifting his chin at the figure behind her. “Hey, Teach.”
Dimitri bows his head. “Professor.” She nods at the two of them but otherwise stays silent. She’s as still as one of the statues in the cathedral, but quiet isn’t a good color on her.
“How can we help you?” Claude leans back in his chair, hands threaded behind his head. “Unless you just wanted to take tea with your two very best friends and Dimitri, of course.”
“No help needed today, Claude. We were heading to the training grounds and I thought I would say hello.” His eyes narrow but he doesn’t pull on the lie that she’s weaving around herself. Soon enough, she untangles it for him. “Although, while I have you, have you seen Lysithea anywhere?” His body tenses.
“Why?”
“No reason,” she bats her eyes. “Our professor here gave a fascinating lecture about white and dark magic uses and I thought that Lysithea would benefit greatly from it.” He knows what she’s doing, of course. The three of them can’t change classes, but that doesn’t mean that their house members are also locked into that rule.
“I haven’t seen her,” he says, smiling through the pain. “But I’ll pass along the message.” She examines him and he can see the protests beginning to unthaw in her throat before she changes her mind. He likes the heir to the Imperial throne, but she tends to cut below the belt when she has the option to. Her hands are less dirty that way.
“I appreciate that.” She glances off towards the training facility. “Well, we better get going. It was great catching up. Maybe we can study tomorrow?” She’s already walking away by the time she’s finished her sentence, her mind set on another goal that she can easily reach. It takes him a moment to realize that the professor has not followed Edelgard and is standing frozen in front of the pair, staring at the teacup in front of him.
“Professor?” Dimitri tilts his head and she blinks a few times, returning to the world of the living. Her navy eyes refocus.
“The merchants are importing in a few other teas today, at Ferdinand’s insistence,” she says as if she’s simply continuing a conversation with them. “Almyran pine needles and chamomile will be available, I believe. I was thinking of picking some up.”
“Chamomile is indeed my favorite, Professor. That’s a great choice.” The corners of her mouth lift imperceptibly.
“Well, then I hope you will join me for some tea soon, Dimitri.” She nods and there’s a phantom feeling of envy growing hot in his chest. She turns her gaze back to his.
“What about you, Claude?”
“Isn’t there some sort of rule against recruiting other house leaders?” He asks, unexpected anger boiling in his voice. He’s not sure where it’s coming from - he hasn’t interacted with the woman as much as he would have liked to and has no claim on her attention and dedication. She’s shrouded in indifference with her invitation to him, but still, there’s that underlying current of something that he’s missing. As much as he keeps others a great distance away, the idea of not being privy to all happenings at the monastery bothers him. He tries to know everything and everyone but the one person that he’s curious about most of all hides behind a facade. At least he can see that clearly.
His emotions rise further to the surface and he faintly hears his mother chiding him for revealing so much. He feels the heat color his face, breaking through his dark complexion.
Dimitri grimaces like he ate something sour.
“I apologize for him, Professor.” She doesn’t take her eyes off of him and instead, he sees the glimmer of a challenge floating in her iris.
“There is no need for that,” she responds. “Although,” she continues, emitting harsher energy than before. “You seemed to be interested in spending more time with me the other day. I wonder what has changed,” she muses. “If the idea of mentoring is no longer on the table, that is no problem. I have a few other avenues I can pursue,” she emphasizes before focusing on Dimitri. “The tea will be waiting, Dimitri.” She bows slightly to the prince before angling her body towards his once more. “Claude.” Her tone is clipped and emotionless, her darker energy dissipating. She leaves the two of them at the table, the Alliance heir juggling a million different emotions that she has awakened in him: anger, confusion, jealousy.
“Are you alright?” Dimitri asks again.
“You know me,” is all he manages to get out.
She arrives at the training facility, already shucking off her cloak and grabbing an axe. The Princess is watching her carefully, going through the motions of her warm-up.
“Professor,” Edelgard says as she approaches her. “Your lip is bleeding.” She touches her mouth and her hand comes away with dark blood. “Are you alright?” She scowls, turning her thoughts back to a certain Alliance heir and his ability to worm his way under her skin. Not unlike her life with him before, but still, it’s colder. He’s different, as is she. She pretends like it doesn’t bother her, but the truth is in her shredded lip.
He steers clear of the Black Eagles classroom as much as he can. His visceral, defensive reaction to their professor turns over in his head, but his mind isn’t sharp enough to cut through the fog, or to even begin to understand why he has wholly rejected her the way he has. It’s a dizzying turn even for him. He supposes it’s because of her inscrutable disposition, the way that she continues to be steeped in a mystery that she has no plan of unraveling. It could even be a latent possessiveness that he has no right to claim. But the tightening in his chest is there, the anger flaring out to his fingertips, burning up by a fire that has no oxidizing agent.
He sees her occasionally in the library, the dining hall, or near the pond, but turns quickly on his heel before she can see him. It’s unlike him to avoid a problem - he’s always rushed into things headfirst with some outline of a plan that he’ll pass off as concrete after the dust settles. Still, he can’t entertain the idea of interacting with her quite yet, his ego still bruised from their second round of verbal sparring.
That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t watch her when she’s around, when she cannot see him. She’s still intriguing as ever, impassive and professional for someone only a year or two older than him. She interacts well with the other students across all classes, somehow coaxing Bernadetta out of her room and softening Felix’s tough exterior. Her face remains blank most of the time, but every now and again she’ll reveal a rare emotion: a smile at her favorite dessert, a look of pride when she catches a fish, and admiration when she’s with her father. He doesn’t know if she’s aware that he’s watching her, but regardless, the cracks of her face let some of her emotions shine through.
“Ugh,” Hilda scrunches her nose. “You’re staring again! What’s with you?” He trains his eyes on his friend, dragging them away from the professor’s form crossing out of the dining hall.
“I don’t know what you mean. You know I only have eyes for you, Hil.” She scoffs and chucks a piece of bread at his head. He rubs his forehead where it connected. “So small, so strong.”
“Why are you staring at the professor?” She prods. Hilda has known him for the longest and is getting dangerously close to seeing the truth underneath his lies. He could push her away, but it would take the fun out of an otherwise boring beginning to the year.
“Have you seen her? She’s beautiful,” he says, skewing his face into a dreamy look.
“That’s public knowledge around here. What I want to know is why she has so efficiently captured our untamable house leader’s attention.” He rolls his eyes.
“She hasn’t captured my attention.” She raises an eyebrow. “She’s intriguing.”
“So is Ignatz but you don’t see me analyzing him.”
“But you do stare holes into the back of Marianne’s head,” he retorts and she snaps her fingers.
“Exactly my point! I’m mesmerized by Marianne,” she states like it’s a universal truth. In some ways, it is for her. “I’m so desperately intrigued by her that I find myself staring way more than necessary. Sound familiar?”
He winces. “I’m not mesmerized by her. She’s a puzzle I’m trying to reassemble.”
“So staring is necessary?”
“I’ll admit that I have been watching her, but think of it as reconnaissance.” She bites into her lunch.
“If I say yes, it is reconnaissance, will you sleep better tonight?” He smiles, canines showing.
“I’ll sleep better tonight if you’re with me.”
She chucks another piece of bread at his head which he thankfully ducks away from. “As if, Claude. You know that pretty little face doesn’t work on me.” She gestures to the doorway, where the wind has blown the professor back in. Her cape flutters. “Maybe it’ll work on her.”
She ignores his staring, but the weight of his eyes follows her to her room at night. If he notices her staring back, too, he says nothing.
The training facility smells of sweat and sawdust. He’s sure that at least one of those fragrances he has had a hand in, he thinks, as he wipes the moisture from his forehead. Sometimes he misses his longer hair, but with the sun beating down on his back and his heart racing from training, he’s thankful that he shorn it once he became a legitimate heir to the Riegan estate. All the more to fit in.
He rolls his sleeves up even further and pulls at his shirt to alleviate some of the heat. The axe in his hand has thoroughly imprinted itself into his palm, with the tiny splinters to prove it. He knows he’ll be picking those out throughout the rest of the night. But, he reminds himself that Manuela won’t entertain the idea of him focusing on anything but his bow and arrow, so the long hours he puts in to train on the axe will have to be vigorous and, unfortunately, on his own. He has to remind himself that he’s used to the feeling of being utterly alone, but he had at least expected more from his professor. Then again, he’s been burned too many times by relying on others - maybe it’s time for him to learn his lesson. Maybe he’ll keep one of those splinters between his thumb and pointer finger and push on it when he’s tempted to lean on someone else. Maybe.
The sounds of two pairs of footsteps have him moving quickly to the weapons rack to store the axe and by the time the duo round the corner, his is the picture of relaxation: stretched across the side of the facility with a book opened across his chest. Every limb is posed, every gesture practiced. Even the lazy flip of a page has been rehearsed perfectly, to cultivate his crafted personality of choice, and that personality for anyone to see is very obviously I couldn’t care less. Only when his name is called does he draw his eyes away from the page that he wasn’t reading.
“Hello, Claude,” Ignatz says, smiling. “It’s good to see you.” Claude likes this about Ignatz - when he says that he is happy to see someone, he is being truthful. No hidden agendas, just Ignatz. In response, he waves at his classmate who brightens at the attention before rushing over to the weapons rack. In the shadow of Ignatz’s wake is the person that he has actively avoided.
“Hey, Teach,” he calls and is met with an icy stare.
“Claude.” Her tone is clipped again. “What brings you out here today?” He makes a show of glancing around the space.
“It is the training facility. I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to be here.” Her cheeks puff out slightly.
“Yes, a training facility. And yet, you sit here not training.” He’s once again caught off guard by her repartee, and if he’s being honest, riveted by it. “You are allowed to be here, of course, but I figured a student of your caliber would be using their time in this space to learn something.”
“Sorry to disappoint you. Only take me at face value, Teach. It’ll be better for everyone.” She purses her lips, a soft pink that he hasn’t noticed before until Ignatz enters back into the scene holding two bows and a bundle of arrows. He sheepishly looks over at his house leader.
“Manuela hasn’t exactly been helping with my archery training. I know the professor here has archery experience, so I asked for some extra training with her.” He glances down, suddenly fascinated by his feet. “Only if that’s okay with you.” Of course, Hilda had spread it around the house that Claude and the new professor were somewhat at odds, so the Deer were fully up-to-date with his feelings towards her. How Hilda had managed to spin it into a torrid love affair was laughable, but he was never one to stop her fun or end a rumor - the more rumors people heard, the more they ignored the blatant truth about him that would get mixed in there sometimes.
“Who am I to stand in the way of your intellectual pursuits, Ignatz? That wouldn’t make me a very good house leader.” He pulls his gaze from his feet and nods. “Besides, if the Professor has offered you her expertise, it would be foolish to not accept.” The Alliance heir pastes on a blinding smile.
“Thank you,” he tells him and he shoots him a thumbs up. She tells him to get into his stance and while she circles him, pointing out adjusting, Claude stays silent until her voice stops.
“Let me ask you this,” he begins, but she doesn’t avert her gaze from her pupil’s. “I’ve only ever seen you use a sword in battle. It’s my responsibility to make sure that Ignatz is learning from the best. Do you have experience with archery?” She asks for his permission before adjusting his bow hold.
“I have been using a bow for a very long time,” she answers, a hint of irritation creeping into her voice.
“How long?”
“Longer than you.”
He scoffs. “I sincerely doubt that. We’re about the same age.” She finally looks at him, her eyes molten.
“Are you sure about that?” She doesn’t wait for his response and turns her attention back to the bespectacled boy with trembling hands. She takes a step back to examine his full-body stance and capture’s Claude’s eye who is busy searching for any flaw possible. She crosses her arm and sighs. “If you must know, a close partner of mine spent many years training me personally.” Her tongue stutters on partner and he smirks.
“A partner?” Her eyes narrow.
“A partner.”
“And where did he learn?”
“He was Almyran.” She doesn’t correct his assumptive pronoun, nor does he miss her use of past tense verbiage. To end the conversation, she adds: “He died.”
His next batch of questions dies in his throat, but he finds no pity or sadness in her eyes. If anything, he sees a flicker of pride where there wasn’t before.
“Well,” he says, only to fill the silence. “Just pretend I’m not here.”
It’s startling to watch how quickly she does forget that he’s there, spending the next hour correcting every minute detail of Ignatz’s form and execution. By the time that they wrap up, he has successfully hit multiple bullseyes without flinching. The beginnings of a rare smile appear on her face as she pats him on the shoulder and he scurries out of the facility. Claude’s still watching her as she puts the targets and weapons away.
“You think very loudly,” She finally says.
“I’ve been told that,” he admits. The sun has lowered and her eyes have taken on the same deep, dark color.
“Tell me what I was doing wrong.” Pressure builds at the base of his skill, but he ignores it.
“You stand like you’re a swordsman.” The words fall out before he’s even aware of forming them in his mind.
“That’s because I am one.” A sense of déjà vu settles over him. He shakes his head and the pressure recedes.
“If you’re teaching an archer, you should probably learn how to stand like one. But you already know that.”
“I do not pretend to know everything which is why I had my partner help me in the first place. You could have interrupted with your feedback. I would have welcomed it and I am sure Ignatz would have been better with it.”
“If he would have been better with it, why didn’t he come to me in the first place?” Ah. His jealousy has reared its ugly, ugly head. She tilts her head to the side.
“The Deer adore you. Maybe they find you a bit intimidating.”
“Are you speaking from experience?”
“Do you want the truth?”
“Always.”
“You can come off as unapproachable to your classmates.”
“And that’s my fault?” She shrugs.
“You asked me a question. I answered,” she states. “What you do or do not do with the information does not concern me.” He rolls his eyes.
“So much for mentorship,” he shoots back. He sees the exasperation creeping into her stance, her eyes, her lips.
“If I recall correctly, you pushed that off the table quite quickly the other day.” He’s on his feet before he can fully process it.
“I’m just getting some mixed signals here, Teach.”
“I was going to say the same thing.” The space is charged with electricity that Claude hasn’t felt before and he tentatively pushes on it with his foot. He feels the static shock him and moves a step back.
She steps back, too.
“My goal is not to fight with you. I’m here to help you in any capacity that is appropriate and that you want.” She runs her hands through her hair and he follows the motion. He suddenly wants to tangle his hands in that hair. “But, that is for you to decide.” She grabs her cloak off of the floor. “And when you do, let me know. If you want.” In her trademark fashion, she doesn’t wait for a response and disappears out of the facility. The electricity dissipates and he’s left feeling hot.
In her room, she twirls her wedding ring around her finger, the only thing that made the trek back in time with her. She worries that she's been too harsh with him, but she knows that it would be selfish for her to pursue him like he’s the same Khalid that she married. She had a life and a family with that Khalid and it would be unfair for her to take advantage of the connection they had previously by assuming it's one in the same this time around. Before he had passed, she had told him that she would always choose him if he wanted her, but Claude’s intentions are clear as mud with no straight path to take. It’s better this way, she thinks and is met with a petulant cough. Keep telling yourself that, Sothis speaks. Don’t forget that it is foolish to fight against destiny, child. Whatever will happen, will happen. She twirls her ring again and again until orchids paint the back of her eyelids.