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Mist and smoke blocked Claude’s view of the night sky. Through the trees, he could make out the light and activity of the medic tent, and beyond that he could hear the tentative beginning of celebration as the reality of the Alliance’s victory sank in, but he was alone beyond the sheltering copse of trees. He listened to the giddy shouts of the soldiers and tried to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth.
Dimitri was dead. Duke Fraldarius was due in camp in the morning to work out a truce, but it was clear his hopes for the Kingdom’s ultimate victory against Adrestia had died with his prince. All that was left was to protect the people and hope Leicester could succeed where Faerghus had not.
Claude had liked Dimitri. It was true that the young prince had been plagued by shadows even back in their school days, but Dimitri had believed in his people. He’d had hopes which no darkness could steal from him. In another world, one where Edelgard had reached out to them before reaching for her sword, perhaps he would have been able to banish his ghosts.
Then again, if Byleth had chosen Dimitri all those years ago, would Claude have been the one hacked to pieces tonight instead?
The mist swirled around him, silent, but the cold he felt went deeper than his skin. It wasn’t the first time he’d pondered about how different his future would look had Byleth not come into his life, but contemplating her absence seemed especially unpleasant tonight. Sleep was not going to come easy, not that it ever did.
A soft step caught his attention, and he turned his face from the veiled sky to catch sight of Byleth making her way toward him through the underbrush. She always seemed to show up when he needed her the most. Maybe that was part of what had so disarmed him about her.
“You should be resting, my friend,” he said as she settled beside him in the grass. If the damp bothered her, she gave no sign of it.
“You should take your own advice. It’ll be a long march back to Garreg Mach.”
He made a face. “All uphill, too. And I am exhausted,” he admitted, “but I don’t think I can sleep.”
Byleth nodded in mute sympathy. She was staring off in the direction of the silent battlefield, though there wasn’t much to see in the murky dark. Perhaps there was just as much on her mind as on his, though it was always hard to tell with her. He could usually tell when something was bothering her these days, but there were times she still caught him off-guard.
It was possible that, just like him, she could never really sleep after battle.
“I can’t either. Though I don’t sleep much at all, since I came back,” she said. He didn’t reply; he wasn’t sure what he could say that could possibly capture all of his thoughts and feelings on that subject.
Byleth watched him for a few moments longer before turning her eyes back to the shadows. “Did you ever try to negotiate with her?”
“Edelgard, you mean?” Claude frowned. “You think she would have entertained an alliance?”
“You said yourself that your goals are similar.” Byleth’s arms came up around her legs as she hugged her knees to her chest. “If her true enemy was the church, why not accept an alliance with Leicester? Rhea was captured and I was gone so the church had no real leadership. The bishops are still out there, but no one knows who they are. The rest of the clergy had retreated, and the Kingdom believed Dimitri to be dead. She had no reason to enter into hostilities with you.”
Claude watched the mist curl around the smoke. He wondered if any of the wheat fields had survived, or if they’d been torched just in case they fell into his hands. “I sent a few offers her way through the years, but I never got a response. She can’t implement her changes without being in charge of all of Fodlan,” he said at last. “I suppose I can’t either, although I would have started with just Leicester. Convincing the round table to negotiate peace with Almyra is ambitious enough, much less all of Fodlan. But maybe that’s what it will take. Maybe neither of us can stop fighting until power is consolidated in one person.”
Byleth hummed. “And you’re sure you want to be that person?”
“Gods no,” he laughed. “I’m just not sure anyone else can do it.”
Her eyes turned to him, asking the obvious question. He sighed and wished again that he could see the stars. That would make answering it feel a little less intimidating.
“I have some influence in Almyra. If I’m careful, I may end up having a lot of influence in Almyra. And as the Sovereign Duke of Leicester, I have some sway in Alliance politics as well. There’s no one else in Fodlan with that much power on both sides of the border. Maybe there never will be again.” He turned and studied her face in the darkness. “It’s the best chance of an alliance between my two homelands in history, and it might be the last chance for it for another hundred generations. I have to try.”
“I understand.” Byleth’s gaze was steady on his. “Could Almyra come to Leicester’s aid now?”
He made a slight face. “My father isn’t keen on taking any action that might look like an invasion. And my brother…he does want an invasion.”
“Your father being the king, I presume?”
Claude’s heart turned over in his chest.
“Yes,” he said after a moment’s hesitation, “my father being the king. Shah, if we’re going to be pedantic. Shahanshah, if we really want to get politically correct.”
Byleth’s expression didn’t change in the minutest detail. She didn’t even blink, and for a second he felt as if the ground had dropped away beneath him. He’d just told her the biggest and most dangerous secret he’d ever harbored, the one that had nearly cost him his life many times over, and she hadn’t so much as twitched.
Then she said, very dryly: “Didn’t grow up in luxury, my ass.”
Claude’s laugh startled out of him, unexpected and loud, and it was a moment or two before he could speak again. “That’s all you have to say, my friend?”
She eyed him. “Were you expecting dramatics?”
“From you? I guess not. But it is a pretty big deal, you have to admit. And besides, I really didn’t grow up in luxury. I spent a lot of time in a military camp in the desert.”
“And the rest of your time was spent in royal palaces.”
He squirmed under her scrutiny. “Yes,” he muttered, chagrined. “But only on special occasions, I swear.”
“Special occasions,” she repeated, only a little incredulous, and then she flopped down onto her back and stared up at the sky. The breeze was picking up, stirring the fog and the smoke. Patches of the night sky were starting to appear as the wind rustled through the trees. “Next you’ll tell me you really do know all those stuffy noble dances.”
He stretched out beside her, folding his hands under his head. “Nah. We Almyrans have our own stuffy dances, but none of them are quite as stiff as the Fodlanian ones. They really know how to take all the fun out of a good party.”
It was a thrill to say it to her: we Almyrans. To be able to admit it, to claim it, and know she didn’t hate him for it…it made all the struggles of the war so far seem worth it. She didn’t even care he was a prince, though she’d never been one to be impressed by mere titles. He was important to her without those things, regardless of origin.
It was what he’d always hoped for. It was what he’d scarcely let himself dream of. And it was exactly why he had fallen in love with her.
It was a dangerous thing to feel. Even if there weren’t the possibility of one of them dying in battle at any point before the war ended, there was the ever-present threat of assassination. Beyond that, there was a huge difference in rank between them. Almyra might not care if a king married a commoner, but such things didn’t happen in Fodlan.
And even those concerns didn’t matter at all if she didn’t care for him in return. Oh, she might like him, but it was still so damned hard to get a read on her. Like didn’t mean romantic interest, and romantic interest didn’t mean love, and his heart was fully in her hands. It was a scary feeling.
And yet…he trusted her. She wouldn’t hurt him if she could avoid it. That he knew the same way he knew the sun would rise, or that there were stars on the other side of all this obscuring fog.
His hand slid out from under his head. Slowly, with his heart in his throat, he slid it through the grass until it brushed her wrist. She turned her head and met his gaze. And then…then her fingers laced with his.
He was sure his cheeks were red. He hoped it was dark enough she couldn’t tell.
She stared at him for two heartbeats, and finally she smiled. Just a little one, but so warm that his heart tripped over in his chest. After a moment, she turned her face back up to the sky.
The wind was gusting stronger now, and finally they got their first real look at the stars. For the first time tonight, and probably for the first time in weeks, he felt a sense of peace and wellbeing wash over him. He suspected it was the same for Byleth, if the softening of her expression was anything to go by.
They didn’t say much else. But when dawn broke, they were still there, and their fingers were still laced.
And for the first time, he thought he was glad that someone else had gotten a glimpse into his heart.