#amethysttribble

Two days before, Irisse’s father had grounded her for having caused a little trouble. It wasn’t all that bad, really, she’d just broken a vase. And a couple windows. But it had been an accident! But her father had said that she was too old to be playing such reckless games without paying attention to her surroundings, and punished her. Part of the punishment was that he had taken Irisse’s bow away, saying that she wasn’t allowed to hunt until he was sure she wouldn’t shoot arrows everywhere.

It was quite unjust, in Irisse’s mind. She hadn’t been using arrows when she’d damaged those things, and she had already apologized for it. Plus, it wasn’t just her fault. She’d been with Tyelkormo and Curufinwe at the time, and if anyone was to blame it was Tyelkormo. He was the oldest, after all, it was his responsibility to make sure nothing wrong happened, and all he had gotten was a lecture from aunt Nerdanel.

So now Curufinwe was helping Irisse get her bow back, because it was also his fault she was in this mess.

“What do you think will happen when your father finds out you took it back without permission?” Curufinwe asked, as they made their way to Irisse’s father’s study.

“I’ll worry about it if I have to,” she replied.

“You will have to. And don’t you dare drop my name when he asks how you picked the lock.”

“Why? I think you father would throw you a party if he found out you stole from my father’s house.”

“I have a mother too, you know,” Curufinwe said.

“Just help me out. You know I’m not tattling.”

Curufinwe huffed. They had reached the study, which Irisse’s father had locked before leaving. Probably predicting that Irisse would be trying to get into it. Luckily, she had brought her blacksmith with her.

Locks were, according to Curufinwe, very easy things to make. Irisse didn’t know if that was true or not, but she did know that Curufinwe had learnt enough from his father to put many other smiths to shame before his voice had even started to drop. If he said locks were easy, they were for him.

“Can you open it?” Irisse asked.

Curufinwe gave her a scathing look, and knelt in front of the door. He took some tools out of his pocket, and quickly got to work. It took him barely any time to pick the heavy lock open.

“You’re a master lockpicker,” Irisse said, clapping his shoulder.

“Yes, that’s what I spend hours every day in the forge. Locks.”

Irisse did a quick scan of the room. She knew all the places her father hid things in, and it wasn’t hard for her to figure out where her bow was. “Got it. Let’s go.”

“What’s going on?”

Both Curufinwe and Irisse froze, and slowly turned around. Findekano was standing by the doorway, one eyebrow raised.

“Finno,” Irisse said, “I thought you were out with Maitimo.”

“Me too,” Curufinwe added.

“And I thought this room was locked.”

“Maybe you just imagined that.”

Findekano gave her a look. “Irisse.”

“I just found it open, right, Curvo?”

Curufinwe nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Guess I will have to tell father to make properly sure he locks it next time, then,” Findekano said.

Irisse swallowed. “Finno, please.”

“Please? Didn’t you say you weren’t doing anything wrong?”

“I hate you,” Curufinwe hissed at her.

It was Lorenz’s careful eye that began to cause havoc for the two. From the beginning of the school year, their excessive bickering became second nature to their classmates. At lunchtimes, their fellow Golden Deer would quietly eat their Daphnel stew, along with a side order of continuous arguing from the two highest ranking members of the Alliance nobility. It was inescapable. Professor Byleth would often cut through the dining hall to the fishing pond and bear witness to Claude leaning back in his chair, his arms positioned behind his head and with one leg lazily thrown across the other - his very disposition the epitome of everything Lorenz scorned. The house leader could shoot remarks at Lorenz as easily as he shot arrows on the battlefield, his sole intention to rile up the Gloucester heir sat opposite from him. It certainly wasn’t difficult to frustrate his violet-haired counterpart, who returned every taunt with a lofty attempt to better Claude, declaring him an unfit noble at every possible opportunity. 

“The future of Fódlan, everyone,” Leonie would mutter with a roll of her eyes, much to the amusement of her other classmates and their Professor. For most of their education at Garreg Mach, this was the daily routine, whether it was quarrelling over noble customs in the dining hall, muttered arguments during choir practice or heated debates over battle tactics in the classroom. In one instance, Professor Byleth even put both in detention for arguing on the battlefield, their lapse of concentration resulting in poor Ignatz nearly being axed to death by a bandit. 

A day would not be complete without a lingual joust between the two boys, and both Lorenz and Claude were guilty of actively seeking each other out to spar words, though neither of them would ever admit it. Yet as their year at Garreg Mach drew to a close, their incessant squabbling seemed to pale in insignificance compared to the horrors that unravelled only weeks before their graduation. Fódlan was thrust into the clutches of war. The Golden Deer fled Garreg Mach as the Alliance territories began to splinter, and Claude and Lorenz parted ways with only a curt goodbye, both well aware that it would not be long before Count Gloucester swore fealty to the Empire, even if Lorenz’s allegiance lay elsewhere.

 And so, every childish insult and every meaningless lecture on the customs of nobility exchanged between the two faded away, swallowed by the horrors of war as the yellow banners were hoisted high. The children that argued and joked around in the dining room became ghosts, left to wander the crumbling monastery. 

-

Claude could feel the all-too familiar tang of blood against the back of his throat. The scent was strong and even after five and a half years of war, he had not yet grown accustomed to the metallic, ugly odour. It mingled with the smoke from the fires raging across the battlefield as the troops drew ever closer to their target: Nemesis. His ears were ringing with the clang of metal and Byleth’s voice as they barked commands to the forces as they descended on the so-called King of Liberation. He kicked his heel gently against his trusty wyvern, flying forward to fall in line with Cyril and Seteth as the three dealt attacks in swift succession upon the empty phantom that Claude recognised as Goneril. Claude nocked an arrow, the arches of Failnaught a familiar friend in his calloused hands as he shot a final arrow, watching the spectral figure before him crumble to the ground. 

Claude let out a sigh, allowing himself a brief moment of recollection - as well as a quick glance across the battlefield, on the lookout for one person in particular. Once a bitter adversary, Claude’s eyes now roamed the wasteland to make sure Lorenz was safe. Just as he used to seek him out simply to bandy words, now he wanted nothing more than to make sure Lorenz was alive. Thankfully, the man in question’s choice in fashion made him easy to spot, a lavender fleck in the distance. Claude had to bite back triumphant laughter as he watched Lorenz strike a decisive blow against the final of the ten Elites. 

But no - he couldn’t get cocky. Not now. As the hope of the end of the war drew ever closer, there was so much more to lose. The remaining troops regrouped in formation, with Lorenz, Claude and Byleth rallying together and taking on the responsibility of commanding the centre and two flanks of the battalions. Thankfully they hadn’t lost any of their classmates, but several were being treated for major casualties, with Marianne and Mercedes working overtime in the sidelines to tend wounds. 

Claude flew down to land next to Lorenz.

“Claude.” Lorenz’s voice was hoarse, his throat raw from shouting commands all day. Claude glanced over to him, his expression knitting into one of concern.

“Lorenz? Are you hurt?” Claude asked. Lorenz shook his head, opening his mouth to say something, but apparently deciding against it, shaking his head. “Just be careful,” he said, his violet eyes straying over to Byleth, who stood alone, facing the Fell Star. This was it.

“Go. They need you,” Lorenz murmured.

Over the past year, the two had become close as allies, but also as friends. Countless nights were spent together discussing politics, the future of Fodlan and Almyra. They had pored over battle strategies together until the early hours until Lorenz had drifted into sleep, his hair splayed out across the desk, leaving Claude to drape blankets over him and smile to himself. Wordlessly, Claude reached over, taking Lorenz’s pale hand in his own. He ran his thumb across his hand, squeezing it gently, before jumping down from his wyvern and taking his place at Byleth’s side for the final time.

-

The sound of distant festivities echoed throughout the monastery, upbeat music and peals of mirthful laughter reverberating through the lofty hallows. The celebrations were just beginning, and no doubt would live on throughout the night. Claude had promised everyone a feast, and he was not a man to break promises. Though, Claude himself could not bring himself to join in with the conviviality just yet. The war was over, but he had so much to think about. So many plans to start laying out. So many dreams he had to fulfil. The night was cool, the summer night sky a velvet blanket above him. Fόdlan’s sky had always seemed so foreign to him, but even Claude had to smile as the stars came out to dance and blink in their own celebration. He crossed the grassy courtyard to wander beneath the cloisters, the fall of his footsteps echoing throughout the atrium. He swung his legs over the cloisters and rested his head against the arch, his eyes fixated on a rose bush blooming at his feet. Nearly all his life he had been running from the threat of death. He didn’t quite know what to do with himself in peacetime.

“Claude. I am surprised to see you are not at the feast.” Lorenz’s voice rang out through the arcade. Claude’s eyes lingered on him for several moments in surprise - he had forgotten what Lorenz looked like without his armour. Instead, he was dressed in a starched white shirt and slacks, his hair tied back.

“Well, just look at you, Lorenz. So casual! Hardly befitting of a noble,” Claude quipped. Lorenz let out a groan, sitting down next to Claude on the wall. 

“Please don’t,” he said. “I will be changing before I attend the feast. And you should too. Everyone will be there. You can’t wear something so casual as that to a celebration of such calibre,” he counselled. Claude just rolled his eyes, placing his hand over Lorenz’s mouth to shut him up.

“Claude!” he exclaimed, his voice muffled against Claude’s hand as he tried to push him away. Claude simply grinned. 

“Look at us. Arguing, just like the old days,” Claude commented, resuming his peaceful position leaning against the arch. Lorenz simply hummed in response, a slight smile flickering across his lips. Even Lorenz had to admit that the sight of them, two of the most powerful men in Fódlan, as they bickered like an old married couple was amusing. Lorenz closed his eyes. Couple.

 A moth flitted across the atrium, flickering in the moonlight that shone down on the courtyard. The pair sat quietly for a few moments, before Lorenz turned to the man at his side. “Claude?”

“Yeah?”

 “Do you remember something I said to you once?” Lorenz’s voice was soft - perhaps tentative. Claude struggled to remember a time in which Lorenz had sounded that way before. “I said a world without you would be dull.”

Claude studied Lorenz’s face carefully. “Yes, I remember. I’m still in shock from you giving me a compliment.”

Lorenz chose to ignore his jape. “At the time, I was speaking about you dying. But, now that the war is over...I suppose you will return to Almyra,” Lorenz uttered, his voice dropping into a whisper. It was phrased as a statement rather than a question. A question posed an answer - one that Lorenz knew the answer to, but didn’t want to hear it voiced. Claude looked down, his eyes fixated on the rose bush flowering at their feet. 

Each moment of quiet was agonising as Claude remained silent. Why was his face so difficult to read? Lorenz always hated how Claude wanted to know everyone’s secrets, yet harboured so very many of his own. What was he thinking? Was he actually to stay in Fódlan after all? Lorenz couldn’t bear it any longer. 

He continued, “Claude. Now that the war is over - I feel I must be candid,” As he spoke, a sudden breeze fluttered through the trees in the courtyard. Claude noticed Lorenz’s skin prickle, goose flesh spreading across his pale arms, which appeared translucent under the moonlight.

“You’re cold. You should go inside,” Claude said. 

“Claude - listen to me - I’m trying to tell you something-”

“I’m serious. You’ll catch a cold-”

“Claude!” Lorenz exclaimed. Claude waved his hand in defeat, gesturing for Lorenz to go on. 

“Thank you,” he began, collecting himself. “What I was trying to say - no - what I want to say - is that now the war is over, I know you will be returning to Almyra. The truth is, Claude - I do not want you to leave Fόdlan. I cannot imagine my life without you. Goddess, forgive my blathering - this is really so undignified. I didn’t want to say anything during the war, because it was nor the time or the place. I know you must leave, and my wanting you to stay is incredibly selfish because I know you must shape the future. The truth is - I have come to admire you so greatly over the past year,” Lorenz stammered out, wringing his hands as he spoke. Only hours ago, he had warred against the ten Elites.  So why, for the love of Sothis, was talking to Claude von Riegan always so difficult? 

Claude folded his arms as he listened to him, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You admire me? You can’t imagine your life without me? Lorenz. Is this a confession of love?” Claude gasped, raising an eyebrow. 

That was why. 

Although the night air was cold, Lorenz’s skin felt feverishly hot. 

“You’re not fooling me, Riegan! This past year has proved to me that you are perfectly capable of being serious, so why can’t you just - oh, you know what -” Lorenz succumbed to his vexation, taking Claude’s face in both of his hands and pressing his lips firmly against Claude’s. It was a kiss for war’s end - clumsy and uncoordinated. There had hardly been much time for kissing in the last five and a half years, and the first few seconds betrayed their lack of practice as Lorenz crashed ungracefully against Claude.  It felt desperate, after months of longing and even more years of denial. Claude raised his hands, stunned for a moment, before gently placing them on Lorenz’s shoulders, easing himself into the kiss. Claude kissed with more adroitness, his lips warm and full. As he leaned in, his beard was coarse but welcome against Lorenz’s own soft skin.  Lorenz could taste the faint trace of honey wine on Claude’s parted lips, and again on his tongue, stronger this time. 

“Claude.” The sound of Lorenz murmuring his own name against his lips snapped Claude back into reality, and the two separated, their foreheads still pressed together. “Forgive me - that was unbecoming. I shouldn’t have been so aggressive,” Lorenz’s voice was barely a whisper and his eyes were closed, refusing to meet Claude’s eyes. 

Claude let out a breathy laugh,  “Ever the gentleman. No - I liked it. Perhaps you should have done that a long time ago to shut me up.”

It was a compliment, yet Lorenz still withdrew sharply in recoil, standing up and smoothing down his shirt. “No. I cannot allow myself to do this. This won’t work. Not if you’re leaving so soon. Farewell, Claude. Have a pleasant evening.” As noble as Lorenz was attempting to sound, the crack in his voice was unmistaken as he hurriedly fled towards the dormitories, the fall of his footsteps echoing throughout the courtyard. 

Claude jumped to his feet in pursuit, breaking into a jog to catch up with him. “Lorenz! Wait, will you?” Claude reached for his hand, pulling Lorenz around to face him.

“You’re right. I will be going back to Almyra,” Claude murmured, letting Lorenz’s hand fall back to his side so he could cradle Lorenz’s face in his hands. “But I won’t be gone forever. After all, I’ll need you to keep me in check, won’t I?”

A scoff escaped Lorenz’s lips. “Well, that goes without saying, Claude. You will always need my guidance.”

Claude smiled, shaking his head slightly. “Of course I will, Lorenz.”

“Marlene. You gotta eat your veggies, you know that,” Barret said.

“No.”

Barret sighed. Marlene was usually such a good girl, but every child has some things they stubbornly stick to. For Marlene, lately, it had been her absolute refusal to eat anything green colored.

It was getting quite frustrating. Now Barret would admit the spinach weren’t the most appetizing thing - living in the slums meant they had to make do - but they weren’t all that bad either. Usually Marlene always cleaned her plate once he convinced her to start eating. It was the convincing part that was the problem.

“Green stuff is what makes you grow big and strong, you know. Like your daddy, or like Tifa.”

This was kind of a lie. Barret couldn’t say his diet had been the healthiest one when he was a kid. Lots more sweets than he was supposed to, he had been very good at sneaking into the kitchen when his Ma wasn’t looking. He also had no idea what did Tifa use to eat when she was a child.

Still, it was an innocent lie. A lie for a great purpose.

Marlene kept pouting. “I don’t wanna be big and strong, I wanna be a pretty princess.”

“You can be a pretty princess and also be big and strong.”

Marlene remained silent for a few moments. She looked to be deep in thought, and Barret knew well by now the kind of danger a four years old who was in deep in thought could be. “But if I eat veggies I will hurt the Planet.”

Barret blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Cause veggies are plants,” Marlene said. “And daddy says the Planet makes plants. So if you kill plants to eat veggies you will make the Planet sad.”

Barret had to take a moment to admit his daughter was showing a lot of promise when it came to becoming a master manipulator.

“The Planet would be more sad if you didn’t eat the veggies.”

“Why?”

“Because plants are a gift our Planet gives us, and if you don’t eat veggies then that means you are wasting her gifts. And the Planet doesn’t want that,” Barret said, complimenting himself on his bullshitting skills.

Marlene seemed to contemplate that answer. “You can eat them then.”

“Nope,” Barret replied. “The Planet told me that these are specifically for you.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. She made this spinach grow out of the ground just so that Marlene Wallace could eat it.”

Marlene looked down at her plate with a pained face, and then finally, finally took a bite. “Can the Planet make me strawberries next time?”

“I’ll ask about it, for sure.”