#slyshot

    never let it be said that there will ever be a day that CASPAR VON BERGLIEZ will back down from a challenge! even ones that will have him risking life, limb and fingertips. ESPECIALLY ones that will have him risking life, limb and fingertips! his grin has got to be at least ten times the size of claude’s, and then he’s staring down at his palms. fastest hands in garreg mach, eh? far be it from him to let his adoring fans down! 

    “you’re ON!” caspar declares, slapping his hands together in an effort to wipe them of non-existent dirt. there’s probably a more optimal time to do this, perhaps when his knuckles aren’t red raw and screaming for him to nick dorothea’s moisturiser, or when his arms aren’t still reverberating from his strikes on near-solid wood and threatening to pack up and leave all together, but caspar doesn’t particularly care. he’s either going to catch that arrow, or he won’t. foresight doesn’t travel a step further than that. 

    caspar skips back a few steps, light on the balls of his feet and deciding that it’s a good thing he’s not wearing armour at present. after all, it would only weigh him down, and he’s going to need all of the agility he can muster if he wants to catch an arrow as fast as claude can shoot it. at the very least, he’s got never underestimate your opponent down pat. shame about the rest. 

    by this point, a few heads have turned to hear where the yells of “gimme whatcha got!” and “i’m ready for ya!” are coming from (apparently none more responsible than either caspar or claude, seeing as no-one steps in to intervene) and a small crowd gathers around the sides of the fifteen foot gap between them. caspar’s eyes are fixed on the arrow, but he can still see claude’s flashing grin from the corner of his eye. he’d wonder if distraction is the name of his game, but then a particularly plucky kid that caspar recognises as one of the stable boys calls out three! and then several other people are joining in. 

                 two! 

    caspar’s heart is thundering and his tongue juts out of his mouth, swiping the sweat from his upper lip. 

                             one! 

    the twang of claude’s bow slices through the tension and caspar throws his arm out almost hard enough to wrench the limb from its socket. at first, he grabs at nothing but air and feels a sinking disappointment in his chest, but as his fingers release their grip of nothingness he feels something hard strike his palm. his fingers snap back around it, and he’s yelling something unintelligible but definitely self-congratulatory before he realises that the bustle of the training yard has fallen to a deathly silence. it takes more than one look at his hand to realise that the head of the arrow is jutting out of the back of it, his wraps are stained a deep dark red, and it hurts like the fires of ailell. 

    “wow,” caspar utters under a shaky breath, shifting his hand outwards so that his blood doesn’t drip on his pants. his face is starting to grow a deathly shade of pale and his entire expression is strained, but he looks up at claude with a cheery grin nonetheless.

    “well hey, I CAUGHT IT!” 

claude placed his drink on the table beside him and began to weave his way through the crowd. curiousity may kill the cat, but maybe not the deer. claude slipped through the doors and closed it behind him. just ahead he saw dorothea, seated on a marble bench in one of the numerous small gardens within garreg mach. claude approached with his hands behind his back, and his eyes casually glancing upward towards the night sky. “it can get a bit stuffy in there, huh.”

“i wasn’t sure whether lorenz or ferdinand would pass out first trying to out-dance the other.” claude lowered his eyes and looked to dorothea, his voice softened slightly, “i thought these kinda social events would be your thing. you okay?”

unprompted / aa. / @slyshot​

     dorothea’s head is tilted upwards towards the sky as well, gazing upon the many stars which dance around the moon like students inside the ballroom, reminding her of what she’s missing out on. all of them decorate the night’s cloak, and as she cants her head towards claude, they bathe her gold earrings in exuberant glimmers of light. she gives him a smile.

     ❝ oh, they are. usually, i’m like a fish in the water, absorbing all the excitement spread through the crowd, ❞ dorothea replies, a laugh chuffed through her breath. ❝ and i don’t need to stay to know ferdie would dance himself fantastically into the food tables and require a change of clothes, while lorenz would busy himself hunting the next poor woman for a dance and introducing himself as a valuable husband. ❞

     distractors, all of these comments. claude is kind enough to entertain her with a chuckle. ❝ sounds like him. i kinda wonder what gets your friend so hung up on competing with everything under the sky, though. ❞

     ❝ if you ask him, he’ll talk your ear off. ❞ 

     her hand shifts from the space on the bench to rest on her lap, silently inviting claude to sit with her. he accepts the invitation and smooths out the length of his coat over his legs, then props his elbows on his knees with folded hands and tilts his head at dorothea in a way that reminds her of an orphan boy who charmed all the produce out of merchants with his wit. all that’s missing is the disarming smile, which dorothea could easily envision on his lips right now if not for how the color of his eyes look, green like aged trees. they smooth some of the nerves down dorothea’s chest.    

     ❝ but, no. everything was fine, ❞ dorothea says. ❝ my date was a knight whose family name held a long line of prestige, who was kind as he was brave, and i cared for him very much. tonight, he took me to the bridge before the cathedral where it was quiet, and above us the sky twinkled like the teary eyes of an audience. he went on his knees and asked for my hand in marriage, promising to take care of me until old age. the wrinkles did not pale the beauty i carried within, he said. it was everything i wanted, promised me a future where i would never starve on the streets again… ❞

     dorothea takes a breath and finds her gaze on the stars once more. they are silent to her.

     ❝ …and then i rejected him. ❞

     claude hums in response, neither derisive nor encouraging. it is what allows dorothea to continue despite fearing the tides of judgment washing over her.

     ❝ when he showed me that ring, all i could think was how the gold would rust on my finger as i aged, ❞ and there it was, the offset of waves inside her stomach, ❝ so claude, i’m afraid i’m not so deserving of that change you said i was a part of back then. all i do is look towards the sky to daydream and horde everything within my reach. a small, narrow-minded… ❞ dorothea’s eyes fall to claude’s, freezing when they find the color is all the same, as if they should be blackening with pity or disgust or a sick amusement, but not understanding. not something so candid for her. 

     ❝ that’s precisely why we need to push for change, right? ❞ claude says after a moment. ❝ so people like you won’t ever have to worry about getting walked over for being something you had no control over. just because your vision isn’t a mirror reflection of mine doesn’t mean it isn’t worth including. ❞ 

     ❝ but, ❞ dorothea laughs in confusion, ❝ but i’m just a greedy woman with a love for gold, claude. ❞

     ❝ think there’s something more to you beneath all that shiny jewelry, dorothea. ❞ claude winks. ❝ you’d fit in right with the deers with how unique yet misunderstood you can be, but that’s not your fault. i think you just need to find the next thing you really wanna do about your future, and then shoot for it! ❞

     claude arches his back and folds his hands behind his head, looking up towards the sky. it make his eyes shimmer like light riding the deep ocean waves, all the way towards the edge of the horizon. dorothea can only stare in wonder. it begins to remind her that claude is a leader and one who, despite the rumors clawing at his heels, has the potential to carry the future on his shoulder. 

     ❝ and if it misses, then you evaluate what’s in front of you and wait for your next shot. ❞ he smiles, looking rather proud of his arrow analogy. ❝ …but that’s a lot of talking from me. i hope that lifts your head at least a little? ❞

     gently, slowly, like the growing sway of a windbell, dorothea’s laughter flutters over her hand. claude raises his brows, his smile quirking higher on one side. 

     ❝ oh, so this is what the golden deer’s house leader is like when he’s on the job. the heir apparents really are something else this year… ❞ dorothea shakes her head, and finally her lips release into a grin, freed from the mask of redundant beauty. ❝ hah. thank you, claude. i think i know how to shoot an arrow just a little more now. ❞

     as she laughs, dorothea feels wetness rising in her eyes and she blinks up towards the stars. the stars look back. they are far and untouchable, gazing with a calm reticence. waiting for her. it stokes a deep desire in her stomach to reach her arms out and dance with them. 

the two of them stood at the crest of a small hill, just outside the monastery. a handful of wooden tables were lined up, each adorned in roses of red, white and pink. large picnic baskets filled with food and sweets, and the entirety of the golden deer house was gathered at the bottom of the hill, and as hilda opened her eyes they all shouted, "happy birthday!" in unison. claude's smile was full and infectious, he looked to her now, "just something i threw together. happy birthday, hilda."(2/2)

            ‘‘   okay,  um...  now?   ’’

            ‘‘   half-step  to  the  right,   ’’  claude  says  patiently.  hilda  shifts  her  foot  daintily,  but  before  she  can  even  complete  the  move  he  pipes  up.   ‘‘   no,  just  kidding,  step  to  the  left.   ’’

            ‘‘   you  know,  my  arms  are  getting  tired,   ’’   hilda  grumbles.  she  complies.

            ‘‘   half-step  back...   ’’

            ‘‘   claude.   ”

            ‘‘   now  one  more  step  forward.   ’’

            at  this  point,  hilda  is  near  squirming  in  her  own  skin.  it’s  a  miracle  she’s  even  managed  to  keep  her  vision  obscured  for  this  long-  she  had  already  tried  a  peek  or  two  on  the  way  to  wherever  they  were  going,  which  had  taught  claude  to  keep  a  more  hawklike  eye  on  her.  seemed  unlikely  third  time  would  be  the  charm  with  a  guy  like  him.

            ‘‘   soooo,  what’s  going  on?  is  this  a  firing  squad?   ’’   hilda  rocks  back  and  fourth  on  her  heels,  impatience  mounting.  ‘‘   maybe  you’re  positioning  me  perfectly  beneath  a  giant  boulder...  or  over  a  pit  full  of  poison  mushrooms?  i  really  can’t  take  the  suspense  anymore.   ’’

            ‘‘   okay,   ’’   claude  laughs.  ‘‘   was  just  having  some  fun.  go  ahead  and  open  your  eyes.   ’’

            she  cannot  comply  fast  enough-  and  freezes  like  a  deer  in  headlights  as  soon  as  she  does.  her  friends  cheer,  and  hilda  is  rooted  in  place,  her  gaze  trailing  from  the  tables  to  the  roses  to  all  their  smiling  faces.

            ‘‘   oh.   ’’   she  doesn’t  seem  to  know  what  to  do  with  her  hands.   ‘‘   this  is...  for  me,  huh?  you  guys...   ’’

            hilda’s  voice  takes  on  a  funny  little  wobble.  

            her  chin  quivers.  

            her  eyes  go  just  a  little  bit  glassy  ─

            and  then  she  wheels  right  around  to  claude  and  throws  herself  at  him  in  a  long,  crushing  hug.

            ‘‘   you  know  i  hate  surprises,   ’’   hilda  sniffs  when  they  part,  surrounded  now  by  their  friends,  who  seem  relieved  that  hilda  is  not  actually,  in  fact,  upset.  she  blinks  back  the  tears  in  her  eyes  and  beams  at  them.   ‘‘   leave  it  to  you  guys  to  prove  me  wrong,  huh?   ’’

the business end of a lance dismounted him from his wyvern, wounding both him and the beast before he just managed to tumble away from the conflict for now. out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar head of mint-green hair approach him. she also bore signs of battle, though not as painful as him. he gave her a weary half-grin, though his face contorted into a tight grimace of pain as more of his blood seeped out between his fingers. he didn’t even look down at his own wound, instead he held byleth’s gaze for a moment before turning back to face the field. “how’s it lookin, teach? you look like you’re starting to slow down,” another grimace, and his pained but light voice faltered for a breath, “i can’t have you holding me back.” (3/3 :]….)

            ‘‘   let  me  see,   ’’   she  says  breathlessly,  and  kneels  by  his  side.

            the  battle  around  them  is  relentless,  and  byleth  feels  spread  thin,  paying  attention  to  too  many  things  at  once :  all  the  pieces  on  this  field  are  valuable  to  her,  and  she  is  playing  a  losing  game  just  to  keep  them  in  play.  claude  is  not  someone  she  has  to  pour  her  focus  into  often.  every  time  she  does,  it  feels  like  the  entire  board  might  just  crumble  to  pieces  below  her;  the  king  is  in  check.  what  is  her  next  move?

            byleth  cups  his  hands  aside  and  sees  a  rush  of  red,  relentlessly  staining  his  tunic,  and  her  blood  goes  cold.

            ‘‘   it  isn’t  looking  great,   ’’   she  murmurs,  just  a  little  bit  wry,  mostly  thick  with  grief.  her  eyes  flit  over  the  battlefield,  drinking  in  the  chaos  with  an  eye  that  tries  to  remain  impartial  but  fails :  she  loved  every  piece  on  this  field,  and  she  was  playing  a  losing  game  just  to  watch  them  fall  anyway.

            her  eyes  meet  claude’s,  the  glow  of  the  sword  at  her  side  casting  a  warm  sheen  across  his  eyes.  he  looked  pale,  and  wound  tight,  like  he  was  holding  everything  in,  but  there  is  a  frantic,  knowing  gleam  to  his  gaze  that  she’s  seen  a  hundred  times  before :  this  close  to  death,  a  person  can’t  help  it.  this  close  to  death,  she  might  look  much  of  the  same.

            ‘‘   …that  isn’t  likely.  i’m  not  sure  i  can  ever  slow  down,   ’’   she  says,  and  takes  claude’s  hand.  their  palms  are  slick  with  his  blood,  and  for  a  moment  she  is  overwhelmed  by  her  failure,  overwhelmed  by  what  she  could  have  done  differently ─

            what  she  will  do  differently.

            ‘‘   and  neither  can  you.  so  stop  running  your  mouth.   ’’   a  baleful  smile  tugs  one  corner  of  byleth’s  mouth.  her  eyes  close,  and  somewhere  deep  inside  her  she  feels  that  familiar  pull,  feels  the  world  around  her  grow  distant  and  hazy;  everything  slows  to  an  imperceptible  crawl,  but  she  can  still  feel  the  slick  of  claude’s  blood,  can  feel  his  pulse  racing,  terrible  and  thunderous.  she  is  beset  by  beating  hearts  on  all  sides,  and  she  doesn’t  want  to  forget.  she  would  remember  where  she  failed.

            ‘‘   you  always  love  to  joke,   ’’   she  sighs,  everything  still  and  quiet  around  her.   ‘‘   right  to  the  bitter  end…  but  i  won’t  hold  you  back.  i  know  how  to  fix  it.   ’’

            she  asks  time  for  a  kindness ;  she  asks  it  to  spare  them,  and  time  complies,  flowing  back  around  her  like  a  tempest  while  she  stands  in  the  eye  of  it,  perfectly  untouched,  perfectly  unchanged.

    Caught in the middle of taking a swig from a water canteen, Ingrid could only narrow her brows. What was Claude going on about now? No, he wasn’t the type to adorn people with empty flattery, but there was always something running deeper than his words.

     She swallowed, placing the cap back on her bottle. “Excuse me?” Ingrid brushed the bangs from her eyes, an incredulous smile forming on her face. “If that was the case, I think Garreg Mach would have its own ballet company. But, you know, I don’t think Dorothea would mind that...”

     The wind blew across the stone walkway, giving Ingrid a welcome respite from the afternoon warmth. She took in deep breaths as she walked, trying to rub the soreness from her joints. Pegasus knights and wyvern riders had to learn twice as many combat forms as regular fighters. One never knew when they’d have to dismount in the heat of battle. At least Claude’s compliment meant that he recognized the demand of her station - more ignorant people had jeered that a pegasus knight had it easy since they got to fly everywhere.

     “Dancing is one of the last things I put effort in learning when I was growing up,” Ingrid said. “That meant spending time with nobles that were... less than savory. I don’t really have a way with words like you do, Claude. If I could always think of a witty remark, or a clever joke, I’d feel more comfortable on a stage like that.”

     But with a lance or a sword, she didn’t need to trip over her own words, tongue-tied and tumbling rhyme over reason. She could let her discipline, her commitment to the duty of a knight, speak for herself.

“i was actually going to ask, as a completely neutral third-party who took no part in that unfortunate training incident, how’s your hand?”

    “what d’you mean, took no part? you shot the arrow!” 

    the subtleties of deception often float right over caspar’s head, and this occasion is no exception. seeing as there’s no-one around to hear it, what’s the harm in taking credit? still, caspar’s too excitable to dwell on the topic, and he holds his palm out to show claude where the injury is still in the process of scarring over. it looks kind of like an eye in shape, a circle in the middle where the shaft widened the pierce, with two lines on either side where the wings of the arrowhead cut through. mercifully, it rests directly between two bones.

This played like a cutscene in my head I love this so much. Your writing is the TOP TIER CONTENT ON TUMBLRDOTCOM!!!!! AGGHHHHH

@slyshot :   unprompted.

            ‘‘   hmm...   ’’

            𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘢  𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘴  𝘰𝘯  𝘵𝘩𝘦  𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦  𝘰𝘧  𝘩𝘦𝘳  𝘣𝘦𝘥  with  her  head  propped  up  on  her  palm,  all  five  feet  of  her  nearly  swallowed  up  by  layers  of  tulle  and  silk:  shockingly  enough,  she’d  actually  finished  getting  ready  before  claude,  but  that  was  probably  just  because  she  was  the  type  of  girl  who  knew  what  she  wanted.  she’d  been  planning  her  look  for  weeks.  

            not  that  claude  had  much  to  worry  about.  his  hair  always  seemed  to  be  perfect,  and  he  could  probably  manage  to  make  a  potato  sack  work  for  him.  it  just  wasn’t  fair.

            ‘‘   nope!   ’’   hilda  heaves  herself  off  the  bed,  her  heels  clicking  on  the  floor  as  she  maneuvers  her  steps  around  the  train  of  her  dress,  and  goes  up  to  claude  anyway  to  straighten  the  bowtie  just  a  touch.   ‘‘   it’s  perfect.  clothes  are  all  about  how  they  make  you  feel,  you  know?  if  you  don’t  feel  good  in  something,  that  kind  of  negativity  will  show  all  over  your  face,  and  it’ll  affect  how  other  people  perceive  you.  in  this  case,  you  feel  like  a  gentleman,  so  maybe  you’ll  be  able  to  trick  a  lady  or  two  into  thinking  you  are  one  before  you  open  your  mouth  and  ruin  it.   ’’

            hilda’s  smile  absolutely  simpers.