Chapter Text
“The stars are beautiful tonight.”
He spoke with the rhythm of a man tasting blood, and as he spat the red liquid tinged his cloth dark. Not red because the night kept him barely visible, but he breathed metal and masked the hurt with a smile. Pain was a concept foreign to him, as long as he could gain something from a situation, and he did so aplenty.
The corpses that surrounded him, stacked up in a heap of broken bones, told the tale with numb limbs and shut mouths. He heaved a last unfortunate soul onto the pile, then wiped his lips with his sleeves. Some of the coughed up blood washed away, the rest mixed together with the red flakes of other warriors, and he watched through the cracks in his fingers and into the sky, not registering the deep gash that had edged itself into his palm.
He bled.
Terribly so.
But what he wore more than anything was that old grin, something loud and toothy and much brighter than whatever pity celestial bodies took on them tonight. The fog hid them well, in ways that clear nights never did. Hid them with blankets of a touchless kind, and no matter how far he reached up, he could not grab a hold of whatever planet remained visible.
He looked exhausted in ways that men of his age never should.
“I can barely see them", is what she replied, voice dull. She sounded like a blade that had lost its edge, and when he stared over to take a peek at her creator sword he could see why. The thing was broken, and would remain so for the remainder of the trip.
“Sheesh, humour me, won't you Teach?” The joke on his lips was a razor sharp whisper, and dug into the corner of her own mouth, making it twitch ever so slightly, as though there was something to be won from distracting her.
She heaved a sigh, and that was a rarity coming from her. It never echoed however, remained steadily hollow just like her gaze. “You should rest, Claude.”
“Not yet", came his early earned reply. Then he gestured to the mass of limbs beside the both of them. Here, the fields smelled like death and disease, clotted blood and enough that was still too fresh to leave anything but the faint smell of iron behind. Claude dug into one of the bodies and ripped an arrow out from its neck.
Stained.
But still functional.
“The rest of us are exhausted. Comes at the cost of a sudden attack, I'd wager.” Cradling the well crafted weapon he turned around, twirled the wood in his unwounded hand just to have something to do. “No one expected the fog.”
Byleth nodded, if only to reassure him. “We lost no one.”
That was a lie.
The ambush had caused Leonie to fall from her horse, while Hilda got struck down with a sword seemingly out of nowhere. It had shocked them all, and the scream of the dying animal and her trusted friend yet ringed in her ears.
The thing about swords was that they acted clean. A slice or a stab, depending on the weapon, and people fell with little more than a gasp. But Hilda had been hit with an untrained hand, right into the tissue connecting arms to torsos, and her wailing had been loud and bone chilling before the arrow came that dug itself into her eyeball.
Of course, her death did not last.
Byleth tried to ignore that Claude had killed countless enemies with the same tactic over the years. Not that it had mattered to her before – the job of a mercenary meant that one became accustomed to the cause and sight of people perishing.
And yet, with bonds forged from studies, steel and stories, it meant more to her than ever before. She thought it all started with the death of her Father. Ever since Jeralt went the concept of an end to a life had become more...personal, to her.
“Fódlan to Teach, are you still with me?” Claude tapped her on the shoulder, the blood there making her clothes cling to her skin. While it hurt, she did not wince, nor did she drew her eyebrows tighter together. A demon like her could not and would not show such weakness.
Besides, he couldn't have seen the seeping wound there through the low glimmer that encompassed them. “Ah...yes. Of course.”
A beat of a second akin to a heart passed.
“What were you saying again?”
He laughed out loud, a careful crack of a sound in the silence of the afterglow of battle. “I said: And we have you to thank for that, not Gods.”
He was not right, but also not wrong. A breath like a fall of relief washed out of his mouth, and this time it carried no colour with it. Only a current of carefully considered waxing of lines like poetry. “Take it from me, I'm not a religious man.”
She hummed in reply. “Your stars don't speak to you tonight, either, though.”
“Sometimes they are content with listening.” He adjusted his gaze to the fog filled firmament again, and held an inner peace that grounded him to the dew ridden grass underneath. The eager night cast a chill into clothes, and hugged them with the coldness of drying sweat.
Whatever silent conversation he held, she would not disturb him, and made her way slowly over to the bodies. When he looked back over to her after a moment he saw her search one of the many corpses for clues, and shook his head. Her hands were busy fumbling through pockets, movements sluggish.
“We ought to do that tomorrow. No use in burning the bodies tonight either, unless you want no one to sleep tonight.” The grin that he painted onto his lips seemed fake even in the dim glow. “So just, go rest, okay?”
“I take first watch. You rest instead.” Byleth did not look up from her spot, hunched over a man that barely got out of wearing the moniker ‘boy' in his life. His teeth were bared in a frozen snarl, and the yellowed fangs reminded her more of an old feral animal than a human. Whatever the case, he would not roar anymore, and that was a blessing for them and a curse for his Mother.
Maybe people would miss him like she missed her Father. The thought let guilt bubble up like bile inside of her, and she gulped the bitter taste down and made to close his eyes with her bloodied hands. Better than a thousand yard stare, at any rate, and an early morning fiery grave would be better than none.
She wondered when she had gotten soft in the aftermath, because her body yet functioned on autopilot each time a battle came running her way with raised weapons. Drew her body taut like string on a bow, and now she snapped and felt it crumble until her legs could give out. Or maybe that was the repercussions of the Divine Pulse, and not the anxiety talking.
An anxiety that barked the moment a hand came to rest upon her shoulder once more, and she grit her teeth in a hiss and whipped around as though hit by the contact of gloves on cloth.
“Who-" Maybe someone had survived. Maybe someone came to get her. Maybe it was Death itself that now raised its claws to strike-
But no. The only thing shining in the glum moonlight were white teeth offset by red speckles, and it made his grin more animalistic, more grim. He was still the same person, though, the same scheming glimmer, the same ambitious twinkle in his eyes.
“Whoa whoa, Teach! Quite jumpy, are you now?” His hand yet remained there, where a wound decorated the flesh underneath. Upon noticing, now that he stood closer than ever, he drew his lips into a frown and made to grab her hand instead.
Then he winced, and remembered the tattered glove and open gash that cut into his own skin. He settled on grabbing hold of her hip with his good hand and steering her around in the end, fingers digging into her clothes as though to keep her from being tempted to run away.
Not that she ever did.
But he had lost her once before.
“Claude, this is-“ She sighed, gaze burning into that spot on his hand that yet dripped akin to melted metal. “You are wounded.”
“’tis just a flesh wound, Teach. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about.” A wink – if winded- was thrown into her direction with the force of a good natured flirt. Not that she took him by his words, the barbs underneath were poisonous and she was unsure how real any one of his lines weighed compared to easy lies.
“I look like wyvern dung, and so do you.” Byleth shook her head in contemplation, before ripping off parts of the cloth that were already torn from battle, but yet clean enough to function as a makeshift bandage. Marianne could take a look at it later, Claude possessed an aura of immobility whenever he had set his sight upon a distant goal.
Not knowing what such a goal was for him on a night like this she simply gestured to his hand, and once he relented and lend it to her she busied her fingers and mind by carefully wrapping the piece of fabric around the open gash. Applying pressure would at least stop the blood flow for the time being, and that was better than seeing him act nonchalant about the loss of so much of it.
“Sheesh, way to ruin the mood”, was what he muttered between the steady grind of his teeth hitting each other. The makeshift bandage dug into the wound tingling with pain, but steadily it numbed away to a dull thumping sensation. Byleth's hand was warm, and, though calloused and bloody, gave him comfort in ways that fires never would. This was a fickle flame, the barest of glimmers remaining in ash, and she seemed much more like a saviour than a demon.
Claude put the arrow he had steadily been twirling in his healthy hand into his quiver to clear his thoughts, and made to scratch the back of his head, the hair there caked with dirt, sweat and grime. “You didn't have to-"
“It looked serious.”
It was.
She wondered how long it would take him to properly grasp his bow again. Without Marianne's healing magic he might have to wait days if not weeks, and their group could not spare their leader on the battlefield.
“You should worry more about your own shoulder", he voiced. “What did you think would happen, shoving Hilda out of the way like that?”
With his own problem solved – for the time being – he steered Byleth closer over to the fireplace burning in the near distance, signalling their set up camp. With the warm glow of the flames hitting her skin the extent of the damage could be seen, and he put on a ghastly smile to hide the frown that was hurriedly trying to overtake his expression.
His voice, however, was not as easily fooled, and carried an air of genuine worry with it. “...does it hurt?”
She shook her head, shuddered from what she assumed was the cold. “In my defence, you did not notice it before.”
It was his turn to shake his head, this time in bewilderment, and he quickly unclasped the cloak from his shoulder and pushed it into Byleth's hands, the Alliance flag a golden yellow burning bright. “Here. Call it a trade of sorts. A deal. Deal?”
She opened her mouth to complain, yet closed it without muttering a single worth. Instead she sheepishly grabbed the fabric, then pressed it onto the stained part of her clothes. She had never been one for rich fabrics, could hardly ever tell the difference, but Claude was a Duke nowadays, wearing clothes that would cost more than a month's payment which a mercenary brought home.
Byleth could hardly understand the gesture, yet found herself breathing in the moment he turned away to check on the camping ground. A rush of calm wafted over her, together with the scent of tea and pine needles, the smell only mildly disturbed by the stench of death around her.
She felt her anxiety stop lashing out, and instead the angry hisses in the depths of her mind turned to a whimper, then a purr. In the cold of the night, grasping the fabric that so proudly made Claude into more than a man, she felt content. As though all she needed was a reminder of him being there, a hug of the ghostly kind.
The night howled with hollow creatures, cutting her out of her reverie.
As she made her way back to the crackling fireplace she saw Claude sit down on a log that had been turned sideways, facing the fire to allow for a warm place of rest. Before him, in the middle of the flames, bubbled a pot filled with murky water that gave off a mildly sweet fragrance.
She leaned closer to take in the aroma, and heard Claude chuckle lowly from his place on the wood. He held both hands behind his back and stared out into the fog, as though he could yet find constellations.
“What is this, Claude?”
He grinned, yet did not move to stare at her, his gaze transfixed on worlds unknown.
“Well, given that neither you nor I will go to bed anytime soon, we might as well enjoy ourselves, wouldn't you say, friend?”
She moved closer yet, until she stood next to him. Grabbed the wooden ladle then to stir whatever nice smelling beverage was brewing there, lifted up a spoonful and let it cool off in the chilly night air. The steam hugged her with a sweet embrace, and as she brought the ladle to her lips she tasted spices and sweetness, the perfect blend of a balancing act to keep weary travellers alive and alight in the night.
It did not taste good, but it was, undoubtedly, invigorating.
“Is this...tea?”
He grinned, patted the space next to him, then moved over as she meant to sit down. This way, she would rest on the warmed stump, instead of cold wood. Once Byleth had sat down he finally turned to her, and the etched smile that drew tightness into his lips as well as dimples made for a perfect picture.
“Special Riegan blend. You can take in the stars all night if you drink that.”
A laugh, and he got up and poured the both of them a mug each, the cups dingy and a tad dirty, but usable. Still much cleaner than the two of them combined, and she could handle whatever spice he had used for the blend, had had much worse during her time as a mercenary.
She thanked him with the smallest hint of a smile of her own, then warmed her hands – and still heart – through the hot beverage. Drinking it felt like gulping scorched earth, hot and heavy, and yet it tasted better than a banquet would have. Mainly because of the good companionship, though she would not voice such a thought.
“It is...”, she gulped one more mouthful down, “interesting.”
Setting the steaming mug into her lap, hands still taking in the heat eagerly, she stared at him in wonder. His eyes twinkled again with the mischief that he so loved, as though he dared her to speak whatever question lay on her tongue.
“When did you learn to blend your own tea?”
“Ahhh, so you do wish to know.” He held onto the mug with one hand, let the injured one gesture towards the hidden sky overhead. “It is, mind you, an amazing story. Truly spectacular.”
“And?”
“It will cost you something.” He grinned, flashed fangs that were now fierce and free of any red. The tea had washed it all down like an unfitting nightmare, and only left the numbness behind. His throat hurt from the heat, from the spice, from the Almyran based herbs. Yet it was a welcoming pain, different from the sting of his hand.
“A silver coin for your thoughts?” She bit back a grin upon noticing his mockingly grief-stricken face. It did little to wash away the exhaustion that clung to his features, but alleviated most of the unease that watchful evenings would bring.
Claude puffed out air. “I'm worth more than that, I'll have you know.”
“Two, then. And my ration of Raphael's ‘all in one' stew.” She chugged back another half of her drink, felt the tingling sensation of the tea coil into her stomach and take root there.
He hummed in return, held one hand up in a sign of good will. “Alright, alright, I'll yield to those terms.”
He cleared his throat, shot back the last of the tea that remained in his mug, and focused his attention back on the milky horizon. The fog danced like ghosts across the night, and she stifled a smile when thinking of telling such a fact to Lysithea.
For a moment everything was calm and serene, and only the wind disturbed what would otherwise be silence. Not even snoring could be heard, despite Ignatz' and Raphael's tent being the nearest to the two of them. Even Lorenz had decided to forego his extensive night routine to keep up his noble glamour in favour of a full night of sleep.
Byleth felt awake, and listened eagerly for Claude's words, her gaze more trained on him than the shadows of stars that dared to show themselves. His beard was scruffy and in need of shaving, the bags under his eyes were heavy, hair dirty and skin caked with blood. But he smiled, and it was radiant in ways this night could otherwise never hope to be.
“You see, there's this girl that kept this specific fella waiting for, like, a heck of a long time.” He smirked. “Really, who waits for five whole years? That guy must be crazy, right?”
The chuckle from his throat was rusty, but well loved. A bit of an old laugh if you will, harbouring feelings stored away until the dust had settled. Now that said dust came out the resounding rumble was rough.
“He sounds like a dreamer", she replied, and held onto her cup for continued warmth.
Claude continued, slowly, grin askew, cheeks red under the firelight. “A real catch!”
She could not stifle the giggle that threatened to break out, and the fierceness with which he smiled seemed to double in size.
“Anyhow", he continued, “so there he is, searching for her whenever his duties would allow him to. And just among the two of us, nobles are stuck up asses most of the time. But shhht!” A gloved finger came to rest at his lips, and he stared over just to wink at her. “That is confidential information and I trust you to handle it as such.”
“My lips are sealed.”
She must have imagined his attention linger on which she spoke aloud, because sooner rather than later he was gazing up at the stars again.
“So what are you supposed to do on long nights in the fields, with nothing but people going “My dear Duke, you look truly exhausted and must return to your bedroll at once!” for company? You look at the stars, that's what, so that's what I-“, he coughed once, “what he did.”
Byleth nodded, stood up and refilled both of their mugs. Claude voiced a silenced thank you, but commented no further on the action. He waited for her to get comfortable once again, though, before continuing. “But looking at the stars for a whole night can be boring, even for people such as him. And he missed the tea parties he would have with her, so he improvised.”
He drank another gulp of the hot beverage, wetted his lips, used the edge of his sleeve to attempt to clean parts of the dried mud and blood away. “Just so you know, tea can be quite horrible. Do not ever mix mint leafs with Almyran herbal spices, least of all ginger, it is truly awful.”
“It sounds like you speak from experience.”
He turned around to her once more, grin toothy and boyish. “Sheesh, I'm just recounting the age old story I've been told by a trusted ally. Who taught me tea blending, of course.”
She found herself laughing along quietly, and pressed her mug to her lips to keep from showing him more joy than she thought practical, given the current circumstances. “A wonder that you two share the same name.”
“Truly”, and he clunked their mugs together and drank to that. After, his tone became a tad more serious. “But yes. I experimented a long time, to find just the right mixture that kept me up on starry nights. I felt closer to you, then, friend.”
Her mind meant to tease out an “And now?”, but her body kept silent. She simply let the curl of her lips speak, and breathed in calmly. Settled on a statement that said little at all, in the end.
“Well, the tea is good.”
“I'm glad, then.” A smile, a gulp, and he finally settled down the mug that was now truly empty. Returned his focus to the stars then, and the foggy limbs trying to claim both them and the celestial bodies up ahead. They were outstretched arms attempting chilled hugs, and he moved to put his arms around her but decided against it. An easier scheme had to do.
“See the ones peeking out to watch us?” Upon noticing her confused gaze he took a hold of her arm, his grip strong and firm but steady, and pointed it up into the sky. “If you look right there, you can see some.”
She concentrated despite his closeness, eyes trained on the goal, and it gave him relief he did not know he needed. Then she gasped in wonder, and he felt his cheeks flush crimson – and not from the blood staining his skin.
“There!”
Claude grinned. “That up there is what my folks call ‘red wyvern stars'. See how bright they are? The saying goes that they can spit fire, and so they had to be banned to the firmament because they lived in fear of dragons. So an Archer named Arash pinned them to the sky.”
Byleth looked ahead with curiosity, attempting to focus on each of the bright twinkling celestial bodies she could find. There weren't many, but Claude was right, they won the fight against the fog and looked down on them both.
“We gave them all names. You know, like they are part of our world. A lot of them belong to our constellations too.”
Byleth nodded intently, noticing now how close Claude really was and that he still hadn't let go of her arm. He kept it steady as though it were a compass, and in the dying night it mattered little how he looked or what damage he wore as a badge of pride. What mattered was his companionship, his truths, all the small eternities that he was willing to share.
“Do you think you can shoot one onto the sky and create your own star one day?”
He laughed, a trembling little sound that vibrated through her skin and reached the depths of her still heart. It was hearty, and heart-warming, and heartrending.
She breathed in, sucked in air like a lifeline, and the chill of the night claimed her throat and took all heat away. Suddenly she felt cold, and ever-hot, and shuddered underneath his touch. But his laughter yet ringed out, and his hand on hers was steady.
“If I can, then it will be one to shatter even Gods.”
[1] Red Wyvern Stars = Red Giants, many of our well known bright stars (ex. Aldebaran) are of this type of star.
[2] Arash the Archer: A Hero from Iranian folklore who settled a land dispute between Iran and Turan by shooting an arrow.