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Souls were made in pairs.
That was indisputably true. The Goddess had made each into a half of a whole, a two sided coin, the sun had the moon, and the winter always knew summer well. For as long as anyone could remember, before there was Fodlan, before there was a name for it, there was another half, and as many times as they were born, they were meant to find each other.
Whether one minded such things was their own business.
Lorenz was tired of being asked about it. Elegantly resting his jaw on his bony hand, watching his professor scrawl on the blackboard in chalk, he thought to the latest gossip about a young couple who had recently shared their first kiss, only to realize they were soulmates. A few of their classmates had flown into an excited tizzy.
“Kiss me, Lorenz.” Hilda slouched over the lunch table, twirling a pink lock around her finger. “Just so I know you’re not my soulmate.”
“Hilda, I need not kiss you to determine such a thing. Besides, your friendship is too dear to me to spoil it in such a way.”
“You’re no fun,” sighed Hilda. “Besides, you wanna know who your soulmate is, right?” She waggled her eyebrows.
“I don’t see why it matters,” said Lorenz. “Perhaps I’ve been jaded, but I don’t suppose such a thing has any bearing on my education. Besides, I don’t think there are any real reasons that I shouldn’t be content to live without knowing my soulmate.”
“Aww,” said Hilda, “that’s almost sad. You’re not even a little curious? What if she’s, like, the most well bred, proper lady of all time? Wouldn’t it be worth it then?” She smirked playfully, looking down at her fingernails.
“I’m not interested in kissing young ladies simply to determine whether or not she and I are soulmates. I would like to determine our compatibility and get to know her over a proper courtship period first.” He stiffly set down his napkin on his plate, no longer appetized by his lunch, stomach churning at the very thought.
“You’re so stuffy,” groaned Hilda. “Man, I hope my soulmate is fun. Could you imagine me, stuck with some drag?”
“No, I really can’t,” said Lorenz, only mildly offended. “I suppose you’ve propositioned kisses to half of Garreg Mach?”
“Of course,” said Hilda, leaning back in her chair. “That stable boy who smells nice, Sylvain, Dorothea, Claude--”
“Claude fell for something so ridiculous?”
“Surprised?” Hilda grinned. “I mean, he’s not my soulmate, but sometimes you have to triple check.”
“I’m surprised at him, not you,” said Lorenz, inexplicably sore at the idea. The leader of the Golden Deer house should have been above such antics.
“It’s all good fun, Lorenz.” Hilda stretched and stood up. “Come one, maybe I can get that stable boy to kiss you after riding practice.”
His attention was diverted back to lessons. Claude was amicably joking with the professor about wyverns, a golden smile on his face as the professor quietly snorted. Lorenz stared down at his book. Flying. He thought about flying.
<>
Dreams and memories of past lives mingle together when one is alone, or at least, that was what other people said.
Lorenz dreamed about flying.
He was on a pegasus, in most of these dreams, laughing and clinging to the back of a faceless woman, pushing long dark hair out of his face as he clung to her. He was wearing a gown, streaming behind him as they coasted over dim villages below.
He dreamed other times about rain, about poverty and the joy brought by thunderstorms in a drought. He dreamt about kissing a wrinkled, old face whose features he could never find when he awoke, about grandchildren tripping around his ankles.
He would wake up with memories of lands he had never seen, of shining beaches, of moonlight and crisp white sheets and a singing voice so familiar it left him with tears in his eyes.
But most of all, he dreamed about being loved, and that was enough consolation until he could find his soulmate again.
<>
Marianne silently stood by his side, patiently mending his arm while everyone else picked through the aftermath of the skirmish with bandits. He had taken a glance of the sword to the left arm, and though it was no serious threat, it was better to patch it up now.
“Thank you, Marianne,” he said as she continued with her work.
“This is my duty.” Marianne didn’t flinch, her sky-blue curtain of hair shrouding her eyes.
“Is something wrong?” Lorenz glanced at her concernedly. “You seem disquieted.”
“I’m not,” said Marianne quietly. “It’s simply difficult at times to face battle. Such things so often seem senseless to me.”
“I understand,” said Lorenz, softening. “It is quite gruesome, isn’t it?”
Marianne nodded, the ice-blue glow in her hands dimming as the wound on his arm closed. “How can you bear it?”
“There are people in need of protection,” he said simply. “In a way, it’s my duty as well, as a noble. One day, I’ll be the Count of Gloucester, and I’ll shoulder the responsibilities of protecting the people who rely on me.”
“What a heavy weight,” said Marianne, downcast. He wanted to see her smile someday, not like this.
“It is not so bad,” he said. “One day, both of us will sit at the round table, should all go well. I know you will exceed anyone’s expectations one day.” He didn’t know how reassuring that was for poor Marianne.
“I see,” said Marianne, lowering her hands. Lorenz tugged the sleeve of his shirt back down. “Thank you for the kind words, but I think I’ll go back to Dorte now.” She scurried off, and he sighed.
“I didn’t take you as the girl trouble type,” said Claude. “But Marianne is pretty and noble, so maybe I can see it.”
Lorenz nearly jumped out of his skin. “Claude!” he said, catching his breath. “You saw that?”
“What are you gonna do if I say yes?”
Lorenz paused, both embarrassed and flabbergasted. “I suppose I’ll have no choice but to politely ask you to keep such things in confidence.”
“How do you know I won’t tell the professor? I seem to remember her telling you not to keep harassing the poor girls in our house.”
“It’s arrogant of you to make the assumption that I was harassing her.”
“Alright, alright,” said Claude. “By the way, that looked pretty nasty. Tell me you’re not too banged up.”
“I’m perfectly well.” He stiffened, readjusting his armor over the freshly healed gash.
“Good. Can’t have you getting too beat up out there, right?” Claude ribbed him lightly with his elbow. “Well, we should be heading back. Come on. Teach’s already got the campfires going.”
<>
The embers were smoldering in the stone ring, as dim as the stars above them, and the smoke wafted up like trails. Mostly everyone else had already gone to sleep, and Ignatz had been left to tend the final remains of the fire. Lorenz had chosen to stay awake with him, the two of them in the waking world, where Lorenz didn’t have to dream about things he could only want from afar.
“You’re awfully quiet,” said Ignatz, glancing over at Lorenz from his sketchbook. “Is something the matter?”
“No, nothing,” said Lorenz, holding the tin travelling mug in both hands as he watched the fire slowly sputter its way out. “Ignatz, I have no interest in prying into your personal affairs, but may I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” said Ignatz, lowering his charcoal. “What’s the question?”
Lorenz awkwardly grimaced, bracing himself for the puerile conversation he was about to initiate. “When did you--” he paused, “ah-- about your soulmate. When did you know it was Raphael?”
“Oh,” said Ignatz, with an almost wry awkward smile as he slowly relaxed. “I barely remember it. Maybe that isn’t the right thing to say, but Raphael and I grew up together. You’re six years old and running around in the woods with your best friend and he kisses your cheek and it just sort of...hits you. I barely remember what it was like before.” He shrugged. “Couldn’t you ask your parents?”
“My parents are not soulmates. Marriage is a question of financial and political suitability for them.” He phrased it delicately, and admitted that he had resigned to that guiding principle for himself as well.
“Right, right,” said Ignatz, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess you didn’t really have anyone to talk to about that.”
“Unfortunately,” said Lorenz, thinking of his family, “I didn’t.” He paused, ruminating on what it meant. “What does it feel like?”
“I don’t know how to really explain it. It’s as if…” He stopped. “It’s as if you’ve read, or lived, a thousand books and you remember them all. They feel different from your own memories, but so similar all at once.”
“I see,” said Lorenz, pondering it quietly.
“Why are you asking? I’m just curious, so if you don’t want to talk about it--”
“The thought simply occured to me that I know very few people our age who know their soulmates already, let alone that I should feel untroubled speaking with any of them but yourself.” Lorenz sat stiffly upright, swirling the hot broth in the mug thoughtfully.
“I guess that’s true.” Ignatz tilted his head in thought. “Are you thinking about them? Your soulmate, I mean? They say the more you think about them, the closer you are to finding them.”
“No,” lied Lorenz. “No, the grapevine has simply circulated rumors around the academy enough to provoke my curiosity.”
<>
It was a Friday when the professor put both Lorenz and Marianne on stable duty together. They had worked together countless times; it provided a brief classroom respite for Marianne, and Lorenz needed the riding and horse care time. Besides, both of them were reasonably close friends, and to see her comfortable and in her element was welcome after watching her be so uncomfortable throughout social events, battles, and class time.
Early spring was a time that he had always liked. The flowers in his mother’s garden would be blooming now, he thought to himself, and the first of the Gloucester roses would be peeking out their early buds. And as they walked over the fields towards the stables, he could see the first petals of wildflowers, hepatica and sweetviolet peeking over the low grass that was only just turning green.
“Isn’t it nice?” said Marianne quietly as she knelt beside one of the early blossoms, picking up a tiny white bloom in her hand. “Winter felt so long.”
Lorenz knelt beside her, gentle with the delicate, soft plants beneath his knees. “It must’ve.” He felt like no time had passed at all, really-- a blur of hours spent in the classroom or out in the snow, a blur of bickering with Claude and attempting to acquaint himself with women of noble dispositions.
“I’m glad that the professor decided you and I ought to work together,” said Marianne, clearly straining herself to be accomodating.
“I am as well. I bear great respect for unbroken silence at times, though my mannerisms often bely that.” Marianne gave him a knowing smile of gratitude and stood up, brushing blades of grass off of her longer winter skirt.
Lorenz was good at taking care of hooves and brushing coats, and Marianne often was found tending the horse’s injuries or soothing them, and the two were more often than not, a formidable duo in the realm of equine tending. He used a pick to get caked mud out from between the shoe and hood, humming to soothe the horse-- that was what Marianne did, he thought.
“Have you been considering what the future may hold for you after graduation?” Lorenz glanced up at her from below the horse as she soothed it and tended to a sore on its shoulder.
“A little,” said Marianne. “I’ll return home, I suppose.”
“Perhaps it would be possible to make other arrangements?” he said, a trepidatious offer. “As you well know, the Gloucester family has access to a very large library of information, and our stables are--”
“May I ask your proposition?” Marianne cut him off, her low whisper of a voice clean and to the point.
“Marianne,” he said, standing and setting down the pick. “I think you are one of the most remarkable women I have met in my life. I proposition that the two of us begin a courtship.”
She sighed, eyes closed. “Lorenz...how shall I say this?” She stepped closer to him. “I don’t know if you’re the one. My soulmate.”
“May we find out?” He offered out a clean palm, and Marianne set her hand in his.
“We may.” She closed her eyes, setting her jaw high, and he leaned down to kiss her.
He had kissed a stableboy once. They were both perhaps fifteen, in the very back of the stall, while he had helped Lorenz off his saddle. Ernst. That was his name. He was funny. He had smelled like leather and earth and wool. And he vanished a few months later, like nothing.
Marianne smelled like hay, and a hint of oats and lavender. Sweet. Gentle. But he realized with a sigh of relief, that he felt...nothing. Not a single hint of the divine a soulmate was to connect one to. Not a spark. He sighed, looking down at her forehead as she opened her brown eyes.
“It is better to know.” He smiled. “I would rather kiss a single time and have my answer than spend months wondering.”
“Y...you’re right,” said Marianne, the tired look in her eyes dim once more. “I’m glad you’re my friend. Please,” she said, returning to her duties, “hand me the body brush by the trough.”
<>
“Lorenz, you’re not gonna believe this one,” said Claude, sliding up beside him on the library bench and thumping a heavy stack of books onto the table. “Oh, whatcha reading?”
“The formulaica of mid-sixth century dark magic theory-- why are you interested?”
“I’m not,” said Claude, swinging a leg over to face him squarely. “I got big news, buddy.”
“Then let us be on with it,” said Lorenz, slightly miffed as he shut his book and faced Claude.
“Well, the first news, is that the library has a first edition copy of Sunset In Derdriu, which is the most important piece of literature ever published in Leicester, and will you look at the inscriptions,” he said, holding up a maroon novel. “This thing’s four hundred years old and in mint condition.”
“Your enthusiasm for literary history is duly noted,” said Lorenz. “But is that an unbelievable, emergency announcement? You certainly acted like you were in a hurry.”
“I’ll give you three guesses,” said Claude, slouching over the table on his elbow.
“The professor has a long lost twin who is in a secret affair with Professor Manuela.”
“Nope, but that is...really an imagination there. Next guess.”
“Raphael only ate two portions at lunch.”
“You wound me, that’s a medical emergency and I definitely wouldn’t come to you for that.” Lorenz couldn’t help but crack a smile at that.
“The professor asked you to represent us in the White Heron cup, thus dooming us all.”
“Oof, three strikes. Ignatz is representing us. I told her I was far more charming, but hey, I can’t change her mind.”
“Then what is all the commotion about?”
One of the librarians hushed them from her shelving duties.
“The commotion,” said Claude, voice low and nearly a whisper, “is that two of our friends have found their soulmates.”
“I have next to no interest in such parlor gossip,” said Lorenz, flipping his hair.
“You will in this parlor gossip. It’s Marianne and Hilda. Mari told me to tell you.” Lorenz was staggered, mouth agape as he leaned back slightly. “That surprised? I mean, I knew you were chasing Marianne around but--”
“Please refrain from such phrasing. If you must know, I’m very happy for both of them. This is simply very unexpected.” He pushed a stray purple strand behind his ear, wincing at the thought of haircuts and reprimandations about heirs and good behavior. “I hope they have a future together.”
“Why wouldn’t they? They’re soulmates. It’s pretty set in stone.” Claude looked at him in that curious way-- like Lorenz was from another planet, like he was a subject to observe, that made Lorenz feel seen and vulnerable.
“Most nobles don’t marry their soulmates,” said Lorenz plainly. “And that is on the contingent that they even find their soulmate. Especially if they’re--” He held that thought, the vitriol and restraint in his tone stopping him. Claude had to have known. “I wager that after graduation comes to pass, both of them will wed otherwise and remain letter writing companions, but be kept apart. I can pray on their behalf that they stay together, however.”
“No wonder she left,” muttered Claude under his breath, so quiet Lorenz could barely hear him. “I like to look on the bright side. You’re telling me if you found your soulmate today, you wouldn’t care?”
“It would have little to no impact on my life, no,” said Lorenz, the faintest blush on his face.
“You sure?” Claude tilted his head. “Not even curious?”
“Not even a bit.” Lorenz opened his book back up and redipped his quill. “If you would like to study in my company, however, you’re welcome.”
<>
“What is it like?” Lorenz and Marianne were walking downstairs to the fish pond, where the professor had told both of them to practice throwing lances at targets she had set up. “To know your soulmate, I mean.”
“Imagine…” Marianne paused, picking up a short spear. “Imagine if you walked into a house that felt like home, and you knew where everything was, perfectly, except that you had never been there before. It feels so familiar and new all at once. Safe,” she said, throwing the spear and hitting the right of the target.
“How did you know it was Hilda?” He threw his spear and hit slightly above hers.
“I didn’t,” she admitted. “I had been feeling so strange since I came to Garreg Mach, and I knew it would be...I knew it would be a woman,” she said softly. “But Hilda and I truly did kiss on accident. She was practicing my makeup for the dance…” Marianne was turning pink. “And she said she put too much lipstick on me, and that it was a shame to let it go to waste.”
“How brazen of her,” said Lorenz, “but that does sound like Hilda.” He retrieved both of the spears and handed Marianne hers. “I’m sure that knowing what’s to come is spine chilling.”
“I’ll find a way to manage,” said Marianne, staring down at the spear in her hand. “I know that we’ll see one another again, no matter how distantly. If you keep the weapon away from them, they can’t hurt you.” She raised the spear and threw it again at the target.
<>
Lorenz danced with Marianne as a cover at the annual ball. If word made it too far out of their trusted friend group that she and Hilda were soulmates, the consequences would be longreaching, for both of them. It was better to keep it quiet. It was better to let the stove burn under other rumors for a time.
He was dancing with Marianne.
So why did he keep looking at Claude?
The way Claude laughed at his own jokes with their professor as he spun her over the dancefloor, keeping space between them appropriately even though he could tell-- they had a real friendship. The way the candlelight caught his emerald eyes. The way the gold embroidery on his formal jacket complemented his warm skin. The way his tousled hair seemed to sway with every note and his voice carried even across the parquet floors of the ballroom.
“When you’re dancing, it’s polite to keep your attention on your partner,” said Marianne softly, catching his gaze and glancing at Claude. “He’s having a good time.”
“He is,” agreed Lorenz, watching him dip the professor as she snort laughed. The poor woman needed an excuse to laugh, she was having such a difficult few months. “Have you informed your father?”
“N...no.” Marianne stepped carefully, eyes on the ground as she followed the dance. “I don’t think I will.”
“Eventually, others will discover the two of you. I hope it’s later rather than sooner, and know that I will defend you both,” he said, the polite distance between himself and Marianne no longer filled by uncomfortable fear, but rather the proximity of friendship. “Ah, step to the left.”
“That’s good to hear. Hilda has told me Holst will know,” she said, with no expression to betray her. “Otherwise, we’re keeping it a secret. Claude knows, as do you and the professor. Hilda said something to Raphael, and Lysithea overheard our conversation once-- oh!” She tripped over her long, dark blue skirt, and he caught her before she crashed under the weight of her heavy dress.
“But it is mostly safe?” He helped her right herself and returned to the rhythm of the dance.
“It is,” she said. “I heard Ignatz lost the Heron cup to Dorothea.” Lorenz paused.
“Dorothea deserves to win,” he admitted.
“Go dance with him,” said Marianne. “These shoes will not hold me up all night.”
“Ignatz?” Lorenz tilted his head.
“No,” said Marianne, “the one you’ve been looking at all night. I’ll rest for a few minutes.” The professor had slipped away, and Claude was in the corner drinking punch.
“Good evening,” said Lorenz, approaching him with stiff courtesy.
“Hey,” said Claude, slurping the drink. “Are you having fun? Or did Marianne get sick of listening to you talk about your noble duties?”
“Actually, she and I were rather enjoying ourselves. She’s merely tired of dancing.”
“I gotcha. Came over here to bother me, then?”
“Ah, I was actually considering propositioning a dance between us?” He bit his tongue, trying to avoid pouring out excuses and leaving the question be.
“Me? I thought you thought I was usurping your seat as the future leader of the Alliance.”
“This is not to say that you aren’t,” said Lorenz, “but you and I are capable of being reasonable adults and sharing a cordial dance once, are we not?”
“Of course, your Countliness,” said Claude, in a too-low mock bow. “Come on, then.” He offered out his arm and guided him to the dance floor, and, although Claude was shorter, he took the lead of the waltz. “So. You look nice.”
“Thank you,” said Lorenz. “It’s imported silk, specially tailored for such events, and--”
“You don’t need to impress me,” said Claude. “Gloucester rose on the lapel, too. Pulls it all together.”
“Oh,” said Lorenz. “Why, I suppose it does.” They danced in silence for a few minutes.
“So after you graduate, are you going back to Gloucester?” Claude spun him around, arm outstretched before he pulled Lorenz in back closer.
“Of course,” said Lorenz. This felt familiar. This felt like a dream. “My father has requested that I marry suitably and begin to take my role as the heir of the Count of Gloucester.”
“So you’re just going to do what you’re told,” said Claude. “Really?”
“Not exactly,” said Lorenz. “I have personal liberties, agendas, ideas of my own accord. No child lives to serve their parent.”
“Well, sure, but don’t you make your whole life about your...noble duties, right?”
“Those are not my father’s,” said Lorenz. “In fact, as a leader he has many faults.”
“Oh yeah?” Claude’s interest was piqued.
“Of course. For starters, while he’s a talented financier, many of his civil policies--”
The discourse on Alliance politics slowly migrated to talk of religion, to philosophy, to family, to friends, to love again, but by then, the music had stopped, and there were only two teenage boys, standing alone together on the back balcony of Garreg Mach’s ballroom.
“You mean to tell me that your mother… ran away from her family and vanished forever, simply because she met her soulmate?”
“Simply? Why, that’s very cynical of you, Count Gloucester,” said Claude sardonically. “Maybe I’m an idealist--”
“A running theme tonight--”
“But if you knew the person who would bring you the most happiness in the world was out there, wouldn’t you look for them?”
“No,” said Lorenz. “He would get in the way of my responsibilities.”
“Ah, so it’s a he now,” said Claude, a mischievous smile on his face.
“Perhaps. Or a she.” It was a bad cover, and he knew it. “And I think we all have some say over who we love. You can learn to love even the most despicable people if you so choose, and to believe that there’s only one true love in such a large world is silly. Why, think of how many people have found love without soulmates and are perfectly happy.”
“Oh, they’re out there,” agreed Claude, “but I don’t think that’s what you’re talking about.”
“Then take the words out of my mouth.”
“You know how if you keep a cat inside for long enough it’ll become affectionate eventually?”
“Oh, stop,” said Lorenz. “I’m very serious. If my duties require me to love a woman for the greater good, then I would oblige without objection.”
“That’s dismal.”
“But I hardly see you running around looking for soulmates, Claude. Perhaps you agree with me, deep down?”
“How do you know I haven’t already found mine?” That put a stopper in the conversation as Lorenz pouted. “What I’m saying is, you have no idea what’s going on in my little world. Big world, really. I’ve seen the happiness it can bring people.”
“And I’ve seen the pain,” said Lorenz, trying to forget all the beautiful dreams. “Think of Marianne and Hilda. Wouldn’t either of them be happier in a world where they had more say over who they loved?”
“Of course. But think of how happy the both of them have been already just since they found out. You’ve never seen life in Marianne’s eyes like that. It’s not the soul’s fault that Fodlan has warped the whole thing so horribly--”
“You’re part of Fodlan, too.”
Claude looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. “I think it’s time for bed. I’m exhausted. Let’s go.” He stretched his shoulders and they walked back in quiet. Claude stopped in front of his dormitory, jacket flung over his shoulder.
“By the way, I haven’t met my soulmate. Thought you should know.”
<>
Five years is a horribly long time.
Lorenz stopped having the dreams for a time. He wondered why, but decided to pay it no mind. Things that transpired at Garreg Mach felt as distant as the sun, as distant as the moon to him most of the time, as if they themselves were dreams instead of memories. It was easier to wake up in the mornings, but he felt less rested, as if dreams had been giving him something to have the energy to do, nourishing him body and soul. Perhaps it was his father wearying him; that would make sense.
He and his mother, both pianists and gentle in their different ways, would spend time together in quiet, but his father was the one who expected more from his son than political meanderings, paperwork, and the sympathy of their allies. Lorenz had to marry, and he had to marry fast. It seemed that each month, a new young woman was visiting.
Some of them were sweet, or clever. A few were truly beautiful, and one was even a wonderfully talented archer who had familiar eyes to him-- sharp. He might have even married her, had he not been so distressed on the matter that he actually took ill. He lounged for a few days, writing letters back and forth.
Marianne and Hilda were still in written contact, and to their knowledge, their secret was safe, and Marianne’s adoptive father, after her return from Garreg Mach without a fiance, had abandoned the pursuit altogether and was helping her get involved with swordplay and allowed her more freedoms. She had said that although it was liberating, it also felt like a slow defeat, which made her silence on Hilda feel far more painful, and that she missed her dearly. Letters from Hilda were shorter. She liked to enclose scraps, flowers, extra notes-- there was nothing tidy about her letters, which endeared her to him all the more. Hilda talked of extravagant galas and balls, of news from her brother and even that once, she visited Claude in Derdriu-- but Lorenz hadn’t yet mustered the courage to write to Claude.
Claude.
You couldn’t walk into any town hall or meeting or tea party in all of Leicester without hearing about Claude. That he was handsome, or that he was as cunning as a snake. One woman said she’d heard that he was a dark magician in hiding, planted by the empire, another suggested he killed the late Duke Riegan himself, and many less kind rumors crept around about him that made Lorenz seethe. Still more were people who liked him, and many did. He was clever, he was goodhearted, and Lorenz knew that he was a person, young, and capable of growing into a good leader.
But he couldn’t write to him. He didn’t know why. He didn’t have the strength in him-- no, that wasn’t right. It was that he could think of no way to grasp at the unspoken. To coax the way he felt out of the quill, to share even an inkling of a thought, seemed impossible. And thus, he maintained the hiatus, though Hilda or Marianne would, at times, update him on such matters.
Lorenz would look up at the stars, on the nights where he missed his dreams, where sleep felt hollow and drear, and he would think not of such happy past lives, but of Claude.
<>
Lorenz stood gasping in the aftermath of the battle, as Raphael dug the graves for the thieves. Marianne and Hilda threw themselves into each other’s arms, the professor was alive and well and offering the same brief, cryptic answers to questions that she always had, Leonie was laughing with her bow in hand and patching up the nick on Ignatz’s arm, and hovering to the side was Claude.
Lorenz approached in the comfortable way of a friend, like they had once been, though it seemed both of them had changed and grown so. “Claude,” he said, clearing his throat. “You look well. Dukedom has been agreeing with you.”
“So it has,” said Claude, uncrossing his arms as they meandered away from the rest of the group. “It’s been pretty tiring lately, though. Lots of work. And there’s so much to explain to our old friend back there that she missed.”
“There is, isn’t there.” He sighed. “Are you doing well, yourself? Truly, your well being. This must be a great deal to handle.”
“It’s nothing I can’t do, and I have the round table on my side.”
“I know that,” said Lorenz, leaning closer to him. “I doubt there’s a thing in the world that could stop Claude von Riegan if he set his mind to it.”
“Maybe I’ve given you the wrong impression,” said Claude. “There’s plenty that could. Edelgard, for one.”
“Oh, can you please stop talking politics for one blasted moment.”
Claude scowled at him, and Lorenz felt a low pit of guilt, but he continued. “Claude, I want to speak plainly about your more personal existence. If I wanted to opine about international affairs, I would be in Gloucester.”
“Why do you use so many words,” said Claude, wrapping him in a hug. Lorenz was taken aback, and had to stoop slightly to return the embrace, but Claude was warm, and he smelled like pine and leather and-- and it felt so right, so real, like a dream. Like a dream.
“It’s in my nature,” said Lorenz.
“I missed you. You should’ve written to me.”
Lorenz didn’t have anything to say to that, and he pressed his cheek to the top of Claude’s head. “I would look for the words,” he admitted, “but never find them. I’m sorry.”
“Lorenz,” he said, looking up at him, “I have a question.”
“Which is?”
“Did you ever find him?”
Lorenz stopped for a second, thinking hard about what to say, though the answer was only one word. “No.”
“Can I--”
Lorenz knew what he was asking before the words left his mouth, and leaned down to gently kiss him, low and soft and dry.
Like a wind, like a fire, like coming home, like knowing ten thousand books, like hearing a melody for the second time, like a cool drink of water. Moonlight, beaches, rain on wrinkled faces, the laughter of children, the feeling of soaring, a million names and two souls all seemed to run into and through him the way water poured through a sieve. There he was. There he had always been, for as long as they had been whispers of ghosts. Claude and Lorenz. Lorenz and Claude.
“Oh,” Lorenz said, barely able to form words, tears welling in his eyes.