Chapter Text
“It’s for diplomacy, Claude. Don’t go home yet Claude, go to Faerghus, what could go wrong? Everything will be fine Claude, it’s not like it’s the middle of winter in this Gods-forsaken hell-icicle they call a country!” Maybe it was petty to talk to himself. Maybe he was delirious from the cold. Maybe he was dying! He was too damned cold, that was for sure!
Just to spite him, the little crackling fire left in the hearth fizzled out. “No! Come back, I need you!” He stared at the smoking hunk of charcoal. Wishing for things to change achieved nothing, but nonetheless he wished really hard for the fire to come back.
It didn’t.
He bundled himself together and cursed the fireplace. Anything to distract himself from the cold. He was big enough of a man to admit he held some of the blame for his freezing conditions. A tiny bit. What a brilliant idea to not bring his warm, puffy, toasty quilted jacket meant for the cold air of the sky. Nooo, he just had to switch to his Barbarossa outfit. His tits were going to freeze off. So much for looking intimidating, or impressive, or sexy, or whatever stupid excuse he justified the switch back in Derdriu.
He needed to get up and move around. Instead he curled in on himself, tucking his legs into his chest as he continued to pathetically shiver. What a sight he must be. Former Duke of Riegan and Prince of Almyra, felled by a ‘little cold snap’ as Sylvain called it. If Dimitri walked in on him like this, he was going to die on the spot. Or maybe beg his once academy crush to cuddle for warmth. Faerghans were infuriating. None of them ever got cold! Maybe they radiated heat. Unfortunately fantasizing about Dimitri enveloping him in warmth did nothing to actually warm him.
The king had no reason to come check on him anyways. The old Blaiddyd estate (they weren’t even to Fhirdiad yet, they had to trek even further north still!) held plenty of rooms for their not-so-little band. Gods, what he wouldn’t give to share a bed with someone. He’d take Sylvain even if that meant getting groped in his sleep. Or Felix, getting stabbed a few times would be a decent trade off. Hell, if the emperor herself appeared before him, he might just throw himself at her feet for some warmth (okay, maybe not Edelgard. Or Hubert. But he was willing to risk literally anyone else.)
Okay. He moped long enough. Blankets. He needed a mountain of blankets. Unfortunately the old estate’s supplies dwindled in the past five years of neglect, both from robbery and moths. Some of the more hardy Faerghans volunteered to go without blankets. Granted, they all had toasty-looking cloaks to sleep in (unlike him. Master tactician, as if). He forced himself to his feet and shivered his way to the dusty bed. He really needed to fix up his temporary sleeping quarters. He planned to after the fire warmed his bones. All he succeeded in was nearly pitching himself into the little blaze before it winked out. One of the Faerghans was probably chopping wood. Dimitri? Maybe Dimitri? Maybe he would deliver fresh wood to Claude, hot and sweaty from chopping, maybe give him a warm hug, maybe…
He wrapped the thin, slightly holey blanket around himself. The little manor was in very poor shape. An icy breeze whistled into his room from somewhere. Could be worse, he reminded himself. Despite ceding his title and land to Dimitri, he was still treated with the same respect his former station was owed. Unlike Leicester, Faerghus was serious about respecting superiors. Which meant he got his own room, the one deemed the ‘second best’ in the estate. Dimitri of course got the best. Teach would have gotten his room, but apparently they were used to sleeping in cold conditions and already set up their bed roll in a different spot. While the argument about moving them somewhere more ‘suitable’ had been humorous, he got stuck with the very spacious and somewhat breezy room.
“Sorry mom, sorry dad. Guess I didn’t make it home. I’m not going to make it.” What was he saying? He couldn’t give up here! It was just a little cold. He needed to swallow his damned pride and get help. Maybe go to a mage and request some fire. Check out what the others were up to. Dedue and Ashe were probably in the process of making dinner (Gods he needed whatever was for dinner to be warm, stew better be on the menu). Maybe someone had a real blaze of a fire roaring. Maybe he would just throw himself at the first warm-looking person he could find and beg. If he was lucky he might get help. Or maybe he would find Felix and the swordsman would put him out of his misery.
Plan in place, he left his room. The door handle was just as icy as everything else. Where were his gloves? He’d taken off his boots because the outer metal was sucking the life out of him. Where were his gloves though? Damned hells, he couldn’t think past the cold. What was his plan again? Find someone?
Dimitri’s room was just down the hall from his. To get anywhere else would involve going down some perilous stairs that were iced over wind tunnels. Right, that was why he hadn’t left his room earlier. Dimitri’s room it was.
“Hey Your Kingliness, how’s it g-going?” He didn’t bother knocking as he rushed inside. Yanking his hand away from the cold door handle and tucking it under his armpit, he forced himself to stand up straight. He might be huddled in a blanket and chattering, but he could huddle in a blanket and chatter with dignity.
Silence greeted him. “Hello? Your Royalness?” Eyes sweeping around the room, he came to the intelligent conclusion that Dimitri wasn’t around. “Great. All that for nothing.” At least the room was slightly (very, very slightly) warmer. The tapestries against the walls were less damaged than the ones in his room. The door must have had a good lock on it to save it from looters. Moths on the other hand cared not for the whims of man and only cared for the tasty textiles of man. Oh well. The tapestries remaining made much better insulation than his barren room.
In any other circumstance Claude’s mood would skyrocket at the chance to snoop. It seemed his snoop-instinct wasn’t cold resistant. Lucky for him, it was perfectly in character to sneak into Dimitri’s room. He could claim he… wanted to talk tactics! Yes. And that he was just waiting for the blond to return. Dimitri did tell him to make himself at home after all. Making himself ‘at home’ meant lighting the whole damned place on fire just to have a taste of home’s warmth though, so he’d settle for crashing in Dimitri’s room. It wasn’t really Dimitri’s room either, just the master bedroom. He was willing to bet Dimitri’s father stayed in the room at least a few times. And a long line of ancestors as well. The place was just begging for him to uncover its long lost secrets!
His snoop-instinct was still intact. His willingness to act on that instinct, less so. He shuffled over to Dimitri’s bed, pleased to note that someone (Dedue, probably) already dusted the mattress. That guy worked fast. Dimitri was spoiled with a whole two blankets. Surely it wouldn’t be that weird if Dimitri walked in on him in his bed. He was cold! Any pride he held about his weakness to the cold was long shattered when they encountered snow (for the first time in his case) and he didn’t exactly perform well. The Faerghans took pity on him (yet all refused to lend him so much as a measly cloak), which was why he was sent to bed early instead of being put to work like…
Oh, right. Dimitri was helping around the estate. Like everyone else. Hadn’t someone mentioned they would bring him more wood when there was some cut? Surely that was hours ago, or perhaps his sense of time was frozen. Dimitri wouldn’t begrudge him the warmth of blankets and a dust-free bed. He was a nice guy like that (now that he wasn’t, uh, whatever he’d been like at Gronder).
The two extra blankets joined his own. They were just as thin and barely helped at all.
Despite wanting to curl up and sleep forever, he forced himself to pace around the room. Maybe he could pull a tapestry down and use that as a thick blanket? That was a lot of dust to deal with though… He wasn’t sure his numb fingers were dexterous enough to yank one down without causing damage to it. Hell, he had money! He could just pay Dimitri back!
Just before he tried tugging at a tapestry, something else caught his eye. Carefully folded on the dresser was Dimitri’s cloak. The cloak. The blue and black one with white and black fur. Dimitri’s cloak that he never took off. THE cloak.
Claude squeezed his eyes shut and clasped his numb hands together. “To any God or Goddess or spirit out there taking pity on me, I love you.” He then scrambled to the cloak as fast as possible, snatching it up and throwing it around his shoulders. “It’s so warm!” he muffled into the fur. Okay, so it wasn’t warm yet, but it was thick and as soon as his body heat got the message it would be heavenly. Also it smelled like Dimitri which was a nice touch and maybe a little creepy of him to note. It wasn’t even dirty or gross like he half-expected it to be. Must be why Dimitri doesn’t have it now… if he remembered right, Dimitri mentioned something about mucking the old stables or something. The cloak seemed to be the one thing Dimitri took care of over the years judging by the relative lack of wear. There were probably tears or stains if he chose to look, but he was a bit busy.
He hunkered onto the floor, not even bothering with the bed. Bed could come after his fingers had feeling again. Closing his eyes, he bundled it as tightly around him as possible and ducked his nose underneath, sighing as warmth steadily flowed through him…
Dimitri glared at the door. “Claude. I knocked three times. I’m coming in now.” With any luck the duke (former duke?) was merely sleeping. Though his memories were hazy at best, he recalled from their academy days how deeply Claude despised being surprised and how much effort he invested into ‘creative’ locks. It was doubtful Claude had the time to set up anything devious, but Claude was always full of surprises. If anyone could set up a fully functioning poison-trap in a two-hour time window, it was Claude.
His glare turned into a frown. Claude wasn’t in his room. Probably. “Are you hiding?” No response. Given the lack of blanket, dusty mattress, and dead fire, he was certain Claude was not present. Mostly certain. He set his armload of wood down beside the fireplace and looked around. There were footsteps in the dust (aside from his own) so Claude had been in the room at some point. The steps only went from the door, to the fireplace, to the bed, and back to the door. Odd. The Claude of his youthful memories would have turned the room upside down.
Or… the entire estate. Claude must be out exploring. He felt the corner of his lips turn upwards. It wasn’t quite a smile, but even after five long years Claude’s antics still managed to achieve a grain of amusement in his cold corpse. No, no. Not a corpse. He lived. He was still living.
If Claude was predictable (he rarely was), then the former noble would choose to poke through the master room while he was away. Or perhaps Claude was lying in wait in the master room, waiting to ‘surprise’ him or some nonsense. He wasn’t sure exactly what the current-Claude might do. So similar to his academy-crush, yet so different. Claude matured well, both in appearance and capability. He was a far better leader than Dimitri… Why leave his land to one so unstable? Claude couldn’t truly plan to leave him — to leave him with so much extra responsibility when he was barely treading water in his own head. And yet, if he hadn’t begged Claude to stay at least for another month…
He left the room. He needed to find Claude before his thoughts overtook him. The cries of his ghosts clamored for his attention as always. Claude always had been good at distracting him (at times, far too good.)
He knocked on his father’s the master room. “Claude. I’m coming in.” He waited exactly five seconds before entering. His shoulders drooped as he examined the empty room. “Ah… of course. He’s not one to be predictable like that.”
At least it gave him something to focus on (anything to get away from his thoughts). A mystery, as Claude-of-the-past might gleefully claim. Perhaps that was Claude’s scheme. To lead him on a merry chase… again he felt the corners of his lips twitch.
“Now if I was Claude, where would I go?” he mumbled out loud. “Library? Does the estate even have a library…? Blast, I can’t remember. Or perhaps he’s having dinner…” No, he hadn’t seen Claude with the others. He’d planned on adding fuel to Claude’s fire, then inviting him down to dinner for some of Dedue and Ashe’s stew… because…
“I am a fool. He must be cold.” The cold didn’t touch Dimitri like a normal human. Even without his cloak he was far more resistant than others. All crested Faerghan nobles were. Claude it seemed was even more vulnerable to the cold than most. Both Dedue and Ashe were used to a cold and harsh climate. Ingrid, who’s crest was native to Leicester, was also deficient of Faerghus’ natural cold resistance. However her life spent in cold temperatures made her just as resistant as Ashe and Dedue. Everyone else in their command held a crest. Even Mercedes, the least cold resistant of them from growing up in warm Adrestia, could easily tolerate the blustery weather.
Claude though… Goddess, it was like the poor man had never seen snow before. His clothes were unsuited to the cold. Though Claude’s outfit did an excellent job serving the purpose of distracting any looking upon his figure (and chest), the cold was not as easily distracted as human eyes and minds. Even he took note of Claude’s struggles as the weather turned colder and he was not an observant man. Traveling light as they were to return to Fhirdiad ahead of the main army, there were no extra clothes to heap upon him either. A piece of the boy he once was, long thought dead and buried, roared back to life. He hadn’t exactly been doting on Claude. He was not nearly so considerate, present, gentle, or observant enough to achieve that. But he’d done his best to give Claude as much comfort as he was able (which was not much). The other former Blue Lions were far better at ‘doting’ on the Leicester noble… though he had to admit, something about watching others lend Claude their aid ate at him.
He was thinking too much again. Claude likely shoved himself in whatever warmish hole he could find, no doubt chattering himself half to death. At least that was an audible sign that Claude wasn’t in the room. Unless hyperthermia settled in… that would be bad. It couldn’t be that cold. Right? Dedue, Ashe, or Ingrid would have informed him. Maybe not Ingrid. She didn’t seem to like Claude much.
Nothing for it. Dedue mentioned that he left two blankets on his bed (two, an outrageous number that he didn’t need!) Claude would appreciate them more than he. He…
The blankets were gone.
Eyeing the floor, he couldn’t trace footsteps like the other room. Dedue hadn’t dusted everything, but the dust on the floor was disturbed enough that he couldn’t track footsteps. So Claude had entered his room. Again, inexplicably, he found himself smiling slightly. It seemed he had a blanket thief to find. He swept to the counter he left his cloak and—
His cloak.
His cloak was missing.
He stared at the spot. The counter left enough dust to leave an imprint where his cloak had been. His cloak.
He whirled, scanning the rest of the room. “Where is it?” He yanked open old drawers, checked the mattress, looked behind the tapestries, looked everywhere. “Where, where, where…!” It was gone. His heart pounded unending in his chest. It was gone. 23 years, he managed to keep it throughout his entire life, and yet only now…!
He slumped to the ground, his back against the wall. Think. Calm. He forced himself to breathe like the professor taught him. In… hold… out… In… hold… out…
Claude was missing. His cloak was missing. Claude must have his cloak. Surely. Surely, surely, surely it can’t be gone. How dare Claude? How dare he. His cloak. The one thing that he couldn’t afford to lose. The one thing he held onto for five long, long years. Claude wouldn’t take his cloak. Claude must know better. Everyone knows not to take a Faerghan’s cloak. Even if he was cold, surely Claude wouldn’t stoop so low.
Unless… unless Claude stole it. Just waiting for him to lower his guard. Playing up how affected he was by the cold. Tapping into old, lingering feelings. ‘Offering’ his land in an insane gambit. Claude had his cloak.
“He will take it to HER. He has you at his mercy. Find him. Find him! Kill him! Kill them both!”
“No… no, he wouldn’t. Claude wouldn’t.”
“He’s smart… tricky… scheming. He would. If it means he benefited, you know he would. Anything to win.”
“No! He’s not like that! Shut up!” He covered his ears, digging fingers into his scalp. “I trust him! This is just, just, some misunderstanding!”
“Your heart is weak… it will be your undoing.”
“Stop! Stop, stop, stop! Be silent!”
“Kill her… kill him… make them both pay… they have both betrayed you…”
“Claude would never betray me! You’re wrong!” He reached for the first thing he found and threw it. The vase passed through the wretched visage of his father and shattered against the bedpost.
“Arp.”
Everything went silent. The tiny noise rang in his ears. It was familiar. He slowly got to his knees and crawled over to the bed, careful to avoid shards of ceramic. He knelt down and peered under the bed. Two large black eyes glimmered back at him.
“Claude?” The seal under his bed seemed to flatten itself further against the floor as if to sink away. It was scrunched together as much as possible, head sunk into its neck. The fearful posture was regrettably familiar. He cleared his throat, willing his voice to come out softly. “I apologize. I suppose I scared you. Would you like to come out?” The seal — who most certainly was Claude — didn’t move. His stomach dropped. Of course he scared Claude. A horrible boar such as himself…
“You can stay there if you prefer.” Should he stay or leave? It wasn’t like Claude could tell him. When they were children, Felix frightened often enough that he recognized the signals of fear in Claude. Worse, he remembered one of Claude’s own episodes back at the academy. His only episode really, compared to Dimitri’s many episodes… He still didn’t know what triggered Claude’s panic, but it ended with the Riegan heir stuffing himself under the bed, silent and petrified. The Claude-in-his-memories was a jumpy hare. Collected on the outside and always scheming escape on the inside. Or perhaps he was assuming too much. They hadn’t been that close…
Claude moved slightly. It occurred to Dimitri that he had been laying on the floor for a few minutes, lost in his thoughts. That Claude was moving at all was good. He assumed. Anything was better than petrified-Claude.
“You got cold, I assume.” The pieces slotted together in his mind. “You never have been much for superstition. I recall that much. I suppose now you see why they say never to steal a Faerghan’s cloak.” With any luck, Claude didn’t know how much power he held over Dimitri by pure merit of holding his skin.
A near silent whimper came from Claude. That was good. Claude hated making noise when he was afraid.
“Please come out? I can remove the cloak if you are having trouble with it.” Slowly Claude unflattened himself. His flippers scrabbled against the wood as he struggled to move himself. “Not easy to move on land, I’m aware. I can pull you out.” He reached his hand under the bed, waiting for Claude to come to him.
There was some shuffling, then the short fur of his skin brushed his human hand. It wasn’t his first time seeing his cloak on another. He, Felix, Sylvain, and Glenn routinely shared their cloaks with Ingrid growing up. Still, it was odd. Carefully patting Claude’s side, he reached under and hefted the seal out of the dusty space.
Claude blinked in the light a few times, then sneezed. Dimitri used his sleeve to wipe excess dust off the wet black nose. From there he settled Claude against his chest and into his lap, stroking (carefully, carefully) down Claude’s back to dust off the fur. Something he always loved about seal forms was the thick, almost bouncy blubber made it difficult to accidentally hurt his friends. His own hide specifically was more than strong enough to withstand his brutish strength.
“I’m sure you’re warmer like that,” he murmured, enraptured by the way his own sealskin wrapped around Claude. It was still his skin, of course. The black and white stripes of his cloak patterned down Claude’s back as short fur, his underbelly the same spotted bluish-grey as Dimitri’s. Scars were present too — from the little slice he got around his neck as a child in an accident to the deep scar across his belly from when he (not so successfully) evaded a too-large pack of imperials in one of his more lucid moments. Yet it was so obviously Claude under the skin. Just as Dimitri’s black seal eyes glimmered icy blue, Claude’s shone with a tint of verdant green. Claude was still just as long as the Leicester noble typically was tall, not gaining any length from Dimitri’s large skin. The excess skin translated to him being a bit shorter and significantly rounder than Dimitri was as a seal. Dimitri was large but without much blubber, while Claude’s body translated that to being average sized with a lot of blubber and some loose skin. It was more that Dimitri was unhealthily thin for such a large seal rather than anything about Claude specifically. If Dimitri was properly plump as a seal, Claude likely wouldn’t have been able to fit under the bed. “Much, much warmer, I expect.”
Claude’s seal face scrunched adorably. His flipper wiggled towards him a bit, unable to reach anything but Dimitri’s side. The flipper went slap against Claude’s belly, startling the man-turned-seal in a full body flinch. He suppressed a laugh but judging by Claude’s (attempted) glare, his smile was very visible.
“I’m going to flip you over,” he said as he did just that. Claude tensed for a moment before relaxing and allowing himself to be manhandled. “I’ll get you out in a few moments. It’s much easier to get the dust off now like this. And, ah, you are the one who got it dusty.” Which was true. It was very true! The fact that he enjoyed watching Claude’s expressions as a seal was merely a bonus.
Claude huffed but otherwise gave no further complaint. Though he hadn’t played with anyone as a seal in a very, very long time, he could never forget how enjoyable a belly rub was. Sylvain was the best at giving seal-belly-rubs, but Felix and Ingrid both agreed he was a close second.
Claude’s eyes closed as he sighed, a picture of contentment. Far better than his earlier fear. Claude was by far the, er, roundest seal Dimitri had ever met (again, his fault and not Claude’s). Though some of his skin was looser than it should be, overall he was… squishy. Very huggable, the cursed part of his brain informed him.
Even after getting all the dust off, he continued to rub Claude’s belly. Claude made a very cute seal when he was happy.
“That should be good enough,” he forced himself to say. Claude lazily opened one eye. “Now I don’t expect we’ll have this issue again. However, the trick to getting out is—” Claude huffed again and closed his eye. “Claude? Are you listening?”
Claude smacked his belly, flinching a bit at the loud sound. “You want more belly rubs, don’t you.” Claude made a low snore-like noise. Belly rubs did have a tendency to make him drowsy… “And I suppose you enjoy being warm.”
He considered letting Claude ‘borrow’ his cloak. Aside from children, such a thing simply wasn’t done. Not unless the couple was married. Heat rose into his cheeks. Claude was literally wearing his skin and looked so comfortable. That there was still a part of himself that could be desirable to anyone was baffling. And such an intimate part of himself too…
No, no, what was he thinking? He felt for the little seam around Claude’s neck. Being his own skin, the magic to undo the cloak was instinctual. It could be learned in time (Ingrid proved as much), but there was no way Claude could undo it himself.
He tucked his fingers under the seam and twisted. The fur rippled. He pulled the ‘hood’ back as the ‘face’ of his skin melded into a more generic cloak appearance. Claude — now human — had the lower half of his face tucked under the fur. His eyes were shut, relaxed like he was dozing. Despite knowing better — there was no way Claude was truly sleeping — he indulged himself to stare at Claude’s handsome face. Eventually Claude’s nose twitched, then his face scrunched, then his emerald eyes opened. He blinked a few times, tilting his head slightly.
“You aren’t a seal anymore.”
Claude’s eyebrows rose and he immediately shuffled around. “Oh. Oh good, I have hands again. And legs. Excellent. This thing isn’t going to turn me into a seal again, is it?”
“So long as you don’t pull it tight around yourself.”
“Gotcha.” Claude apparently took that as an invitation to remain cozied up in his skin. “Thanks for the save. What an experience! When I said I was willing to pay an arm and a leg to get warm, that wasn’t what I meant. You’re the last person I expected to own a cursed cloak.”
“It’s not cursed!” he snapped.
Claude flinched and he immediately regretted raising his voice. “Easy, easy. My apologies. Can you blame me for jumping to conclusions? It was quite the shock to turn into a seal. You’re not the sort of person I expect to carry around an enchanted cloak.”
“It’s not enchanted either.” He sighed, resigned to allow Claude temporary sanctuary in his skin. Sylvain would never let him live this down if he knew. “The ‘stories’ they tell about Faerghan nobles are not false. You have only yourself to blame for what happened.”
Claude narrowed his eyes, cocking his head slightly. “Stories? What, of chivalrous knights and honorable kings?”
“No. The tales of selkies.”
“Selkies huh? Interesting.” Claude cozied himself up, reminding Dimitri of their close proximity. Claude’s head on his chest. Claude was in his lap. Bundled in his own skin! “Can’t say it rings a bell. I’m always down to hear a bedtime story from Your Royalness.”
“You — don’t know? But everyone knows.”
“What, Faerghan stories? Sorry to say Leicester is a bit short on those.”
“All of Fódlan is aware. Everyone at the academy knew. Are you messing with me? You must know the… connotations behind stealing my cloak.”
“First of all, I borrowed it. Didn’t steal it!”
“You truly don’t know. Goddess. You thought this was a regular cloak?”
“Yeah? How was I supposed to know it’s magic!” Claude actually looked offended. Whether it was because of Dimitri’s accusations or because of his own lack of information blindsiding him, Dimitri wasn’t sure. “What purpose is there in a cloak that turns people into seals? Anti-theft?”
“You have it backwards. This,” he patted the fur, “is my skin. In Faerghus, those born with crests are born as seals. After a year of life the fur and skin is pulled away from the child.”
Green eyes burned into his own. “Well now, that’s a new one. You’re telling me that you were born as a seal. That your human mother gave birth… to a seal. And that I’m laying in your literal shed skin.”
“That is accurate, yes.”
“You are aware you sound crazy, yeah?”
He winced. “At times I am aware, yes. This is not one of those times. Ask anyone else and they will confirm what I said. But don’t tell anyone about this!” For both of their sake. “Please do not mention this, er, incident. Clearly you didn’t know, but stealing one’s cloak is a very serious crime in Faerghus. Stealing a king’s cloak is very serious.” He stroked the soft fur that even in his darkest days never failed to bring him comfort. “For our very skin to be stolen is… abominable. It is a part of me. I have lost more than enough of myself. To lose this too… I don’t know what I would do.” Nothing good, for certain.
“I didn’t steal it. I didn’t even leave the room, I only borrowed it.”
“I know. That is why you are still laying where you are, rather than as a headless heap on the floor.”
Green eyes widened. “A very serious crime indeed.” Claude fidgeted a bit, twisting the fur lining near his neck between his fingers. “I suppose you want your… er, ‘skin’ back.”
Goddess, Sylvain better never learn of this. “It’s keeping you warm. I don’t need it currently.” He stood abruptly, causing Claude to yelp. “Apologies.” He gently laid Claude down on the bed. Pinning the corner of the cloak-neck to itself to prevent another accidental transformation, he tucked the cloak snuggly around a stunned Claude. “Warm enough for you?”
Claude recovered quickly, throwing together a grin. “Warm enough, sure. Gotta say, I’ve never been as warm as I was as a seal though. Is that how you Faerghans stay warm all the time?”
“It’s related, yes. Blubber is excellent at holding in warmth.”
“Fascinating! Why seals though, I have to wonder. And how does it even work? My blankets and clothes transformed with me. Did they become — what did you call it, blubber? If this transformation works on everyone, I wonder—”
“It doesn’t,” he interrupted. Five years of war couldn’t stifle Claude’s curious spirit it seemed. “The transformation only affects those with crests. As for why only Faerghan crests-bearers are born as seals, I don’t know. The amount of clothes you wear before you transform has no effect on the end result.”
Claude leaned his neck forward, eyes wide and almost as adorable as they were as a seal. Wait, no, that wasn’t— “What happens if two people wear the cloak at once? Do they become a two-headed seal? Or are they fused into one seal body? Or does that make two seals? What about—”
“Enough!” He immediately regretted raising his voice. The last thing he wanted was for Claude to be afraid of him.
“Oh come on, humor me! Have you tried it? Tell me the limits of your seal-y powers, Oh Kingly Seal.”
He sighed, either unwilling or unable to hide his smile. “I imagine wearing a sealskin with another person would be vastly uncomfortable. It is not something I am willing to test.” He ignored Claude’s little ‘aww’. Sharing one’s skin with another was an intimate affair, though he didn’t know any stories quite like Claude’s idea. “Are you going to pester me all night?”
“Oh absolutely.” Claude didn’t even hesitate. “What do you look like as a seal?”
“Are you hungry?” he abruptly asked, spinning to face the door. “I am certain Dedue saved a serving for us both. However, if I take much longer fetching you, someone may come check on us.” And that was the last thing he needed with Claude laying in his bed, in his skin.
“Please tell me the food is warm. I’ll die if I have to eat cold rations.”
“Stew, I believe.”
“Very well, I shall postpone my seal-related pestering for now.” Claude shuffled off the bed, cloak still hugging his frame.
“You can’t wear that in public,” he blurted out, vision of Claude standing in his too-big skin somehow far more scandalous than mere huddling for warmth.
Claude protectively clutched the fur, angling his body away. “Uh, hello, I can and will freeze without this. This is your fault for having such warm and comfortable skin.” He paused. “Huh. Now that’s a new sentence. Ahem. You can either let me die, tragically, exploiting my one crippling weakness that I have so magnanimously exposed to your trust, or I keep borrowing your cloak. Or you find a better way to keep me warm.”
“I left wood for a fire in your room.”
“Psh, that little fire barely did anything. A slightly bigger fire won’t stop the breeze in that room. Look, I don’t have your seal antifreeze magic. Maybe you can’t tell, but it is very… very… cold. I recall you begging me to come with you to Fhirdiad. At this rate I doubt I’ll make it… unless of course, His Sealness decides to be generous and offer his cloak to this poor child of summer.”
“Please do not call me that.” He scrubbed his glove down his face, grateful he wasn’t facing Claude. He doesn’t know any better. “You truly enjoy wearing my cloak so much?”
“Absolutely.”
He gulped. “It doesn’t… disgust you?”
“Disgust me? Of course not! It’s just leather and fur. Besides, it’s from you. I can tell you’ve taken good care of it.”
How Claude managed that with such an innocent tone, Dimitri couldn’t understand. Claude might be cold, but he was doing an excellent job of making Dimitri’s face uncomfortably hot. “You can have it. During the cold! Just to keep you warm, of course. But you can’t be seen wearing it in public.”
He wasn’t looking at Claude but nonetheless felt those insatiable eyes on his neck. “Why’s that?”
“Because it implies we are sleeping together.” At the least. It also implied he was married or about to marry Claude.
“…Really? If you say so.” Claude trailed off, mumbling something to himself. “Does that mean that Faerghan nobility have sex as seals…?”
“No!” He covered his burning face. “Stay here, I’ll bring you dinner!”
By the time he returned with two bowls of stew, his face was still warm. Claude was just cold, it didn’t mean anything. But the image of Claude swamped in his skin, of loving and appreciating his skin… of marrying…
“I’m back,” he said as he shouldered his way into the room. “Still fresh and hot, you… ah. You pulled it too tight again.”
Claude-the-seal lay squished flat-ish on the bed, embarrassed plain as day. Dimitri laughed, then nearly spilled both their dinner in his shock. When was the last time he laughed so lightly? He carefully set their dinner down and moved to the bed, carefully peeling the sealskin away from Claude.
“I meant to do that,” Claude-the-human stated convincingly.
“You are very poor at hiding your feelings as a seal. Did you get cold again?”
“I was merely testing it out. Think of all the things you could sneak away! Anything you fit under your cloak stays with you as a seal. Think of the possibilities! You could smuggle an armory of weapons and swim them to a new location. Or a stockpile of food!”
“That mind of yours never stops, does it.” Claude’s babbling was almost enough to make him forget the Leicester noble accidentally turned himself into a seal again. Almost. An idea occurred to him… or rather, as Claude would call it, a scheme. “Go on and eat. After, we can sleep. You’ll want to ‘bundle up’ afterwards. I expect it will get far colder tonight. You won’t need to fear getting cold as a seal.”
Claude’s eyes flew wide. “Even colder? How do people live here?! Gods, never would have guessed ‘transform into a seal’ could be a legitimate survival method. Sure, sure. Let’s eat, then I’ll get out of your hair for the night.”
“Back to your room? If you choose to do so, I insist you leave my cloak behind. I dislike it leaving my sight.” He stroked down the fur, fingers inches from Claude’s face. “I cannot sleep without knowing it is safe. Over the years…” he trailed off, not wanting to talk about the past five years. “I trust you have no plans to steal it. Regardless…”
“I suppose we can compromise. I’m not sleeping on the floor though.”
After they ate, Claude pulled the cloak close and ducked his face into the fur. The fur rustled and puffed up, smoothing into the sleek (or in Claude’s case, round) seal body he was so familiar with. Claude wiggled and squirmed, evidently unable to find a comfortable enough position.
“Here.” He opened his arms. The cursed part of his brain cheered. “It’s instinct to sleep beside another warm body as a seal. You won’t sleep well otherwise.” A fib on his part, somewhat. It was true that as a child he always slept best in a seal pile. It was just personal preference though. Claude hesitated, beady eyes sweeping between his arms and the empty space between them. “You said you were cold. I suppose I can turn you back, if you prefer to sleep on your own without my skin…”
Claude wobbled forward, wiggling as he struggled to properly move on the mattress. After a few tries, Claude nosed his way into Dimitri’s arms. Perhaps he should practice scheming more often. It was very satisfying to pull one off. Claude’s seal-face tucked under his chin, his flippers awkwardly flopping about until they found a comfortable position.
Yes, the perfect huggable shape. He stroked down Claude’s back, stopping to scratch at the spots he knew were most pleasantly sensitive. Claude, unused to the sensation, made happy little huffs. Before long his breathing trailed off into sleep.