bakerstreet | Puppy love

[ ooc; summoned by the gif. ]

[ open! prefs in journal. happy october 3! ]

[ cosplayer, wannabe nerdfluencer. ]

((ooc; open to either scenario!))

Ever since the first time she took to the stage, Dorothea has always loved that one breathless moment that comes just as the curtains fall, the final strains of music reverberating from the orchestra pit. That fleeting moment between heartbeats, silent before the crowd begins to cheer and the curtain call is delivered are so satisfying to her; she knows she's done her job well, that she left her audience on the edge of their seats, gripped by the tragedy or delighting in the romance of the story she conveyed to them.

It turns out that the same is true for stages in Almyra, even if there is no curtain here for her to bask in her moment of reprieve. She rises from her deep bow, every movement practiced and purposeful. Right now, she is not Dorothea Arnault: she is Queen Mother Tiana of Almyra, as recalled from her youth when she was swept off her feet by the roguishly handsome King Malik and ran away from her home in Leicester to be with the man she loved. She bows again, hand-in-hand with her fellow actors, singers, and dancers, and she is Dorothea again, and the crowd cheers for her and the troupe she's been studying and rehearsing with for weeks now.

They deserve it, she thinks. They were all amazing. It's a shame this is only a one-time performance, but that's usually the way of it when royalty commissions a production like this one. At the very least, she hopes that the former king and queen enjoyed the show.

As the applause dies down, the performers all take their leave, though a handful of them are given a moment to freshen up before they're escorted to the fête being held in honor of the royal couple's anniversary. If she's lucky, the Almyran she's picked up over the last few weeks will be enough to carry her through the evening. It's her understanding that the new king wants to try and establish friendlier relations with Fodlan, so maybe a few of the members of his court will have learned a little bit of her mother tongue as well.

Either way, she feels a bit like a fish out of water in this crowd, led around and introduced to people of varying stations, only understanding snippets of what's being said around her.

The end of the war had left the young prince with plenty left to do. Once he felt content with the Alliance in Lorenz's capable hands, he took up his few precious belongings to head home.

Home. He'd thought for so long about how it would feel to return to Almyra, but nothing compared to the feeling of the hot air once he crossed the mountains. His wyvern's strong wings pulled him down a path it had been trained for its entire life--to return to where they were born. It wasn't easy to readjust socially, but it felt first nature to fall into his native tongue and appreciate all the foods, fragrances, and feelings he'd missed for so long. Sometimes Khalid found himself thinking of Fodlan and those he left behind, but it wouldn't be forever... or so he hoped.

Some he thought of more than others. Hilda is currently still the only one he felt comfortable writing letters to, but it wouldn't be long until he would cross the Locket again to Fodlan soil for the diplomatic relations he'd dreamt of for years. ...But it doesn't mean she's the only one he wanted to be close with. His parents' anniversary was a wonderful excuse, but he hadn't been positive that his plan would work until the days coming up to the event came. Dorothea standing center stage in the red caftan designed to capture his mother's own wedding clothes--similar, but distinct. Or so he's heard. When the opera came to a close, he had to wait patiently for the troupe to disband for the evening. The party exploding into full speed with drinks, dancing, and food so different than Fodlan's more mild cuisine.

He finds himself hoping Dorothea likes it even as he finds himself standing behind her, hand resting on a well-adorned hip. His fashion has changed little from a year and a half ago, but it was nice to lean into more familiar fabrics these days. "Good evening, Dorothea. Or should I say Lady Tiana?"

Dorothea's attention is trained in the other direction when she's approached, and she thinks nothing of it at first. Plenty of people are milling about, mingling and chatting amiably. The familiarity of the voice catches her completely off guard--she gasps softly, turning on her heel to find Claude von Riegan standing there with that old mischief-maker's grin on his face.

"Claude?"

It's the only thing she can say for a moment, because all of the other questions and exclamations running through her mind currently would make her sound silly. 'What are you doing here?' He lives here, obviously; Dorothea had always suspected that Claude was Almyran, and those suspicions were all but confirmed the day Nader brought the Almyran army to assist them during the war. 'Is this where you disappeared to after the war?' Again, the answer seems obvious. Nothing about his demeanor or his appearance suggests anything else. He's been here for some time now.

'Why didn't you tell me?'

Well, that's obvious, too: he's the king. It all makes sense now, looking back. Every little piece of information she'd ever managed to glean about him, whether from his own admission or her observations, pointed to this conclusion. He, Claude von Riegan, is the son of Tiana von Riegan, the former queen. It was the king, Khalid, who had commissioned the musical production for his parents' anniversary. He's also the only man in the room wearing a very regal-looking circlet. The puzzle fits very nicely together, and she would have seen it ages ago if she hadn't been avoiding pondering it for too long.

"It's so good to see you," she says after a beat, regaining her bearings. If every eye in the pavilion wasn't suddenly on her, Dorothea would have reached for his hand in greeting, but instead she bows respectfully. "You're looking well. I--well, it's been a while, hasn't it? I would have written if... ah, but that's not important. You've probably been too busy to read silly little letters, anyway."

Great, now she's rambling. Taking a sip of wine from the goblet in her hand, Dorothea clears her throat and laughs sheepishly, feeling heat rising to her cheeks.

"Did you enjoy the show? I really hope you did. I thought it was so beautifully choreographed, and the music was so wonderful. Everyone worked so hard."

"In all fairness, I didn't give you much opportunity." It wasn't his ideal, but it was a necessary evil for at least a while... at least in his own mind. There were so many moments during the war that he'd considered telling her the truth or to let her a little closer, but the time was never right. The bow would catch him off guard if he hadn't grown so used to it, but there is something bittersweet about it all the same. Seeing her so distant even if understands why--and how selfish it is to have hoped for it not to be that way.

It would earn looks that she's unsure if she wants. Or he wants. So instead he gives her a nod of his head with a wider smile. "I did. You were as lovely as I always imagined. I had been wondering if I'd ever get the chance to see you perform... My father loved it, by the way." A wink. "He practically used my sleeve as a tissue."

What would she even have written to him if she'd had the chance? Would the minutia of her life even be interesting to him now? Maybe some of the highlights, instead.

"I went back to the Mittelfrank for a while, but after the war, I wanted to do something... a little more meaningful, and the Professor was kind enough to supply the funding, so I was able to open a new orphanage in Enbarr. There's been so much to do to get things off the ground, but when I received the invitation to perform in this production, I accepted immediately. I just knew it was sure to be an amazing opportunity, and look how right I was."

Dorothea beams at Claude, her expression softening to something so fond and familiar.

"I'm glad you liked it, truly. It was such a labor of love. I hope that my accent wasn't terrible--I memorized that whole script without understanding most of it, but I was assured multiple times that there was nothing questionable in there," she informs him with grin.

"And what about your mother? Did she like it?"

"I adored it, my dear, but I don't think I was ever that pretty, even in my prime."

"Nonsense, love. You're even more radiant now than the day we met."

And here comes another surprise--the former king and queen, Malik and Tiana, approaching them arm-in-arm. They look so regal, so proud, their bearing undeniably regal. Dorothea isn't quite able to disguise her shock when Tiana reaches out and takes both of her hands, squeezing them in a powerful grip. She says something in Almyran to Claude that Dorothea doesn't understand, then fully turns her attention to the diva.

"You must be one of his friends from Garreg Mach. Khalid told us all about you, but he never mentioned how beautiful you are, and how talented! Your performance was outstanding."

"Oh, I'm so relieved!" Dorothea admits, squeezing Tiana's hands in return. "I'd have been heartbroken if you hadn't--after spending so much time in character, I feel like we're old friends."

"Then we shall have to behave as old friends. I insist you join me for tea tomorrow. You aren't leaving for Fodlan so soon, are you?" Tiana releases Dorothea's hands to link her arm with her husband's again, and it's obvious how in love they still are. It's sweet, and it's beautiful. Dorothea feels a pang of jealousy that she'll never admit to as she nods her head.

"My return passage isn't until next week, my lady. I'd be happy to take tea with you any time you like."

"See, Khalid?" Tiana says. "You should take a lesson from this one and make some time for your mother, hmm?"

Dorothea laughs helplessly, but the pair move on almost as quickly as they arrived, with a few words of parting in Fodlani for Dorothea and Almyran for Claude. No, Khalid.

"Do I even want to know what they were saying to you?" she asks Khalid once they're back on their own again.

When he's spoken to he just shrugs his shoulders with a small laugh, not shoving away his father who gives him an all too familiar nudge in his side... it's a relief when they walk away, even if he's happier than ever to be with them again. Distance makes the heart grow stronger, or so they say.

That's something Hilda has said to him, at least. Although it isn't nearly as romantic as it sounds in that case... mostly because it was her reading her brother's letters about her.

"Oh, you know. The usual. 'Your friends are so much prettier than you gave them credit for, Khalid'." Which wasn't too terribly far from the truth. What did it matter one's beauty if their heart was dark? Not that it applied to Dorothea. Even he'd caught himself mentioning how lovely she was from time to time. He offers his own arm toward her, head jerking slightly toward one of the many tables laden with food and drink as an invitation for her to come along. "She's just trying to embarrass me." His pause is brief, but it's not difficult to imagine the need for one after everything.

It isn't hard to imagine Dorothea doing something so selfless, either. "An orphanage... I imagine that's pretty busy work these days."

"I don't think I've ever seen you embarrassed about anything in the entire history of our acquaintance," Dorothea says, accepting Khalid's arm and sliding in against his side like she belongs there. (Was he always this warm? Did he always smell this nice? No, Dorothea, stop that. Don't get ahead of yourself.) People size her up as they walk together, and she meets their eyes with her head held high. She might not be royalty, but she's played the part enough on the stage to know how to carry herself like a queen.

When they reach the tables, Dorothea comments that he ought to help her choose all the most delicious things, even though she's been in Almyra long enough to have developed a few preferences of her own. It's really just another excuse to stay by his side a little bit longer.

Arms now laden with food and drinks, the two of them find a place to sit at a low table in a less-crowded corner of the pavilion. They make themselves comfortable on a pair of plush cushions, and Dorothea fusses with it until she's curled up with her legs tucked beneath her.

"I've missed you," she finally tells him, focusing on pulling apart the paper thin layers of a piece of baklava so she doesn't have to meet his eyes. "You left so suddenly, and I understand now, but..."

But? But she'd thought they'd been closer than that and his disappearance without so much as a word of parting had cut like a knife? But she'd wanted to tell him how she felt about him since the war was over, and now, after everything, she's realized it's probably best kept to herself? Maybe it's better that she didn't confess anything to him back then if he was going to leave anyway; Dorothea hates making a fool of herself, especially on account of a man, and this is no exception.

"I suppose what I mean to say is 'thank you'. I'm sure there are other people here who are far more important than I am but you're here spending time with me instead."

"You're a friend, Dorothea. One I haven't seen in far too long." Due to his own decisions, but it's something he would be foolish to be upset over. Yet it still lingers in his chest regardless--the nights of nostalgic thinking of the past. Of late nights listening to music played on an instrument that was more familiar than it should have been or just to hear Dorothea's voice echo from the wonderful acoustics of the cathedral.

His fingers break apart a piece of Barbari. One of the many foods he's found himself indulging in upon his return home. While the breads in Fodlan were nice, their taste didn't at all rival that of home. The taste of the black Carroway seeds blending with the firm, buttered texture of the crust well.

"You might think you're not as important, but to me you're the most honored guest here." A pause, but he hopes he plays it off enough that it's nothing more than a chew and swallow. "... I missed you too, you know. I'm sorry I couldn't say more before, but I wanted to make that right now."

The most honored guest? He's missed her, too? Ahh, damn. How does he still make her heart flutter like that? And with just a few friendly words, too.

For a girl like her who had once placed her hopes for lifelong security in an advantageous marriage, setting her sights on a young man who would inherit the title of Archduke had felt ambitious; now that he's a king (and especially a king of a foreign land that holds no love for Fodlanders), she knows he's completely out of her reach. She has nothing to offer him--neither gold nor land nor political influence--so she knows better than to get her hopes up.

Even so, Dorothea can't help how she feels when he says those things.

She looks up at him with bright eyes, her cheeks warm with color.

"All is forgiven. Just promise me you won't be a stranger going forward, won't you? Even if it's just the occasional correspondence to let me know you're doing all right. It would mean the world to me."

"Quick to forgive... I was expecting more of a fight from you." Something he'd thought would be deserved, really. While they'd never done much more than talk on the occasional late night or break bread together semi-regularly, it had felt disingenuous.

Cruel, even.

Though seeing the way the singer lights up now brings some comfort. She can still smile and even seems happy with her new rewarding home and new purpose in Enbarr. Taking care of the children who undoubtedly lost so much from the war or simply children she saw to be like herself. Alone on the streets in need of a home, food, and love. He has no doubts she's wonderful at it. "If you wanted me to write you every day from now on, I would. Actually..." A huff of a laugh as his eyes turn toward the table in front of them. "I wrote a few. More than a few. I just never had the nerve to send them Hilda's way to give to you."

More of a fight? She narrows her eyes at him a little, feeling exhausted just thinking about it. Could she lambast him here and now? Could she take him to task for his behavior? Could she string together the perfect sequence of words to cut him to the quick, to make him so acutely feel the guilt of how he mishandled not only her, but all of their friends with his untimely departure?

Yes, of course she could. Dorothea could do that and more, all with a smile on her face, and in such a lilting and conversational tone that none of the people around them would even notice she was verbally shredding him to pieces.

She doesn't want to do that, though. She abhors violence of every kind. Roses don't grow thorns because they enjoy seeking out conflict, after all--they do so to protect themselves.

Shaking her head and sighing softly, she waves off his assumptions.

"I don't want to fight with you, Claude. Khalid? Sorry, old habits." She sighs again. "It sounds to me like you want a little bit of punishment for disappearing like you did because you know how it would make everyone feel, but I think you've probably been punishing yourself for it on your own, haven't you? I can only speak for myself here, though I'm sure the others would feel similarly."

She arches her brows a little at his comment about having already written to her, suddenly filled with an almost-burning curiosity as to their contents. What kind of things has he written her, but didn't have the nerve to send? Surely nothing scandalous. Maybe it was simply that his own guilt was too great for him to stand taking the first step in repairing it. She understands that feeling, certainly.

"And what if I do want you to write me every day? You could even think of it as a part of your penance, if it would make you feel better."

Even if she doesn't mean for the words to bite, they do, and strangely makes him feel more relaxed. The others speaking to him candidly had always been something he'd strived for among the Deer... and while Dorothea may not have been one of his fawns in the earlier days of the Academy, he still considered her right up to the end as one of them. Someone he could put his trust in even if he couldn't fully voice the extent.

"Claude is fine, Dorothea. It is technically my name too." His drink is set down so he can bring his hands together, his gloved fingers lacing together as he mulls the best words to say. "My parents gave me two names. Awfully convenient for my foray into Fódlan, huh? So I don't mind if you use that one... at least if you want to."

Though everyone else here would, and have, known him by Khalid since he was a child. His name had been such a well-kept secret before, and while it's nice to hear it from Dorothea's lips... it's somehow a different sort of intimacy. An acceptance that's welcome, but almost like meeting another person. "I could give you some of them, if you'd like. I kept them all, even if I couldn't bring myself to send them yet. Unless you would rather them be a head start?"

On the one hand, it feels a little wrong to call him Claude in this setting. Context is key, and he's not Claude here--he's Khalid. There are complex formulas there factoring their history, their cultures, their current location and where they've been, what's most appropriate, what's most likely to fluster him...all to pick which name she wants to call him.

She makes the call.

"No," she says, "I like it. Rolls off the tongue. Khalid." While she says it, Dorothea watches him carefully for his reaction. Claude... Khalid has always been an excellent bullshitter, his acting skills almost on par with her own. Almost. She wonders if she made the right choice, or if, in this situation, there was even a wrong choice to make.

As far as the letters go, she tries to play cool, but she won't turn him down if he's offering them to her.

"I'd just as soon read them while I'm here," she says, feigning a milder interest than she really feels. "That way, you won't be able to fall back on the things you've already written. You'll have to write me brand new letters going forward."

The name shouldn't make his stomach twist, but it does. Even if his face manages to at least not show the way it makes him feel.

"Not going to give me any head start, huh? Well, then I might as well get the ball rolling." He scoots himself back from the table, hoisting himself up with ease before offering a hand down to his former general. It is more nerve-wracking than it should be, but he has some confidence in his thoughts at least. He wouldn't have dared to bring her here and sit so close nor offer his arm if he hadn't some idea of what to expect. "Come on. They're in my study."

And he grabs the bottle of white wine from the table by its neck for the heck of it too. Whether they enjoy it together or he pawns it off on someone else later... he figures it's an acceptable risk.

Now it's Dorothea's turn to hide her shock, the way her heart leaps into her throat when he stands and reaches out his hand to her.

"Now?" she asks, glancing around. "But... the party? And... you're the king."

Okay, so maybe she didn't manage to conceal her surprise like she'd hoped. This is beyond unexpected. He wants her to leave the party with him well before it's scheduled to end, knowing full well how people will talk. He's so casual about it, too, that Dorothea finds herself reaching out to take his hand. Even after the war is over, after he's been gone for so long, he's still someone she knows she can trust. If he doesn't mind leaving the party so early, then she'll follow him.

Once she's on her feet, she holds onto his hand a few seconds longer than is strictly appropriate before letting go and looping their arms together instead.

"We won't miss out on all the dancing, will we? Is the king allowed to dance at parties in Almyra?"

Her worry earns a laugh, but it's a gentle one. Not near as boisterous as any of the many warriors celebrating his parents' romance.

"Maybe, but I'm not the man of the hour." Even when her hand falls away the king stays close, his hand coming to rest on hers once it finds the crook of his arm. His thumb brushing along the shape of pale fingers and a delicately adorned wrist. "My parents have that honor and they're content to party until dawn."

Well, more his father is, but his mother always glowed when he was happy. He pauses at the door, but mostly for dramatic effect as the guards stationed there open them for him. "Though if you would rather lose the chance to read those letters forever... I suppose we could stay and dance instead?" But he doesn't linger and instead heads down the glistening halls. "It's a bit of a walk... has everyone been treating you alright? I made it pretty clear to everyone that you're important to me."

The staff, his parents, his guards... though there were certainly a fair share of people around that would likely have displeased opinions either way. Most of his brothers were fine these days, but one in particular--who to his knowledge didn't come tonight thanks to some pointless, self-imposed slight--earns his worry all the same. "I know you can handle yourself, though. I'm more worried about them than you."

That's a lie, but... the handling herself part is true, at least.

When Khalid jokingly(?) threatens to withhold the letters from Dorothea if she'd rather stay and dance, she gives a feigned look of offense so dramatic that even the guards manning the doors show their amusement with the tiniest of smirks curling in the corners of their mouths.

"You wouldn't!" she declares, knowing for a fact that he wouldn't, but at the same time, if she had to choose between the rambunctious festivities and the chance to read the letters he'd penned just for her... well. The answer should be obvious. "Come on, then, don't keep me waiting. I don't mind the walk."

Briefly, Dorothea casts a look back over her shoulder to where she can see the former king and queen dancing in intricate spins and circles before leaning in a little closer to Khalid's side and following him into the palace corridor. It's cooler here than it was in the party, away from the heat of all the congregated bodies of the partygoers.

It's exceptionally beautiful too, so different from the noble houses of Fodlan. Everything looks golden in the evening lamplight, alabaster columns ornamented with glittering lapis, and sea-blue turquoise, and carnelian so translucent that it practically glows. It's more opulent than anything she could have imagined as a child, and she finds herself admiring it while also wondering just how many empty bellies could be filled with the wealth contained therein.

"Everyone's been very nice," she says at length, having taken a moment to consider her response. "Very polite, even if they don't quite know what to think of me. I'll win them over, just you wait," she adds with a confident wink, feeling herself blushing again when he says she's important to him. Best not to overthink it.

"What else did you tell them about me?"

"I told them the truth. That you are one of my most trusted allies, a beautiful songstress. That you're devoted. Hard-working... Someone that they're lucky to meet." He could go on. Embarrassingly long, really, but at least he has the walk to prepare all that he truly wants to say. Like how he spent nights back at the Monastery wishing that times were better. That things could go differently...

That Dorothea's life wasn't going to have so much potential now... something she may not be willing to throw away for someone who held the wool over her eyes and kept such a distant hand.

But he could make part of that right, at least.

It's obvious which room is Claude's when it comes into view, though he hadn't taken over the room his parents share, it was still heavily guarded. The guards there wearing much more stern expressions wearing garb and blades much more threatening than the decorated one at his own waist. When the doors open the room is a mass of the expected gold, though with a familiar lived-in charm. Books piled high around a low-leveled bed laid out with gold and emerald silks. The wall itself stuffed full of books with titles in more than just Almyran and familiar maps spread out along the floor.

He doesn't lead her further there, though, instead taking to the side room--separated only by an archway rather than a door--to a well-lit and private study. Stained glass reflecting the moonlight from the high windows down onto the desk and the marbled floor. Khalid's laugh is more sheepish as he motions to a well-carved chair. "Pardon the mess. I wasn't entirely expecting company..."

And Dorothea wasn't expecting his study to be in his room. She's in his room. His bedroom. Not that she hasn't been in a boy's bedroom before, or even that she hadn't stolen a glance into Claude's dorm back at the academy (and honestly, it's more of the same here with all the maps and books. She's sure there's a chemistry set somewhere in here, and probably a stash of poison vials and their corresponding antidotes).

This feels different, though. They aren't kids anymore, and... well, she just has to be all right with whatever people are going to think happens when the king brings a woman into his private chambers, especially after he'd apparently sung her praises to more than just a handful of people.

Taking a seat in the chair he gestured to, Dorothea busies herself examining all the interesting features of the room, from the architecture itself to the colorful glass windows to eye-catching knick-knacks strewn about.

"It looks like you spend a lot of time in here," she comments, tracing the carved ridges of the chair arm with her fingertips.

"Just a little." Just every night considering it's, well, his room.

But he doesn't tease her more than just a wink as he kneels beside his desk, hand digging through a box set nearby. There is some relief to be tucked away in his own personal sanctuary, but he knows full well that the guards outside are likely on edge. Listening for any potential sound of their relatively new king being assassinated by a beautiful songstress.

He stands back up straight after a moment, then leaning his hip against the desk as he holds up a fairly large pile of papers. They're laid out on the flat, intricate wood tabletop. Maybe he'd get lucky and the sheer amount of them would lead her to understand him more than just settling into reading them word for word. "Found them. I'm afraid they might not be exactly what you're looking for... but some things are better said out loud."

Dorothea
~~Dearest?~~ Dorothea
I wish I could see you
I wish I had said more when I had the chance

All words scrawled through the random pages. Fortunately, he never had the neatest handwriting.

After the words leave her mouth, Dorothea realizes just how silly it sounds to point out that someone spends a lot of time... in their bedroom. Her cheeks are already burning, so what's a few more shades of pink added onto that?

"I meant in the study," she clarifies. "You were always working on something, or studying, or tinkering, or mixing up some concoction that would turn someone blue if they drank it."

But that train of thought is derailed when Khalid fishes out a substantial sheaf of papers, her eyes going a little wide at the volume there. Maybe to the nobles who studied at the academy, the amount of paper they always had access to seemed unremarkable, but to Dorothea, it never failed to amaze. She knew just how strenuous a process it was to make paper, how expensive each page could be, depending on the quality, and so to see now just how much of it has been devoted to her... it takes her breath away just a little bit.

How she would have loved to read these back in Fodlan, seated at the little desk in her Enbarr apartment--how she would have looked forward to each one, scoured each word for hidden meanings, or maybe even held the pages up in the light in the event that there was some secret watermark that would give her something more of his to hold onto.

It's in the past now, immaterial compared to the present moment and the opportunity she's being given. He brought her here, planned the whole thing and anticipated her actions, so here she is. Standing, she sidles up next to him, leaning up against the desk in an imitation of his posture.

"I think I should save them for later," she says contemplatively, actually dying to know what they say but thinking also about how awkward it would be to sit there and read his words. "For now... why don't we just talk? It's so good to hear your voice again after all this time."

"How many people say they miss your voice?" His hand comes up until the back of his fingers can brush against her cheek. Carefully tucking a stray brown lock behind her ear.

It's more touch than he ever dared during the war and certainly more than in the Academy. Her arms looped through his tonight had been enough to make him feel both giddy and proud--hopeful, even. The way his mother smiled at the sight of them slipping away together only added to that feeling. The king's eyes meet equally green ones as he takes a slow, calculated breath to calm the twist of nerves in his stomach.

"I almost feel like it's unfair for me to say, but... it's true. I missed hearing you talk," Not sing. Not yell. Not her body or her looks (though he has no qualm with those at all). But... "More than just that. I've missed you, Dorothea. It took me time to come to terms with it back then, but I know now that I don't want to ever have to miss you again."

"Fewer than you'd think," Dorothea replies, actually taken by surprise at Khalid's question. How many people have told her over the years how magnificent her voice is, but no one ever really misses the sound of it unless she's singing. Khalid does, though.

His hand is so warm where he touches her cheek, and her eyes flutter, just like her heart flutters. Everything about the gesture feels intimate in this private context, just the two of them alone in his room, next to a small mountain of letters he wrote for her but could never bring himself to send.

It still doesn't prepare her for what he says next, though. He missed her. He missed her. Looking at him with a little uncertainty, she worries her lip for half a second before taking the leap he's prepared for her.

"You want me to stay here? With you?" She hopes she isn't reading too much into his words, because she's going to be mortified if she's misinterpreting his meaning.

His hand doesn't move from her cheek, but he does move to actively cup it in his palm. Enjoying the soft warmth that it leeches even through his glove and his thumb traces just lightly against the apple of her cheek. Admiring the way that the blush on her face doesn't budge at all.

"I do," the king admits even as every fiber of his being twists and tells him not to. To pull back and escape to the safety of normalcy. They're friends--she has a life in Enbarr that he shouldn't dare to selfishly request for her to leave. It's unfair and cruel... but it had been both of those things to leave without a word back then, too. "I have been thinking about you ever since I left Fodlan."

His free hand dares to come to her waist, inching until it rests squarely on the small of her back.

"Seeing you again tonight only made me want you by my side more. I understand that you'll... need time to think about it."

"I've had time to think about it," she says with a disbelieving laugh. "You have no idea how much I've thought about it. I suppose I thought you were in love with the Professor for a long while."

Ever since they'd been teenagers and the mysterious and charming Claude von Riegan--not the equally mysterious but somewhat less charming Byleth Eisner--had convinced her to transfer to the Golden Deer house, she's secretly wondered what it would be like to catch his attention. They'd been friends, sure, and allies, naturally. They'd fought together in the field both during their year in the Academy and during the months leading to the end of the war. They'd saved each other's lives more than once.

There were glimmers of his interest here and there; she caught him listening when she sang or played the lute on more than one occasion, sometimes wondering what he was really thinking about when they had the chance to talk in the downtime between lessons or battles. She'd felt it more than once, a sort of chemistry, an understanding that went beyond words.

Everyone always needed something from him, though, which was to be expected while he was the house leader and then as the head of the army. His time, his attention, his plots and his schemes. Now he's a king--how much more will the demands on his time keep them apart?

But he wants her. He's just said so, just confirmed it with his own mouth. She'll make it work, whatever she has to do.

"If... if you're really certain, then... well, I'll need time to settle my affairs in Fodlan. Someone else will need to take the reins on my projects, and I have a few things in my apartment I'd like to fetch before I break the lease. There's no point in bringing any of my furniture so I'll need to give it all away, I suppose, but I have a few paintings--"

Dorothea knows she's rambling now, so she cuts herself off and takes a deep, shuddering breath. It's an overwhelming prospect, the idea of changing her life so radically just to be with someone she'd all but given up hope of ever even seeing again, much less all this. Then again... his mother had done it, hadn't she? Haven't many people done insane, overwhelming things for love? If they could, why not her?

"I have to go back, but I'll return to you as soon as I can. I promise."

He'd heard talk about Dorothea before she joined their House. Many rumors he didn't care to listen to, but he'd enjoyed speaking with her all the same. She was curt, honest, outgoing yet so reserved where it counted. She might not have noble blood in her veins, but he genuinely thought back then that anyone who had her would be lucky to have someone so thoughtful by their side. Someone able to see the sides of things so many of noble birth overlooked... even himself, at first.

Growing up sheltered in a palace had led him to dive headfirst into Fodlan's politics--their nobles. The struggles of the common people. The opinions of those who were more fortunate, but still experiencing the unfair treatment that he'd always hated.

Claude listens as her words spill from her lips, his hold on her waist pulling her just a little closer when they truly sink in. That it is what she wants even at the cost of everything else. "Of course. I wouldn't ask you to just leave everything you have behind... I know things are rocky still between Fodlan and Almyra, but I plan to fix that." His thumb brushes lightly against a bare strip of her back and he can't help but revel in how soft she is. "Although... And I'm not doubting you, but... this is a large commitment I'm asking of you."

Because while he could have her and not be responsible about it, that has never been how he wanted this to go. His nerves burn, even through the happiness gripping his pounding heart.

"If you want time to get to know me first... I'll make all the time in the world for you; and if you changed your mind I would never resent you."

Dorothea had always known that Claude was strong--an archer's strength is no joke, after all--but being held like this against his broad body makes her heart race. His touch is so tender that it would be easy to get carried away, but this conversation is important. It has to come first.

"You're right, of course. It's a lot. But... I think I know you. I know you're kind and altruistic, even though you're guarded. You want to make the world a better place, even when it's done so much to try and hurt you. I think that's wonderfully admirable, but it isn't everything you are, and I want to learn everything there is to know. I'll send a letter home to get things prepared for me, and in the meantime... let's catch up.

"Does that sound agreeable to you?"

Hearing her speak so highly of him brings a red hue to his cheeks. Even more than the warmth radiating through his glove on her waist.

"You've only heard part of it... I'm sure even more will come up when you're here a while," Most of his half-brothers have accepted him by now--proven himself in their eyes--but there were still a few stragglers he'd yet to win over. Truthfully, he doubts he'll ever be able to fully win over all of their hearts... and that extends to his people, too. Not that it would stop him from trying to make things better for them all the same.

He guides her toward the resting half of his room, hardly pondering if taking her literally to sit on his bed would be something seen as untoward. How many nights had he spent talking to literally anyone at Garreg Mach from the top of his bed's blankets and furs? Surrounded by books and candles, whether it was their school days or times of war he'd always tried to keep an open door policy.

"I'd like that. There's a lot I should tell you." He takes a seat, patting the silken cover beside him. "Are there any... particular questions you have? I can be an open book to you now."

"Ohh? An open book, hm? And just what sort of book is Claude von Riegan? Though you're really more like... Claude von Almyra, right?" she teases a little as she follows him into the more bed portion of his bedroom and sits beside him. Her hand runs over the smooth silk bedding, green and gold brocade covered with embroidered details. It's the kind of luxury that's fit for a king, which he is.

"But seriously, I suppose I want to know what your plans are. I remember you talking about wanting to make a world where people from both sides of the border could be accepted and understand each other, but how do we do that?" Because she'll be helping him, naturally, if they're going to be walking down this road together now.

"And... what would you do with me?" she asks, averting her eyes a moment before glancing back at him. "I don't have anything I can offer you--not land or money or titles or a crest. I'm really nobody important in Fodlan, and I'm less than nobody here."

"Well, fortunately, here in Almyra none of those things really mean anything. Crests especially... and my people wouldn't expect you to have any of those things. Nobility here is a little more... relaxed. If my attitude back when we were kids is any indication." His reply is steady and relaxed as his arm comes around to rest behind her. Would it be too much to hold her closer?

His hand rests on the small of her back instead as his head tilts to think over how best to answer her actual questions.

"First, I plan to go to Fodlan. I aim to improve the relations of the two countries I call home. It won't be an easy slope, but I already started to set some of it in motion before I left..." Handing Lorenz the title of Sovereign and then, of course, Professor with their new position among the clergy would be a massive help in changing people's views. "After that... I think I'd go for Sreng or Morfis. I would love to start with Brigid, but I would like to give Petra some more time to get re-established. Just to make things fair."

And as for Dorothea... "This isn't why I chose you or anything, but... all of those reasons you mentioned are more of a boon than you'd think. You'll be relatable. You're compassionate. And you're from Fodlan--so it would be a sign of peace for me to make you my wife. The second non-Alymran queen in a long time."

His mother, obviously, being the first.

Dorothea's face was flushed already, but she goes about three shade pinker at the word wife and several more at queen.

She doesn't deserve it. How could she deserve it? What did she ever do to earn a life in an alabaster palace with a husband as beautiful and kind as Claude? Surely it would be easier for him if he took an Almyran wife, at least in the circles of his court. Won't they ridicule him, half-Fodlani that he is, for taking a Fodlani woman to be his bride? Would it put him in danger? Would his countrymen conspire against him on her account? There is a not-insignificant part of her that doesn't believe she's worth it, frankly.

But he does. He thinks she's worth it, and that will have to be enough for her.

Taking his move to set his arm behind her as an invitation to come closer, she scoots in until she's snuggled comfortably against his side. The room is bathed in warm light from all the lamps set about, and it smells like the incense Claude used to burn sometimes back at the academy. He looks at her with those green eyes of his, and she thinks this could all be hers.

"What about babies?" she asks, and the question feels that much more intimate for their proximity. "I'm an orphan, you know? I've always wanted to have a big family. I imagine you'd be expected to produce an heir, wouldn't you?"

Children... even if it feels so soon to discuss, he does know it's an important topic. One that should be discussed before they continue down this road. If their desires were too different, he wouldn't want to hold her back.

"A big family... that doesn't sound bad." At least not with Dorothea. His own issue lies with his own many half-siblings and how awful that had been in his youth. More importantly, though... "I can't right now, but... it is something I hope to do someday. Whether it's just one or several doesn't matter to me."

His own head tilts to rest against Dorothea's soft, brown hair.

He feels calm. "I have so much to do... but I would want to be there for them and you. I understand if that isn't a satisfactory answer. My heir would be who I choose, regardless of their birth. For me and my family, it is whatever is best for Almyra."

As much as Dorothea wants a family full of happy, fat babies, and as ready as she feels to start that family, she understands that her desires aren't the only thing that factors into that decision, and if Claude thinks it's prudent to wait then he must have good reasons. She can only imagine what his childhood was like, thinking back to the stories he told about his youth and the context that his royalty and mixed heritage provides.

It hurts a little to think of how far out his someday might be, but everything has a cost. Ultimately, it's up to her to decide what she's willing to pay to be with him.

What he says next is a little surprising to her.

"You get to choose? Does it have to be someone you're related to or could it just be anyone you felt was qualified? Is there a process or a trial or something?" Hearing him talk about the way succession works in Almyra makes her realize just how much she has to learn about this country if she's going to make it her home.

( botw and aoc versions also available! )

Puppy love

carrie. ( f/m )

nilou ( genshin impact )

chrissy cunningham — stranger things.

Chrissy Cunningham — Stranger Things

cady | mean girls (musical)

bren | original

ysayle dangoulain | ffxiv | ota 18+

Claude von Riegan ➵ Fire Emblem

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

zelda | tears of the kingdom | m/f

tifa lockhart | ffvii remake | m/f

mion sonozaki | higurashi no naku koro ni

Gojo Satoru ∞ JJK

Xiao Xingchen | The Untamed | M/M

Hilda ♡ Fire Emblem16 ♡ ota