… you’re a prince. Of Almyra. [The words are stated blankly, perhaps in partial disbelief. As though clarifying this is not a poorly timed jest, of which he is still not certain it isn’t.
But, well… certainly there were indications, Lorenz can only dimly note past a sudden loud buzzing in his ears- loud enough for him to think a firefly might have wandered too close while they were speaking.
Claude’s coloring is, of course, pale for an Almyran. But for his inclination towards wyvern riding- calling it a “right of passage” back in their Academy days- and the colorful make of his apparel… somehow, it seems less outlandish than it should for how long he has managed to keep it a secret. As if Lorenz should have suspected all along.
And yet, when faced with the truth after all these years, it matters less than he thought it would. The threat of the Almyrans, the necessity of Fodlan’s Locket, years upon years of his father’s warnings echoed in his ears as he idolized Lord Holst’s achievements… all of it seems utterly trivial as this latest piece of the puzzle slips into place.
Claude is Almyran... and he cannot find it in him to care.
More importantly… it is there, past the veil of fog and illuminated in the barest traces of light. Uncertainty, wariness- distance. All at once he is reminded of the other Claude.
Resignation.]
With those manners? [The barb is made after a moment in the same tone of voice, a perfectly arched brow to compliment the purported disdain he is showing. A flawless display of indignant nobility ruined only by the way his mouth faintly smiles towards the end.] I fear for the madhouse your court will become.
[It is alright, he tells himself, because they’ve grown beyond such things.]
no subject
But, well… certainly there were indications, Lorenz can only dimly note past a sudden loud buzzing in his ears- loud enough for him to think a firefly might have wandered too close while they were speaking.
Claude’s coloring is, of course, pale for an Almyran. But for his inclination towards wyvern riding- calling it a “right of passage” back in their Academy days- and the colorful make of his apparel… somehow, it seems less outlandish than it should for how long he has managed to keep it a secret. As if Lorenz should have suspected all along.
And yet, when faced with the truth after all these years, it matters less than he thought it would. The threat of the Almyrans, the necessity of Fodlan’s Locket, years upon years of his father’s warnings echoed in his ears as he idolized Lord Holst’s achievements… all of it seems utterly trivial as this latest piece of the puzzle slips into place.
Claude is Almyran... and he cannot find it in him to care.
More importantly… it is there, past the veil of fog and illuminated in the barest traces of light. Uncertainty, wariness- distance. All at once he is reminded of the other Claude.
Resignation.]
With those manners? [The barb is made after a moment in the same tone of voice, a perfectly arched brow to compliment the purported disdain he is showing. A flawless display of indignant nobility ruined only by the way his mouth faintly smiles towards the end.] I fear for the madhouse your court will become.
[It is alright, he tells himself, because they’ve grown beyond such things.]