4th of Horsebow Moon

Hanneman's hand ran over the smooth metal of the Sign as he sat at his desk. His fingers traced its etchings. His other hand held a small chunk of Umbral Steel.

Hanneman closed his eyes and concentrated. Magic danced at his fingertips. He could feel the Umbral Steel twist and shift under his touch. When he opened his eyes, both hands held identical spheres.

Hanneman looked down at his notes. The procedure took only a page of instruction. The only ingredients listed were a small amount of Umbral Steel and a half-talented, second-year mage.

"Damned if we do, damned if we don't." Hanneman muttered under his breath. The Sign's power hummed at his fingertips. A sample of the Crest he would make wasn't even needed. Someone with a few hundred gold pieces could probably make a dozen in less than an hour. And then…

A knock at the door made Hanneman jump. He quickly opened his drawer, putting the two signs and his notes in, before locking it. There was a knock at the door again, and Hanneman was up. Faintly, the Signs clacked together in their hiding space.


Claude rubbed his hair down. "How on earth is anyone supposed to make this blasted thing work?" He muttered.

Before him lay a peculiar mechanism. A circular slab of stone, undecorated. A strange hum buzzed about it, giving off a weird sensation that seemed to creep into Claude's bones. Next to the strange find, there was an equally strange pedestal - fused into the ground, it rose only to end in a small plate shape. It looked almost like the alms bowls Claude had seen in Derdriu's churches. At the slab's base, there was a minuscule space between the stone and the ground, barely noticeable, with a nearly imperceivable difference in the air.

Claude had stumbled upon the slab by chance when late one night he had decided to go looking for places he had not been expressly forbidden to go, if for only a moment's reprieve from his grandfather's recent flood of assignments and demands. It was just sitting in the cathedral's basement, unguarded and judging from the faint layer of dust, undisturbed for several months.

Except for one strange set of footprints, barely visible. Someone had been here recently. They had walked to the center of the slab, walked off another edge, before returning to the center and then back the way they came. There were even a few traces of dirt trailing behind the footprints. As if whoever had come here was carrying something that had been buried in the ground. Fairly dry earth, from the look of the dirt.

This was clearly an elevator of some kind. But where did it go? And who had used this strange contraption sitting in the basement of the most important cathedral in Fódlan?

The mechanism clearly operated on some sort of magic, the lack of any chain or rope mechanisms made that clear as day. But Claude had no idea what kind of magic could make it move. He was hardly gifted or even interested in the arcane arts- too much fire in hand for Claude's comfort- but he had been studying under Hanneman. Claude figured he would have picked something up. But nothing from the professor's endless tangents and hour-long rants about Crests or the symbols of magic or anything gave the slightest hint to how the slab was supposed to move. The pedestal was probably a control panel, but Claude hadn't been able to make it react to anything.

The only other way to find any answers to this little mystery would be to track down whoever had left the footprints, but once they went upstairs, any traces of a path was lost in the bustle of the chapel. That left whatever was dragging the dirt along. And the dirt was just that, dirt. Nothing special about it. Claude could tell it wasn't being dragged in by the person's shoes, the angles weren't right. There was a decent amount of the stuff to be found, at least. Maybe it was a buried treasure chest. Or a barrel sitting out on the grass. Or maybe-

Claude pinched his nose. "What am I even doing." He sighed. "Well, at least it's less frustrating than gramps…" Claude's stomach rumbled, and he turned away from the platform to trudge up the steps.

The mystery of the stone elevator in the church basement was a vexing one, but it was a distraction, in the end. Not too important in the grand scheme of things, and probably not in the top ten most important secrets that Claude could discover in Garreg Mach. Still, it was a low stress brain teaser, and it would do Claude some good to enjoy those simple pleasures while he still had the chance.

Before he knew it, Claude was sitting in the kitchens, a bowl of soup before him. He idly played with the spoon watching as the broth and vegetables swelled up and down at his spoon's command, each ingredient swirling around the bowl to Claude's design. But then other bits and pieces of the soup would fall out of order. Claude moved his spoon to intercept, but that caused the original ingredients to scatter. Claude frowned and tried again, dragging the meat and vegetables together in one stroke. It worked, for a few seconds. Then individual piece broke off into their own paths, drifting along the wake of the spoon. Claude frowned. "Why do I pick the most frustrating games?"

"Claude!" Claude looked up to see Lorenz stalking towards him with a teacup.

"Speaking of frustration and things to run from…"

"Claude, I must insist you come to the archery contest." Lorenz huffed, "It is important for us to show solidarity as the Golden Deer house."

Claude sighed loudly enough for Lorenz to hear over the bustle of the mess hall. "Look, Lorenz, I can appreciate that, but I'm busy. I've got Hanneman's assignments to do, and my gramps is bossing me around with a small typhoon of letters. I don't really have much time to spend on a tournament so you can brag about being on the winning side to your father."

Lorenz rolled his eyes. "Please, Claude. We hardly need your help to win the contest. Hilda and I both agreed that you are not the right man for the job, and clearly inferior to the Golden Deer's chosen champions."

Claude raised an eyebrow. "Really? You're not just trying to make me jealous? Who's our mystery contestant that you and Hilda so selflessly stabbed me in the back to promote?"

Lorenz smirked. "Leonie, of course. Ignatz is to be her backup. As I said, we have need of you to win."

"Leonie and Ignatz?" Claude smiled. "Well, good for them! It's about time they got a chance to show off their skills." His brow furrowed. "But if you already have contestants, what are doing here barking at me for?"

"Because." Lorenz said. "It is important for us to show solidarity as the Golden Deer house."

"Yeah, you said that before. What do you mean?"

"Weeeellllll…" Hilda moved quickly, sliding down from the crowd of people the bench next to Claude and seamlessly entering the conversation as if she had always been a part of it. "Have you, ever studious, looked up from your bowl of soup, which I am certain has a book floating in it?"

"What are you talking about-" As Claude's eyes wandered away from his two companions, he saw nearly every other student in the vicinity turn away from him. Their body language told of nervousness, not gossip, Claude raised his eyebrow. "-Alright, come out and say it. What is this whole song and dance about?"

"Really, Claude?" Hilda sighed. "I've met your grandfather. Twice! If he's been mailing you as much as the postmen say he is, there is no way you don't know!"

Claude blinked. "…You chat up postmen?"

"Of course! They send me all the clothes and fabrics I order from home. Why shouldn't I be on speaking terms with them?" Hilda grinned. "Plus, they say the funniest things when you know how to ask them nicely. Did you know that Lorenz actually has several different- "

"The point Hilda is trying to make," Lorenz interjected quickly. "Is that our parents have been…raising armies. As if they are planning to start a civil war, if the rumors are to be believed."

Oh. Right. That.

"My father has of course dispelled such nonsense, but rumors are still flying about, and Duke Riegan is quite loudly arguing with the other lords. It is putting people on edge."

"I heard rumors that Gloucester has hired someone to take you out- someone named Baldmus, or something like that."

"Baseless, I assure you." Lorenz added.

The merchants really were starting to talk, just as planned. Claude bit his lip. And just as no one ever planned for, the stress of war had been getting to him. "I see."

"Sooooo…?" Hilda pouted.

"Yes, yes. I'll be there to show a united front."

Lorenz nodded. "Thank you, Claude."

"No worries. I'll even be there to tag in if Leonie or Ignatz pull a hamstring or something."

Lorenz smirked. "Hardly. I have aided Leonie in her training. She is superb in her form, and exquisite in her execution."

Hilda giggled. "I guess I'll sing Ignatz' praises too, but I don't want to get in the way of your soliloquy."

Lorenz rolled his eyes. "I could say something about your immaturity."

Claude leaned forward. "If you were wittier."

Lorenz' expression soured. Hilda snorted out a laugh. "See, this is why we need you around! You have the best comebacks! You keep this whole mess of a class fun! This is why we can't let you become a shut in like Edelgard has!"

"Do I, huh." Claude sighed. "Well. I better keep at that, then. With any luck it will help quell our classmates terrible eavesdropping problem."

"Excuse me!" Someone shouted. "I have an important letter for Claude von Riegan!" It was a middle-aged man, unassuming and drably dressed. He was holding a satchel full to bursting.

"Oh, hi Pat!" Hilda waved. "What have you got for Claude this time?"

"Ms. Goneril!" The postman smiled. "How lovely to see you! It's directly from his lord grandfather about the recent troubles. The old duke looked none too pleased when he gave me the letter…" The man trailed off. half of the dining hall was listening in.

Claude sighed and drank his soup.


At the sight of the setting sun, Claude threw his quill into the inkpot. The latest report on every minute detail his grandfather could think of was almost halfway done. He drummed his fingers on the desk. If Claude was to show up at the archery competition, he would not get so much as an hour's sleep.

"Damn it old man, can't you send an actual spy, like a normal person?" Claude muttered. He stood up from his desk and walked out his room. He wasn't hungry enough for dinner, so he settled for roaming the halls of the school. It was peaceful at this hour, with all the students in the market or in the kitchens. It was almost relaxing. Just Claude and the well-traveled walkways, with no one in sight, and the only sounds distant and hidden behind the walls.

…save for one. There was an odd hissing noise in the air. Like a tea kettle with no one to take it off the fire. Claude frowned and followed the sound to its source. Maybe he'd be able to solve this riddle.

"Well, I shouldn't be surprised." At the end of the trail, Claude stood before Byleth's door. The hissing had been going on for five minutes at this point. Claude couldn't hear anything else behind the closed door. Perhaps even the superhuman Byleth had a moment of forgetfulness, and had left a pot on? Claude reached out to poke the door. It was unlocked. Claude pushed the door slowly, opening it just enough to look in.

Byleth's eye were already locked onto his. "Uh…" Claude bit down a flush rushing to his cheeks. "Hey Teach. You got a teapot or something going off in here?"

"No." Byleth was working with something at her desk. Flasks and tubes full of strange liquids. "You can come in, if you like."

Claude shrugged and pushed the door all the way open. Now that he had a clear view of the table, he could see that some of the flasks had steam rising out of them. The whistling was complemented by a soft sound of bubbles forming and popping in quick succession. "Is this what you and professor Hanneman have been cooking up?"

"Yes. It is nearly finished." Byleth looked down and stirred a beaker. "What question do you have for me?"

Claude's mouth twitched. "Actually, I really did just come to see if someone had left a teapot on."

Byleth looked up at him. She blinked. Claude scratched the back of his neck. Byleth looked back down at her work. "I thought all the students had cleared out at this hour."

Claude snorted. "Yeah, usually. The old man has been sending me paperwork. Loads of it. I'm practically drowning in the stuff."

"That quickly, hmm."

Claude's eyebrow rose. "You want to tell me anything? Something misaligned in your grand scheme of the world, Teach?"

"No." Byleth didn't look up. "Everything that has happened so far is within expected parameters."

Claude stared. Byleth continued stirring her beaker, occasionally pouring other liquids in. She took a sifter and poured the contents into a bowl, before throwing the bowl down a drain. She took the dregs in the sifter and poured it into one of the bubbling jars, which immediately cooled.

Claude put his hands on his hips. "So, how's your chats with Edelgard going?"

Byleth didn't look up. "I suspect you already know from your own conversations."

"Hey princess!" Claude smiled politely. "How are things going-" Edelgard passed him without a word.

Claude sighed. "Look. Teach. Byleth. We've been over this, how you can't control Edelgard and all, but could you at least tell me if she's going in either direction? Does she always act like this?"

Byleth paused her stirring. "…Edelgard can go either way at this point."

"You always seem so certain about these things, teach. It really keeps my spirits high."

"I aim to please."

Claude rubbed his eyes. "No, the word is pronounced 'tease'. With a 't' at the beginning. I know you've had a long day Teach, but this is a learning environment."

A ghost a smile graced Byleth's lips. "My deepest apologies, Duke Riegan. I shall strive to set a better example."

"Thanks." Claude's brow furrowed. "Actually, there is one other thing I wanted to ask you. What's up with that elevator-looking platform in the cathedral's basement?"

Byleth's eyebrow rose. "…Why do you ask?"

So it was an elevator. Claude shrugged. "I ran across it the other day. There were footprints showing someone used it."

Byleth poured another vial into her mixture. "…It goes to a private gravesite."

"I…" Claude bit his lip. "I'm not sure how to respond to that." He began to turn. "Well, this seems as good a place as any to end a conversation, and gramps' workload isn't going to finish itself."

"Claude." He paused and looked back. Byleth had put her beakers away. "What did you think of the roundtable meeting?"

Claude tilted his head and pursed his lips. "Frustrating at the best of times. Agonizing at the worst." He studied Byleth for a reaction. She didn't usually ask anything of him. "Shockingly productive. Why do you ask?"

"I wanted to know if you still have the same dream. To end hostilities between Fódlan and Almyra."

Claude chewed his lip. "Yes."

"To achieve such a peace, you will have to endure many meetings much more frustrating and fraught then that one. It will take years not just in the alliance, but Almyra's court." Byleth paused, tilting her head. "And even then, you will still have to deal with the prejudices of people from both lands."

Hilda laughed. "Oh, don't be so mean. Claude's nothing like an Almyran! An Almyran would just run in, axes swinging, ready to pillage and destroy everything!"

The merchant laughed. "Oh, not to worry, good sir! All alliance merchants have an eye for Almyran people! So we don't fall prey to their devilry on the open road, you see."

Claude frowned. "I have thought about that, yes."

"You are not guaranteed success. Hatred is well-entrenched and will not vanish in a fortnight of revelry." Byleth regarded him for a moment. Claude did his best not to flinch. "Knowing all that, do you still plan to try? Would it not simply be easier to leave well enough alone? Win easy battles, and be well remembered as the hero of one side instead of as a failure for both?" She regarded him with a stare that was designed to bore through him. It was having some success. "If you are having so much trouble just filling out your grandfather's busywork, what hope do you have convincing nations of your cause?"

Claude looked down at his hands. His feet. The floor. Over to the walls. At the beakers. Finally, he returned to Byleth's face, which remained frozen. "Because…" Claude steeled himself. "Because it's the right thing to do. If I have a chance to help people see each other as people, I should take it."

Byleth tilted forward. "And the hardships? The threat of failure? You plan to do this all by yourself?"

Claude shook his head. "I never thought it would be easy. It'll be damn hard. But that only means I'll have to work even harder to see it happen." He stood up a little straighter. "And if all else fails, I might just get you to help."

Byleth tilted her head. "My help? What of your friends?"

"What, you think you're too good to try? Isn't this whole song and dance with Edelgard about you trying to make the world a better place?" Claude chuckled. "And for my friends, well…" His eyebrow rose. "What do you mean by that?"

"You haven't mentioned anyone but you and I in your plots. Most will be other members of the roundtable, sooner or later."

He frowned, and his eyes narrowed. "Yeah, well-" The sentence died on his lips. "I guess I-" His lips pressed together. "Hmm." How aggravatingly correct.


Thanks to Dox for beta reading!

Claude's character arc is kinda hard to pin down in his own route. It's rather frustrating.

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