"I needed that." Claude tells her after he's managed to calm himself down.
After all was said and done, his stomach and sides are sore but his mood a good deal lighter. He's no sooner settled down than the mental image of her over a cauldron bubbling full of fish heads and tails with an intensely concentrated look on her face threatens to set him off all over again. With the practiced ease of one who learns the hard way about keeping a poker face even in the midst of trickery, Claude thinks of any number of things that will keep him from laughing all over again.
As though she's fully aware of his current predicament, Byleth sips from the steaming mug in her hands and has gone back to gazing across the monastery grounds.
It's still cold as it can be, traces of snow visible across the stone everywhere they looked, and the wind has a bite to it as it rushes through.
"So Flayn sent the apples and tea along with you, which means we're not being thrown out of Garreg Mach or branded as traitors?" He tops off her mug before refilling his own. Does Teach even have a favorite type of tea? She drinks just about everything from what I found out from the Academy days.
"I wouldn't go that far. Flayn is still 'in discussion' with Seteth and sent me to make sure you weren't up to anything that would, as she put it, ' turn his hair white.'" Byleth replies.
Now that was an interesting comment for the normally sweet-tempered girl to make. Claude pretends to be wounded by Flayn's mistrust and Seteth's well-warranted concern. "Aww, Teach, they wound me; it's like-"
"They're well aware of your reputation?" The little curve of her lips deepens. "How many lectures did you go through during your Academy days?"
The second question isn't going to be answered even on threat of pain or death. 'Enough' is about as close as he's going to come to honesty and he's not even willing to part with that much. Claude considers it for all of about half a second before lifting an eyebrow in her direction and trying, failing, to hide the smile in his voice. "You really think I could make his hair white?"
She gives him a pointed look that says he'd better not if he knows what's good for him. "We'll just say I wouldn't bet against the notion."
Claude makes a mental note to find the perfect opportunity to prove himself worthy of her faith. "Speaking of bets, what's the verdict? You think we'll be arrested or escorted with a full guard back to Seteth?"
Byleth sighs unhappily and traces some obscure pattern with the tip of her finger along the bumpy surface of her mug. "We're on standby until Flayn, Seteth, or one of the Knights comes to retrieve us as far as I'm aware."
Ouch. He winces internally at the number of outcomes that little tidbit brings to mind. "You sound about as thrilled about that as I am about the idea of having to pass judgment on a petty quarrel between two nobles."
"Even less, given my experience in doing just that." Byleth admits. "But, I understand where Seteth is coming from, I don't know that I would be amicable to what we're proposing if our positions were reversed."
Now that was a loaded statement if he's ever heard one. Claude leans back and folds his arms behind his head. Might as well get as comfortable as he can since they're gonna be there a while. He's in good company, dearlymissed company at that, and there's no small part of him feeling just a little smug that he gets her alone after five years of separation. "You don't trust Edelgard to keep her word?"
"Mm." A noncommittal noise as she pours more tea into her mug.
He turns his head with a lift of his eyebrow. "Seriously?" The Empress would be devastated if she heard that.
"Something about her story doesn't add up." Byleth says after a time. "I don't know if it's her withholding information or not… having the information the Archbishop has."
It's like five years ago all over again. She's got his full attention and every word she says is filled with importance and mystery all at the same time. She's the greatest puzzle he'll ever come into contact with and he has missed having her around. He watches the way the sun makes her hair and skin glow. How her profile is noble, proud, and yet young all at once. She is timeless and ancient, she's young and lost like the rest of them.
A mystery wrapped in a puzzle wrapped in a secure notion of who and what she stands for.
He wonders if she's going over the information she overheard during their 'meeting' the night before as well as matching up what she knew from five years ago before she speaks.
"Her belief regarding the church's involvement in what was done to her and others bothers me." She shakes her head again, brow furrowing down as she drapes one arm over her knee. "The Archbishop and Seteth, the latter in particular, were frantic when Flayn went missing. There was a comment about her blood being particularly dangerous as well that suggests…"
He sees where she's going with that. "That suggests they'd rather she never fall into the hands of those who might use that blood for nefarious means." And that it's happened to her in the past, more importantly. "So they'd never condone the whole experimentation and torture thing that Edelgard and Lysithea went through."
She nods. "Exactly. If anything, it's anathema to what the Archbishop believes in."
"What about Rhea's stance on the whole 'worthy versus unworthy' bloodline bit? Think maybe that would motivate her to allow such a thing if it meant securing any bloodlines at risk of fading out?" He points out the obvious loophole in her argument. From where he's standing, the Archbishop is keen on keeping the Crest system in place and believes in it like nothing else with the exception of the Goddess.
"No. She seems…" she searches for the right words. "to believe that the Crests are bestowed only on those the Goddess favors. Minor or Major, it doesn't seem to matter to her the strength of the Crest so much as it is the existence of it."
Still didn't answer why she was so hellbent on preserving the Crests and keeping them alive.
But, Byleth had a point; if a bloodline manifesting a Crest wasn't a surefire thing, then it had to be bestowed by divine grace and all that. Strong or weak, Major or Minor… Rhea didn't seem to care as much about the strength of said Crest so much as they have one. And, as she's said before, Seteth doesn't seem to like or care for the Crest system as much as the Archbishop herself happens to.
"If that's the case… why go to war at all?"
Byleth doesn't answer and Claude doesn't push her, yet, for an answer as the two of them watch the shadows lengthen on the ground below.
Claude changes the subject sometime later to something a little more light-hearted. Of course, as innocent as his questions are, it's also to try and get into Byleth's head and learn more about how she thinks and views the world around her. The more he knows how she thinks, the better he can strategize and make sure they're both exactly where he wants them to be.
Dimitri and Edelgard will get their turn to play twenty questions with him later too, he's going to make damned sure of that. But he's been playing an entirely different game with Edelgard as it is these last five years and Dimitri's been off the radar so long he needs time to get to know him all over again that he's not without ideas.
"We've got Edelgard representing fire, Dimitri's water," Claude is deliberately leaving himself for last. It's a strategy, depending on what she says, he can take full advantage of it in at least three different ways. "What does that make Seteth, given he's the leader at the moment?"
"Earth." Byleth doesn't hesitate. "If there were ever someone who represented the element of Earth, it's him."
The answer gets a laugh out of him and a smile out of Byleth in response.
"And you say I'm the one who'd give Seteth white hair." He teases. He leans over and tops off her mug with the last of the tea. A tilt of his head gives him an excellent view of her face from an angle not many get to see it from.
As he looks at her, he can't help but wonder what she'd look like in traditional Almyran clothing. Would the clothing of nobility suit her? That of the common folk? Neither or both? He's not seen her in anything other than her standard black and grey outfit, not counting the haphazardly stitched together cloak thing they did the night before, and the urge to sic Hilda and some of the other ladies on her for a well-intentioned shopping trip is tempting.
"Claude?" Like her gaze, her voice is unwavering as she addresses him for the second time- he hadn't heard her the first time. There's that sense of distance again; like if he doesn't find a way to tie her down, she'll keep rising further and further out of his reach and disappear again.
One corner of his mouth curves up. Let's see... "I saved the best for last; what element am I?"
"Wind." Like with Seteth, she doesn't have to think about it the way she had with Edelgard and Dimitri. She knows and there's something about the confidence in her answer that thrills him.
"Wind?" Multiple questions in a single word.
"You're elusive." She says after a moment, her voice quieter than before. "Any attempts to control or restrain you fail."
Claude's hand comes to rest against the cold curve of her cheek. Tension, expectation building between them with an unspoken question and an equally unoffered answer. Oh, the attraction and interest are definitely there, he'd be a fool not to have seen the spark in her eyes and the way her eyes would linger a little too long on some areas of his body the same way he knows she's caught him doing the same.
There's the faintest brush of his lips against hers. "Have you tried?"
Her lips are a little dry and chapped against and it doesn't take him much in the way of coaxing to get her to open her mouth. A faint sweetness lingering from the apples she'd eaten earlier and the sharp pine from the tea mingle together. Her fingers are cold and spark little fires against his skin as she settles her hand against his face in kind. His hand slides from her cheek to cradle the back of her head. Her free hand settles against his shoulder.
His senses focus solely on the woman in front of him and commit the details to memory. The cold, calloused fingers against his skin and the way they feel going through his hair. The sound of the little hitch in her throat when he breaks off to kiss along her jaw. He's waited years for this and part of him is just waiting for someone to kick down his door and wake him up for the umpteenth time for some strategy meeting or another.
But the woman beneath his hands and mouth isn't a figment of his imagination or a dream conjured by longing and raging hormones; she's flesh and blood and there.
He stops nibbling on her ear long enough to whisper a suggestion. Her fingers dig into his shoulder and she nods in response. Claude grins and prepares to help her up as soon as he stands and regains his balance.
"There you are, I have been looking everywhere in the monastery for- oh my goodness!"
Both of them freeze, Claude lifts his head just enough to see Flayn, her green eyes round and wide and a little 'o' of surprise on her face as she looks from him to Byleth and back again. He can feel the blood rush to his face, and away from other areas, and tries to find the words to smooth things over before they're about to get yet another lecture from Seteth when he finds out.
"Flayn-"
The surprise disappears, leaving a particularly brilliant blush on Flayn's fair face, and the girl hastily offers a formal bow of apology. "I shall inform my brother you will be delayed. Please, do accept my heartfelt apology for my careless interruption of your dalliance!" and dashes down the stairs before he has the chance to stop her.
Claude groans and drops his head down against Byleth's shoulder.
"We're in for a lecture, aren't we?"
Byleth's hand gently pats his head in response and, wisely, says nothing.