Genres/Ratings: Friendship, Action/Adventure, Mystery.

Characters: Warin, Marianne, Lorenz, Raine, Dimitri, Claude.

Summary: It was a clever plan, drawing back his own men to lure the Empire's forces deep into Derdriu for the incoming reinforcements of the rebellion, and when the crash came, the crash came hard and without mercy. The invading army was broken and scattered, with their leader desperate to regain balance and control. All of their carefully laid schemes had fallen apart, and he was now open and made a target, and he could only hope he would escape this catastrophe with his life intact now that his mission had failed.

Garland Moon

Derdriu (Inner City)

Midday

Warin hated to admit it, but it was genius what Claude had managed to do in the short few moons he had had to prepare himself for the Imperial invasion that had reached all the way to Derdriu. The Empire had been wise in leaving the Kingdom to itself, withdrawing still further after their successive victories in Grondor, Fhirdiad and Arianrhod, and instead focussing their exhausted and splintered forces into the depths of the Alliance territory in a wild, frantic surge for victory. Even if they lacked the manpower to hold the territory entirely, felling Claude and his generals would have been a boon... and Claude had known and prepared for it the moment he and his forces had pulled back from Grondor.

The bait had been easy enough to lay, and easier still for the Empire to take, and now they were waging a pitched battle in the streets of the port city, and were losing sorely. With the Hero of Daphnel holding the gates until the rebellion could arrive, and the navy of Almyra bolstering their forces from the sea in the east, the Empire had walked headlong into a battle they simply could not win. Claude's defences were heavy, and now with the Kingdom attacking from the rear, decimating their incoming reinforcements and now pressing them into a box... It was clear why Claude had been so utterly confident in his victory from the outset.

Still, Warin didn't allow for himself to think too hard on his situation as a whole as he whirled and fenced with his enemies, his lance singing through the air as it stabbed, swept, and sliced through armour and flesh to drop a soldier each time he let it fly. Familiar faces were everywhere, also fighting for their homeland, and it was a distracting, but welcome sight to know that even Marianne and Lorenz had made it home safely, and were now doing their part to defend Derdriu to the last. Raphael had leapt headlong into the melee at the first sight of his old friend Ignatz, and he, with Hilda and Flayn, had created a maelstrom of chaos that was absolutely impenetrable to any advancing forces. No Imperial troops were getting beyond the gate to the open ports and the sea, where Claude had sent the civilians to safety. The city was empty of all the smallfolk, and there was no reason to hold back in fear of harming innocents, or needing to focus on protecting them from themselves or the enemy, as there had been in Fhirdiad.

Every single soldier there could fight without restraint, without concern or fear, and that made the rebellion's forces all the more brutal and strong. They had held back in Fhirdiad, afraid of the damage they would wreak on their home and the people who refused to escape, and though they had won the day... It had taken a toll of injuries, weakness, and exhaustion. Here, there were no rules, and no concerns of such things. There was only the mission. The rout... and to to be fighting side by side with their fellow classmates again, with full confidence, without hesitation... It would not be a long battle, but it would be a vicious one.

Raine had set up a simple strategy once she had seen the plan that Claude had concocted, and adding her own tactical knowledge to Claude's schemes only meant the fighting would end all the quicker. When she had seen the boats lined up in the port, she had swiftly taken her forces and divided them in two, sending half into the city, while the other half took a longer route outside the gates to meet Claude, and exterminate the coming reinforcements. A three-pronged strike, with herself, him, and Claude leading would be the best, and most devastating approach for the already boxed in Imperial troops. They would have no way to escape with all of their exits blocked, and though it would cause them to fight all the harder... It also ensured not one soldier would be able to flee and return to Enbarr with the news of their failure.

"More men for the pasture..." Warin muttered under his breath as his lance spun, sending his opponent's sword flying wide to give him a chance to withdraw just enough to slam the blade into his enemy's exposed throat. It would be difficult, burying all the bodies and cleaning out the port city's streets when all was said and done, but that was the way of war. He was only grateful Raine had given him the duty of hunting down the Alliance's snake head, even if it did mean throwing him directly in the path of the worst danger. But she and Dimitri were needed by Claude, and she trusted no one else with challenging another of the member of the dark-robes. Tomas and Kronya had been powerful foes five years ago, and no one had trusted the idea of a straight fight with Cornelia, either. Lord Arundel, or whatever his name truly was, was also a foe that would require strength to beat... Strength, stamina, and cunning that no military general would ever be prepared for.

Warin could see his target much more easily now, astride his horse and commanding his troops to spread out in a futile attempt to take the town despite the forces that had overrun it. All he had heard of the true Lord Arundel was not proving true with the man who was now wearing his face. He was said to be a smart man, a keen tactician and a sharp warrior, but this man was proving himself much different. Scattering his troops to be taken down by the waves of reinforcements was an act made from anger and frustration, not out of intellect. He rode from his horse from well behind the lines, refusing to take part in the battle until it came to him, and when he had seen Dimitri refuse to enter the city to meet him, his frustration had only become more apparent.

'Ruses upon ruses... They truly are trying to break him back down again... To what end?' Warin allowed his thoughts to flow as freely as his lance as soldier after soldier fell to it. Only twice had he suffered a close call, and his gauntlets had quickly ended any threats that had come too close to him. From behind, Lorenz and Marianne were clearing out the path he was carving forward, well enough back that he did not need to concern himself with their movements, but still within range should the tides move against them for him to feel secure in pushing onwards. Lorenz was a keen student and knew the better fighter when he saw one, and he was more than happy to allow Warin to do the heavy lifting if it meant he could keep Marianne from the more intense fighting.

'Cornelia claimed she wanted Dimitri and the princess to kill one another... If that truly is their plan, I suppose that means they intend to take over the continent once ridding the world of the current heirs... Lofty goal, but they've the power and the planning to achieve it. They've proven that by now...' Warin's body moved of its own will despite his occupied thoughts, ducking, dodging, weaving throughout the waves of his opponents and striking back without mercy or hesitation. His lance's blade was streaked crimson and his clothes flecked with gore, but it bothered him not a whit, nor did it slow him down. He had been in worse battles before... and he well understood the need to conserve himself for the enemy ahead of him.

"I suppose I'll simply ask when I get there, won't I?" Warin bared his teeth in a dark, cold smile, and he smashed his shoulder against the chest of the soldier in front of him before his gauntlet came up at neck level to slice through his throat. It was a quick, clean death, better than being stuck on the end of a lance at the very least, but he felt little need for the mercy. It wasn't as if the troops underneath this "Lord Arundel" had been keen to show any. He had seen the state of the gates, as well as the Hero of Daphnel before Marianne had convinced her to draw back and tend to her wounds. Judith had fought valiantly with a small retinue of her own men against troops a dozen times her own, and hadn't given them an inch, but her injuries had betrayed how taxing that effort had been. And the flames that had scorched the walls, the gates, and every house within range of the Empire's spellcasters had proven just how eager they were to burn Derdriu completely to the ground.

Warin levelled his lance, taking in a breath to steady himself as he sighted his target now that he had a moment of peace to himself. There were more soldiers ahead, but they weren't aware of his presence yet, and more importantly, were standing between him and his enemy. He trusted Lorenz and Marianne with his back, and he tensed and then relaxed his grip on his lance as he made sure of his arm. He was no sniper, but Shamir had taught him much of how to land a target when throwing his lance, and he had grown rather proficient at the art. He rolled back his shoulder, hand clenching before he threw.

There was an anguished squeal, followed by shouts of dismay and shock as the great white steed his enemy had been riding took the lance in the throat and crumpled, throwing its rider from its back as it rolled and bucked in its death throes. Warin allowed himself a pulse of pity for the creature, wishing instead it, like its rider, had been a beast rather than a simple mount, but he gave himself no more time for emotions. He surged forward, pressing both buttons on his gauntlets to extend their blades as he dove head-first into the melee of the confused and scattering honour guard. The lance had flown too fast and strong, clearing the horse's entire throat, and that was more than enough to strike fear into any ordinary soldier. Seeing their commander suddenly be bucked and tossed off of his horse, rolling in the dirt and clearly just as caught off guard had created the exact chaotic scene Warin needed to close without being overcome by their sheer numbers.

The honour guard didn't amount to much when his gauntlets went to work, and with practised ease, Warin dodged about swinging axes, slashing swords, and probing lances. All of them were too slow, too unwieldy, and handled with too much panic to ever come close to landing a true, worrisome blow. It was truth for every retinue, that once the general became incapacitated, the remaining soldiers panicked and lost more than half of their strength on fear alone. It was a tactic his father had taught him, and never once had it failed him in practice.

Warin became a ghost amongst the crowd, the silver blades affixed to his gauntlets hissing through the air and slicing flesh with ease. Weapons dropped with hands still attached to their hilts, throats shone with wet crimson necklaces, and armour bent and shredded with terrible screeches. The number of enemies he faced didn't matter. He had fought far more in his exile, and he feared no advantage of warm bodies. He was a mercenary, and fear on the battlefield had been beaten out of him before he had even entered puberty. There was no room for it in the midst of the blood and the death. If he wished to live, he could not afford to feel fear. He could not acknowledge that it even existed. Instead, he could only move. Move, fight, and survive.

A sizzling screech on his left made him turn and bend backwards instinctively, and the rippling surge of fire passed his face by less than a few inches. It scalded his flesh, a powerful reminder of just what kind of foe he was facing as the last of the troop fell at his feet, and Warin shook his arms as he turned in the direction the spell had come from. His eyes were narrowed as he watched the figure that wore Lord Arundel's body stalking towards him, his face turned into a ferocious scowl, and he met him with calm, cold malice of his own. He spoke casually, almost conversationally as he shook the blood from his forearms and remarked errantly, "I won't call you Lord Arundel, since we both know that isn't your name... Are you the one they call Thales, or is he away somewhere, scurrying behind the princess?"

A bolt of lightning was the reply, and Warin leapt to the left as soon as he saw the sparks in the man's hand, rolling on the ground to come back to his feet as the spell exploded exactly where he had been standing moments before. His eyes narrowed, and his hands clenched tighter before he kicked up a fallen lance out of the hand of a felled Imperial soldier. He gripped it loosely, noticing that deepening scowl on the approaching man's face, and it made him smirk despite himself... He had hit a nerve, and he reared back verbally, applying all the force he had as he commented again in that same, derisively calm tone, "Scurrying it is, then. I can see why. You've lost three of your "good" men already, and had two pretty shameful losses in the past moon. I'd be tucking my tail as well, if I were you."

Fire came again, though this time Warin held his ground, finding the centre of the ball of flames that was hurtling towards him and stabbing hard at it with the tip of his lance. The spell snarled as it passed him by in two clean halves by millimetres, burning the edge of his shoulders and arms as it went, but missing everything else that it otherwise would have set aflame on contact. He was too used to mages to fear them even if he was no mage himself, and nothing that had been sent his way was anything that could surprise him. Yet, he hadn't received a reply, and it made him push harder even as the mage stepped closer, his anger growing more and more apparent on his face, "Or perhaps you are Thales, here to see things done personally after your hope for the future got her arse handed to her so easily in Grondor when she took to the field?"

Warin watched the image of the dark-haired man shimmer, as if too much heat had cast up an illusion, and his eyes tried to refocus to better fix on his target. The moment cost him, as abruptly the man he had thought to be at least twenty paces away suddenly materialized right in front of him, his hands glowing with magic as he demanded in a low, hissing snarl, "How do you know this, brat?"

Instinct and only instinct saved him as those glowing hands reached for his throat, and Warin's arms came up to slash down hard on the offending limbs with brutal efficiency. The man withdrew, his image flickering now as if he was standing in a pitch-black night when a lightning storm was raging, and for a brief second, Warin was thoroughly confounded by what he was seeing. The shape of Lord Arundel transformed into an old, white-skinned and white-haired man clad in dark robes, and the two flickered against one another over and over as he clutched at his arm as blood sprayed from the wound in his wrist. Then the image of the nobleman faded, replaced with the older, robed mage, and his milky-white eyes were narrowed and furious as he repeated himself in a raging snarl, "How is it that you know these things?!"

Warin had no reply in him, too shaken by the sudden change in appearance, and he could only dodge and weave as those glowing hands reached for him again. He didn't want to imagine what would happen if even a single finger was laid on his skin, and he rolled backwards to put a healthy amount of distance between them as he quickly began to re-evaluate his opponent. This was indeed the man his sister and Dimitri had described, thick dark robes, white skin, whiter hair, and eyes that looked as though they belonged to the blind. It was as if he had never seen the sun, but it was clear he was every bit a fighter nonetheless.

Clenching his hand about his lance, Warin weighed the new weapon with some annoyance. It was heavier and thicker than the lances he preferred to fight with, but it would do for the moment to keep the mage at bay. Unlike any other spellcaster he had seen before, this one wished to close with him, and wanted to do so badly. Most preferred to keep their distance because of their physical frailty, or out of pragmatism. Magic didn't care about the caster once it was unleashed, and it would harm anyone and everyone within its radius. Even the most unskilled of mages knew that fire burnt without consideration, and yet this sorcerer didn't seem to care. Was it an immunity to pain, or that much bloodlust? Warin wasn't certain, and that made him hesitate to give his opponent what he wanted.

So instead he held back, gamely dodging the fireballs that were thrown at him with all the effort of tossing stones. This was a sorcerer that would look upon Hubert and laugh at him for his supposed skill, and Warin was quickly understanding he had underestimated his foe. If this was truly Thales, and this was his power, then his being in Derdriu was no coincidence. And he could better understand now why Edelgard had aligned herself with such poisonous puppeteers. Their raw strength, their numbers and abilities made them perfect allies of convenience... and would make them the most terrible of enemies once they decided they had no more use for the woman they had crafted into the Flame Emperor.

"You aren't as good at keeping secrets as you believe you are. The wench you sent to impersonate Cornelia was more than happy to share her tales before we sent her back to the hellscape you lot crawled out of." Warin parried the snarled question with an equally barbed answer, and he caught the next fireball on his lance's tip once more, slamming it apart and hissing as sparks and cinders fell onto his unprotected skin to burn eagerly at his flesh. There was seemingly no end to his spells, as if he had endless amounts of stamina, but Warin continued the game all the same, knowing he had no choice now that they were circling one another, "We know a fair deal about you and your machinations, despite being little rodents. Which means you are Thales. I'm glad to meet you, if you can believe it... I've been aching to kill you for almost six years."

"You dream large, as all your kind do. But will you still dream when your eyes lay open in death, I wonder? You cannot kill me, boy." The answer came smooth and calm, though there was still anger twisting his wrinkled face as he once again abruptly closed the distance with a flash of black magic. He reached, this time his hand making contact and closing around the mercenary's left forearm as shadowy flames burst from his fingers. His victim snarled in pain, bringing a cruel, eager smirk to his face as he tightened his hold, allowing his magic to spread along his arm to feast on his whole body as he growled, "Whatever you may know will die with you. You and your petty little grudges that mean less than the dust in the wind."

"You're the reason my father is dead, you bastard!" Warin roared as the pain in his arm shot upwards into his shoulder and down into his fingers. He felt his strength in his right arm bursting in answer, his Crest responding to his sudden agony and his rage, and he drew back his fist and let it fly with all of his might for his enemy's face. For once, he held nothing back as he felt his Crest's strength surging through his blood. He had no fear of what he could damage, or what amount of pain he could inflict. For once, he wanted to hurt, he wanted to maim, and that single-minded emotion blinded him almost as much as that hideous heat that was melting his gauntlet into his arm.

He heard the blades make contact, slicing skin before the barbed knuckles cracked into his target with a sickening crunching noise. The cheekbone gave way underneath his massive strength, as did every bone in his fingers from the sudden collision and the amount of force put behind them. Yet, for the moment, Warin felt the adrenaline bury the pain, and he was glad for it as he wrenched his other arm free of the suddenly weakened grip, and he twisted his body about, lifting his left leg to deliver a bruising kick to the keeled-over man. He sent him into the air and rolling onto the ground, and his arms hung useless, smoking, dripping molten metal and burning, but he ignored it as his eyes flashed fire of their own as he hissed through tightly gritted teeth, "You'll pay for everything you've been behind. My father... Remire... Everything will come back to haunt you. I won't let you go quickly. I'll break every bone in your body and make you beg for mercy before I kill you. You'll die nice and slowly. I'm not above torturing monsters."

"That... Crest...?!" Spitting blood and teeth, Thales rose as his mind spun almost as painfully as his body did as it tried and failed to absorb the shock of what had just happened. He hadn't been struck with such force in years, and he recognized that exact strength even though every inch of his brain told him it was not possible. He had studied in the shadows for years. Had hunted down the bloodline to its last living ancestor, waiting for the right moment, for the right vassal, and yet...? His eyes whirled in his head, and he ignored the broken bones in his face as he looked in complete confusion to the no-name mercenary who stood in front of him, seething with hatred and rage despite his injuries.

His left arm hung limply at his side, his gauntlet so twisted from the magical flames that it was falling off of him as he brutally shook it away. The metal had burnt itself into his skin, no doubt causing an unimaginable kind of agony, and blood was flowing freely down his broken and twisted fingers of his right hand as well. Yet he showed no sign of pain in his face. Instead there was only that hatred and anger twisting his features into a fearsome scowl, and indeed, Thales felt a shiver of fear crawl up his spine. He was not meant to fear anything but the Fell Star, who was the one being alone capable of bringing everything to ruin... Yet this boy, this child, had somehow upset everything he had believed to be fact with one swing of his arm. It was not possible. It could not be possible. He had made certain of it himself that the Hresvelg bloodline was whittled down to one person and one person only, and the only other being with that Crest was currently held in Enbarr in chains.

"How is it that you bear the Crest of Seiros?!"

"Do you not know me? Then you've made a gigantic mistake." Warin laughed despite himself, allowing the adrenaline and the rage to drive him forward and through the pain. He couldn't feel his arms at all below the shoulder, but he knew he would eventually, and when he did it would be enough to make him wish he'd lost one entirely to the fire. But for the moment, for this singular moment, his world had narrowed to one focal point, and he cast all of his attention and effort onto it. The broken and trembling man before him, cradling his bruised ribs and gaping at him as if he had somehow brought down the Goddess herself with his arm. The foe he'd been yearning to kill since the day he'd realized what had happened to his father. "You calculated for my sister well enough, yet somehow you forgot about me? No matter. You can ask of my bloodline when I kill your little empress and bring her down to the flames to join you. It's better you die to an anonymous sellsword. You don't deserve a death to be written into the annals of history."

Those accursed dark sparks started again, and realizing exactly what it meant, Warin bared his teeth in a snarl as he rushed forward unthinkingly. He only made it three steps before the damned sorcerer was gone, disappearing just as he had every single time before justice could come to him with its cold steel and deathly embrace. He cursed aloud, spinning about on his heel in desperation to find his foe as the pain began to seep through his clouded senses and reminded him of just what kind of state he was in. He roared to the void, not caring if Thales could no longer hear him as his heart twisted with a cruel sense of failure and anguish, "Damn you! Damn the lot of you! I'll kill you yet, you bastard! I'll put all of you in the ground!"

The pain roared in answer, bringing him to his knees as the rush of adrenaline cleared and brought him back to the present with little mercy. His arms were in tatters. Everything his gauntlet had covered was burnt horribly by the metal, and on the other, broken because of his punch. Bones were peeking through the skin of his fingers, a warning of how much strength he had used without consideration, and he snarled in agony as he cradled his useless limbs to his chest. He'd failed, and failed horrendously. Failed to subdue the commanding officer, failed to find vengeance for Remire and his father... It made his teeth grind down until his molars whined, but he was numb to it as his mind began to sort through the things he now needed to do with his failure hanging over him like a guillotine.

He tried to push himself to his feet, his sister's face blazing in his mind, but hands manifested on his shoulders to hold him down. He struggled blindly, unsure and momentarily caught off guard, but those hands were surprisingly strong before a soft, gentle voice was speaking somewhere above him, "Sir Warin, please... Stay still. You're horribly wounded. You cannot be rushing off anywhere with the state you're in. Please, allow me to tend to you. The battle is over. You've chased off the last foe in Derdriu."

Numbly, Warin digested the facts that Lorenz and Marianne had caught up to him, and he sat in silence as Marianne sat him back down without any effort. Lorenz was watching over them with careful, concerned eyes, but Marianne paid him no heed. Her attention was for the wounded mercenary in front of her, and her hand glowed a gentle shade of blue as a calm, soothing wave of cold emanated from her palm to attend to the burning remnants of the gauntlet that had melded into his flesh. Her voice was somehow calm and gentle despite the horrific look of the injuries, and she held Warin's worse-off arm still with her free hand when she apologized, "I'm afraid this is likely beyond my skill to heal entirely, but I will do my best... Lorenz, can you please call someone to assist me? Anyone with the energy will do, but if you can find Flayn, I'd prefer her expertise. She's always been one of our better healers when it comes to broken bones."

"Yes, right away, Marianne."

"Lorenz." Warin spoke quietly, coming back to his senses as some dull, detached part of him remembered that Flayn had held the northern gate alongside Raphael and Hilda, close to where his sister had been stationed for the majority of the battle. He knew already he was not about to make it there himself, not when he was in the state he was in, but Lorenz had come out of the battle much better than he had. He looked up and over Marianne's head, catching the noble's eye and ignoring the surprised look on his face. He supposed he had to look even worse than he felt, but he didn't allow it to bother him overmuch. His priorities meant more than his vanity, and he made that clear as he told him calmly, "Find my sister, and deliver a message on your way. Tell her Thales got away, and they don't know our bloodline. She'll understand. She needs to know this immediately if she wants to have any hope of getting an upper hand on Claude."

"Of... Of course. I shall do so post haste." Lorenz agreed after only a moment of confusion, and from Marianne's furrowed brow, he could tell that she didn't quite understand Warin's urgency either. He decided however that it did not matter. His debt to the professor, to her family and thereby also to the Kingdom ran deep. He had no intention of forsaking that debt, even if it meant reducing himself to a messenger. They had done too much for him and his homeland and love. He would gladly do anything they asked with no complaints, if it meant giving them even the slightest edge against their enemies. It was the least he could do. He spared one quick, caring look for Marianne, who offered him a gentle smile and nod, before he turned his mount north and began hurrying for the docks, where he knew both Flayn and Raine were, as he had been tasked.

Left behind, but not at all concerned, Marianne continued with her task of soothing the burn and carefully, tenderly, picking away the shards of metal that his ruined gauntlet had left behind in the mercenary's forearm with her free hand. She was astonished by the amount of damage he had fought with, and yet as he shrugged carefully out of his armour to give her full access to his arms, she had to bite her lip to stop herself from gasping aloud. He was a mess of scar tissue from neck to waist as he bore himself to her without hesitation to ease her work, and the burn that was currently on his arm almost seemed like nothing in comparison to the other tattered memories of wounds that decorated his body.

Still, Marianne didn't allow for it to shock her, nor stymie her work. She had seen plenty of bloody, ugly wounds in her service to House Gloucester since she had been taken in by Lorenz. She had spent much of her time in the chapel, but once Lorenz had been called to the front, she had followed after him dutifully. The Bridge, back then, had been under constant assault, and she had taken up a position in the infirmary to treat the soldiers as best she could in return for Lorenz' kindness. She had no fondness for the Imperial troops, but she had her magic, and she knew she had to use it to the best of her abilities even if she disliked those she was healing. Lorenz had tried valiantly to keep her sheltered from the war, something she had appreciated, but now, being thrust back into it... Marianne had to admit she was almost glad she was back inside of the Alliance.

Here, she was home. Here, she was among her friends, her comrades and schoolmates, and here she felt both needed and wanted. Here she could help, and she did so gladly. She was grateful for their kindness, for the professor's trust and warmth, and she put all of her focus now into healing her elder brother in payment. The gentle wind of cold subsided as the fierce red tinge of the burn began to fade back into a normal shade of pink, and she immediately changed spells and arms, now focussing on mending the shattered bones she could feel even in her gentlest grip. How had he hurt himself so horrendously? These weren't wounds he had gotten fighting a defensive battle. She knew as much from her time on the field. Still, she spoke softly, calmly to both ease him and herself as she felt the wound responding to her healing with slow, painful effort, "Forgive me if this hurts you more, Sir Warin... This damage is immense... I'll do what I can, but you will need a second healer. I imagine you'll feel more comfortable in familiar hands regardless, when Flayn arrives."

"And here I had hoped you'd finished with putting yourself down after five years away from Garreg Mach. Old habits are hard to break, aren't they?"

Marianne blinked, surprised and caught off guard, and she looked up from her work to see Warin watching her with careful, quiet eyes. His navy gaze was piercing, but it wasn't at all sharp. Rather, it almost seemed... sad. It made her take pause, and she wondered how it was he seemed to know her habits so well. He had never interacted with her back in her student days. Really, no one truly had made such an effort besides her own classmates, and even then, they had been few. She had found a true friend in Hilda, and someone she loved dearly in Lorenz, and yet Warin seemed to speak as if he knew her just as well. It made her unsure, and a little bit embarrassed, and she shook her head a little before questioning somewhat hesitantly, "E... Excuse me?"

"I watched you, back in the academy. Mostly by accident, since you were so frequently visiting the chapel. The bridge overlooks the cemetery. I always saw you coming and going." Warin answered tiredly, and he closed his eyes and tilted his head back, exhaling through his nose as he fought the pain that continued to surge hot and heavy through his limbs. He was feeling the full weight of his wounds now, but he forced it down and from his face as best he could, and instead turned to memory in order to numb it. It wasn't something he cared to admit, but he was reaching for something, anything, to distract himself from his failure and his pain, and unluckily, she was the one there to care for him. He would apologize to her later, when he was in a better state of mind, but for now he reached selfishly for the one lifeline he had to detach himself from his situation as he explained, "You're rather devout, which I thought strange considering your homeland. The Alliance is so close to so many outside territories that belief in the Church of Seiros isn't as widespread as the church would probably like. But you always attended. Always looking so sad and self-loathing. I'd heard you looked much better through Raine, that Lorenz had taken you in after the fall of the monastery... I hoped that meant you were feeling more confident about your place in the world. Or at least had stopped hating yourself so much."

"How did..." Marianne halted herself mid-sentence as Warin looked to her, and the pieces of the puzzle fell into place with ease when he did. His expression was solemn, and his eyes were neutral, but Marianne could see into them easily enough. How could she not? When she had made the same face, time after time, when she had been better practised, and had more energy into keeping the facade going? He knew, because they were alike. The thought sobered her, making her forget herself momentarily, and she shook her head, brow furrowing as she answered him unthinkingly, "Why would you of all people consider yourself useless? Haven't you stood by the professor since the very beginning? You're here, after all of this time... Leading, because the professor believes in you. That isn't unwarranted. You're a talented soldier. A good mercenary. A supportive elder brother. Why would you hate yourself, Sir Warin?"

"Why would you, Marianne? You're a kindhearted woman. You can heal with your magic. Almost every person I've ever met with that ability has been someone I've envied." Warin's reply came swiftly, but not harshly, and he looked at her with eyes that were ten times older than his age would ever suggest. He looked tired. He sounded even moreso. He held himself still for her work, which her hands were doing automatically without her consent, but his stare was piercing, and made her both uncomfortable, and yet somehow surprised. This was rare for him, to speak so honestly, especially to someone he didn't really know, but she listened intently all the same as she understood instinctively he needed to say these words while he had the chance to do so, "Having the ability to heal... To knit wounds, smooth over scars, bring people back from the brink... No one with an impure heart can truly do that. Bloodlines, territories, allegiances aside, no healer is an evil person. They can't be. No one goes into the healing arts wanting to cause harm. They only want to do good things. Altruistic things. I can't do that. I've never had the knack, or the ability. I don't have that kind of heart. I kill instead, because it's the only thing I'm good at. And even when it matters most, I can't seem to put my so-called talents to any kind of use. If I could, that damned bastard would be dead at my feet, and not halfway back to Enbarr by now."

"You feel you failed your father. I see." Marianne shook her head as the understanding came easy and painfully, and it made her smile sadly for him. Of course he was speaking to her about this, so soon after his failure. He couldn't say these words to his sister. She'd likely tear into him for daring to suggest he was at fault for the death of Sir Jeralt. She had not been there, she had not known him well, but she had seen the devastation his loss had caused at Garreg Mach. She had seen the light go out of Raine's eyes, and had seen how desperately the Blue Lions House had rallied about their professor. Even those who weren't her students had reached out... but Warin had stood by her side in support. Who had propped him up, when he had let his sister go?

She shook her head again, her smile sad and bitter before Marianne murmured, "Then I suppose, we are more alike than I thought... I can't admit that I look at myself as you look at me. I can't. I'm... cursed with this blood of mine, and cannot do what I wish I could because of it. But I was born like this, and still... I've come to realize I've friends, nonetheless. People who will support me, even knowing the truth... Or refusing to know, because they don't want me to harm myself by telling them. You should speak to your loved ones, Sir Warin, as I spoke to my own. Perhaps they will bring you peace... as they did to me."

"Maybe I will."

Marianne said nothing as she listened to his lowly whispered answer, and she did not react as she felt warm splashes of tears falling onto her hands as she continued her work on his injuries. He did not need her advice, nor did he need her comfort. She was ill-suited for it, but she could at least heal the wounds in front her until someone who knew him better, someone who understood him more than she did, could come to help him back to his feet. She did not mind though, sitting with him and allowing him to shed what few tears he would allow as the pain of his wounds, of his so-called failure, stung hard throughout her healing. Everyone, even the most strongest amongst them, needed these moments when they could find them. If he had turned to her, even if it was in desperation... Marianne admitted she did not mind it. Rather, she was glad to be able to support him, and she murmured quietly as she laid her hand gently across his burnt and broken forearms, "I intend... to return to Garreg Mach with the professor, after Derdriu is seen to. Lorenz and I have spoken of how we feel we can do more by joining you, than we can by staying here. When that day comes... Would you join me for tea, Sir Warin? I would dearly like to get to know you better. You, and your sister."

"I'm not much of a talker, and I can't brew tea to save my life, but... if it's something you insist on, I wouldn't say no."

"Thank you."

"Absolutely not."

The two frozen words rang out like a death knell over the still-smoking capital of Derdriu, and everyone present had paused, some in shock, some in amazement, as Raine stood quiet, wrathful, and idly shaking her left hand as she stood over Claude's prone form. She had punched him so hard and so quickly that no one had had any time to react, whether it be to stop her or to simply watch, and now as she glared down at the shakily-raising leader of the Alliance, there was absolute quiet as she idly flexed her smarting hand. She had hit him harder than she had meant to, but she didn't really regret it as she watched him spit out blood from his cut lip as he shakily forced himself back to his feet and off of the ground. She almost, almost, wished she could hit him again, but she knew there was no point in it. His self-affirming words, his selfish actions, his cheer and flippant attitude had triggered her temper, and while she knew it didn't look good, especially considering her audience... Raine had reached the absolute limit of her patience.

Failnaught lay on the ground, tossed aside like some sort of trash when it had been handed over, and the silence was so tense that she imagined she could very well hear a pin drop if anyone had the mind to do so. It wasn't as if she cared, though. His words were still echoing in her ears, flaring her temper and making her wonder just how right her brother had been, and she knew that disgust showed plain and clear on her face despite her audience. The representatives of the Alliance were all there, gathered in Derdriu to protect their capital, and to hear him throw it all away so lightly... Her hands clenched into tight fists, and as Claude rose, she stepped forward threateningly, her voice whipping out like a lash as she repeated his earlier explanation, "The Alliance is no more? You're dissolving it, and shoving it and its people under Dimitri's protection rather than stand up and fight, fight for your land, its people, and your birthright simply because you can't be arsed to continue your little charade? I don't think so, Claude. You don't get to make those kind of calls if this is what you intend to do with the burden of leadership. I won't let you. And if you truly think your people will, I suggest you look around and think a little bit before you find yourself bound, gagged, weighted down with stones, and then tossed unceremoniously into the sea."

Claude said nothing as he rose up fully, wiping the blood from his lip and fearing both her wrath and wondering how instantly he had managed to trigger it despite his best efforts. He hadn't thought her to be so ferociously protective of a land that was not hers to defend, and yet the moment the words had left his mouth of his plans... She had hauled back with blinding speed to punch him, sending him clear off his feet, and he had to admit, from the complete lack of reaction to it by his own people, she likely was right about what kind of end he was setting himself up for. He could see Raphael standing alongside Hilda and Ignatz in the crowd, and his old classmate was looking at him as if he had never seen him before. The gentle giant that he had hated to lose back in his student days to another class had grown into a true, ferocious soldier, and had spent the majority of the battle protecting his old comrades and leader despite the fact that he had nothing to gain by doing so... and it was clear his actions, and his reaction, were setting the tone for the response of his unilateral decision of the Alliance's fate.

Hilda wasn't looking at him, though that in and of itself was not much of a surprise. Ever since the roundtable conference, where her elder brother had fought him ferociously when he had announced the future of the Alliance, she had thrown aside all attempts at maintaining a caring presence for him, and treated him only in a professional sense as she had to by law. It had hurt him, seeing how quickly his trusted partner in crime had turned on him, but he mused that he had no real reason to be shocked. Deep down, he had known Hilda had true love for her home, and even more for her brother and friends. She was lazy and afraid to disappoint, but it never stopped her from picking up her axe and heading out to the battlefield if it meant protecting those who were dear to her. When Claude had applied pressure to House Goneril, forcing Holst to agree with the dissolution, Hilda had taken it as a personal betrayal, and their relationship had fractured irreparably as consequence.

Yet, now... He could see the anger that was flaring in her eyes despite the fact that she still wasn't looking at him. She was reacting to Raine, drawn in by the professor's outrage and finding she had permission to feel as she did, and her hand was trembling about the hilt of her own Relic in response as her mouth thinned into a tight, bitter line. Ignatz laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, his eyes quiet and tired from the fighting, but he stood at her side nonetheless, commoner as he was, to give her the support he knew she needed. He hadn't been there for the politics, for the pressure, but he had found out of the coming fate of his homeland all the same, and rather than anger, all he had shown was a deep sense of sadness. He loved his home, too, even if he had no hope in giving it anything it needed or deserved because of his lack of status, and to see it thrown aside for the Kingdom's so-called benefit had wounded him deeply.

Judith was watching him with a completely neutral expression, though he could feel the weight of her judgement on him all the same. She had argued just as passionately as Holst had when the word had come down, and being barred from the roundtable had meant that she had no choice or power to put behind her voice for her homeland. She could do nothing but tell him he was wrong, that he was making a mistake, and Claude had ignored her entirely. She didn't understand his motives, she barely understood him, and so he had dismissed her concerns summarily, and told her to follow orders rather than insert herself where she didn't belong. The decision was his to make, and his alone as the leader of the Alliance. It didn't matter who argued, or why... His power was absolute, and he intended to do what he could with it, before he made his exit.

The writing was clear on the wall. There was no other way to look at the coming future. He had failed, and the Kingdom stood the greatest chance now at unifying Fódlan. It was simple mathematics to give back the territories that had splintered away in the days of long history, and give his soldiers and lords away to support the dream he could no longer make true with his own hands. It disgusted him, that he had been so summarily robbed, but that was the way of things, he had reasoned. He would step back and leave this little world and its tempest in a teacup, and he would find a way to realize his dreams elsewhere. He had nothing to stay for, nothing that tethered him here as everyone else did, and he would be glad to leave it all behind him if he couldn't bend it to his will.

Now, though... He forced out a laugh he didn't feel, and looked up into the professor's blazing seafoam-green eyes with a touch of wonder and deeply buried anger. Who was she of all people to tell him what to do? Nothing but chance had landed that blade in her hand and given power to the Kingdom, who she had chosen unwittingly to support when she decided to lead their house all those years ago. The Empire had been well on its way to forcing its control over the entirety of the continent, and while he had no love for Edelgard considering her methods, at least someone had made a move to change the status quo and its long held death grip on this place. Yet now, here came the professor, refusing to let it happen by his or by Edelgard's hand, simply because it made her angry? He shook his head slowly, and remarked as he licked his cut lip experimentally, "What do you intend to do to stop me, Teach? It's already been done. All that's left now is for me to officially step down from my position as leader of the Alliance, and what's done will be done."

"If you want to abandon the Alliance and go fleeing off to Almyra, or who knows where else to see your little "dreams" come to fruition, that's your decision to make, and I'll honestly be glad to see the tail end of you. But throwing aside your people while you do it isn't something I'll stand for. Especially considering you want to foist off your mantle and put it onto Dimitri's shoulders on your way out." Raine's reply was cutting and swift, and she stood toe to to with him, challenging, unafraid, and fierce like a mother lion standing in the way of a rival male to protect the cubs that were gathered about behind her. "How many men died today protecting Derdriu? How many have died since the Empire sparked your civil war? Do you know the number? They were never fighting and putting their lives on the line for you. They were doing it for the Alliance. And your last act as their leader would be to spit on their graves, turn your back, and say that it's too bad for them, because you don't care about anyone here. You aren't a leader. You're an opportunistic coward. If you don't want the reigns of leadership, hand it over to someone else who will take up the mantle. You've no short supply of successors."

"And leave things as they are, when you've got such a clear path forward to the unity of this continent?" Claude replied just as swiftly, and his eyes narrowed as he wondered how she could be so blind to what this little world needed so sorely. A return to the status quo would mean nothing. All these years of warfare would come to naught if the end came, and things simply returned to the way they were before Edelgard had sparked her little scheme. If she hadn't done it, he would have if that blade had found his hand instead of hers, but luck had not been kind to him, and he had been forced into a role he didn't want, nor care for.

Claude admitted fully and without shame that she was not wrong in saying he didn't care for the people in the Alliance. It was true. He didn't care for anyone in Fódlan. They were the same as all the people he had seen before, and he could not and would not care for such selfish, short-sighted, and ignorant people. What surprised him though was how she seemed to be one of them, after all she had demonstrated to the contrary. She and her brother had been the catalysts of change that this world sorely needed, and he had hoped they would bring the winds with them... but to his disappointment, they were as stagnant as the rest.

"Have you bothered to ask anyone at all if that's what they truly want? Anyone besides you, or the Emperor?" Raine's return was a sharp snarl, and her hands curled so tightly at her sides that she could feel her arms beginning to tremble with the urge to strike him again for daring to say such things when the bodies of his people had still yet to lose their warmth. She had already taken a glance about at her audience, and she didn't need words to know that her opinion was the prevailing one. Hilda was furious. Judith was disappointed. The rest of the Golden Deer were either silently eyeing their leader, or were now looking at her in surprise, and that was more than enough to spur her forward with a snap, "If you bothered to speak for two minutes with Dimitri before making these wild claims, you'd understand that there is no such path in our future. Unity? What sort of unity can there be when it's bought through conquest and blood? This continent would fracture within a generation if we built that sort of world, if we even won with war, and we'd be right back to where we started, or worse, because of the lives that were ruined to create such a so-called utopia. The status quo exists because change can't be forced upon the people through violence. If it doesn't happen organically, with time, with effort, with care, then it will never stick. You place Dimitri as a figurehead for the whole of the continent, and he dies within two decades, maybe less, because no one asked for a king from the Kingdom of Faerghus to rule those living in the Empire of Andrestia."

"She's right, Claude. And moreover. I've no intention of taking a hold of your lands, your lords, or your people. I would prefer to lose this war than take away their sovereignty." Dimitri spoke up on Raine's heels, and he stepped forward, reaching to carefully place a calming, gentle hand on her shoulder as he saw her anger rising. She was truly infuriated in a way he had not seen before, but her words struck him deep all the same. He knew why she was so angry. All of her points were accurate ones, and yet she also was holding a much more personal reason close to her chest and in silence. Now the tables had been turned, now someone was trying to force a mantle onto his shoulders, and her reaction of outrage was something that both touched him, and made him ache. She valued his freedom almost as much as he valued her own, and he had never once thought that would be something she would one day be defending. He stood shoulder to shoulder with her, letting her know he would not step back to let her handle things alone, and he met Claude's disbelieving stare as he told him flatly, "The Alliance will not dissolve only to be "put back together" with the lands of the Kingdom simply because that is your will. I refuse to allow it. I would sooner speak to your lords and see what they wish for, seeing as your opinion will no longer matter once you step down from leadership."

Claude found himself at a loss for words as his well-laid plans were tipped upright, and then cast onto the ground with all the grace of an alley cat finding their way onto a chessboard. It angered him how easily they argued his points, as if they refused to see anything beyond their own noses, but he was well aware of what kind of position he was in. He couldn't force his will on these two, even if he had managed to bend the roundtable conference into seeing things his way. All of the ill feelings and arguing and threats hadn't shaken him an ounce, as he would not be remaining to see the fallout, but here stood the professor and the future king, refusing to allow him his gifts, and rather calling him a fool for thinking his way was the right one. Were they simply that proud, or were they simply that short-sighted? He admittedly could not tell... which only made him think it would be better to see the backs of them than try to convince them otherwise if there were so stubbornly insistent on things.

"Fine. I know what fights I can't win. If that's how you want it, then sort things out yourself as you will. I won't be around to stop you, so it's not as if it's any skin off my nose." Claude waved his hands errantly, pasting on a veneer of disinterest to hide his anger as he shook his head with slow disappointment. They would discover soon enough how poorly they had chosen, and it would not be his mess to clean up when the time came. That alone was the only comfort he could gain from this entire sham of a victory, and he would take it gladly. He was washing his hands of the lot of them. He had failed completely in every single avenue he had made strides in, and it stung bitterly to be aware of it... but what else was there for him now? "But keep the bow, as it is. It belongs here in Fódlan, and I don't want to be taking it with me outside of its borders. I won't need it. You will."

Raine snorted derisively as she glanced at the Hero's Relic she had tossed aside when it had been handed over to her, and she had absolutely no intention of picking it back up. It did not belong in her hands, and she had no use for it as she was. It wasn't as if she had a soldier in her army that could wield it without risking their body and soul to the Crest Stone it bore. She had no need for a Relic's power when it meant sacrificing a man to use it, and it irked her that Claude of all men clearly was aware of that, but saw fit to give it to her all the same as if it was a genuine gesture of goodwill. The only thing she could do with it was hide it, or return it to the Church's hands to give to the next heir-to-be of the Crest needed to wield the bow. To use it meant to put lives at risk, which she would not do, regardless of how desperate she or her army was in need of power, and it made her angrier still that Claude was that eager to abandon everything to see it all put behind him for whatever dreams he had deemed more important than the leadership the Alliance was in sore need of.

"Professor! Word from Sir Warin!"

Lorenz' call brought all eyes to him as he checked his mount at the gates, and the heir to House Gloucester looked a little more than worse for wear as a sign of how vicious the fighting inside of the city had truly been. Raine was both simultaneously relieved and worried to see Lorenz appearing on her brother's behalf, as it meant he was physically incapable of making his way to her himself, but if he had sent word, it also meant he had survived the onslaught. She shoved everything down however, watching as Lorenz looked about himself, taking in the assembly and clearly wondering what it was he had missed before he shook his head and renewed his focus. He locked eyes with Raine, and spoke firmly, clearly, "Your brother sends me with a message. He wishes for you to know that Thales has escaped... and that "they" are also unaware of your bloodline. He said that you would understand, and you were to know immediately."

"How is he?" Raine winced, both at the words and their meaning, and also at the understanding that it meant her brother had come off the worse in this particular battle. She could well imagine he was taking his loss poorly, but she didn't blame him for it, or for his reaction. She hadn't thought killing Thales would be as easy as sending her brother to end him, but she also hadn't assumed it would go so badly that her brother would be incapable of giving her the message himself. To have to lean on others only meant he had come off very badly, even if it was pragmatism to send a trusted ally with the information, and she had to restrain herself from bolting from where he stood and off into the city to check on him personally, all other pressing matters be damned.

"Badly wounded, I fear. He came off poorly in the fighting, though he did indeed drive this so-called Thales off personally. I have also come to collect Lady Flayn, as Marianne is uncertain she can handle his wounds by herself."

"I'll go see to him." Shamir spoke up curtly from her place beside Catherine in the crowd, stopping Raine from formulating a reply, and the Dagdan sniper's eyes were sharp and cold as she dared anyone about her to try and stop her. No one spoke, and she looked to Flayn, beckoning the healer with a wave of her hand to follow before she told Lorenz firmly, "You stay here and attend to this mess, as your most noble voice will be needed in the coming chats. I'll take Flayn and go to him myself. We'll find you if we need you, and if we don't, come looking when this stupidity of yours is settled. Come on, Flayn, and make it quick. I don't want to know what wounds that idiot has that requires your level of skill."

"Of course, Shamir. I am right behind you."

Claude said nothing as he watched Shamir and Flayn race off through the gates where Lorenz had arrived from, and they disappeared with a speed that he was both unsure and wary of. It didn't bode well to hear that Marianne was doubting her abilities and was calling for another healer to help her with Warin's injuries, though he did admit that perhaps she was simply playing it safe considering her patient. He already was well aware that both Lorenz and Marianne had more loyalty to Warin and Raine than to him, but it hadn't bothered him when they had arrived with the message for a coup in Grondor with the Kingdom's aid, nor did it bother him overmuch now. It was not his mess to attend to, and yet... He looked to Raine, eyes narrowed and face pulled back into a scowl as he questioned her sharply, "Thales? Who is that? Lord Arundel was the one in command of the forces inside of the city. Did he escape the fighting early, and leave behind a substitute? And what is this about your bloodlines and "they" not knowing about it? Why is that important information?"

Raine almost smiled as Claude's curiosity reared its head, and mentally she recited a quick prayer of gratitude to her brother for his timing. If anything was to make him forget her animosity towards him, as well as her slights, it would be his desire to uncover her secrets, and the timing was perfect. Still, her worry over Warin made her hesitate, and she was thankful once again when Dimitri raised a hand and stepped forward, placing himself between her and Claude's rapid-fire questioning as if to shield her from having to worry about too many things simultaneously.

"Lord Arundel as you knew of him is dead, Claude. The man you saw today was not him, though he bore his face in battle. Do you remember Tomas, and Monica? It is the same case here." Dimitri answered for her, and, like her, he was glad to see that behind Claude's mask of an uncaring, shallow man, he was immediately leaping forward to grasp at any and all tidbits of knowledge he had been deprived of during his time leading the Alliance forces. Raine's intuition had again paid dividends, which made him hide a grim smile as he kept himself firmly in front of her to spare her the questioning when she was clearly so ill at ease over the news of her brother's wounds. He inserted himself smoothly into the conversation now, dangling the bait as he knew he must and hoping it would be leapt for again as he explained, "It is a very long story, but should you choose to remain here, and give us aid as we need... I see no reason to keep it from you. Our enemies have made their moves more clearly than they have in the past during our school days... The time is almost ripe for us to root them out. An endeavour that would be made much easier with your personal help."

"You intend to keep me around by dangling about secrets, do you? Not a move I would have ever anticipated from you of all people, but I'll admit... You've aroused my curiosity." Claude shook his head in wonder, but all thoughts of flight had grown wings themselves and launched themselves out the nearest window and over the crests of the surrounding ocean. It was clear that the two in front of him knew much more than they were saying aloud, and that they had likely planned to use this information to lure him into promising them sorely-needed aid. He was both surprised by their wit and their willingness to stoop to his level to ensure his cooperation, as it only meant that they were fighting a much more difficult battle than he had initially assumed.

Lord Arundel's death was a jarring piece of information that did not sit at all with what he knew of the goings-on inside of the Empire, and it only made him more suspicious of all of the other incidents that had not lined up so neatly in the past five years. For better or for worse, with both Lysithea and Lindhart supplying him with information from the Empire and Ordelia in exchange for being able to sit out the worst of the fighting in order to attend to their "research", he had thought himself well enough appraised of the situation that was the entirety of the south. Dimitri's words were evidence enough that whatever he had missed, or had been hidden deeply enough from him, was exactly what he needed in order to put the whole of the puzzle together.

It was an irresistible lure, and one he was fully aware of having been set in such a manner specifically for him. They wanted and needed him, and the only way to ensure his cooperation was to give him what he wanted and needed in turn. And what else did they have for him but secrets, when there was truly nothing left in Fódlan that would compel him to stay? He had made a name for himself as a snoop and a troublemaker about Garreg Mach as a student, always sticking his nose where it didn't belong and digging where he was not welcome, but he had never had any intention of changing his ways. This continent hid too much of its own history, and the Church of Seiros guarded their lies all the more ferociously. If he wanted the truth, he had to be belligerent, he had to be a thorn in their sides, and he had done his level best to root out all he wished to know, even if he had ended up failing in the end. Now though, on the precipice of defeat, to have his dreams being held within reach...

Claude laughed, unable to help himself at their arrogance, and at their sheer audacity. This had been their plan from the outset, and he had sorely underestimated them by thinking that they were driven only by chivalry. No, the professor had done her homework, and while she cloaked herself in a veil of empathy, behind that kindness was a brain doubly as shrewd as his. She had no problem sinking to his level, especially if it meant getting what she wanted. Dimitri was not that kind of man, not deep down, but his professor could lead him into a flaming building, and he would follow her without hesitation. Her pragmatism was a cold reminder of her true roots as a mercenary, and he again chuckled as he ran a hand through his hair and admitted, "All right. All right, you've caught me... I'm interested enough in sitting down with you, and seeing how deep this rabbit hole goes. I'll put everything on hold for a chance at seeing the truth. You've bought me and my cooperation for a little while longer. Tell me everything."

"In due time, Claude. Once we return to Garreg Mach, where we can speak in confidence, we'll tell you all we know. For the moment, let us attend to Derdriu, the wounded, and the dead. Afterwards, we'll have all the time you can ask for."

AN:

Another big problem of mine in AM is the fact that Claude throws everything onto Dimitri without asking for his consent, giving a damn about his people and his responsibilities, and happily ducking out of the conflict the moment it's opportune of him to do so. Despite the fact that he and Failnaught would be a gigantic boon in ending the war with the Empire, (as well as giving him another chance to go digging for the truth of things, as he so constantly is searching for), Claude simply tosses it all aside without a care in the world, or a shred of remorse for it. This, in and of itself, seemed forced in a gameplay sense to stop you from having access to two lords, but in a narrative sense, it simply really falls apart and paints Claude in a very bad light that he doesn't really recover from, especially once his own actions in Verdant Wind are seen up close and personal for contrast.

I don't imagine that the dissolving of the Alliance was a smooth process, especially considering how proud the men and women of the Alliance actually are about their history and homeland, yet it's never really spoken of and seems to be more of an eventuality they have to face simply because Claude said so, which completely goes against the entire spirit of the roundtable conference, even if it is happening during wartime. At the very least, men like Holst and Lorenz would be violently opposed to the idea of simply being absorbed back into the Kingdom, especially after so many generations of finding their feet, acting as independent and strong nations of their own, and working as an "alliance" of like-minded nobles for the good of their homeland, even if the politics and power-struggles are annoying and commonplace. Lorenz in particular only ever speaks fondly of his home, even if he readily admits how flawed its power structure is, and considering Holst is a hero, and also has demonstrated time and time again how willing he is to give his life for his territory and people, I sincerely cannot see either of these two being happy with Claude's decision. (And should he be recruited, Lorenz is infuriated with Claude's choices by canon, which proves his voice at the roundtable, should it have been there, would have been vocal and loud.) Rather, I imagine Claude simply strong-armed them with the threat of stepping down regardless of their arguments, and refusing to pick a successor in either Lorenz or Holst, because his dream matters more to him than the mantle of leadership that was placed on his shoulders, as well as the future and well-being of the people he is supposed to lead and care for.

This is also something Claude even readily admits, that the mantle of leadership was a means to an end (in his S-Support, he even claims he has used up all of his Fódlan blood, and has no use for it any longer, which is a hell of a bomb to be dropping after a proposal, and before another escape from leadership he set Byleth up for, after again, not asking or caring about their consent on the matter), and he didn't ever really give much of a damn about Fódlan except for what he could dig up on it as an "outsider". Despite all of his claims of wanting unity, and tearing down walls to bring people together, Claude shows the exact same type of ignorance and hate for the "other" that he so frequently rails against. He's a hypocrite who covers it up with smiles and charm, and I've never liked him as a consequence. His single-mindedness is selfish incarnate, and his only winning point for me in Verdant Wind was the fact that he at least admitted he's selfish and owned it. In every other route? That kind of self-awareness is nowhere to be seen, and even then, it's still sorely lacking when he won't look inward and see he's the same type of man he claims to hate, and thinks brute force is the only way to unite a people. In that respect, he's much like Edelgard... which is also why I firmly believe his world would be set up to fail from the outset, just as much as Edelgard's utopia would, and also explains why he feels an affinity for her due to the breaking of the status quo they both are rushing after.

Which brings up another interesting aspect of AM, which is the complete absenteeism of the thought of "unification". Not once in Azure Moon does Dimitri bring up the fact of unifying all of the continent, but rather, he has it forced upon him. Claude's dissolution of the Alliance, and shoving it all onto his head, is the only time that unification is ever brought up, but it's clear throughout all of Dimitri's story arc that he's not that type of ruler, nor does he aspire to be of that nature. He cares for the continent as a whole, but never once does he consider that ending the Empire means that it becomes his territory to control by right of conquest. His war is with the Empire due to their aggression and involvement in past misdeeds against the Kingdom, his taking in of the Alliance is a choice that's made for him, and he rolls with it because he seemingly has no other recourse... which is an eerily familiar theme to be touching on, considering all that Raine's been through by this point.

Regardless, I'm aware that this take on Claude is likely to be divisive, but seeing as he needed to be roped into things, and this was the only way I could see it happening with any sort of realism... -shrugs- This chapter has gone on pretty long, and was rather winding and disconnected. I haven't been feeling well again (surprise, surprise), so my writing has taken an ugly hit in response. This is what I wanted the chapter to be, but unfortunately, it doesn't quite feel like it's everything it should be, if that makes any sense? I probably should just go back to sleep... As always, thank you for reading this far, drop me a review should you feel the need, and I shall see you again with my next chapter!

Mood: Annoyed.

Listening To: "Hello" - Adele

~ Sky