[ Dimitri is... funny, without meaning to be, but in a way that only makes him charming. He's generally prim and proper as a prince, but his earnest nature, and occasional cluelessness, make him more human. Allows him the suggestion of being approachable.
Claude can see how that would make him so appealing. The picture of a model prince.
The girls definitely thought so.
He stares straight ahead, trying to wrangle his thoughts away from that direction. ]
Have you ever pulled off a prank in your life, Dimitri?
[ He walks faster, humour giving way to something else. Like landing the final punchline of a show but being forced to perform still.
He just wants to go. Seconds ticking by and the feeling growing stronger: I just want to get out. ]
[ The girls thought... what? He could never make the right assumption of what Claude might be thinking, because he'd never notice romantic attention anyway, are you kidding. ]
I don't know that I've ever even tried.
[ Between the two of them, Claude is the only one with any mischief. Some might even call him conniving, but Dimitri's never seen him act with truly ill intent. There's a ribbing comment here or there, a sneaky smile then and again. That doesn't undermine the fact that Claude dragged him home when he was ill, and that they made it a month here together, with no one to depend on but each other.
So why is it that he still feels ill at-ease here? He's never feared Claude, but there's a distinct discomfort between them that their lighthearted conversation can't buoy up forever. He adjusts Claude's hand in his when he 'hears' his thought.
Did Claude want to get away from him so badly? Is he up to something after all? What is he afraid of...?
An unusual, creeping paranoia twists his perception, but he doesn't let go, steadfast. He has to keep moving. The conversation takes a chilly lull, and he speaks to avoid his own mind. ]
Perhaps... I should apologize in advance. For any unpleasant thoughts I may have.
[ Is he acting afraid or is Dimitri reading his thoughts? Neither option is pleasant, and a sour feeling settles over him at the thought of Dimitri spotting a weakness in his behaviour. Even without the added paranoia of this car, the idea bothers him.
Even if Dimitri is harmless, he doesn't want to give him any advantages. ]
You're going to pique my curiosity if you say things like that, your Princeliness.
[ I thought you were innocent?
It seems inconceivable that someone as straight-laced as Dimitri could be hiding something, but survival is a powerful motive. Everyone hides bits and pieces of themselves to some degree, some with more success than others. Claude doesn't know that there's plenty that he doesn't know about Dimitri, and it occurs to him that they're actually... rivals? Leaders of two separate territories that bring interests and power dynamics that go beyond them as individuals.
Perhaps he shouldn't be so quick to dismiss Dimitri's political prowess. ]
[ Dimitri has practiced how to be a prince—the least savory parts of him need to stay buried, or his entire country looks weak. That doesn't make his niceties artificial, far from it, but appearances need to be maintained.
He doesn't doubt that Claude is the same way. Besides the obvious secret of his origin, they must project an image befitting leadership, no matter what thoughts and secrets really lie in the murk of their minds. It's been nice not having to worry about it on the train—they can leave titles and pretenses behind—but even so, he finds himself stiff-shouldered, trying to shut some corner of his mind away at Claude's words.
Can they really trust each other? He wants to, but the darkness of the car points out how dangerous that is. It is a level of vulnerability that even he's unused to. ]
You know I am not really a prince here.
[ But maybe that's what's really frightening about this place. It's not his thoughts as Crown Prince that are being broadcast here, but the very personal pieces of his mind that make up Dimitri, the person.
A thought crosses his mind then, but it doesn't sound like Dimitri's inner voice at all; rather, it's like it's speaking to him. It's a scoff, a reaction to Claude's thoughts. A ghostly whisper.
You? Innocent? ]
...Something about this place unnerves me. We should stay alert. [ Even if most of his trepidation is coming from his connection to Claude. ]
I'm sure your little lion cub would disagree. [ If Dimitri has successfully cajoled Sylvain in calling him by name rather by title, Claude hasn't noticed.
Even if he had, Claude wouldn't believe his words for a second. Dimitri would always be a prince, carrying that royal blood and an unshakeable claim to the throne. He might not have been in Fódlan long, but even he can see the degree to which the Faerghan's stand by their chivalry and loyalty to the throne.
He doubts there's anything that Dimitri could do to shake that from his crown.
But he's not here to extol Dimitri's virtues, or stew in envy. ]
I hope you're not thinking about getting into a fight. With this much darkness, we're more likely to end up hurting each other.
[ They're barely holding onto each other, Claude's grip loose enough that a strong breeze to take his hand away, his torso twisted away even though they're both walking in the same direction. He's always been one to keep his distance, but there's something else urging him away.
A whisper that almost doesn't sound like Dimitri, but too brief for him to analyze, and then a thought of his own, Why is your number so high? Because if the clownductor is to be believed, their goal is to lower their numbers through "self-improvement", which implies that the higher the number, the more there is to improve upon.
So what is it? It occurs to Claude that despite all his reading, needling and gossip, that he knows so little. He knows of one tragedy, but that leaves days, months and years accounted for. How much does he actually know about this prince? ]
[ Sylvain is his elder, but it's true that no one might be able to tell, considering their relationship hasn't changed at all. Maybe he's just more a prince than a person, the two elements made inseparable.
Now is not really the time to unpack that, though his thoughts rumble briefly, just a flicker of disappointment rather than words. ]
Mm. Better to escape in one piece than fight and get each other killed.
[ Even if fighting is his preferred course of action, he knows it's foolhardy in a place this dark. Still, how long can they keep their wits about them like this? Claude's thought actually makes their fingers part for a moment, the light flickering to nothing, because he'd prefer that to breaking Claude's hand in surprise.
He quickly grasps it again once he's recovered. A little sharply, ]
If you must know, I'd rather you ask me that directly.
[ He shouldn't be getting frustrated like this, but the further they trek into the darkness, the worse his mood starts to turn—something about Claude's thoughts rankle him, like he's being pushed further and further into a corner. Is this what Claude has been thinking about since the truth of the numbers was revealed? Was their camaraderie all this while really so shallow? ]
[ There's a brief, wild moment where Dimitri's hand separates from his that Claude considers just running into the darkness. It would be easier than this, surely. Than having to endure his thoughts broadcasted, and Dimitri's.
It would be better than the pit in his stomach at the realization that this is difficult. Though they barely qualify, Dimitri is probably the closest thing he's made to a friend, and still the simple task of holding his hand so they can clear this stupid car is so hard.
But of course, that would be lunacy. ]
Blaming me for my thoughts, Dimitri?
[ Well, it's not like he can't understand the frustration. ]
I'll admit to being curious, but I don't plan on prying. [ Yet. ] Unless there's a reason I should?
[ For the faintest second where he lets go, there's some relief from the mounting pressure inside of his head. The nonsensical fear, the growing paranoia. He wants to trust Claude—he always, fervently wants to trust people, especially those who might be his comrades. His friends, if they could be called that.
There is a swirl of guilt that he can't seem to do that with his whole heart, and he grips to it in an attempt to ground himself, swallowing. ]
To know if you should be afraid of me, perhaps?
[ There is another passing murmur of thoughts, overlapping voices that are too intermingled to decipher. It's agitating even just to listen to, enough to make anyone's head hurt. All the same, he shakes his head. ]
...No matter what my number stands for, I do not intend to hurt you. Not unless you make yourself my enemy.
[ It's edged in a warning, because he will not allow anyone stand in the way of his pursuits, but it's also a promise. He means Claude no harm. He doesn't want more enemies. ] You can ask whatever you want. But if that isn't enough, you ought to let go now.
[ This car and this train must be severely overestimating him if it thinks it could make him afraid of Dimitri. Claude is well aware that he's considered something of a coward by reputation in Almyra, and that Dimitri himself probably finds his penchant for retreat shameful, but while Claude is cautious and wary, he's not easy to scare.
He doesn't know why Dimitri's number is so high, but whether he's a threat to Claude or himself, it's not enough to make him afraid. ]
And what exactly would I have to do to make myself an enemy of yours? [ There is the standard stuff of: don't kill innocent people or Dimitri's comrades, don't invade Faerghus, but beyond that?
He assumes Dimitri has ambitions as the ruler of a nation, but whether or not they'll align peacefully with Claude's own remains to be seen. ]
[ They wouldn't make for future leaders if they were so easily cowed—part of him is ashamed for the fear he does feel, the growing nervousness as his heart thuds in his chest. It's silly because neither of them has given any indication that they want for anything but peace, between both their countries and the two of them.
Claude's easygoing answer helps, but his mind answers before he can even find words.
Anyone that shelters them is my enemy. Sharply, ]
...Unless you benefited from the events in Duscur, I have no quarrel with you.
[ But I'll find them. Their allies. Their friends.
I'll hunt them down. Scatter their bones—
He swallows, letting out an aggrieved sigh as he stifles the darker thoughts that rise when his mood plunges like this. Because Claude doesn't deserve it. Over the years, his research and digging had left him with a tiny, festering concern over Adrestia, enough that he barely spoke to the Black Eagles, but he's never seen word that might cast Leicester in a poor light.
In this room, in the dark, he does not trust Claude. He's realized he's terrified of him. His hand feels cold even as its held, and his heart is thundering now, but even when he does not trust someone, he wants to believe in them—he hopes, dimly and stubbornly, that trust is just a matter of endurance. He starts speaking to avoid thinking so much, his words perfectly matching his inner thoughts this time. ]
I'm... afraid of you. [ It's weak to admit, even if it's just this car. ]
The thought comes before Claude can stop it, mystified by the vehemence behind Dimitri's voice in his head. Brutal and angrier than he allows himself to be on the surface.
His mind fixates on that. On what he knows about Dimitri's monstrous strength, and their hands joined together. He thinks back to what he read about the Tragedy, and how Dimitri had been the sole survivor. What kind of person could survive that?
What kind of monster? ]
You should be.
[ He grips Dimitri's hand tighter, stubborn against the turn this conversation has taken, how it unsettles him low in his belly, a new tension straightening up his spine. It feels like he's threatening Dimitri needlessly, but it makes no sense.
Because Dimitri wouldn't attack him, would he? ]
You don't really know anything about me, after all.
The question stings, but echoes in his own head—something has been wrong with him for a very long time, bent into shapes that he can't seem to right again. That part must be what urges for retaliation, to take Claude's words as a thinly veiled threat and to strike first.
But he shakes his head stubbornly. ]
That's no reason to be afraid.
[ He's never been wary of strangers, and Claude is more than that. Perhaps what's more frightening is realizing they've spent this much time together and he still knows so little. He hasn't given very much, and likewise, has been offered little in return.
You've really shared nothing with me.
Even so. Even so... it's important to have faith in people. In strangers, friends— in everyone inbetween. If Claude were going to hurt him somehow, then he would have already. They wouldn't be squeezing each other's hands like this—they'd have abandoned each other to look for the cauldron, or worse. He lets out a deep breath, a long and shaky exhale. ]
Claude...
[ Can I really ask him to trust me?
Either way, as luck would have it, the light grows just a little brighter as they grip each others hands, and something in the near distance illuminates just barely. The cauldron's faint outline is just ahead. ]
[ He wasn't sure that they'd make it. Part of Claude had assumed that there was another layer to those challenge, and that in order to find the cauldron they needed more than just hand holding. That it wouldn't appear until they reached some personal connection.
But there it is, drawing closer and the relief floods him almost immediately.
Finally, freedom.
He can't wait to get out of here. To stop worrying about Dimitri in his head.
But still, he doesn't run. He also doesn't want to leave it quite like this.
Their footsteps grow quicker, but Claude glances over at Dimitri. ]
You can ask.
[ Because... It might be nice. To have someone to rely on, and to chat with. To share one of the hundreds of thoughts running through his head. And logically speaking, Dimitri is a good choice. He's a fellow leader, and could understand Claude's struggles to offer insight.
It seems nice, not that Claude can imagine such a thing. (But maybe he still wants it. A little.) ]
But don't take it personally if I can't follow through. [ He looks away when they reach the cauldron, holding out the torch. ] It's not a strength of mine.
[ It's unexpected. Even after all that he'd just heard, and the fact that Dimitri still has time to crush Claude's hand in his, he's willing to stand his ground. Dimitri's thoughts quiet for a moment, blissfully so, the flame flickering brightly between them. All that's left is for Claude to drop it into the great, metal bowl waiting for it.
Did we make it...?
He was anticipating that this might be yet another awkward barrier between the two of them, their relationship staying amicable but distant. Why would Claude want to associate with him? How could he ever really know what Claude is thinking again? But it doesn't have to be like that. Aren't they here to be better—to become better? It's not a journey anyone can make alone. Maybe Claude knows that too. The number against Dimitri's palm, pressed into Claude's hand, ticks down. ]
I'd like it if you tried.
[ Even if he doesn't manage it, trust can't be fostered without putting in the effort, too. And for all the caution they might have about becoming friends when they represent two different leagues of power—wouldn't it be something if they could get along? What roads of peace could they venture if they were both willing to try?
And even on a more personal note—no, especially on a personal note, he wonders if they can be Claude and Dimitri and not the future Grand Duke of Leicester with the Crown Prince of Faerghus. He doesn't know if he has that in him either, but the idea is... nice.
It's definitely because the goosebumps are finally starting to settle with the cauldron right in front of them, but he's able to let out a deep, sharp breath and steels himself, feeling warmed. ]
[ Claude wonders if Dimitri even knows just how impossibly complicated this question is. Does he trust Dimitri? In the sense that he trusts Dimitri to always do what's best for Faerghus, yes. In the sense that he trusts Dimitri to balk at imperial invasion or conquest, yes. Even to the point where he trusts that Dimitri would not judge someone for which side of the border they're born.
Would he trust Dimitri with his secrets and his fears? If he was hurt, would he seek Dimitri's aid?
He doesn't know which of these is the trust that Dimitri is asking for, and he doesn't know which of them he can manage. His instinct is to simply say no, rather than get it wrong.
But he'd left Almyra because he'd wanted something different for himself. And maybe this isn't quite what he imagined—he's still hiding who he is—but he can't hope for the world to change around him, without changing himself. It's a risk, not as calculated as he would like, and the path it leads down is murky and unclear, but at the same time... exciting.
You're really making me face my fears, you know.
One last thought shared between them as Claude glances over at Dimitri, sighing helplessly, ] I will.
[ Because all those whispers that had rung in his ears as they'd walked through the darkness; the questions about Dimitri's motives, the reminders of his strength and all that he'd survived. The threats and doubts. In the end, he hadn't believed them, and maybe that's a good enough starting point.
He drops the torch into the cauldron, opening his mouth to make a witty comment that's swiftly light when light explodes out from in front of them, momentarily blinding before it fades, leaving behind grassy fields and blue skies around them, and a door where the cauldron previously was. ]
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no subject
Claude can see how that would make him so appealing. The picture of a model prince.
The girls definitely thought so.
He stares straight ahead, trying to wrangle his thoughts away from that direction. ]
Have you ever pulled off a prank in your life, Dimitri?
[ He walks faster, humour giving way to something else. Like landing the final punchline of a show but being forced to perform still.
He just wants to go. Seconds ticking by and the feeling growing stronger: I just want to get out. ]
no subject
I don't know that I've ever even tried.
[ Between the two of them, Claude is the only one with any mischief. Some might even call him conniving, but Dimitri's never seen him act with truly ill intent. There's a ribbing comment here or there, a sneaky smile then and again. That doesn't undermine the fact that Claude dragged him home when he was ill, and that they made it a month here together, with no one to depend on but each other.
So why is it that he still feels ill at-ease here? He's never feared Claude, but there's a distinct discomfort between them that their lighthearted conversation can't buoy up forever. He adjusts Claude's hand in his when he 'hears' his thought.
Did Claude want to get away from him so badly? Is he up to something after all? What is he afraid of...?
An unusual, creeping paranoia twists his perception, but he doesn't let go, steadfast. He has to keep moving. The conversation takes a chilly lull, and he speaks to avoid his own mind. ]
Perhaps... I should apologize in advance. For any unpleasant thoughts I may have.
no subject
Even if Dimitri is harmless, he doesn't want to give him any advantages. ]
You're going to pique my curiosity if you say things like that, your Princeliness.
[ I thought you were innocent?
It seems inconceivable that someone as straight-laced as Dimitri could be hiding something, but survival is a powerful motive. Everyone hides bits and pieces of themselves to some degree, some with more success than others. Claude doesn't know that there's plenty that he doesn't know about Dimitri, and it occurs to him that they're actually... rivals? Leaders of two separate territories that bring interests and power dynamics that go beyond them as individuals.
Perhaps he shouldn't be so quick to dismiss Dimitri's political prowess. ]
no subject
He doesn't doubt that Claude is the same way. Besides the obvious secret of his origin, they must project an image befitting leadership, no matter what thoughts and secrets really lie in the murk of their minds. It's been nice not having to worry about it on the train—they can leave titles and pretenses behind—but even so, he finds himself stiff-shouldered, trying to shut some corner of his mind away at Claude's words.
Can they really trust each other? He wants to, but the darkness of the car points out how dangerous that is. It is a level of vulnerability that even he's unused to. ]
You know I am not really a prince here.
[ But maybe that's what's really frightening about this place. It's not his thoughts as Crown Prince that are being broadcast here, but the very personal pieces of his mind that make up Dimitri, the person.
A thought crosses his mind then, but it doesn't sound like Dimitri's inner voice at all; rather, it's like it's speaking to him. It's a scoff, a reaction to Claude's thoughts. A ghostly whisper.
You? Innocent? ]
...Something about this place unnerves me. We should stay alert. [ Even if most of his trepidation is coming from his connection to Claude. ]
no subject
Even if he had, Claude wouldn't believe his words for a second. Dimitri would always be a prince, carrying that royal blood and an unshakeable claim to the throne. He might not have been in Fódlan long, but even he can see the degree to which the Faerghan's stand by their chivalry and loyalty to the throne.
He doubts there's anything that Dimitri could do to shake that from his crown.
But he's not here to extol Dimitri's virtues, or stew in envy. ]
I hope you're not thinking about getting into a fight. With this much darkness, we're more likely to end up hurting each other.
[ They're barely holding onto each other, Claude's grip loose enough that a strong breeze to take his hand away, his torso twisted away even though they're both walking in the same direction. He's always been one to keep his distance, but there's something else urging him away.
A whisper that almost doesn't sound like Dimitri, but too brief for him to analyze, and then a thought of his own, Why is your number so high? Because if the clownductor is to be believed, their goal is to lower their numbers through "self-improvement", which implies that the higher the number, the more there is to improve upon.
So what is it? It occurs to Claude that despite all his reading, needling and gossip, that he knows so little. He knows of one tragedy, but that leaves days, months and years accounted for. How much does he actually know about this prince? ]
no subject
Now is not really the time to unpack that, though his thoughts rumble briefly, just a flicker of disappointment rather than words. ]
Mm. Better to escape in one piece than fight and get each other killed.
[ Even if fighting is his preferred course of action, he knows it's foolhardy in a place this dark. Still, how long can they keep their wits about them like this? Claude's thought actually makes their fingers part for a moment, the light flickering to nothing, because he'd prefer that to breaking Claude's hand in surprise.
He quickly grasps it again once he's recovered. A little sharply, ]
If you must know, I'd rather you ask me that directly.
[ He shouldn't be getting frustrated like this, but the further they trek into the darkness, the worse his mood starts to turn—something about Claude's thoughts rankle him, like he's being pushed further and further into a corner. Is this what Claude has been thinking about since the truth of the numbers was revealed? Was their camaraderie all this while really so shallow? ]
no subject
It would be better than the pit in his stomach at the realization that this is difficult. Though they barely qualify, Dimitri is probably the closest thing he's made to a friend, and still the simple task of holding his hand so they can clear this stupid car is so hard.
But of course, that would be lunacy. ]
Blaming me for my thoughts, Dimitri?
[ Well, it's not like he can't understand the frustration. ]
I'll admit to being curious, but I don't plan on prying. [ Yet. ] Unless there's a reason I should?
no subject
There is a swirl of guilt that he can't seem to do that with his whole heart, and he grips to it in an attempt to ground himself, swallowing. ]
To know if you should be afraid of me, perhaps?
[ There is another passing murmur of thoughts, overlapping voices that are too intermingled to decipher. It's agitating even just to listen to, enough to make anyone's head hurt. All the same, he shakes his head. ]
...No matter what my number stands for, I do not intend to hurt you. Not unless you make yourself my enemy.
[ It's edged in a warning, because he will not allow anyone stand in the way of his pursuits, but it's also a promise. He means Claude no harm. He doesn't want more enemies. ] You can ask whatever you want. But if that isn't enough, you ought to let go now.
no subject
He doesn't know why Dimitri's number is so high, but whether he's a threat to Claude or himself, it's not enough to make him afraid. ]
And what exactly would I have to do to make myself an enemy of yours? [ There is the standard stuff of: don't kill innocent people or Dimitri's comrades, don't invade Faerghus, but beyond that?
He assumes Dimitri has ambitions as the ruler of a nation, but whether or not they'll align peacefully with Claude's own remains to be seen. ]
no subject
Claude's easygoing answer helps, but his mind answers before he can even find words.
Anyone that shelters them is my enemy. Sharply, ]
...Unless you benefited from the events in Duscur, I have no quarrel with you.
[ But I'll find them. Their allies. Their friends.
I'll hunt them down. Scatter their bones—
He swallows, letting out an aggrieved sigh as he stifles the darker thoughts that rise when his mood plunges like this. Because Claude doesn't deserve it. Over the years, his research and digging had left him with a tiny, festering concern over Adrestia, enough that he barely spoke to the Black Eagles, but he's never seen word that might cast Leicester in a poor light.
In this room, in the dark, he does not trust Claude. He's realized he's terrified of him. His hand feels cold even as its held, and his heart is thundering now, but even when he does not trust someone, he wants to believe in them—he hopes, dimly and stubbornly, that trust is just a matter of endurance. He starts speaking to avoid thinking so much, his words perfectly matching his inner thoughts this time. ]
I'm... afraid of you. [ It's weak to admit, even if it's just this car. ]
no subject
The thought comes before Claude can stop it, mystified by the vehemence behind Dimitri's voice in his head. Brutal and angrier than he allows himself to be on the surface.
His mind fixates on that. On what he knows about Dimitri's monstrous strength, and their hands joined together. He thinks back to what he read about the Tragedy, and how Dimitri had been the sole survivor. What kind of person could survive that?
What kind of monster? ]
You should be.
[ He grips Dimitri's hand tighter, stubborn against the turn this conversation has taken, how it unsettles him low in his belly, a new tension straightening up his spine. It feels like he's threatening Dimitri needlessly, but it makes no sense.
Because Dimitri wouldn't attack him, would he? ]
You don't really know anything about me, after all.
no subject
The question stings, but echoes in his own head—something has been wrong with him for a very long time, bent into shapes that he can't seem to right again. That part must be what urges for retaliation, to take Claude's words as a thinly veiled threat and to strike first.
But he shakes his head stubbornly. ]
That's no reason to be afraid.
[ He's never been wary of strangers, and Claude is more than that. Perhaps what's more frightening is realizing they've spent this much time together and he still knows so little. He hasn't given very much, and likewise, has been offered little in return.
You've really shared nothing with me.
Even so. Even so... it's important to have faith in people. In strangers, friends— in everyone inbetween. If Claude were going to hurt him somehow, then he would have already. They wouldn't be squeezing each other's hands like this—they'd have abandoned each other to look for the cauldron, or worse. He lets out a deep breath, a long and shaky exhale. ]
Claude...
[ Can I really ask him to trust me?
Either way, as luck would have it, the light grows just a little brighter as they grip each others hands, and something in the near distance illuminates just barely. The cauldron's faint outline is just ahead. ]
no subject
But there it is, drawing closer and the relief floods him almost immediately.
Finally, freedom.
He can't wait to get out of here. To stop worrying about Dimitri in his head.
But still, he doesn't run. He also doesn't want to leave it quite like this.
Their footsteps grow quicker, but Claude glances over at Dimitri. ]
You can ask.
[ Because... It might be nice. To have someone to rely on, and to chat with. To share one of the hundreds of thoughts running through his head. And logically speaking, Dimitri is a good choice. He's a fellow leader, and could understand Claude's struggles to offer insight.
It seems nice, not that Claude can imagine such a thing. (But maybe he still wants it. A little.) ]
But don't take it personally if I can't follow through. [ He looks away when they reach the cauldron, holding out the torch. ] It's not a strength of mine.
no subject
Did we make it...?
He was anticipating that this might be yet another awkward barrier between the two of them, their relationship staying amicable but distant. Why would Claude want to associate with him? How could he ever really know what Claude is thinking again? But it doesn't have to be like that. Aren't they here to be better—to become better? It's not a journey anyone can make alone. Maybe Claude knows that too. The number against Dimitri's palm, pressed into Claude's hand, ticks down. ]
I'd like it if you tried.
[ Even if he doesn't manage it, trust can't be fostered without putting in the effort, too. And for all the caution they might have about becoming friends when they represent two different leagues of power—wouldn't it be something if they could get along? What roads of peace could they venture if they were both willing to try?
And even on a more personal note—no, especially on a personal note, he wonders if they can be Claude and Dimitri and not the future Grand Duke of Leicester with the Crown Prince of Faerghus. He doesn't know if he has that in him either, but the idea is... nice.
It's definitely because the goosebumps are finally starting to settle with the cauldron right in front of them, but he's able to let out a deep, sharp breath and steels himself, feeling warmed. ]
Will you trust me, Claude?
no subject
Would he trust Dimitri with his secrets and his fears? If he was hurt, would he seek Dimitri's aid?
He doesn't know which of these is the trust that Dimitri is asking for, and he doesn't know which of them he can manage. His instinct is to simply say no, rather than get it wrong.
But he'd left Almyra because he'd wanted something different for himself. And maybe this isn't quite what he imagined—he's still hiding who he is—but he can't hope for the world to change around him, without changing himself. It's a risk, not as calculated as he would like, and the path it leads down is murky and unclear, but at the same time... exciting.
You're really making me face my fears, you know.
One last thought shared between them as Claude glances over at Dimitri, sighing helplessly, ] I will.
[ Because all those whispers that had rung in his ears as they'd walked through the darkness; the questions about Dimitri's motives, the reminders of his strength and all that he'd survived. The threats and doubts. In the end, he hadn't believed them, and maybe that's a good enough starting point.
He drops the torch into the cauldron, opening his mouth to make a witty comment that's swiftly light when light explodes out from in front of them, momentarily blinding before it fades, leaving behind grassy fields and blue skies around them, and a door where the cauldron previously was. ]