"Hi. Aurelien, right?" Claude asks as he catches up with the other student, falling into step beside him. Of course he is already sure of his identity, but when approaching a noble from a different house for the first time, it's usually best to appear open and friendly, but not overly presumptive. He has found that, the more powerful the family, the less its members appreciate outsiders poking their noses into their business.
He hasn't rushed to introduce himself to Aurelien, and only decided to extend the hand of friendship now that Edelgard chose him as one of her Eagles to take part in the first student mission outside the monstery. If her Highness thinks he's worthy from the start, then he's undoubtedly worthy of Claude's attention. When it comes to evaluating the talent of his rival houses, he doesn't want to leave anything up to chance if he can help it.
"I'm Claude. Thought I should introduce myself since we'll be fighting together later." He smiles an easy smile, though there's a sharpness to his eyes that belies his casual introduction.
Before joining Aurelien, Claude had taken in everything he could about his appearance. Tall, lean and strong, with very light hair that reminds him of Edelgard's and Lysithea's, he is stunningly handsome and probably knows it. At least, Claude thinks he must, given how well he keeps himself, and how gracefully he carries himself with each step. He can't help but wonder if his appearance is typical of those from Fomori.
The Black Eagles, and the Adrestian Empire by extension, stirs Claude's curiosity more than the other regions of Fodlan. The various regions, vassals and otherwise, are so much more mysterious than the chivalrous Kingdom of Faerghus, or the numerous counties and duchies of Leicester. The tales of dark magic and mythical lands certainly play a roll in its intrigue, and some of the people he's met from Adrestia since arriving at Garreg Mach have done little to temper his fascination.
Edelgard herself clearly keeps many secrets, just like him. He's yearning to uncover at least a few.
First, however, he needs to get to know the major players on all sides.
Aurelien has a keen sense for the weight of scrutinizing eyes—and, lately, it seems like everyone wants to take his measure. Claude is hardly the first to turn such a sharp gaze on him, here in Garreg Mach, and Aurelien knows he won't be the last; it's both an answer and a challenge when his feet shift apart below him, loosening his perfect posture into something blithe and unbothered.
Of course, to evaluate invites evaluation in return. His head lolls aside, spilling the long and artful braid of his pale hair over a cocked shoulder. Aurelien looks Claude over, gaze tracing his form from his boots to his boyishly charming face, and the insouciance of the pose does little to hide the hard edge behind his eyes—just the same as Claude's nonchalant smile had done for him.
"I don't know if I'd go that far," he finally answers, the tone of his voice an apathetic hum. "I can't imagine I'll be 'together' with someone who intends to stay so far from the fray."
Probing met with provocation, his head tilts the other way, chin lifting. He settles one hand onto his cocked hip, and the other sweeps through the air between them in a broad and showy gesture.
"And what about you?" Without thought, his smile spreads wider, showing his teeth. "This will be our first taste of the real thing. Excited?"
Other than the slight raise of his eyebrows, Claude doesn't visibly react to being greeted with a dig. Neither does his easygoing, well-practiced smile falter.
If he let every insult and snide remark get to him, he would be a wreck by now. Of the myriad of abuse he's taken throughout his life, jabs about his preferred fighting style are some of the most common. Sometimes he enjoys wiping the smug grins off his detractors' faces with a demonstration of his archery, occasionally in ways that would probably get him expelled from the Officers Academy.
Claude is prepared to put in the work to prove himself to his fellow students. It will take time, sweat and blood, but he's willing and eager to put in the effort.
"I find that it's better when the person watching your back is actually behind you," he replies, a subtle sharpness to his smile that only another schemer would recognize.
In return, he notes the shift in Aurelien's own smile, the dangerous edge it acquires at the prospect of their first real battle. This outing won't be Claude's first experience with real combat, and it won't be the first time he kills someone.
Even though the two of them just met, something tells him that he and Aurelien share that in common.
"I'm not sure 'excited' is the right word. But I'm as ready as I'll ever be." Always downplay expectations. Always keep them wondering. He didn't bring Lorenz and Leonie with him because he considers them the best, but because he needs to keep certain aces up his sleeve for now.
Did Edelgard do the same? Again, Claude takes in Aurelien's pale, handsome face, and those calculating eyes. He'll have to take care with this one.
"So, how are you enjoying the academy so far? I'll admit, I'm jealous you got Teach- Professor Byleth for your class."
Not even a wince! He supposes that earns Claude a measure of respect, but even so, his smile thins with his disappointment. He had hoped to see chagrin on that pretty face—or, even better, the thirst to put Aurelien in his place. Instead, all that greets him is the hollow malaise of anticipation gone unfulfilled.
He supposes he will just have to make his own fun, in that case.
"Oh?" Like a mirage, dissatisfaction vanishes from his manner. His smile warms again, lips parting over his perfect teeth. "I won't need the help," he answers, each word oozing with a confidence both overbearing and wholly genuine, "but you're welcome to enjoy the view."
His shoulders roll in another idle shrug, languid in a way that pulls the fabric of his uniform taut across his chest and shoulders. It strains over the breadth of the sculpted muscles that lie beneath, turning the gesture into something that is every bit as much a flirtation as it is a barb. He wonders if that might cast a ripple across Claude's unwavering, hollow smile where taunts hadn't; his sharp eyes linger over Claude's face, measuring the trajectory of his gaze.
A moment later, he laughs—a sharp, disdainful scoff.
"You can't even pretend to be interesting, can you? Or— Maybe you're just pretending to be dull?" He's only half-genuine—but still, his weight shifts, impatient. Where his sword-hand hangs loose beside his hip, it curls, eager to feel the heft of a blade within its grasp. "I prefer to enjoy what I do, myself. I don't see the point otherwise."
When he glances away, it's automatic. His gaze seeks out Byleth—Teach, he notes with some amusement, though he doubts he would've noticed at all had Claude not drawn attention to his informal address himself—but in the end, it is Edelgard who holds his stare. He makes no attempt to disguise the way his eyes linger over her; in the moment, she is too preoccupied with their teacher to notice herself, and he sees no reason to hide as much from Claude. He'll have to contend with Hubert, of course, but that is a problem for later.
Just for Claude's reaction, he thinks of asking a question: When someone is so stoic, doesn't it make you wonder what it would take to make them to scream? Instead, he merely says, "I suppose anyone who commands such attention from the likes of yourself or Edelgard is worthy of interest."
When he notices Aurelien's drop a little, Claude indulges in a moment of private satisfaction. People always expect him to greet their taunts with some level of anger or embarrassment, which makes their reactions to his nonchalance all the more entertaining.
The other student recovers quickly, and this time he does manage to catch Claude off guard by taking on an entirely different tactic. He strives to be ready for anything, at all times, and while he has dabbled with flirting here and there, no one has ever done the same to him. Not without him first offering sweet compliments or a charming smile and a wink.
Aurelien seems to have no problem teasing him with an incredibly suggestive comment. But it's the way he slowly shrugs his broad shoulders, emphasizing a sculpted physique that would definitely make his mouth water, that captures his attention more than what he has to say. Much to Claude's annoyance, he feels heat rise along his neck, from the bare skin above his open collar, it soon creeps up to stain his cheeks and the tips of his ears with an embarrassing pink.
He hopes Aurelien doesn't notice how quickly he turns to look at the road ahead. Just checking on the others in front of them, of course.
"Aww, you think I'm dull?" Gathering himself together, Claude turns back to Aurelien with a grin. He won't allow a little bump in the road to get the better of him.
"The way I see it, duty comes first, pleasure later. And duty isn't usually considered enjoyable."
This time it's Claude who shrugs, but the gesture is far more casual than Aurelien's little blush-inducing display. He does toss in a wink, though.
Now, the way Aurelien turns his gaze ahead to Edelgard and Teach is very interesting. The way his eyes linger on Edelgard has him wondering how close the two are. Is there affection there, or could it be something less pleasant?
There really is so much to learn about his fellow students.
"Mhmm! If you had seen the way she fought off those bandits... well, maybe we'll luck out and get to see her in action on this mission."
Unfortunately for Claude, his hopes are in vain. When he turns his face aside so sharply, Aurelien laughs, the sound light and musical. What a cute shade of pink! Claude must find him quite appealing (and who wouldn't?)—or, at the least, he must be easily flustered by such attention. Aurelien wouldn't expect the latter, given his open and easy demeanor... But, then, such things don't always correlate in the way one might expect.
He'll have to test the matter further.
"Well, I certainly hope so!" he half-laughs, as if such a thing should simply be a matter of course. For just a moment, his mirthful gaze flits again to Claude beside him; when he turns it away once more, this time, his eyes train themselves on Byleth in earnest. Not for the first time, he takes her in. "The way you speak about her..."
She's good—but does she enjoy it, he wonders? Aurelien tries to picture it: blood in her hair, light in her eyes. Blade cutting deep. His lips curl back from his teeth, and without thought, he allows his tongue to lick across them—a predator cleaning its fangs.
Of course, all that is just a fantasy. Perhaps she is every bit as as mechanical as she seems. It's a chilling thought—in more ways than one—and he shakes himself from his reverie. His eyes turn to Claude again, and this time, they linger.
"I don't mean to cast doubt on her skill. Rather..." He inclines his head, giving the other student a considering look of his own. Perhaps they have only just met, but Aurelien thinks he may have a sense of the sort of person Claude is, as well. "I don't think you're the sort to give away your attention so casually."
Even when Aurelien focuses his attention elsewhere again, Claude can't seem to take his eyes off of him. He is beautiful in an almost unearthly way, leaving Claude to wonder if his unique traits are common in Fomori. He really will need to hit the library soon and see what he can dig up about that increasingly intriguing place.
"Why not? I might be a house leader, but Her Royal Highness and I don't have much in common." His gaze wanders back over to the princess as he speaks, a certain weight to his stare that implies his interest in her is far deeper than his offhand remarks would otherwise suggest. It bothers him that Edelgard seems to spend so much of her time hidden away with Hubert, and he wants to know why she's so closed off.
"I like to give plenty of people the gift of my attention."
He looks back at Aurelien with a brilliant smile and a wink. Claude certainly has no intention of giving away any useful information about himself, even when Aurelien already guessed correctly.
"Like you, for example," he adds, a little quip that could easily be interpreted as a dig.
Could be, certainly—by a man whose ego is more easily kept in hand. To Aurelien, however, Claude's attention is merely something owed.
"Cast a wide enough net, and you'll eventually catch a mermaid, I suppose." One of his shoulders rolls in another shrug, this one broad and showy. "I guess you don't need to be particularly discerning to see that I am worth watching, anyway."
Still, he knows there is nothing sincere to be found in Claude's smile. He knows it—and yet, something curls in the pit of his stomach at the sight of it, warm and eager. Aurelien crushes the sensation down, his own smile tightening at that unwanted heat.
What a dangerous face this one has. Were he one of their weaker-willed peers, he might even fall prey to its charms.
"I do hope I've left you with enough to go around," he adds, the words accompanied by a wry arch of the brow. As if Claude has lingered long enough for his attention to become unseemly.
Claude chuckles, but he isn't entirely certain whether or not Aurelien is serious. Is that ego real, or a facade? Just another mystery to add to the growing pile.
"It's a start," he winks, but doesn't walk away immediately. Sometimes, it's important to be a little bit unseemly around nobles who have spent their lives up til this point surrounded by nobody but the stiff and proper.
Wherever he finds those types, Claude intends to shove a little spice beneath their stuffed up noses.
He continues to walk beside Aurelien for a short while longer, until he glances back over his shoulder at his classmates, constructing an excuse to leave just then.
"Huh. I think my Deer need me. Until next time, friend." And, with a wave, he walks away to join the others.
"Oh? I'd have thought you found me pretty enough to be one."
A smile flickers across that ethereal face of his: a flash of white teeth and ruddy tongue at once flirtatious and sharp. Perhaps, in that way, it isn't so different than the wink Claude offers him in turn.
Aurelien doesn't imagine anyone with those keen, green eyes would be so dull as to miss the implication in his words. So, he wonders: what is Claude's purpose in ignoring them? To show himself not so easily cowed? To challenge him? The mere thought tightens something low in his gut—the territorial instincts of a solitary predator.
Archers make for such poor opponents, though. He'll have to show Claude his place in another way.
When, at last, Claude excuses himself, Aurelien says nothing. He does not acknowledge his departure with so much as a nod. For just a moment, his eyes linger on Claude's retreating back, and then he directs his gaze forward again.
Classes at the Officer's Academy have only been in session for a few short weeks, and already Claude has developed quite the reputation. Carefree and charming, but surprisingly lazy for a house leader, students and professors alike can't help but compare him to his much stricter, more formal peers. When it comes to matters outside the classroom, it isn't long before people start to realize that he's also a bit of a troublemaker- but even then, he is generally well-liked by those around him.
Unfortunately, few at Garreg Mach can escape the rumor mill, and many of the whispers surrounding Claude's identity and past are far less generous.
Just as he's gotten used to nobles in Leicester raising their eyebrows at him when they realize yes, he really is Duke Riegan's grandson, there are plenty of rumors about where Claude was born, why he was chosen as the Duke's heir, and what really happened to his uncle Godfrey. People say he can't be trusted, that he's a fraud; it doesn't help that Count Gloucester's son seems to agree on that count.
None of that gossip, good or bad, has any visible effect on how Claude conducts himself from day to day. He listens, of course, and privately takes note of the most popular rumors, but never says a word to confirm or deny a single word. He likes to imagine that his small, genial smiles and apparent indifference to any and all gossip, is driving certain people around him mad with frustration.
Claude likes to appear totally detached from what he brushes off as pettiness and a boring waste of time, but when he's alone, Claude dives headfirst into his own research about his fellow classmates. He keeps his nighttime trips to the library off the record, secretly racking up hours with his nose buried in the church's histories and records, struggling to untangle the perplexing web of secrets surrounding the enigmatic Black Eagle house.
Tonight, he's flipping through an old tome discussing the dark history of the Adrestian Vassal state of Fomori.
Before starting the semester and chatting with Aurelien now and then, Claude never gave Fomori a second thought. Now, much like Aurelien himself, he can't get the place out of his head.
Unfortunately, even the church records are woefully inadequate when it comes to real information about Fomori. The accounts he's read so far are clearly shaded by the biases of the conquerors, and what passes as impartial still leaves him burning with curiosity to find out more. Was Fomori really a haven for those worshiping dark deities? Do they still worship them today? Why did they lose that war with Adrestia so many centuries ago, seemingly out of no where?
It doesn't help that Aurelien is also surrounded by strange gossip. Claude finds himself itching to learn more about his unusual crest, though he isn't ready to ask Professor Hanneman, or even Linhardt, for details just yet.
Claude turns the next page of the old, yellowing tome. He frowns thoughtfully at the faded illustration taking up nearly the entire page, and reads the description below: a prayer to the God of Anguish. Glancing back up at the image, he can't make any sense of the shapes and runes, and wonders if this is just another example of demonizing a political foe.
Aurelien avoids the library, when he can. Favoring the physicality of a practical lesson over book-learning, it serves little purpose, so far as he sees the world—and, perhaps more to the point, he dislikes how near it is to the Archbishop's audience chamber. Monks and church dogs are always thick on the ground when he sets foot up here, rendering the simple act of going about his business into an onerous task.
Alas, he simply cannot refuse a direct request from Dorothea. The summer after his hair changed color, his father had taken him to see Enbarr for the first time; among all his memories of that trip, their excursion to the opera still shines the brightest. Returning a forgotten tome for the songstress seems like a small thing in comparison. It's late enough in the evening that he should be largely alone, anyway.
Imagine his surprise when he discovers he isn't the library's only late-night visitor! Even more interesting, it isn't one of the bookish bores he would expect to find wasting away their life behind a reading desk. There is something about Claude that has been stuck in his craw ever since the leader of the Golden Deer introduced himself, so as Aurelien skims along the shelves in search of this particular volume's home, he spares a glance for the dusty old tome Claude apparently finds it so vital to pour over.
Hm. Really? How... interesting.
"You know," he says, breaking the silence with an unkind little smile playing across his lips, "if you're so curious, you could just ask."
Completely absorbed in his examination of the strange illustration, Claude isn't prepared for the sudden sound of a voice behind him. He jumps in his seat with a startled gasp, and hastily slams the tome shut.
It isn't that his research is forbidden, or the book smuggled in from somewhere else; he would have reacted the same way even if he was reading a book about Seiros. There have just been... too many years of unpleasant surprises in his life, and over time, paranoia has been etched into his very instincts. Claude knows it's not a good look, but no one has walked up to him during his late night library visits before. Looks like he'll have to be more vigilant in the future.
He tries to brush past the moment with one of his usual, charming smiles. Of all the people to catch him nose deep in a book about Fomori, it had to be Aurelien. That in itself isn't necessarily a bad thing, but Claude doesn't like when someone knows what he's up to in his private time. Even something this small could upset a delicate balance of power, where the one on top is the best informed.
The offer to ask questions is very tempting, however; maybe he can find a way to make the most of an unfortunate situation.
"I'm curious about a lot of places," he says, hoping to downplay his genuine, burning desire to know more about Aurelien's homeland.
"But while you're here, maybe I will ask you a thing or two."
But Claude doesn't immediately launch into questions, waiting to hear Aurelien's response first. The smile on the other student's face is far from warm, and that in itself is intriguing.
Claude's hasty attempt to dispose of the evidence earns him a huff of snide laughter—but, in truth, Aurelien finds his reaction even more intriguing than the reading material itself. Researching a secluded region shrouded to the bulk of Fodlan is one thing, but to react as though he has been caught in the act?
"Just like you're interested in a lot of people, I suppose." A self-satisfied feeling curls in his gut, and as he brushes past the reading desk Claude has taken up for himself, his smile turns smug. For a few seconds, he peruses the shelves, attempting to locate this book's proper home; it is only when he wedges a finger between the spines of another two volumes, attempting to make room between them, that his gaze sweeps back to Claude.
"Well, if you intend to, I recommend you do it soon. I won't be staying for long."
It's given as an off-hand comment, Aurelien downplaying his aversion to this level of the monastery himself.
"Sure," he replies simply, as though his wide, varied interests in everyone and everything around him is the norm.
"All right. Just a question or two, then."
Claude leans back in his chair, all casual smiles and relaxed posture now that he's calmed down from that initial surprise. Deciding exactly which questions to ask isn't easy, particularly when Aurelien isn't planning on staying here for long.
But he can always find other opportunities to learn more- this meeting was unexpected, so it's almost like a freebie.
"There are so many different stories about your homeland that it's a challenge to pick out fact from myth. The religion, for example: what deities do the people of Fomori actually worship?"
"Claude!" Aurelien gasps, and if Claude has any doubts as to the sarcasm of his reaction, they can be laid to rest with the theatrical hand Aurelien presses over his heart. "We pay our dues to the Goddess, as all respectable peoples do. Or are you suggesting the Church of Seiros failed in its mission to eradicate heresy from Fomori?"
And then, all at once, Aurelien's humor falls away. His hand drops back to his side, and his expression falls flat. He doesn't bother to hide the way he glances around the library's shelves; it really is late enough to be devoid of even the Church's most bookish monks—though, at the least, Tomas must be lurking around here somewhere.
It's not a thought that makes him any more comfortable with their current location.
A sigh huffs from him, and he turns his eyes back to Claude. His voice remains light and mellifluous, but its airy manner doesn't grace his face as he continues, "What a scandalous accusation! I wouldn't want to be heard making it in earshot of any bishops."
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He hasn't rushed to introduce himself to Aurelien, and only decided to extend the hand of friendship now that Edelgard chose him as one of her Eagles to take part in the first student mission outside the monstery. If her Highness thinks he's worthy from the start, then he's undoubtedly worthy of Claude's attention. When it comes to evaluating the talent of his rival houses, he doesn't want to leave anything up to chance if he can help it.
"I'm Claude. Thought I should introduce myself since we'll be fighting together later." He smiles an easy smile, though there's a sharpness to his eyes that belies his casual introduction.
Before joining Aurelien, Claude had taken in everything he could about his appearance. Tall, lean and strong, with very light hair that reminds him of Edelgard's and Lysithea's, he is stunningly handsome and probably knows it. At least, Claude thinks he must, given how well he keeps himself, and how gracefully he carries himself with each step. He can't help but wonder if his appearance is typical of those from Fomori.
The Black Eagles, and the Adrestian Empire by extension, stirs Claude's curiosity more than the other regions of Fodlan. The various regions, vassals and otherwise, are so much more mysterious than the chivalrous Kingdom of Faerghus, or the numerous counties and duchies of Leicester. The tales of dark magic and mythical lands certainly play a roll in its intrigue, and some of the people he's met from Adrestia since arriving at Garreg Mach have done little to temper his fascination.
Edelgard herself clearly keeps many secrets, just like him. He's yearning to uncover at least a few.
First, however, he needs to get to know the major players on all sides.
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Of course, to evaluate invites evaluation in return. His head lolls aside, spilling the long and artful braid of his pale hair over a cocked shoulder. Aurelien looks Claude over, gaze tracing his form from his boots to his boyishly charming face, and the insouciance of the pose does little to hide the hard edge behind his eyes—just the same as Claude's nonchalant smile had done for him.
"I don't know if I'd go that far," he finally answers, the tone of his voice an apathetic hum. "I can't imagine I'll be 'together' with someone who intends to stay so far from the fray."
Probing met with provocation, his head tilts the other way, chin lifting. He settles one hand onto his cocked hip, and the other sweeps through the air between them in a broad and showy gesture.
"And what about you?" Without thought, his smile spreads wider, showing his teeth. "This will be our first taste of the real thing. Excited?"
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If he let every insult and snide remark get to him, he would be a wreck by now. Of the myriad of abuse he's taken throughout his life, jabs about his preferred fighting style are some of the most common. Sometimes he enjoys wiping the smug grins off his detractors' faces with a demonstration of his archery, occasionally in ways that would probably get him expelled from the Officers Academy.
Claude is prepared to put in the work to prove himself to his fellow students. It will take time, sweat and blood, but he's willing and eager to put in the effort.
"I find that it's better when the person watching your back is actually behind you," he replies, a subtle sharpness to his smile that only another schemer would recognize.
In return, he notes the shift in Aurelien's own smile, the dangerous edge it acquires at the prospect of their first real battle. This outing won't be Claude's first experience with real combat, and it won't be the first time he kills someone.
Even though the two of them just met, something tells him that he and Aurelien share that in common.
"I'm not sure 'excited' is the right word. But I'm as ready as I'll ever be." Always downplay expectations. Always keep them wondering. He didn't bring Lorenz and Leonie with him because he considers them the best, but because he needs to keep certain aces up his sleeve for now.
Did Edelgard do the same? Again, Claude takes in Aurelien's pale, handsome face, and those calculating eyes. He'll have to take care with this one.
"So, how are you enjoying the academy so far? I'll admit, I'm jealous you got Teach- Professor Byleth for your class."
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He supposes he will just have to make his own fun, in that case.
"Oh?" Like a mirage, dissatisfaction vanishes from his manner. His smile warms again, lips parting over his perfect teeth. "I won't need the help," he answers, each word oozing with a confidence both overbearing and wholly genuine, "but you're welcome to enjoy the view."
His shoulders roll in another idle shrug, languid in a way that pulls the fabric of his uniform taut across his chest and shoulders. It strains over the breadth of the sculpted muscles that lie beneath, turning the gesture into something that is every bit as much a flirtation as it is a barb. He wonders if that might cast a ripple across Claude's unwavering, hollow smile where taunts hadn't; his sharp eyes linger over Claude's face, measuring the trajectory of his gaze.
A moment later, he laughs—a sharp, disdainful scoff.
"You can't even pretend to be interesting, can you? Or— Maybe you're just pretending to be dull?" He's only half-genuine—but still, his weight shifts, impatient. Where his sword-hand hangs loose beside his hip, it curls, eager to feel the heft of a blade within its grasp. "I prefer to enjoy what I do, myself. I don't see the point otherwise."
When he glances away, it's automatic. His gaze seeks out Byleth—Teach, he notes with some amusement, though he doubts he would've noticed at all had Claude not drawn attention to his informal address himself—but in the end, it is Edelgard who holds his stare. He makes no attempt to disguise the way his eyes linger over her; in the moment, she is too preoccupied with their teacher to notice herself, and he sees no reason to hide as much from Claude. He'll have to contend with Hubert, of course, but that is a problem for later.
Just for Claude's reaction, he thinks of asking a question: When someone is so stoic, doesn't it make you wonder what it would take to make them to scream? Instead, he merely says, "I suppose anyone who commands such attention from the likes of yourself or Edelgard is worthy of interest."
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The other student recovers quickly, and this time he does manage to catch Claude off guard by taking on an entirely different tactic. He strives to be ready for anything, at all times, and while he has dabbled with flirting here and there, no one has ever done the same to him. Not without him first offering sweet compliments or a charming smile and a wink.
Aurelien seems to have no problem teasing him with an incredibly suggestive comment. But it's the way he slowly shrugs his broad shoulders, emphasizing a sculpted physique that would definitely make his mouth water, that captures his attention more than what he has to say. Much to Claude's annoyance, he feels heat rise along his neck, from the bare skin above his open collar, it soon creeps up to stain his cheeks and the tips of his ears with an embarrassing pink.
He hopes Aurelien doesn't notice how quickly he turns to look at the road ahead. Just checking on the others in front of them, of course.
"Aww, you think I'm dull?" Gathering himself together, Claude turns back to Aurelien with a grin. He won't allow a little bump in the road to get the better of him.
"The way I see it, duty comes first, pleasure later. And duty isn't usually considered enjoyable."
This time it's Claude who shrugs, but the gesture is far more casual than Aurelien's little blush-inducing display. He does toss in a wink, though.
Now, the way Aurelien turns his gaze ahead to Edelgard and Teach is very interesting. The way his eyes linger on Edelgard has him wondering how close the two are. Is there affection there, or could it be something less pleasant?
There really is so much to learn about his fellow students.
"Mhmm! If you had seen the way she fought off those bandits... well, maybe we'll luck out and get to see her in action on this mission."
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He'll have to test the matter further.
"Well, I certainly hope so!" he half-laughs, as if such a thing should simply be a matter of course. For just a moment, his mirthful gaze flits again to Claude beside him; when he turns it away once more, this time, his eyes train themselves on Byleth in earnest. Not for the first time, he takes her in. "The way you speak about her..."
She's good—but does she enjoy it, he wonders? Aurelien tries to picture it: blood in her hair, light in her eyes. Blade cutting deep. His lips curl back from his teeth, and without thought, he allows his tongue to lick across them—a predator cleaning its fangs.
Of course, all that is just a fantasy. Perhaps she is every bit as as mechanical as she seems. It's a chilling thought—in more ways than one—and he shakes himself from his reverie. His eyes turn to Claude again, and this time, they linger.
"I don't mean to cast doubt on her skill. Rather..." He inclines his head, giving the other student a considering look of his own. Perhaps they have only just met, but Aurelien thinks he may have a sense of the sort of person Claude is, as well. "I don't think you're the sort to give away your attention so casually."
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"Why not? I might be a house leader, but Her Royal Highness and I don't have much in common." His gaze wanders back over to the princess as he speaks, a certain weight to his stare that implies his interest in her is far deeper than his offhand remarks would otherwise suggest. It bothers him that Edelgard seems to spend so much of her time hidden away with Hubert, and he wants to know why she's so closed off.
"I like to give plenty of people the gift of my attention."
He looks back at Aurelien with a brilliant smile and a wink. Claude certainly has no intention of giving away any useful information about himself, even when Aurelien already guessed correctly.
"Like you, for example," he adds, a little quip that could easily be interpreted as a dig.
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"Cast a wide enough net, and you'll eventually catch a mermaid, I suppose." One of his shoulders rolls in another shrug, this one broad and showy. "I guess you don't need to be particularly discerning to see that I am worth watching, anyway."
Still, he knows there is nothing sincere to be found in Claude's smile. He knows it—and yet, something curls in the pit of his stomach at the sight of it, warm and eager. Aurelien crushes the sensation down, his own smile tightening at that unwanted heat.
What a dangerous face this one has. Were he one of their weaker-willed peers, he might even fall prey to its charms.
"I do hope I've left you with enough to go around," he adds, the words accompanied by a wry arch of the brow. As if Claude has lingered long enough for his attention to become unseemly.
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Claude chuckles, but he isn't entirely certain whether or not Aurelien is serious. Is that ego real, or a facade? Just another mystery to add to the growing pile.
"It's a start," he winks, but doesn't walk away immediately. Sometimes, it's important to be a little bit unseemly around nobles who have spent their lives up til this point surrounded by nobody but the stiff and proper.
Wherever he finds those types, Claude intends to shove a little spice beneath their stuffed up noses.
He continues to walk beside Aurelien for a short while longer, until he glances back over his shoulder at his classmates, constructing an excuse to leave just then.
"Huh. I think my Deer need me. Until next time, friend." And, with a wave, he walks away to join the others.
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A smile flickers across that ethereal face of his: a flash of white teeth and ruddy tongue at once flirtatious and sharp. Perhaps, in that way, it isn't so different than the wink Claude offers him in turn.
Aurelien doesn't imagine anyone with those keen, green eyes would be so dull as to miss the implication in his words. So, he wonders: what is Claude's purpose in ignoring them? To show himself not so easily cowed? To challenge him? The mere thought tightens something low in his gut—the territorial instincts of a solitary predator.
Archers make for such poor opponents, though. He'll have to show Claude his place in another way.
When, at last, Claude excuses himself, Aurelien says nothing. He does not acknowledge his departure with so much as a nod. For just a moment, his eyes linger on Claude's retreating back, and then he directs his gaze forward again.
Part 2
Unfortunately, few at Garreg Mach can escape the rumor mill, and many of the whispers surrounding Claude's identity and past are far less generous.
Just as he's gotten used to nobles in Leicester raising their eyebrows at him when they realize yes, he really is Duke Riegan's grandson, there are plenty of rumors about where Claude was born, why he was chosen as the Duke's heir, and what really happened to his uncle Godfrey. People say he can't be trusted, that he's a fraud; it doesn't help that Count Gloucester's son seems to agree on that count.
None of that gossip, good or bad, has any visible effect on how Claude conducts himself from day to day. He listens, of course, and privately takes note of the most popular rumors, but never says a word to confirm or deny a single word. He likes to imagine that his small, genial smiles and apparent indifference to any and all gossip, is driving certain people around him mad with frustration.
Claude likes to appear totally detached from what he brushes off as pettiness and a boring waste of time, but when he's alone, Claude dives headfirst into his own research about his fellow classmates. He keeps his nighttime trips to the library off the record, secretly racking up hours with his nose buried in the church's histories and records, struggling to untangle the perplexing web of secrets surrounding the enigmatic Black Eagle house.
Tonight, he's flipping through an old tome discussing the dark history of the Adrestian Vassal state of Fomori.
Before starting the semester and chatting with Aurelien now and then, Claude never gave Fomori a second thought. Now, much like Aurelien himself, he can't get the place out of his head.
Unfortunately, even the church records are woefully inadequate when it comes to real information about Fomori. The accounts he's read so far are clearly shaded by the biases of the conquerors, and what passes as impartial still leaves him burning with curiosity to find out more. Was Fomori really a haven for those worshiping dark deities? Do they still worship them today? Why did they lose that war with Adrestia so many centuries ago, seemingly out of no where?
It doesn't help that Aurelien is also surrounded by strange gossip. Claude finds himself itching to learn more about his unusual crest, though he isn't ready to ask Professor Hanneman, or even Linhardt, for details just yet.
Claude turns the next page of the old, yellowing tome. He frowns thoughtfully at the faded illustration taking up nearly the entire page, and reads the description below: a prayer to the God of Anguish. Glancing back up at the image, he can't make any sense of the shapes and runes, and wonders if this is just another example of demonizing a political foe.
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Alas, he simply cannot refuse a direct request from Dorothea. The summer after his hair changed color, his father had taken him to see Enbarr for the first time; among all his memories of that trip, their excursion to the opera still shines the brightest. Returning a forgotten tome for the songstress seems like a small thing in comparison. It's late enough in the evening that he should be largely alone, anyway.
Imagine his surprise when he discovers he isn't the library's only late-night visitor! Even more interesting, it isn't one of the bookish bores he would expect to find wasting away their life behind a reading desk. There is something about Claude that has been stuck in his craw ever since the leader of the Golden Deer introduced himself, so as Aurelien skims along the shelves in search of this particular volume's home, he spares a glance for the dusty old tome Claude apparently finds it so vital to pour over.
Hm. Really? How... interesting.
"You know," he says, breaking the silence with an unkind little smile playing across his lips, "if you're so curious, you could just ask."
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It isn't that his research is forbidden, or the book smuggled in from somewhere else; he would have reacted the same way even if he was reading a book about Seiros. There have just been... too many years of unpleasant surprises in his life, and over time, paranoia has been etched into his very instincts. Claude knows it's not a good look, but no one has walked up to him during his late night library visits before. Looks like he'll have to be more vigilant in the future.
He tries to brush past the moment with one of his usual, charming smiles. Of all the people to catch him nose deep in a book about Fomori, it had to be Aurelien. That in itself isn't necessarily a bad thing, but Claude doesn't like when someone knows what he's up to in his private time. Even something this small could upset a delicate balance of power, where the one on top is the best informed.
The offer to ask questions is very tempting, however; maybe he can find a way to make the most of an unfortunate situation.
"I'm curious about a lot of places," he says, hoping to downplay his genuine, burning desire to know more about Aurelien's homeland.
"But while you're here, maybe I will ask you a thing or two."
But Claude doesn't immediately launch into questions, waiting to hear Aurelien's response first. The smile on the other student's face is far from warm, and that in itself is intriguing.
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"Just like you're interested in a lot of people, I suppose." A self-satisfied feeling curls in his gut, and as he brushes past the reading desk Claude has taken up for himself, his smile turns smug. For a few seconds, he peruses the shelves, attempting to locate this book's proper home; it is only when he wedges a finger between the spines of another two volumes, attempting to make room between them, that his gaze sweeps back to Claude.
"Well, if you intend to, I recommend you do it soon. I won't be staying for long."
It's given as an off-hand comment, Aurelien downplaying his aversion to this level of the monastery himself.
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"All right. Just a question or two, then."
Claude leans back in his chair, all casual smiles and relaxed posture now that he's calmed down from that initial surprise. Deciding exactly which questions to ask isn't easy, particularly when Aurelien isn't planning on staying here for long.
But he can always find other opportunities to learn more- this meeting was unexpected, so it's almost like a freebie.
"There are so many different stories about your homeland that it's a challenge to pick out fact from myth. The religion, for example: what deities do the people of Fomori actually worship?"
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And then, all at once, Aurelien's humor falls away. His hand drops back to his side, and his expression falls flat. He doesn't bother to hide the way he glances around the library's shelves; it really is late enough to be devoid of even the Church's most bookish monks—though, at the least, Tomas must be lurking around here somewhere.
It's not a thought that makes him any more comfortable with their current location.
A sigh huffs from him, and he turns his eyes back to Claude. His voice remains light and mellifluous, but its airy manner doesn't grace his face as he continues, "What a scandalous accusation! I wouldn't want to be heard making it in earshot of any bishops."