(Luckily for Flayn, Claude hadn't lingered around to listen. Actually, no one really tries. The air at House Goneril is grim and somber, the memory of death is fresh in the air, and the reality of war is heavy. The Goneril family, like many in the Alliance, have never been particularly loyal to the Church but they were good people and Holst was a popular and well loved Duke with loyal servants to show for it. All he had to do was give their room one pained look and everyone knew to stay away lest they be caught and scolded by him.
Claude doesn't know what to expect at the wall. He'd retired early the evening before and woke up long before the sun ever rose to make his final preparations. He shares a last conversation with Holst and Claude thinks about how bittersweet it is to finally speak to him like this. He's a good man, he thinks, and he's glad to have met and been able to work with him in the Alliance's final moments. Some day, he would return to Fodlan, and when that day came, he hoped he could march right up to Fodlan's Locket and be welcomed as an old friend instead of an old enemy and be welcomed into his motherland once again. The grieving general returned to his estate and Claude had spent his last hour looking up at the stars. It wouldn't be much longer before the sun began to rise and he wonders if anyone will come.
His wyvern is the one that notices first, raising it's head up towards the sky and letting a low, musing sound from its throat. She knows better than to roar and make too much noise in this situation. But it's enough for Claude to see what she sees. A wyvern flying in the distance... )
I only see one person. What about you, Badira? (... Nothing.) Yeah, I thought so, too.
(And sure enough, there's Flayn and he stands a little straighter, a little taller next to his ride. He doesn't mention the spear or how tired she looks. He can't imagine she slept very much.)
... Don't worry about it.
(He tries to speak lightly but his words feel heavy, like his heart. It's a difficult night for everyone, some more than others.)
I won't ask if you're ready.
(Which is really just an indirect way to ask if she's ready. It would be rhetorical Anyway. Ready or not, he can't stay. The decision isn't meant to be cruel but there really is on choice.
He holds out a hand to her.)
It won't be forever.
(The good bye? Their separation? Their self-imposed exile? He leaves the meaning open for her to read however she likes.)
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Claude doesn't know what to expect at the wall. He'd retired early the evening before and woke up long before the sun ever rose to make his final preparations. He shares a last conversation with Holst and Claude thinks about how bittersweet it is to finally speak to him like this. He's a good man, he thinks, and he's glad to have met and been able to work with him in the Alliance's final moments. Some day, he would return to Fodlan, and when that day came, he hoped he could march right up to Fodlan's Locket and be welcomed as an old friend instead of an old enemy and be welcomed into his motherland once again. The grieving general returned to his estate and Claude had spent his last hour looking up at the stars. It wouldn't be much longer before the sun began to rise and he wonders if anyone will come.
His wyvern is the one that notices first, raising it's head up towards the sky and letting a low, musing sound from its throat. She knows better than to roar and make too much noise in this situation. But it's enough for Claude to see what she sees. A wyvern flying in the distance... )
I only see one person. What about you, Badira? (... Nothing.) Yeah, I thought so, too.
(And sure enough, there's Flayn and he stands a little straighter, a little taller next to his ride. He doesn't mention the spear or how tired she looks. He can't imagine she slept very much.)
... Don't worry about it.
(He tries to speak lightly but his words feel heavy, like his heart. It's a difficult night for everyone, some more than others.)
I won't ask if you're ready.
(Which is really just an indirect way to ask if she's ready. It would be rhetorical Anyway. Ready or not, he can't stay. The decision isn't meant to be cruel but there really is on choice.
He holds out a hand to her.)
It won't be forever.
(The good bye? Their separation? Their self-imposed exile? He leaves the meaning open for her to read however she likes.)