Archive of Our Own

The day that began the next chapter of Lorenz's life dawned with a departure.

In that way, it wasn't too different from so many other days over the last few years. Everything was marked by departures, farewells, things said and unsaid. But that day, out of all the others, felt rather different.

That day, Lorenz stood at one of the ports of Derdriu and watched Claude bustle around. He'd travel with only a handful of people to accompany him, all of them on the backs of wyverns. Beyond these people, perhaps only a handful—Lorenz among them—even knew where he was going.

Claude was set to embark on a journey to Almyra; back to Almyra, the place he had appeared from as if by magic so many years ago. 

Lorenz still didn't know how he felt about it. It wasn't that he objected to Claude's departure - neither that he took it nor where he was going. He understood the impulse to go elsewhere, to change things in other places now Claude felt that he'd set enough in motion over here. Sometimes, Lorenz felt that he would like to go somewhere - perhaps to the ruins of the Empire or Kingdom, just to see what he could do.

But he couldn't, and that was part of the problem Claude left him with.

Claude hesitated at the edge of mounting his wyvern in Fódlan for what could be a final time. He petted her neck, then moved away. "You were staring," he said with a grin, stopping just short of where Lorenz stood.

Lorenz shook his head. He had been staring, of course, but admitting to it...

It was too late for those kinds of things. Right in front of him was Claude's departure, imminent and unavoidable. Right in front of him was Claude, unavoidable and impossible. Wonderful.

Lorenz would never admit it beyond the confines of his mind, but there was something between them. He knew there was something - Claude wasn't one to make idle glances, nor did he make time for frivolousness. And no matter what 'tactical benefit' he gained from afternoon tea with Lorenz, it was still frivolous for Claude.

"I was simply observing your departure," he said. He made sure to keep his tone prim and proper; exactly what everyone expected. There was nothing out of the ordinary here. "There is no need to stop on my behalf."

"And if I wanted to?" Claude asked. He was able to have that playful tone to his voice, and no one would think anything of it. It was only Lorenz who floundered in a trap of his own making, an act he couldn't drop.

"...Then I'm sure you can delay by a few minutes." After all, maybe this was Claude's trap too. Maybe there was a sincerity he could not show through the lightness of his tone.

Was there any point in hoping that? Even if he was serious, he was going so far away. What use was seriousness across a mountain range, where the tenor of his voice and the brightness of his smile could no longer reach Lorenz?

He needed to stop thinking like this. There was no use to turning himself in circles in what could well be a final goodbye.

Claude smiled that oh-so-familiar smile that Lorenz may never see again. "Good, because I have something to say." Despite everything, Lorenz's heart leapt. "I'm not intending to disappear off the map, you know."

"You're disappearing off Fódlan's," Lorenz pointed out, sounding far more stuffy than he wanted to. At least the hypothetical onlooker would hear what they wanted to.

Claude chuckled. "I was going to tell you to never change," he said, fondness evident in his tone, "but you might want to expand that perspective of yours. Just a little."

Lorenz huffed. "If you wish to provide instruction on such a thing, I will be happy to listen."

"Maybe I will," Claude said, moving forward to clap a hand on Lorenz's shoulder. He felt like he was starting to turn a little red; definitely because of the warmth of Derdriu's climate (which the breeze from the sea naturally did not help in the slightest). "I'll write, if you'll read it."

"When?" He sounded uncharacteristically eager, perhaps, but he wanted Claude to know. If he was going away, he should still feel like he was wanted here.

Claude shrugged, and Lorenz's soaring heart fell. "When I can," he answered. "When it's safe." Because that was the other thing: Almyra could be dangerous to someone returning after so long an absence. Claude had commented, idly, on how much must have changed.

Lorenz just smiled; it felt a little forced, but he could only hope that Claude was too distracted to see it. "I will look forward to hearing from you."

Claude nodded, half turning away. This would be the real goodbye, then. Lorenz still didn't know what to say. "I'll try to make it when you least expect it," he said, a mixture of mischievousness and something far heavier in his tone. "Goodbye, Lorenz."

"Goodbye Claude." And then Claude turned away completely, his face hidden as he returned to his wyvern. He didn't look back to Lorenz as he mounted, nor as he flew away.

Lorenz watched as the creatures flew into the distance, taking Claude with them. All he could do was wish for more time, but no matter how much his heart yearned, that ship had already left the harbour.

Lorenz didn't hear from Claude again.

At first, he tried not to be too disappointed - there were plenty of things that Claude could be doing, and there was no guarantee that he was safe enough to send correspondence just yet.

But then the days stretched on into weeks, into moons. There wasn't a scrap of news from Claude; he didn't communicate with a single one of their classmates. He didn't speak to Hilda, even, and she was right at the border, receiving all the news from Almyra.

And there was plenty of news. Every other day, Lorenz received what must have been a third-hand report of the goings-on in Almyra - his news came from Hilda, who received it from a translator living at the border, who received it from at least one informant in the capital.

Almyra was busy. There was what seemed to be some kind of dynastic or political struggle going on - something about princes, something else about officials, and plenty about a mysterious figure the letters identified as Khalid.

Claude had told him a little of how governance functioned in Almyra, and once or twice he'd given a run down of some of the key players. The name Khalid had never been mentioned, and the informant didn't seem to know much about the man either.

Lorenz liked to think that Claude could be involved in all the upheaval. It was the kind of thing he'd do; return to a country he hadn't even visited in over half a decade, shake up the entire political system, and turn it into something new - probably something better.

However, even as the moons wore on into a year of complete silence from the man, there was no confirmation that Claude had anything to do with it. Lorenz could only hope that he was alright, that he hadn't been caught up on the wrong side of all this feuding, and that he would hear from him one day soon.

For a brief week, just over a year after Claude left Fódlan, the news from Almyra stopped entirely. They all knew something was happening; something big. Hilda's letters to Lorenz said that the translator's letters to her read that the informant didn't want to say anything while the end wasn't set in stone. Lorenz didn't know if that was a good or bad sign, but it was certainly a sign of something.

And then the proclamation came; but not from the informant. On a rare visit to Goneril territory, Lorenz and Hilda happened to be taking a stroll in one of the gardens when a whole swarm of wyverns appeared on the horizon.

Unusual, and almost always a sign of something big. Lorenz looked at Hilda, and she looked back at him. They broke into a sprint.

The Almyran messenger—identifying himself as straight from the palace—handed the proclamation directly over to Holst, who unfurled it and began to read.

"Announcing the ascension to the throne of King Khalid of Almyra," he said. "Greetings to those of Fódlan over the mountains. This proclamation comes with good tidings, and a message of goodwill to all your people. Discussion of the future of Fódlan as a neighbour to Almyra has been a key component of the debates of the past year, so I hope you receive this message with gladness.

"It is my staunch wish, as the new king of Almyra, that our futures should forge a mutual path as friends. I wish to see the dawn of a new age in my kingdom, and believe that with the winds of change moving in Fódlan, you can bring much east - and we can bring much west. I humbly request a more formal opening of direct communications with a representative of Fódlan, with a view to bringing our nations closer together."

Holst folded the letter back up again. "It's signed with the name of King Khalid," he said. Lorenz made a noise of understanding; at this point he was intimately familiar with the name, if not the man himself. "Either of you want to pick up his request, before I hand it up the chain of command?"

A decision as important as this would surely make its way to Byleth, and knowing Byleth it would come back down on one of the former members of the Golden Deer. Holst knew this as well as Lorenz and Hilda; in asking, he was simply cutting out a middle step.

"I would be happy to take it on," Lorenz said, not even stopping to think about it. He didn't need to.

"You're sure?" Holst asked.

Lorenz nodded. "I have the skills required," he answered. "And, though I would be loath to admit it before the roundtable, I have the time to take on a duty such as this. Politically I am well-positioned without being a head of state, which puts me in-"

"Alright, alright," Hilda said, cutting him off. "You can just say that you know Claude would want you to do it, you know."

Lorenz frowned, especially as Hilda danced away with what could only be described as a delighted cackle. "Do you mean something by that, Hilda?" he demanded.

"Only if you meant something by it before!" she called back, already halfway out of sight. She really could move quickly when she wanted to.

Lorenz and Holst watched her go, equally helpless expressions on their faces. "Well," Holst said. "I'll hand this letter off to you, then. I'm sure you'll do a good job with it."

"I will do my house proud," he replied, and Holst gave him a knowing smile.

Lorenz sniffed. They could both think what they pleased; perhaps it was true, but neither of them needed to know that. All he needed to do was try his utmost to do Claude's vision proud. It would be worth it for everyone.

'Greetings to Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, ambassador to the Almyran King,' the first letter began. 'I hope this letter finds you in good health. My sincere thanks for accepting my admittedly rather indulgent request; letter-writing is perhaps not the most official of ambassador activities, but I appreciate it nonetheless.

'My aim through these letters, as you may have gathered, is to share my knowledge of Almyra and have you share knowledge of Fódlan in turn. I have—much like I imagine you do—close fellows who are familiar with the customs of Fódlan, and consider myself better informed than the average inhabitant of Almyra. However, that knowledge is no replacement for the chance to interact with one who lives in the country still.'

The letter continued much like that - unfailingly polite and immensely self-aware. King Khalid was someone Lorenz had minimal impressions of until receiving the letter; in his mind, he had constructed a figure of great power from the deeds performed by the man alone. He imagined a man in the later days of his prime years, confident and self-assured, with a power base built from years of familial and military connections.

That was not the man who existed in the letter, nor any of the ones that followed. Instead, King Khalid seemed curious, with an endless thirst for knowledge and the ability to write for pages and pages without repeating anything.

He was undoubtedly a man with great knowledge of the world - he claimed to know nothing of Fódlan, or at least not as much as he wished to, but his constant insights betrayed what could only be a keen mind for politics. The formidable general in Lorenz's mind vanished, replaced by a more scholarly figure, the site of his power more firmly in the realm of merits earned by excellent governance.

But, of course, Lorenz was well aware that the man behind the letters may not be a man at all, and certainly was not King Khalid. A King would be far too busy to write such flowery correspondence as part of an official duty - while it was important, it would also be exceedingly time consuming for something that would produce few conclusive results. No, the person on the other end of that slightly messy handwriting was almost certainly just an advisor.

The time-consuming nature of the activity aside, Lorenz knew that no Almyran king would have the kind of command of Fódlan's language that 'Khalid' appeared to have. Either someone rewrote the letters in flawlessly fluent prose, or it was simply a Fódlan native writing them in the first place.

So, it was an advisor. Perhaps the king didn't even see the letters, and only had a passing interest in how the activity progressed. Anything was possible - except that Khalid was writing the letters and communicating with Lorenz directly.

After the first few letters, Lorenz entertained the idea that the advisor he was almost certainly communicating with could in fact be Claude. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking, a desire for a connection that was fast fading into the distance (Lorenz was ever more painfully aware that the time he had spent seeing eye to eye with Claude when they were in the same country was now shorter than the time Claude had been away), but there was something about the writing of the mysterious person who signed the name Khalid that reminded Lorenz of him.

'My greatest wish is that the people of Fódlan and Almyra will be able to scale the walls that have existed between us for so long,' the sentence read. 'Perhaps, one day, we shall be able to open our hearts to each other in a way that goes beyond a single exchange of letters. Then, I may consider my victory complete.'

Lorenz would admit, privately, to holding the letter close to his chest, tracing over the words with his fingertips. It wasn't just because the sentiment aligned with his own, even though he saw the sense in the ‘King's’ approach. It was more that the words unfailingly reminded him of the ones Claude spoke in a time that now felt so long ago.

It would make sense. Claude had returned to Almyra to fulfil his desires on the other side of the mountains, and he'd warned that Lorenz wouldn't hear from him again until he was safe. There had indeed been significant upheaval in Almyra over the last moons, upheaval that had gone quiet when Khalid took the throne. Whether he was just good at hiding it or whether it was really gone was another matter, but for now the country was more stable.

But if that was so, why didn't Claude just tell him? He could so easily include an extra scrap of paper in his letters, informing Lorenz of his safety and the nature of their communication.

It kept Lorenz up longer at night than he wished to admit. It could be Claude. Perhaps he was reaching out through those words, expecting Lorenz to recognise them. Maybe he was interpreting the king's words in his own way, striking Lorenz in the heart to further his aims of cooperation between the two countries.

Maybe it was familiar rhetoric in Almyra, or a literary reference Lorenz did not have the background to understand. He had initially judged Claude's education as eclectic, unbefitting a Fódlans noble, but perhaps it simply came from texts not found on this side of Fódlan's Throat.

No matter what it was, he had no way to test his hypothesis. He wrote letters out about the passage what felt like a hundred times - asking the Almyran King who translated or interpreted his letters, commenting on the familiarity of the phrasing, asking King Khalid if his views came from a particular school of thought. No matter how he couched the concepts, they never failed to sound rude when written in ink.

He missed Claude deeply. Reading the words that may have been his made his heart ache in the same way it had when the wound of his departure was still fresh. He read and reread all the past letters too, trying to find hints of the man who had vanished over the horizon.

Maybe that letter, his boldest, most blatant hint of who he really was, was a test. Seeing if Lorenz dared to be bold in reply, challenging him to meet him in the middle.

But Lorenz knew he wasn't nearly as courageous as the Claude who existed perhaps only in his mind. He did not have the kind of strength to go out on a limb, to suggest something that could be so horribly misconstrued. Because if it wasn't Claude on the other end of those letters on some level, the recipient could only be offended. And causing that kind of offence could only jeopardise exactly the goals Claude would want him to work towards.

So Lorenz put the concept out of his mind as best as he could. There was no use regretting what they could not have. Duty kept them apart before and it did the same now - even if the person on the other side of the letters was Claude in some way, it wasn't as if they could communicate it extensively. Claude would always be writing at the behest of the King, obstructed by his obligations.

But even without the confirmation of a personal connection—at least a pre-existing one—Lorenz did feel a kind of affinity between himself and the mix of the advisor and Almyran king he surely wrote to. They got along near-seamlessly; any disagreements seemed purely academic, or at least just the standard kind of debate Lorenz was used to working through at a roundtable.

There was no kind of animosity when it came to the conflict that had once existed between Almyra and Fódlan - the fact of it remained, of course, but Lorenz was glad to think of it as in the past for Almyra just as much as it was for Fódlan. He hadn't expected as much; for so long they'd been at each other's throats, invading and destroying and testing each other for far longer than Lorenz had been alive.

He supposed that was the only silver lining to the clouds of war that had covered Fódlan for five long years. With a conflict like that behind them, the people of Fódlan had no appetite for further war. People who had no desire to harm them in return—just a fervent desire to see some of the wealth of Fódlan brought east—were the least of their worries.

As they worked through trickier topics one by one, coming back to similar themes more than once, Lorenz became... comfortable with the Almyran King. That was almost certainly the correct word for it. Questions of politics faded away, replaced by much more trivial—but far more interesting—pursuits.

'Dear Lorenz, I wanted to thank you for your detailed description of that onion, fish, and cheese soup. With a bit of discussion with my kitchen staff, I was able to approximate a reconstruction of the recipe. It was a delight! In return, please accept this recipe - if our tastes are aligned, which they seem to be, I hope you will like it. I had to replace some of the ingredients with items that are available in Fódlan, but it should be about right.'

Lorenz wasn't much of a cook - he somehow doubted Khalid was either, so he knew the intention wasn’t for him to make the recipe himself. Instead, he passed it over to the estate's head chef, who gave the combinations a briefly dubious look before setting to the task.

The end result was... spicy. Perhaps a little too spicy for Lorenz - the rice and beans weren't too bad, but the meat took on spice like nothing else. Nevertheless, it was different to anything he'd really had in Fódlan; he could put up with burning lips for Khalid's sake.

He reported back to Khalid with his enthusiasm for the general concept and execution, leaving out the fact that it was a little too heavily spiced for his tastes. He'd gained a general impression of Khalid as someone who, while serious, was playful, and Lorenz had learned his lesson from discussing spice with Claude years ago. He hadn't come out looking any better after that particular conversation, and he had no desire to repeat the experience.

They went back and forth like that often, and weeks of their warm conversation stretched so easily into moons as Lorenz divulged information on cheese trading in Fódlan in exchange for tales of wyvern dealers in Almyra. Tidbits on Almyra’s banquet culture filled nearly ten pages of Khalid's increasingly lengthy and casual letters, while Lorenz's own looping handwriting covered reams of paper detailing Enbarr's operas and the performing street troupes he often encountered as he travelled between Gloucester and Derdriu.

Over time, Lorenz came to understand that Khalid actually knew a great deal about Fódlan - certainly far more than Lorenz in the reverse. Every time Khalid started a conversation, he brought his (usually entirely correct) knowledge or insights about Fódlan to the table first, leaving Lorenz to expand upon them before he spoke of Almyra in reply. Occasionally, he referred to 'people who were familiar with Fódlan' in his letters, but Lorenz wasn't convinced.

Khalid was a deeply thoughtful person. His words were not just correct - they were gracefully constructed, showing the kind of nuance that could not be gained without extensive study. He had the kind of political understanding of Fódlan and its society that many of the weaker members of the nobility would kill for.

Then again, he hadn't become the king for nothing. Lorenz never asked about how he'd come to sit on the throne, but he knew it must have taken significant effort and expertise. He had been born into his own position - he'd later (in his opinion) earned the authority that had perhaps wrongfully been granted by birth, but not in the way Khalid clearly had. A whisper or two of dissent occasionally crossed the borders, but Khalid never seemed to be perturbed.

Time passed, and their discussions became ever bolder. Lorenz could be himself while talking to Khalid, unperturbed by trivial issues like whether a momentary lapse in the legibility of his handwriting would destroy the credibility of his words. He was always thoughtful while talking to him—he felt it would be a disservice not to be—but it came easily. It didn't feel like a mask.

Khalid didn't say as much (and, in his defence, neither did Lorenz; it went unspoken because communicating it wasn't needed), but he seemed comfortable too. Open, and always ready to challenge Lorenz's perspective on something. Even though each letter back and forth between them took several days to reach its destination, it felt as if there was no distance between them at all.

'This may be a rather bold question, but I feel compelled to ask of it anyway - it's a conversation I've never had with those in my court familiar with Fódlan, but I feel we are close enough for it.

'I have heard that Fódlan has different views surrounding partnership and intimacy when compared to Almyra, and I wished to ask your feelings on the matter. I have heard you have a conception of Almyra as a place of a lack of self restraint, but in truth I have no concept of how our societies compare.'

Lorenz's response to the statement—only one part of the letter Khalid sent that time—was almost painstaking. His perspective was one he had never even attempted to put into words before, full of the hidden meanings in his glances with Claude, every quiet yet potent evening encounter with a kitchen boy in his childhood or the stablehands in his teens.

In truth, the letter tore his heart out. The ink was a dark purple close to black, but it may have been blood red for all Lorenz knew. Each word, each stroke of his pen, cracked open his chest little by little. It was not a vulnerability Khalid demanded, but Lorenz found he wanted to.

He'd never spoken about this to anyone. He'd barely even had the desire to - it was too much of a risk. There were so few he could truly trust not to take it anywhere else; there was always the possibility of blackmail, especially in his social circles. Even pointed comments could be taken the wrong way by someone who had something in particular they wanted to hear.

Khalid was different. Khalid was... safe, Lorenz supposed. At this point, he was familiar too, but thus far unconnected to the constantly moving politics of the Alliance.

Maybe one day, he would regret all the words he put on the page. But for some reason Lorenz couldn't bring himself to maintain that suspicion. He was tired of hiding, and if he couldn't trust this close friend, would he ever be able to trust anyone?

Lorenz didn't want the answer to that question. Instead, he refused to even ask it and sealed the letter with a much lighter—and more painful—heart than ever before.

The wait for the reply was almost as excruciating as initially writing it. And yet when the letter lay in front of him on the desk, Lorenz left it for a full day and night before he even entertained opening it.

It was out of fear of what Khalid's response might be; that much was undeniable. He knew it made no sense - the letter was already written, and he'd need to read and reply to it at some point. For the sake of both their friendship and that between Fódlan and Almyra, the response couldn't be too bad.

But wasn't that exactly the problem? Lorenz knew what it felt like to see someone call his preferences into question, even if they weren't specifically directing it at him. He didn't know what it felt like to confide in a friend only to receive a lukewarm response.

So the letter sat on the desk, and Lorenz stared at it. He stared at it some more. And, on the closing of the second day since its arrival, he picked it up.

There was a candle burning on the desk to aid his evening's work; he could burn the letter, if he wished. He could tell Khalid that the letter arrived too damaged to read, and hope that Khalid would get the message that the reply had been too much for him to bear.

But he couldn't do that. It was only nominally an option, not a path he could really take.

Because this was Khalid, and Lorenz had placed his trust in him. If he couldn't follow through, he'd have to ask himself a lot of questions about what that trust really meant. The answers wouldn't be pretty.

So he picked up his usual letter opener, slid it across the place where the envelope was sealed, and let the parchment fall into his hands. Then, his heart racing, he began to read.

'Dear Lorenz,
Please forgive me for the frank words with which I am about to address you. I hope you will not blame me for the outpouring I am certain is about to occur.

'Thank you.' Lorenz put the letter down with shaking hands, spreading the parchment across the desk instead. 'Thank you for your touching honesty, your heartfelt words. I have never before had the privilege of a conversation quite like this with anyone on these topics, and did not expect such an open response from you. Of course, I would not have blamed you for a more guarded one, but that makes your words all the more valuable.

'There are many things our homes do not have in common, but I believe this may be one of them. I do not know what the situation is in Fódlan beyond the very upper classes, but in Almyra I find myself rather more restricted than those I govern. Nominally, the choice belongs to anyone to court and spend their life with whoever they wish. It has been this way for generations and, if I have anything to say about it, this will never change.

'My own situation is rather more complex. While I can choose whoever I wish, I must choose 'correctly' the first time, for the repercussions for making a choice where trust is betrayed or power abused is too high. Similarly, any partner I take will be scrutinised endlessly, and if found lacking there is little I can do to help them, try as I might.

'My preferences lie in a similar realm to your own. Yet, much like yourself, I do not see a day where I have the luxury to make that choice. It would surely cause too much pain for my partner; the illusion of choice is exactly that. The moment I take the decision to have no biological heir, the political battlefield surrounding me opens up ever more, and all my allies could have innumerable aims that become ever harder to keep track of.

'I hope that one day, a light will shine on my heart and I will find someone willing to shoulder that burden alongside me, no matter the trials that wait. Yet it is difficult to imagine inflicting that upon someone I hold that close to my soul.

'Thank you, Lorenz, for allowing me to unburden my heart like this. I hope you do not mind this imposition; and if you do, please take a little comfort in the relief it brought me.

Yours,
Khalid.'

The letter stuck with him for the rest of the day. And the night, and every day after that. It wasn't that he hadn't got along with Khalid before - he definitely had. There were many things they'd agreed on before, too.

But there was something about that letter. Something that shifted the rocks Lorenz so carefully built up around his heart to keep it stable in the ever-moving tumult of the Alliance's politics. Khalid wasn't just a foreign ruler, convenient for an aim. He wasn't just a fun conversation partner.

He was both of those things, but now it was clear he was something more: someone who understood, at least in part, all that Lorenz had gone through.

The person on the other end of these letters could not be Claude; in fact, Lorenz was becoming ever more convinced that there was more of Khalid in them than anyone else. But thinking of it no longer caused that twinge of regret in his heart as another moon ticked by with no news from him; he enjoyed receiving the letters from Khalid.

It was not what he had initially wanted from his communication from Almyra - he had at the very least expected some kind of indication of Claude's good health. But now things had settled into an easy conversation between the two of them, Lorenz could content himself with the fact of a kindred spirit and that he was doing exactly the kind of thing that would make Claude happiest.

"Your correspondence from Almyra, sir!" The servant who usually delivered the letters called. Lorenz frowned; normally, the letters just ended up on the pile with the others, with no need for an announcement. Confused, he turned, and his eyes widened.

In front of him, the servant carried a small box alongside the letter. The box alone was undeniably a work of art, wrapped in a fabric Lorenz recognised only from Khalid's descriptions. "Thank you," Lorenz said, nodding to the servant. They took a moment to get the hint that he wanted to open it in private, clearly curious about the change in routine.

In truth, the inside of the box was marginally less impressive than the outside: within laid a feathered quill. Khalid's accompanying letter explained that it was a bird he believed did not exist in Fódlan; Lorenz did not recognise the patterning on the feather, so was content to take his word for it.

'I hope you don't mind me sending you a small gift,' Khalid's letter—much shorter than usual—read. 'I wished to show greater appreciation for our friendship; it is not just time and ink I wish to dedicate to what flourishes between us. Do not feel obliged to send anything in return, but know I would be exceedingly grateful if you did. No amount of deputations with goods to represent a country's trading power can quite compare to a heartfelt gift selected by a friend.'

Lorenz merely smiled at the words; as if he could pass up a challenge such as that. There was no chance he would leave this gift unanswered.

He sent Khalid a jar of ink extracted from a gall of one of the oldest oaks in the Alliance, held within a simply engraved glass vial. Khalid's answering gift was a leather-bound journal, made with wyvern hide. Lorenz's reply was a new copy of a book on Fódlans statecraft, lovingly illuminated in a way that was steadily rarer for texts in an age of increasing advancement in literacy.

The gifts were high quality and occasionally expensive, but in the end they were just based on courtesy - they'd been corresponding for a long time and they both had the money to send goods to each other. Lorenz didn't think too hard about it, simply cycling through his various ideas for gifts for people he didn't really know, perhaps with an interesting flare once in a while to satisfy Khalid's curiosity.

They didn't stay thoughtless, pure courtesy gifts for long. As always, it was Khalid who raised the stakes.

'Next time you receive a package from me alongside the letter, please open the package first - the letter will ruin the surprise!' His tone was playful, but still not one Lorenz would ever contradict. He trusted those words. He knew that, whatever Khalid had picked out, experiencing it as a surprise would be better.

The next letter came with a simple wooden box, carved with flower patterns. As instructed, Lorenz opened the box first; within it were several smaller boxes, each carved with a plant. Lorenz opened each one in turn; each had a different dried plant within, letting off a different scent.

He smiled. Given some of their recent letters on food and drink, he had a good idea of what these might be; he opened the letter to find out.

'Dear Lorenz,' the letter began. 'I hope you like the tea.' Lorenz smiled again; of course it was tea. 'I hope you don't mind my slightly long winded explanation of everything I’ve sent - I know you're quite the lover of tea, so I'm sure you want to hear every part of it.'

Khalid continued in a significant amount of detail, explaining blends and growing methods, tastes and smells. Ideal brewing times, times to leave it to rest, and which ones could acceptably be chilled for a particularly hot summer's day. As a gift, it was far more personal than anything that had come before. It was less about courtesy and far more about what Khalid wanted Lorenz to have from him.

It also happened to remind Lorenz of something Khalid told him when they discussed the differences between relationship milestones in Fódlan and Almyra. But Khalid suggesting as much for the pair of them... impossible. Completely out of the question.

So Lorenz took it at face value and replied in turn, with another rather more personal gift: a bundle of ink paintings in Lorenz's own hand, of a handful of places they'd discussed in their letters that Khalid expressed an interest in seeing. 'I know you are unable to visit these places in the Alliance just yet,' Lorenz wrote, 'but I hope seeing them in my hand will suffice for now.'

The pattern continued with books filled with personal annotations (something Lorenz was loath to do himself, but Khalid seemed rather fond of), wooden sculptures carved of close animal friends they'd mentioned to each other, richly decorated letter openers, and a magic tome they sent back and forth, gaining additional pages and embellishments on the cover each time.

Lorenz liked the change in pace; while he often had the chance to use his brain in his interactions with others, constantly trying to work out what they may want next, he was unused to being truly thoughtful. It was nice in a way he hadn't been able to experience in a long, long time.

The next letter, however, turned everything on its head. It began in a fairly regular manner - another thoughtful gift from Khalid, this time composed mostly of flowers he had pressed himself. He explained their meanings: warmth and companionship, connected ideals, brotherly affection. It was par for the course in something that had fast become a mental game, where Lorenz was left constantly questioning if the gifts had another meaning.

The rest of the letter, at least, answered his question. It didn't do much to change the feelings racing in his heart.

'I feel it is prudent to mention at this point that these letters are private.' Lorenz's heart leapt when he read the words, now certain he hadn't been imagining all the gentle flattery that veered into flirting. 'Perhaps my knowledge of Fódlan's language is not as developed as someone who has lived there all his life, but I feel it is secure enough that these letters move only between the two of us.'

That evening, Lorenz went back through the letters that had now gathered in great numbers in drawers and boxes around his study, knowing that the words written within were by and for only one person. The feeling that soaked through to his fingertips, as if the letters themselves were written in sunlight, permeated through his whole body.

Lorenz had a name for the feeling. He still wasn't sure if he liked it.

Still, he poured much into his next letter, knowing that only one would read it. It was gratifying, in a way, to take some of the walls down. Knowing that there was a core to speak to, he could write with his heart, and his pen moved faster than ever before.

The rewards came with the next letter. Alongside a silk bag filled with more dried flowers, there was not just one letter but an additional few sheets of paper, clearly perfumed with the smell of bergamot.

When Lorenz took the paper into his hands, they shook slightly. His eyes scanned the words beneath once, twice, three times; over and over until each part of the rhythm soaked into his mind, until he could practically hear the voice of a man he had never met speaking the poem he had written on the beauty of the sunlit streets of Almyra’s capital.

The voice sounded rather a lot like Claude. Not because Lorenz still thought of Khalid as Claude, but because it really did sound familiar. The poem was... well, every second of that night during the war was burned into Lorenz's mind. He remembered that poem he had once mocked as artless. Now, of course, it seemed that he may have mocked something dear to Claude's heart unintentionally.

The reminder made him feel bad. Not just due to the insensitivity of his past self, even when Claude had judged him mature enough to take up his legacy. It was also a reminder of Claude, the man whom Lorenz still held in his heart a little after what had now been years of separation.

He missed Claude's voice. He missed the sound of his laughter, the wit at the heart of every action. He missed that sincerity, that warmth. He missed the patience and the willingness to accept Lorenz not just for who he was, but who he could become.

Claude had not seen the full extent of that person. These past few years, through his communication with Khalid, he had grown ever further and come to understand so much more.

The space of warmth in his heart that had once held Claude had faded into the sunlight, and Khalid shone brighter than ever before. Was it wrong of him to feel a twinge of regret at that?

It ate at Lorenz's chest sometimes. He didn't know how to feel about this man he had never met but had known for so long, exchanging endless reams of conversation with. He didn't know what to make of their difference in status or the way Khalid was so determined to cross that gap. They had long since crossed the boundary from allyship to friendship to something else entirely, but what did it mean for them in the future?

What did it mean for him and Claude, and all the possibilities they'd never addressed? If Claude popped up again out of nowhere, would he regret what Lorenz had with someone else? Would he want the closeness back, to pick up where they left off; and would Lorenz?

If he did, what would happen to the bond between himself and Khalid? If he didn't, what would it say about all the time he spent waiting?

He turned the thoughts over in his head one after the other, but he could never find a conclusion. He couldn't know what he would feel when that day came. He couldn't even know if that day would ever come. As it stood, there was nothing he could do, but the ache in his heart every time his face lit up at Khalid's letters told him that leaving it alone may no longer be an option.

Enough was enough. In the end, he had to do something before this spiralled out of control.

'Dear Khalid,' he wrote, 'I have something of a dilemma to pose to you, and for that I hope you do not mind. I believe we have the kind of relationship at this point where the discussion of such matters between us is not out of line.

'I suppose I am writing to request your advice - your social experiences are undoubtedly wider than mine, and I value your wisdom and experience. So the issue I pose to you is this: if you once had a connection to someone that went beyond mere friendship, but never quite crossed the line into something quite definitely more, how long would you hold on for?

'I considered myself quite close to this individual; I have mentioned him on occasion in some of my previous letters. However, it has been quite some time since he vanished entirely. You may see my dilemma: I do not wish to accept that he may never contact me, but similarly have no desire to wait for someone who shall never return. It is a difficult issue, and one I have pondered over for many hours with no clear answer; as such, I would kindly request your thoughts on the matter. 

Ever your dear friend,
Lorenz.'

In truth, Lorenz regretted writing the letter almost as soon as he sent it. If he was correct in his assumptions and Claude had indeed made his presence known in the centre of Almyra, it may only be a matter of time before he saw the frankly embarrassing letter.

That said, he trusted Khalid. The letter was personal, and he was confident it would be treated in that way.

In the past, receiving a letter from Khalid after he poured his heart out made Lorenz too nervous even to touch it. Any possibility that something may have broken down between them crushed him a little inside; perhaps that, above anything else, was a sign left unheeded that Lorenz's feelings careened off in that direction.

This time, no such feeling held him back.

The moment the letter arrived at his desk, Lorenz sent the letter's bearer away, closed his study door, and slid the letter opener Khalid sent him under the seal to open the letter, nearly tearing the parchment in his eagerness to see exactly what Khalid had to say. He had every reason to be nervous this time, but for some reason he wasn't.

This time, he was ready. The future awaited.

'Dear Lorenz,' the letter began. 'I will preface my letter with its single most important statement: you should always do what makes you happiest whenever you can. Regardless of this particular suggestion, however, I have much to recommend to you on this issue. I hope that you will bear it in mind whenever you make a decision on this matter, no matter how many times you have to make such decisions.

'By the sound of your letter, you care for your missing friend deeply. Given the kind of person you are and how wholeheartedly you give your true self to those you care for, I imagine that he cares for you in equal measure. As such, I believe that he would tell you the same as I: look out for your own happiness.

'You may be aware, Lorenz, that you are a man with many qualities, and one of them is selflessness. While I have immense recollection of our discussions of your flaws—which you are unusually up front about for someone who claims to be arrogant at times—I also happen to know that you feel a great sense of duty. As such, you have confessed to me on more than one occasion that you put that duty before your feelings.

'Someone who cares for you or knows you in a way that I do would recognise that, in the areas you have the ability to choose your own happiness, you should follow your will and do just that. If your friend would not wish that for you, then he does not care for you in the way you deserve. Perhaps that statement is a little bold of me, but I will stand by it.

'There is no date at which the relationship you had with this man—who must be most incredible, to have stuck to your heart in this way for so long—just vanishes. When he returns one day, if the affection that once persisted between you as a pair remains, there is no reason that the door on that past will be closed forever. You may want to pick that bond up again, or you may not. But that is not a choice you must make today.

'The choice you can make today is to be happy within yourself. I know you will choose to do this making reference to those who matter, but remember: the most important person in these decisions is the person who will live with them always.

'You are a smart man, Lorenz. I am sure you understand exactly what I am telling you; all those things that do not come across well when stated directly on paper. Even if you do not, understand only one thing: choose what will bring you the most joy.

With affection (and as much persuasion as I can convey),
Your dearest Khalid.'

Lorenz read the letter once, twice. He read it over and over again, trying to trace the words into his heart, patching up the gap Claude left behind. He pressed the sentiment close to his chest and closed his eyes.

Claude would want him to be happy. Claude wanted everyone to be happy, at the end of the day. He would not begrudge him this little thing.

Lorenz's returning letter flew off his pen; it was the easiest thing he'd written in all the years of knowing Khalid. It had warmth and light, affection and gratitude. Acknowledgement of hardships past, present, and future.

Most importantly, it held love. Love, and happiness he was no longer willing to deny himself. Love he could finally give himself permission to chase in its fullest with the knowledge that the people who mattered most would be behind him every step of the way.

When he signed the letter, there was no apology in his heart for Claude. Only a promise: he would live to the fullest as exactly the man Claude had helped him grow into.

Days flew by. Then weeks, then moons. Just as before, the letters between Lorenz and Khalid moved rapidly between Almyra and Fódlan. Unlike before, the words were sweeter. The scent of roses rather frequently accompanied the paper, and the packages became more valued as they increasingly held the weightiest contents of their hearts.

For some, the letters held even more important contents: the result of many, many years of personal and diplomatic interactions between Almyra and Fódlan. With tensions reduced to something that could barely even be described as a simmer, trade established, and plans for future partnership to be made, there was only one thing left to do.

Arranging a diplomatic conference was exactly as challenging as it sounded. It felt like there were a hundred things to do to make it all fall into place, but Lorenz was ready to put every second of work it required into it. And, slowly but steadily, it all fell into place.

Claude's dream. Khalid's dream, to see two nations standing not as one but as partners. To shatter the deadlock between Fódlan and Almyra for good, establishing lasting friendship between the two.

It was everything Lorenz wanted, and the moment got closer with every day.

'Dearest Lorenz, by the time you receive this letter I will already be on my way to your side. Thinking of it makes my heart lighter than it has been in years; while Almyra is my home, I have often found it difficult to truly belong here. In our letters, the opposite could not be more true.

'You are a man who truly matches my heart in every manner. I look forward with every breath to the moment that we can speak face to face and truly see the measure of each other. That day races closer faster than I can process; soon, the wait will be over. 

Ever yours,
Khalid.'

The day that began the next chapter of Lorenz's life dawned with an arrival.

The weather on the morning of the Almyran delegation's arrival for the conference was bright and cheerful; Lorenz watched as the final preparations were made, the couriers of last-minute goods sweating under the early autumn sunlight. Before noon, everything was ready, and all but the essential delegates were out of the way of the landing area just as Khalid requested.

After that, it didn't take long for the swarm of wyverns to appear on the horizon. Some of them held a handful of armed soldiers, including the familiar face of Nader - Lorenz would be lying if he said he wasn't immensely glad to see him alive and well again. Other wyverns pulled large amounts of luggage between them, hefting everything that would be needed in terms of the delegation's clothing and gifts.

Lorenz knew Khalid would be at the centre of the procession, on one of the larger wyverns; he kept a close eye out for it as they approached in all their splendour, his heart hammering in his chest. He wasn't nervous about Khalid's arrival, not exactly, just- he'd been waiting a long time for this chance. He wanted everything about the next few days to go perfectly.

As he squinted up at the sky, Lorenz could have sworn he spotted a very familiar flash of white. He blinked and shook his head; it couldn't be. Maybe white wyverns weren't that rare in Almyra (Claude and Khalid both had told him they were). Claude surely wouldn't have gone so long without contacting him if he was safe in the staff of the Almyran king.

But while Lorenz couldn't immediately identify the figure on the wyvern, nothing about them convinced him in the reverse either, especially as the party got closer and closer. The wyvern which looked so much like Claude's was fitted with a significant amount of finery, and it was only as their descent truly began that Lorenz realised that must be the centre of their formation. The figure on the white wyvern was Khalid.

Lorenz craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the man whose words and heart he was intimately familiar with, but the crowds obscured Khalid's figure. Even as he dismounted, there were so many people and creatures around that Lorenz couldn't quite make him out.

Then the figures parted, the sun shone, and Lorenz saw the truth.

Claude. In the centre of the Almyran party was Claude, dressed in the finery of the Almyran king. Claude, who had promised to write when he could. Khalid, whose words were so familiar. Khalid, who knew so much about Fódlan. Claude, who he'd loved, once. Khalid, who he'd fallen in love with all over again.

Of course it was him. Had it ever been anyone but him?

Claude's expression was smug. The way he held himself was smug. There was a smug little uptilt to his mouth as he approached Lorenz, arms stretched wide. "Surprise?" he said. That, at least, held a note of sheepishness.

"You-" Lorenz made an attempt to wrestle his voice under control, failing spectacularly. "You dastard."

"But you love me for it," Khalid replied with a grin.

Lorenz sighed. "Some Fódlans guidebooks on etiquette state that a suitable response to deception in the realms of romance is a duel to the death," he replied, stepping a little closer. Claude's retinue, many of whom were making their way out of the landing area, halted.

Khalid chuckled, waving them away. "Name the place and time," he said, and then he had the audacity to wink. "I'll bring my best wine, and we can drink to a good fight."

"You are absolutely shameless," Lorenz answered. Claude grinned, opening his arms wide.

This time, Lorenz didn't hesitate. Khalid had given him the time and space to fall in love, and now he would gladly fall straight into his arms.