Chapter Text
Gronder Field was a nightmare.
This is a war. Claude knows that it means facing friends, fighting them, killing them. But knowing and doing are two separate things, and though it must be done, he doesn’t think there’s any way to make it easy.
Needless to say, Dimitri’s appearance, after all the reports of a death, was a surprise. He didn’t particularly care that Claude was there, wanting only to face Edelgard, but Claude faced him and won - not an especially incredible thing, considering the state Dimitri was in at that point.
And then?
And then Claude captured him, the decision of a moment that he now must reckon with.
It's been a few days since the battle. Just a few, enough time for everyone to rest and heal - enough time for Claude to decide what to do about Dimitri, except he really hasn't.
It feels wrong to keep him captive. He is a person, and a person that Claude once knew, though now he might not anymore. Claude isn't particularly inclined to be anyone's jailer, but if he lets Dimitri go, he has very little doubt that the man will get himself killed. He seems singlemindedly focused on his revenge, enough so that he was willing to go through Claude to get it. It wasn't luck that gave Claude the upper hand, and it wasn't strength - it was strategy, cutting off Dimitri's forces and using the chaos of war and the distraction of Edelgard to take him down.
If Dimitri had been focused on him, Claude's plans would not have worked. But he had tunnel vision, all his anger focused on Edelgard, Claude only getting in the way. And if Claude lets him go now, he will continue on that path, and he will die, just like he would have died if Claude hadn't captured him while he was weakened by his injuries.
Maybe he wants to die. Maybe he doesn't care. But Claude can't see how Dimitri's death will do anyone any good. So let him go because he is an adult capable of making his own choices, or keep him captive because his choices are clearly terrible and self-destructive?
When things have calmed down, as much as things ever do, Claude makes his way to Dimitri's cell. It’s below the monastery, past locked doors, down steep flights of steps. Claude didn’t know these cells were here the first time, when they were together at school. Now he finds himself glad of them, glad that there was some alternative besides killing Dimitri or letting him continue on his path.
He doesn't know what he can accomplish here, but he knows Dimitri has allowed no one to see to his wounds, that he refuses to be at all cooperative. Maybe seeing him will help Claude decide. Or maybe he just wants to see Dimitri, to try to understand what has happened.
He gestures the guards away, waits for them to leave, and approaches the bars. He tried to be sure Dimitri would be comfortable, with a real bed (albeit small) and good food and other comforts, but it is still a cell.
“Dimitri?” He keeps his voice level. Not quiet, not a shout. He does not yet know the best way to act around his old - friend? Were they that?
Well, they were not enemies back then, at least.
His eyes fall on the shape in the cell, and he wonders if what he has in there is a person anymore, really. A feral animal might be more accurate, based on what Claude has seen. The likening to a beast is only made easier due to the heavy fur mantle around Dimitri’s hunched shoulders, obscuring most of his body from view as he sits motionless on the floor of his cell.
They haven't stripped him of his armor, in an attempt not to be too invasive, but his weapons are gone- the dagger in his boot, the other one at his belt, the sword he carried, and the Areadbhar. He is dangerous even without weapons.
Claude has heard from the healers and from the guards. At first they'd tried to see to Dimitri’s injuries, be hospitable, but he'd snarled and snapped at them in a fit of rage, seemingly simply for the audacity of coming closer to him - and, so, not wanting to be murdered in cold blood, the healers had decided not to try anymore. They'd left warm towels and bandages instead, and a small basin of water, which he'd overturned. He threw the second one as well. The third - well, that one he'd used, it seems. Some of his armor has been removed.
There is a bandaged gash at his hip that required the removal of the plating along his thigh, another cut at his bicep, which necessitated that the spaulder went, and then, the worst of it, an arrow that had pierced through the joint of his breastplate and embedded itself in his shoulder. According to reports, he'd torn it out on the battlefield, uncaring, which likely had only caused more damage.
Nevertheless, Dimitri isn't going to die. He's almost certainly suffered worse before, although his self-tending and tendency to throw water basins have certainly made his room a bit less hospitable than Claude intended it to be.
Around Dimitri on the stone floor are irreverently-torn scraps of fabric, dried spatters of blood, and various pieces of armor. He's put the padded undershirt back on, but without the imposing black plating he seems a bit smaller than he had on the battlefield.
Dimitri doesn't look up, nor does he acknowledge that he's heard Claude speak. There's a plate of food untouched by his cell door and more plates of spoiled food piled up in the garbage near where they'd been keeping him.
Claude waits in silence, watching, and finally Dimitri exhales, still staring at the ground in front of him. His voice is hoarse, likely unused to being used after so long in solitude.
“...you're here to take me back to Fhirdiad,” he says, low and resigned. The first words he's spoken since being taken into this jail cell. “You might as well just kill me here.”
It is difficult to see Dimitri like this. On the battlefield it was different - Dimitri was clearly not the boy he had once been, but he was strong, wild, fierce. Disturbingly so, yes, but more alive than he looks now.
That's not all, of course. His voice. His eyepatch. Something as simple as the way he holds himself.
Claude doesn't know everything that's happened. Really, he doesn't know anything that's happened - the last he heard, Dimitri was dead.
Well, perhaps this is a ghost. A revenant. That would explain a lot. Too bad Claude doesn't really believe in that sort of thing.
“You're wrong about that.”
He keeps his tone casual. Not irreverent, because Dimitri deserves more than that, but casual. As if he's speaking to a friend. As if they were back in school, and he was approaching Dimitri about a difficult assignment or a political development that he wanted to discuss.
As if the world hadn't changed around them, and changed them with it.
“Not that they'd even let us close. The Kingdom's loyal to Edelgard, and we're not her favorite people right now.”
An understatement, considering the Alliance has declared all-out war. And there’s a reaction, then. The moment Claude says Edelgard’s name, Dimitri's head jerks up, his eye narrowing at Claude from underneath his unkempt hair.
“I'm not giving you to her. I'm not going to kill you, either. Frankly,” Claude says, and at this he smiles, more than a twist of the lips though a little rueful, “I don't know what to do with you.”
The tension in the room is an entirely different sort now, filled with nothing short of a murderous rage, Dimitri’s gaze intent and burning.
“Then get out of my way,” Dimitri says, lowly through gritted teeth. He moves his legs beneath him as if to stand - but he needs to grab hold of the bed behind him to do it fully. The act pulls at his injured shoulder and he lets out a sharp exhale, but forces his way up regardless - clearly not caring about causing himself further injury. “If you stand between me and her, I will strike you down.”
Claude can see that he's a bit unsteady on his feet. The natural result of nights of little sleep, the refusal of food, the general blood loss. Dimitri breathes short breaths through his mouth, forcing stillness, and Claude watches him.
Claude knows that though the threat seems empty, with these bars between them, Dimitri means it. Claude has seen him now on the battlefield, he knows that Dimitri is dangerous even when unarmed. He knows that Dimitri somehow escaped imprisonment before.
Since the capture, Claude has found reports of entire squads of Imperial troops disappearing while trekking through the mountains. There are other creatures that could have caused such damage, but something in Claude’s intuition tells him that’s not the case.
True, Dimitri is not at his best right now, but there's still a focus to him, a fire that won't ever burn out. A wounded animal is more dangerous than any sort of beast, and Claude knows that Dimitri intends to make good on his promise if given half the chance.
He knew, of course, that mentioning Edelgard would provoke some reaction. It could do nothing less. And of course he already knew that Dimitri would go through him to get to Edelgard, regardless of anything else. This is confirmation of everything he already knew, and so he weathers the tension, letting his smile fall away, letting his voice steady into something more serious.
He approaches the bars of the cell, not because he doesn't think Dimitri is dangerous but because he wants to show that the clear danger will not frighten him away. But that approach gives him a better view of Dimitri, the light from the tiny window near the top of the wall illuminating him.
He looks terrible, and so Claude states the obvious.
“If you tried to go after her right now, she'd strike you down.”
His voice is flat, unsentimental. Dimitri is a warrior, he must know this. Claude would not send a fighter in Dimitri's state out on the field, would not even consider it. He's strong, he's still a danger, he's fueled by something that won't let him fall - but against an opponent in good health, especially one as strong as Edelgard, he would stand no chance.
“Do you really want me to let you go, just so you can kill yourself on her sword?” Claude tilts his head, just a little, evaluating Dimitri. “That wouldn't be of any use to anybody.”
He doesn't expect Dimitri to agree with that assessment. He's too focused, too - obsessed, really. There's no way a few words from Claude will change his mind. But Claude has been able to change many people's minds in the past, so he doesn't intend to give up, either.
“At least have something to eat,” he says, conjuring his usual smile again. “I promise it's not poisoned.”
There’s a long moment of silence, Dimitri’s gaze tracking Claude.
“And what... use am I to you?” Dimitri asks. He takes a small step closer to the bars, perhaps to entertain some form of Claude's discussion. “You're keeping me alive. You have a reason.”
“I have a lot of reasons,” Claude says, and it's the simple truth. Claude learned long ago that there's no point in lying when the truth will do just as well. It's a point of practicality, really - tell the truth whenever you can, because then you don't have to keep track of any lies.
There's no point in lying to Dimitri. Not when Claude would prefer to find a way to convince the man to trust him, at least enough to get those wounds looked at.
“The world thinks you're dead. You here, alive - that's something to work with, for both of us. I'm fighting a war, Dimitri, and my opponent has more resources and more power than I do. I need everything I can get.”
He's won battles, so far, but that doesn't mean they're winning. It doesn't mean things couldn't turn in an instant if he makes the wrong decision, if one of his plans falls apart. He doesn't yet know what use Dimitri could be, especially not if he never wants to cooperate, but if he does -
“If you joined me, if we worked together - well, I guess that's getting ahead of myself, since you haven't even looked me in the eye yet.” He smiles, another rueful little thing. “I thought we got along all right, back at school. I didn't want to see you bleed out on the ground. I didn't want you to end that way.” And that, too, is nothing but the truth. “You deserve better than that.”
Something in Dimitri snaps abruptly and he lunges forward from utter stillness with a speed that he frankly shouldn't be capable of. He gets his fingers on the front of Claude's shirt, the rush of action through with in the blink of an eye.
Dimitri is... unnaturally strong, he always has been. Even back at school, the teachers would sigh and poke fun at him for breaking more weapons than the rest of the schoolyard put together. He'd lose focus and dent a mug in his hand, snap the buckles on his uniform.
It would be nothing, Claude thinks, for him crush a windpipe. To snap a spine.
Claude dismissed the guards. Claude walked closer. Claude was warned.
“I don't.” Dimitri finally breathes, though he still won't look at him, even with Claude in his grip. This is the part where Dimitri kills him - where it all ends.
But Dimitri hesitates, wavering at the last possible moment.
Claude doesn't have a weapon on him. He'd done the math before coming in here and decided it didn't make sense. He'd already planned to dismiss the guards, he'd already planned to talk to Dimitri alone. Dimitri is stronger than him and Claude knew that if it came to a physical confrontation, one dagger would make little difference and could easily be used against him. Or worse, the guards.
So it came down to two choices: come fully armed and keep his distance - Claude's speed and accuracy would win over Dimitri's strength at a distance, especially in this condition - or come without a weapon at all.
It was a gamble, especially considering Dimitri has already shown himself willing to kill Claude. But Claude wants Dimitri's trust, Claude wants to believe that an alliance might someday be possible, and that means making himself vulnerable. It was a gamble, and when Dimitri's hand closes on his collar, Claude thinks that it is a gamble he has lost.
But Dimitri hesitates, and Claude evaluates.
Call for the guard, but he'll probably be dead before they get here. It's hard to see in the darkness, but he thinks some of Dimitri's wounds may have opened with that swift movement - so, strike out at a weak point and hope the pain releases Dimitri's grip. Not a sound strategy either, considering Dimitri's singlemindedness.
If Claude dies, Dimitri has no future either, and Edelgard will have only victory. But that's a kind of logic that he doesn't think Dimitri is willing to entertain right now, not with fury and obsession filling his veins. So talking his way out of this with logic isn't a winning strategy, either.
He doesn't move. He doesn't struggle. He looks at Dimitri, who still can't meet his eyes, and feels like he's baring his throat to a wolf. His only hope is that this wolf isn't entirely rabid yet.
He speaks as though Dimitri isn't about to kill him, steady and quiet and honest.
“I've lost enough friends already. I deserve better than to see you that way.”
Claude does not know the thoughts that might run through Dimitri’s mind in that moment. The emotions in his heart. The regret, perhaps, the sort of regret that Claude often feels when facing a former friend. He doesn’t know what drives Dimitri, what changes his mind.
But something does.
Dimitri's shoulders tremble under the fur of his cloak, his head ducked down. His grip weakens, and he lets go of Claude, pulling his hand back to curl his fingers around the bars that separate them instead. Either his legs are weak or he simply does not wish to stand anymore - Dimitri slides back down to the ground at Claude's feet, a miserable, broken thing.
“Get out,” he finally says, and Claude can hear the effort it takes to force his voice even.
He didn't sigh in relief when Dimitri lets him go, but now he feels his heartbeat slowing. He had no certainty that moment wouldn't be his last, but it wasn't, and that means - something. Even Claude isn't entirely sure what, not yet, but he feels a spark of hope. Maybe it's foolish to feel that way, when all Dimitri has done is choose not to kill him, but here he is alive.
It means something.
He takes one prudent step back, because he's not stupid enough to not learn from his mistakes, and then he kneels down so that they're on the same level. He looks at Dimitri for a long moment. His wounds, his makeshift bandages. He needs a good bath, a good meal, a good night's sleep. Claude wonders how long it's been since he's had any of those things.
There's no use forcing anything. They can't even have a real conversation, not yet.
But they can get there, maybe, if Claude is willing to be patient.
“Eat something.” His voice is quiet, gentle. “I'll be back tomorrow.”
And then he stands and leaves. Dimitri deserves to have something, some kind of control, and if all that amounts to right now is dictating when their conversations end, Claude will give it to him. After all, Dimitri isn't going anywhere.
On his way out, he smiles at the guards, gestures them back in, and neglects to tell them that Dimitri nearly murdered him.
Coming out of the stairway into the sunlight, Claude breathes fresh air and thinks - that could have gone much worse. He could be dead now, or Dimitri could have refused to speak to him at all. It’s the foundation for something, maybe, and Claude has always been patient when it comes to these things.
He’s only taken a few steps before he’s intercepted. Lorenz, with a pinched look of disapproval on his face that Claude is awfully familiar with.
“What are you doing?” Lorenz’s voice is low, the question almost hissed, as if someone might be listening. “What were you thinking?”
“About what?” Claude says, smiling, the picture of innocence. Of course he knows why Lorenz is upset, but it’s much more satisfying to make him say it out loud. He likes Lorenz, but he really can’t resist winding him up sometimes. Okay, most of the time.
“About Dimitri,” Lorenz says, the corners of his lips curling down into a firm frown. “If the Kingdom’s generals find out he’s here - he’s been sentenced, Claude. He’s meant to have been executed. You’re harboring a murderer.”
“This is war,” Claude says, and he doesn’t say the rest. We’re all murderers. “I’m keeping it quiet. Word won’t have gotten out yet. If he’s on our side, having him here will end up working in our favor.”
“If.” Lorenz’s displeasure is as clear as ever. “And if he’s not, it’s just as likely that he’ll break out and end up murdering us all in our beds. He’s not well, Claude. Anyone can see that.”
Anyone can. Claude can. But why should that mean they ought to give up on him? He’s an old friend, a classmate, a person, and - just think of how useful he could be. How much he could help their cause.
Claude doesn’t say any of that aloud. He’s not ready to voice any of the plans simmering in the back of his mind, not until he knows whether they’re even possible. He smiles instead, and winks at Lorenz, and says, “I’m working on it.”
This Lorenz expression is just as familiar as the first: frustration, irritation, anger, all shading into the incredibly reluctant trust that Claude has fought so hard to earn. He sniffs and crosses his arms. “I’m telling them to write ‘This was Claude’s stupid idea’ on my gravestone.”
The grin that tugs at the edges of Claude’s lips is genuine. “I’m honored.”
“Come on,” Lorenz says. “We’re meeting in the council room shortly.” He casts one last glance at the shadowed doorway down to Dimitri’s cell, trepidation and uncertainty and, perhaps, a tinge of fear.
Claude pretends he didn’t see it. Lorenz may be right to fear. Claude remembers vividly the speed Dimitri moved with, the strength of his grip, the piercing rage within him. Claude is gambling that this will not go bad, that his plans won’t turn sour on him. He’s gambling that, eventually, Dimitri will listen to reason.
He isn’t afraid. He’s done stupider things in the past, and the important thing is, Dimitri didn’t kill him when he could have.
There’s a chance this will all work out.