#tho i guess in a way almyra is pro war but its like pro JUSTIFIED WAR if that makes sense

[charismastaticarchive]

@valorwilled​​ : [ 🤗 Pull my muse into a hug (NON-VERBAL RP STARTERS) ] 🤗pai @ claude ( on non VW route maybe? :O )

claude is not like other boys. that doesn’t matter to his parents---because they would’ve raised him the same way regardless: weapons in his hands instead of toys; dragged through the scorching sands of the desert to be taught the bow he so treasured; a special ceremony at nine in which he would be left in the woods without food or water to survive all on his own, so that he could pick which dragon of the almyran royalty���s ancestral stock he would ride into battle one day (and how telling, that he would pick an alabaster wyvern, the same color as The Scholar King---who was also known for their greatest military defeats, though many instead chose to see it as him picking a wyvern with the same color of its scales as his unpopular, foreigner Mother’s pale skin).

almyra doesn’t care about what’s in your trousers, the gender or the name you call yourself; it cares about strength&passion, confidence&might. the same as their dragons, almyra wishes for all people to be free as a wyvern in the air, claws outstretched, far above the heat of the desert sun, clouds wet on your back. as it stands, almyra has many genders and names to call yourself, so many more than the church of seiros could even fathom, so many holy to them, warriors without genders, warriors between genders, people who lived and died to identify with the moon & the sun instead of manhood or womanhood at all.

it would make more sense then, to say that claude was instead not like other children, who worshipped almyra, who loved his father, who bent over backwards to uphold storied traditions of ‘might makes right’ & ‘justice means violence’ & who lived and dreamed to die for their country (and for their country’s allies, subjugated by the empire, faerghus, and even the alliance from which his mother hailed). it made sense that claude was bullied by other children, for being ‘soft’ and preferring books and bows to training and blood. but that did not bother claude so much, in truth---as he was just as ‘bullied’ by his warrior queen mother, and his boisterous father, always mid-laugh as he tussled claude’s hair too hard and punched his shoulders far too often ‘playfully.’

no. claude knows not being like other children wouldn’t have mattered in the end, that his people were not a monolith, that there were enclaves of intellectuals who still believed in a dragon’s freedom, secret societies that helped his father strategize and speak with vigor & wit he did not always seem to possess on his own.

the problem laid with fodlan---and his mother, and his heritage. half his birthright, the church, things almyran children were not allowed to know about except in secret libraries, hidden away to most. his mother thought he should at least learn about fodlan, learn why she had chosen almyra instead. thought it would make him understand.

after reading so much, spending night upon night with his eyes glued to parchment---claude could see, with certainty.... his mother would always choose to run away to almyra. she was better suited for this country than even claude, himself, and perhaps even his father. but claude? he had already made his mind up long ago. 

he would fix the problems of fodlan from within. he would use all his power and free his people---duscur, brigid, dagda---from tyranny. but also, in his heart of hearts, as every ‘outsider’ child does---who does not fit in in their home, or anywhere---he thought perhaps he could make a new world, where he would be accepted, where he could feel whole, and chosen, instead of settled for.

that was a long time ago. it feels like a lifetime ago---just since he picked up the name ‘claude von riegan’ since he found the golden deer and led them in battle, became friends with them, tried his best to ‘change fodlan’ from within.

but it wasn’t enough. and the worst part? it wasn’t like it almyra, where he wasn’t enough because he wasn’t strong enough, or tough enough, or almyran enough. no. no one in fodlan even knew he was half almyran, though he assumed some suspected, and that made his attempts at helping them even harder.

he was known his whole life, despite his ‘faults,’ for being smart, for having the answers, for playing mind games and politics. hell, he had even written a few of his father’s choicest speeches, giving him much needed military advice, when he could.

he wasn’t good enough for fodlan, and he wasn’t, because he wasn’t good enough at being himself. his only strengths weren’t enough. he wasn’t enough. he could never have done this. fodlan was too much for any one person to change alone.

and now he would have to give up his dream of creating a place where everyone could be completely themself, after realizing he wasn’t enough as a human being to do so---to one of the most irritating people he had ever met in his life.

all he could do as he handed over his birthright---the symbol of his dreams, the same alabaster bone as his wyvern’s horns---was look at his teacher with a kicked puppydog expression. he could never really lie to paimonia. they had always seen right through the fascade of friendliness and humility. that’s why they picked dimitri, right? because claude wasn’t good enough? 

as always, paimonia... surprises him. and wraps their arms around him, tight, and full, and yet still so cold, as if all their blood is caught in their throat.

he pulls up his hands. balls them into fists---a show of strength. hand to hand combat was so important to his father and mother, and they would never concede defeat---and then his expression softens even further as his brow bends and warps like the thread of a child’s bow. he holds paimonia to his chest, perhaps too long for any of fodlan, definitely too long for the soft-hearted, awkward dimitri to stare at as he does.

but almyrans believe in passion, and they believe in love, affection dealt out just as brutally as pain. and he has never needed to be held so much than in this moment. he does not know when he will let someone hug him like this in the near future, so close is he to tears, eyes wet as the sea salt air behind them. he pulls away, and thanks them both.

this isn’t goodbye forever, he reminds himself. his people will see to it, if he is still made their king after such a defeat. he’ll be called the second coming of the scholar king, but if they accept him---he’ll be back again some day, with an army at his shoulders, and no plan on his mind except to do as his people will with this unforgiving continent, that does at it will with dreams & the outsiders that bear them ever closer to their chest. as claude turns his back, he feels it burn beneath his clothes, as if he is once again being dragged away in the coarse, scorching sand. the shame stings and aches, like a blister. when he gets home he’ll pop it and let it infect with guilt&anger at himself, a wound so blank and white he’ll be able to salt&burn the fodlan soil.