expiationnet | ( video | un: revanche )

I have no idea what masculine bonding entails.

[ gender stereotypes meant little in sombron's care. strength was all that mattered. that's why he chose favourites at a moment's notice, leaving the rest of them to grapple with that. ]

But we might as well get it over with.

It's like regular bonding, but between two men, [ Claude generously provides; he may know more about gender norms than Rafal, but being raised by a warrior-queen and having Hilda as his best friend and right-hand man has certainly skewed things somewhat.

Still, he gets to his feet, brushing a few errant crumbs from off of his shirt (there are some clinging stubbornly to the fabric that he likely will not notice until he goes to bed tonight) and opens his arms. ]

But... all right, if you say so! Bring 'er in!

[ For all of his professed inexperience with the art of the embrace, Claude isn't actually a bad hugger. He can't coax a good hug out of stone, but he remembers being swept into Nader's arms as a lad, how safe and warm he'd felt, and Claude himself is a gregarious enough fellow to be able to replicate that to the best of his abilities.

Albeit with much, much smaller arms. ]

[ rafal inhales sharply. old memories rush up. siblings who leaned close to poison you. to belittle. to stab. it's been thousands of years and yet, he cannot stem the flare of panic in his eyes that he desperately tries to tamp down. ]

I — [ he never even held nil. he never held nel except when she died in his arms. he never. he never. ] — I don't know if I can.

...this is a lot harder for you than it looks, huh?

[ He lets his arms fall to his sides. A part of him thinks: it's a hug, not a kiss, how hard could it possibly be? It goes deeper than just not being hugged in his childhood. Or hugged ever. Claude has to suppose that being an immortal, the longer that he's gone without physical contact, the harder it's gotten. ]

You can do this. You'll have to, unless you want the Council, or whoever they are, messing around in your brain. But we can work our way up to it. [ He taps his foot. ] Let's go back to the Apothecary. I have an idea. And while we go there... maybe you can tell me a little about why this is posing a challenge for you.

[ rafal's head drops. you're a failure. even now, he has not overcome his own frailties. truly pathetic. ]

Very well.

[ as they start making their way to claude's shop, rafal speaks up in faltering words. ]

As you already know, the house of Sombron was a violent, chaotic one. Every one of us were trying to become his heir. Because being his heir guaranteed our survival. Otherwise, we died quickly. In battle or . . . by the hands of our own brothers and sisters.

My own twin died so young that I do not even recall their name nor their visage. Nil died in battle. And I saw many of us die. A blade in the back. Poison. Falling. And our father would just make more. So he would never run out of willing soldiers.

And though Nel and I escaped, we never . . . overcame that. I have never held Nel. Not until she died in my arms. And then I spent a thousand years, holding her hand, wishing her back to life.

And her hand was . . . so cold. I remember nothing else but that. That was the only touch I knew.

[ Claude is quiet for a long moment.

He'd had an idea. To invite Rafal for a friendly spar in his yard, knowing that he knows how to make contact when he's fighting, not flirting, and they could just... lead up to being in each others' spaces. But the more Rafal talks, the more Claude realizes the folly of his ways. It may be an easier way to get there, but for once, the Council is correct in their assessment.

Not that he should be forced into it, of course. There's a terrible invasion of privacy and ridiculous besides, but he's beginning to realize that if there's one thing Rafal needs, it's to learn what friendly touch looks like, feels like. Something meant to help, to show camaraderie and closeness and love and affection, not as some byproduct of pain, pain, pain.

It makes him want to reach out for Rafal's hand himself, his own hand large and warm, as though he could shepherd Rafal into happier, more peaceful days single-handedly. He doesn't. He can't. But he'd like to. This is more than just a sentencing -- this is important. He collects his thoughts. ]

I'm sorry, Rafal. I can't imagine. I don't think anyone could. [ The only one who can is dead and gone. ] I believe she understood your love for her, deep down, despite all that you had gone through together. And I... realize how difficult it must be to accept another when that's all you've ever known.

[ Another's touch, another's affection, as though it could somehow override his memories of Nel, as though that's something he doesn't deserve. ]

But you've changed. You've changed in so many ways. [ Their footfalls feel heavy, loud on the cobblestones beneath their feet. ] It's time for you to experience something new for yourself too. To know only that -- it's torture.

[ He removes one glove and grips the sleeve of it in one hand, offers the other half to Rafal. ]

Here. Hold the other side.

[ When he said they'd take it slow, he means it. This looks foolish, feels foolish... but it's one step closer to holding his hand. ]

[ he had told alear not long ago. I felt I was going mad. a thousand years in a silent world. no birds. no animals. no people. just rafal and his lonely sojourn. holding onto nel. wishing. praying. hoping. every day without fail. he did nothing else. he thought of nothing else. as long . . . as long as nel can return, then rafal will do anything. he'll bear any burden. he'll shoulder any regret. he'll suffer any consequence. it would be easy if nel lived.

and. she had. rafal could take her to a brighter world. to elyos. nel would prosper. she would love as she always wanted to. she could be who she always wanted to be. unshackled by the fell dragon lineage. unshackled . . . by rafal's weakness.

it was easy. to shun friendship. to keep himself at a distance. it was easy to let his childishness go. he never deserved it anyway. and yet.

he yearns.

he wants someone to say that "rafal" matters. that "rafal" has the right to exist. that "rafal" was not worthless. that even he could hold a speck in a person's heart. give me an inch. give me a corner. give me anything. but he has to still his tongue in the face of his own misdeeds. his own crimes. he must be culpable. he must be.

so his expression is torn. baffled. lost. and deeply, achingly vulnerable. he bows his head in surrender and reaches out, in a haltingly slow motion, to curl his fingers in the crook of claude's sleeve. ]

I — I hope so. I hope . . . that I have changed. To be changed so certainly that I can never . . . do what I've done ever again.

I hope my name . . . can mean something good.

[ Something twists in Claude's chest as he looks at Rafal's profile against the light of the cold winter's sun, expression lost and forlorn. It's difficult to see the ancient dragon that Claude knows him to be like this and not the sad, lost child Rafal had once was, before his imperious father had stamped out any chance of peace. It seems somehow crueler to do that to a child when knowing that they face down immortal lives; there is no reprieve, no end to what they would become, but an eternity to live with it.

It's a surprise to him that it worked. All his life, he has never stopped offering his hand to others, in hopes that one day he would meet someone who'd much more gladly cut it off at the wrist. This was one hand he didn't think would be accepted, Rafal's hand tugging gently at his sleeve. It's a start. ]

Well. Your name means something good to me, so that's a start. Believe it or not, I wouldn't have offered to help just anyone. [ Not if it wasn't someone he didn't feel comfortable touching -- which is most people. Even here and now, where everyone seems to be fairly tolerant of him even if they don't like him, it is difficult for him to let people in. ]

I don't believe in eternal punishment, Rafal. Not for men, not for gods, not even for dragons, [ he says, offering him a small smile. ] I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy -- which you most certainly are not.

[ He closes his eyes for a moment, step not skipping a beat as he turns his face to meet the sun. ]

My dearest wish for someone who's done wrong and has realized it isn't to suffer. I want them to feel the sun on their face, to dance to their favourite song, to indulge in feasts and festivities, to love and be loved in return. To be a person, at the end of it all. I don't consider those to be things you have to earn.

[ He believes it. Every word of it. For all of his feelings of anger and betrayal, for all of his desire to tear Rhea down - kill her, even - to let a new future shine on Fodlan, his willingness to do what must be done, he doesn't want anyone to suffer. If Edelgard changed her mind about the war tomorrow, he wouldn't want her to waste away in prison. He would want her to live, and to live well, the life he knows she could have led if she'd just trusted them. ]

Peace isn't the opposite of war. Joy is. It belongs to you too.

[ Without joy, what's the point? How can one repent, repent, repent, repent simmering in your own loss and guilt and misery and not grow to resent it over time? There has to be room for better. For more. ]

[ dimly, rafal recalls the past. drunk on the power of the emblems, he towered over the world. he won. he was utterly free. free to be himself, free to live, free from the fetters of being nil, free free free. just as his father said he could be. as sombron's heir. what did it matter that it cost nel her happiness? or the four winds their knight? what he did care for —

and yet alear's words, long forgotten, ring back in his mind. "I'm not here for the world. I'm here for the people in it. I'm here because someone wished for your salvation, even if it meant the world would end. Don't you see? There are people who love you!"

who had made that wish? not him. not even nel. who had done such a thing? surely not — surely not them, not his alear, long departed. with nothing but blue flowers in their wake. not for rafal, who resented them all for their joy. their life. their love. pushed to the shadows, forced to be someone else. perhaps he'll never truly know. perhaps it is enough to know that someone did. not just nel. other people. even here, they reach to him.

rafal lets out a quiet, shuddering breath. ]

I do not know joy. I — wouldn't even know what it looks like.

[ rafal gave his compact because nel lived. she was deserving of it. he was just . . . just there to serve. not to indulge. not to live. just for nel. but he knows if he ever said that, nel would berate him. she would not let him go. she loved him.

and that is her joy.

so what was rafal's? he is at a loss. fell dragons were not meant for such things. this was hammered in all his life. ]

I am a poor example of a well lived life.

Then it's lucky, [ Claude says lightly, ] that your life is long enough for you to still have the opportunity to learn.

[ Immortality sounds terrifying to Claude. And alluring, all at once; how many times has he mourned the temporaneous nature of his life, of his body? He may still be young, but he knows that he will not accomplish all that he wishes to, will not live to see the peace he hopes to wrought, knows that he could accomplish so much more with the amount of time that the likes of Seteth and Flayn and Lady Rhea seem to have.

It is terrible too. Rafal has made that very, very clear. But it his role as Rafal's human friend - and he does believe that his understanding that they are friends is reciprocated, or else Rafal would not be confiding in him so - to try to lighten his spirits, to teach him of the sort of joys that keep human beings alive and well. ]

You've been dealt a poor hand, no doubt about that, [ he declares. ] And I'm sorry, that joy has been such a stranger to you. But... it's never too late to learn. I might not be the best instructor, but I'll teach you what I can.

[ Claude's own joys are few and far between. But for all his trials, he had grown up loved and cherished, enough so that his naturally joyful personality had emerged from the surface, rejoicing in festivals and tea, in quiet libraries and loud dance halls, in a cup of finely brewed coffee and the weight of a companion's head heavy on his shoulder after a hard day's riding.

He cannot provide Rafal with any of life's great joys. But the small ones? The small ones, he can do. ]

It's the sort of thing that's very difficult to discover alone.

[ perhaps . . . it is time. time to discover who rafal is supposed to be. to stand on his own feet. after all, his plottings, his schemes, his ruinous dealings . . . weren't they all for that? to prove his power? to prove he had the right to exist all along?

he wonders . . . if nil would approve. ]

Then I shall rely on you . . . Claude.

[ A part of Claude knows that he has been handed some fragile thing, a beacon of trust he's not altogether certain that he rightly deserves. There are others who would treat Rafal with the sort of gentleness that he needs; it is not only Lorenz that makes comments about Claude being unrefined and boorish, and he realizes that he's a far cry from others who could gently lead Rafal to the right place.

Instead, it's the blind leading the blind, only that Claude's inexperience is unmarred by the same horrors that Rafal's life has been coloured with. He turns to him with a small smile and says (and hopes he's not lying), ] You won't regret it. You can count on me.

[ They reach the Apothecary - more importantly, Claude's home - shortly, allowing Claude to usher him inside. ]

First, however, we've got to deal with that curse of yours. [ He ducks under the counter and produces a box of sweets with a flourish. In all honesty, he had originally kept these around for Manjiro; the man was an open book in some respects, and he had quite delighted in seeing his simple but sincere joy at being coddled here and there.

But life marches on and without rhyme or reason, people exit your life. There is no reason that that joy cannot be shared, and there is a particular joy in being known well enough for someone to give you what you please before you have to utter a sound. He presses Rafal into a chair, ungloved hand against his shoulder, the contact firm and deliberate, and places the box in front of him. ]

Have some. They're from some specialty shop a few blocks down -- no better in the city.

[ rafal mutters, petulant. ]

I do not need to be catered to.

[ that being said, his eyes still light up when it comes to sweets and he'll more than help himself to the treats. ]

And this is hardly a curse as much as it is this place's idea of reparation. A poor idea at best.

Of course you do. Everyone needs to be catered to sometimes. In fact, I'm regularly appalled by the fact that nobody ever seems to want to cater to me!

[ Probably because he comes across as a spoiled enough brat that it would only worsen him over time. Still! Sometimes a guy would love to be spoiled! He winks at Rafal, pouring them a couple of drinks from the fridge out back (a bracing black tea that he's sweetened in accordance to his employees' tastes, muddled mint swimming about the pitcher) and sits down across from Rafal. ]

I don't believe this place is actually trying to get us to do any true reparations. If they did, they'd send us back home so we could do right by whoever it is that we wronged. All it is is an excuse -- and a cruel one at that.

[ One hand is gripping his drink, but his other hand he leaves on the table, palm-up, as though he's simply forgotten it's there. But it's an invitation. A hand to hold that's warm and alive, calloused and surprisingly worn though it may be. ]

[ that statement makes him pause. he's not used to this and the tips of his ears are a touch pink at being, well, catered to. no one has ever catered to rafal. no one even knew rafal existed until lately. and yet, he knows people have been kind to him. thought of his interests. spent time with him.

he has not given back. which prompts him to ask. ]

What do you want then? To be catered to you?

Edited 2025-04-06 02:38 (UTC)

Oh. [ Claude pauses, clearly taken aback, and tilts his head. ] I wasn't expecting you to take that seriously! Most people would say that I've been catered to plenty, spoiled little lordling that I am.

[ It's a sweet thought, though. And it's true that he's hardly been catered to since his arrival here, not shacking up with others or finding the other half of his soul as others here seem to, instead building his own business up from the ground-up, responsible for all facets of his own life and occasionally, it seems, many facets of others' lives.

He misses having other people around to do the cooking and the washing up, but he otherwise finds he quite prefers it this way. It's like being able to take a breath. ]

Food is nice, I suppose? Or to have someone seek out my company without wanting me to do something for them, [ he adds on with a laugh. He's a popular enough man, but he finds people at his doorstep with grievances or desires most of all and only rarely for the pleasure of his company. ]

Then that is what I shall do.

[ he's not a big fan of cooking but he can manage. he prefers making desserts only, but everyone has to cook in the army. it's a skill they all nurture. but it's fair and it'll make claude happy. ]

[ A smile cracks Claude's face, unbidden. The simple, forthright way that Rafal says that is touching. He's a good guy, he thinks, underneath the layers of torment and bluntness that covers it all up.

He almost tells Rafal that he doesn't have to, but instead: ] Then I'll look forward to it, my friend.

[ rafal nods, satisfied. finally, it seems, he is making headway. ]

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