[ Claude sweeps in like he owns the place - a bearing Ethlyn is well used to by now, being that that's how he walks everywhere - and immediately sets to setting the table up, taking out the tea and the little sandwiches and pastries he'd brought with them. He sets them down between them a little pointedly, urging Ethlyn to take some and eat.

He may be a bit pithy with it, but he's not lying; he does believe in difficult conversations over food and drink. There is a tendency in many, even in himself, to starve themselves of what every human needs during difficult times, when what they really need is to foster themselves, with food and drink, with company, with sunlight and fresh air. He can provide at least a few of those. ]

I would. [ Some of that brittle cheerfulness falls away, and the smile directed at Ethlyn is a gentle one. ] Tell me all about her. And don't worry if it takes some time to get your thoughts together -- I've been told I'm a surprisingly patient man.

So she was an enemy, [ Claude says, raising his brows. He had assumed that Ethlyn would naturally be speaking of family, of friends, of comrades and loved ones she needs to keep straight. But it makes sense for there to be more adversarial relationships involved too, even ones that wound up in a more positive place in the end.

Which he has to assume is the case for this woman as well, considering she was a sellsword under duress and not a true loyal to the other side. ]

And you offered to help secure her nephew's safety?

Ah. That's the sort of luck that makes one believe in fate, don't you think?

[ What are the chances? That the one person with the power to do something about it would find the boy in the castle, that the very same person in charge of diplomacy was able to negotiate with someone who could have been a fearsome thorn in their side, that understanding could be born of strife?

Claude's not so sure he believes in fate. But he'd like to, a little. Ask him again when the fated five years pass and he sees for once and for all whether or not Teach is returning to them. It has both nothing and everything to do with what Ethlyn is describing now, a tentative truce between people of creeds that couldn't be more separate from one another. ]

You're pretty sharp yourself, Ethlyn, [ Claude says, good humour tinging his tone, but he sobers quickly thereafter. ] It sounds like our worlds are, once again, more similar than I'd think them. What did she have to say about you and your people? That they considered you cowards, perhaps? Or did they not think such things about you at all?

That's the problem with matters of nobility, isn't it? It comes down to the leader, not the people.

[ Even someone as ambitious as Claude can admit to that. That the wrondoing of a precious few can lead to a war raging across a country of innocents hasn't escaped him. He doesn't know any way to resolve this, not in a way he's willing to do (he does want power, after all, thinks that he's best suited for it), but the tragedy strikes him all the same. ]

If your heir doesn't agree with the way you do things, then that's that.

[ He harbours the fear of something similar -- of his father perishing, and Shahid waging war upon all of Fodlan. ]

What did she do then, knowing your true nature?

I didn't think your brother was anything but, if he followed in your footsteps. [ Odd as it may be to say that an older brother could live in his younger sister's footsteps -- but he's heard enough about their family dynamics to know by now that Ethlyn had slipped into the role of her mother despite her young age, and that even if they didn't admit to it, her father and brother alike had looked at her for guidance. A mother's lot is more than planning parties and saving face; she leads the way in the difference between right and wrong, what one can feel proud of and what can feel ashamed of, of how one is supposed to conduct themselves. (This was a task in which Claude's own mother had failed quite terribly at, which Claude is quite fond of, but that's neither here nor there.) ]

I'm only glad that she stood by him. It's no easy thing, to fight alongside that which you'd once despised. [ Ethlyn knows his own thoughts on the matter. They're not worth lingering on. ] ... does it feel clearer now? To talk about her?

Hard to appreciate much of anything when you're marching off to war, [ Claude points out. It's a tendency of Ethlyn's to lean on self-flagellation -- a symptom of leadership, in Claude's opinion, and not necessarily a bad one. For your decisions, good or bad, for how it influences the commoners and soldiers and politics alike, you must take full responsibility. But in daily life...

Well, he thinks that she could do with being a bit easier on herself, all said and done. For whatever mistakes she had made, she's been punished and then some. This ought to be her blissful afterlife. Instead, she's struggling through the trials and tribulations of this new, unfair world, in which your efforts and tactics and decisions don't seem to matter one bit. ]

Go easy on yourself, my friend. We cannot all be wisened beyond our years abot everything. [ Still -- he looks genuinely cheered to hear that it had helped. ] But I'm glad that it does. I'm... surprised that that's where you started.

[ And not elsewhere. Not somewhere closer, fonder. ]

What made you think of her?

It was faith, [ Claude says simply. ] Faith with consequences, stronger than any faith one has in any deity.

[ Blasphemous, no doubt, even to Ethlyn -- but he says it with the quiet confidence of someone who isn't saying it for the sake of it. It isn't that Claude is a non-believer. He believes that the Goddess existed in some fashion, believes in the gods of the sea, the sky, the earth and the air, believes in a greater spiritualism that binds them together. But faith in a deity takes very little bravery, when the only consequence is that your faith will not be rewarded.

Faith in your fellow man? That is far, far more difficult. ]

I'm glad it was given to you, once it was earned. Many times, faith has been earned, but isn't so freely given. [ He takes a sip of his own tea, letting the bitter, woody flavour wash over his tongue. ]

There wasn't much to inspire faith in that false life, though. It felt as though... it was conjuring up a life that was simpler, more peaceful than the one that we'd known. To convince us to carry on with the lie, perhaps. I'm still not sure what to make of it.

That's a very good question.

[ He can't figure it out. If the powers-that-be here are able to make them docile and powerless at-will, then why wouldn't they do so all the time? Is it for their own amusement? Some strange attempt at true rehabilitation? Was it to prove a point?

It doesn't make sense. It's impossible for it to make sense, because whoever is in charge doesn't think like an ordinary human being, their reasonings myopic, vague, senseless. ]

I would say they wanted to give us a choice, but we didn't have one, in the end. We were all returned to our original forms. Or perhaps it was to test us, and our dedication to our past lives, but it's difficult to gauge dedication when we didn't even remember them -- the only reason I ran towards mine wasn't out of any respect for who I used to be, but because I'm terribly nosy. Or maybe it was to convince us that our life in Aldrip is better, and we're better off staying here than going home.

[ He shrugs. ]

I don't know. What do you think?

Maybe. Honestly, I'm beginning to consider the possibility that the Council itself is just a big front. It's possible that all of this is just being fielded by one person, and the Council is to give us a handy enemy to rage against while the real decision makers remain well out of reach.

[ He laces his fingers together atop the table. ]

I don't believe you failed any test. Frankly, I think they just want to spread discordance and confusion -- or maybe they think some people will grow complacent here, if they remember a happier life. [ He glances out the window. ]

Or it was an error. And we were all brought there so they could figure out this new city, and everything we saw and went through is seen as negligible.