[ In unexpected moments, Ange shows her good breeding, showing Claude to the sitting room (albeit one he imagines is much smaller than the one in her own home), and preparing a cup of tea, taking long enough for him to get his bearings. As agitated as he is by the prospect of sharing his secret like this, he finds he's also embarrassed by his outburst and his visible discomfort. It's unusual for him; most people in his life crow on and on about how shameless he is, and it's a title he wears with more than a little bit of pride. But he is embarrassed of his emotions getting the better of him, just as he needs that extra time to sort out his thoughts as to what he could possibly say to Ange.
Not how much to say to her. That ship has sailed. He may as well tell her the whole story. But to speak with an outsider about it, someone completely unattached to not only Fodlan itself mired in centuries of tradition and religion, but to any world like his own. To Ange, all of this political intrigue must seem like a far off world. It's difficult, he finds, to describe the weight of living it.
Still, he's able to muster up something of a smile as she returns, accepting the tea with a bob of his head and a word of thanks. ]
Yeah. We can speak freely. [ He busies himself with taking a sip of tea as he looks around at the room. It's not that he doesn't trust Ange, but old habits die hard. Evidently satisfied, he looks at her with a hapless little shrug. ] Man, where do I even begin? Once upon a time?
[ He shakes his head with a tiny huff. ]
The basics, I suppose. Yes, I'm a prince. But not a prince of the same land I'm a Duke in. You see, my mother was born into a noble family in Fodlan, the continent that Marianne and I came in here from. And on the border of her land is the country of Almyra, a land that Fodlan's been at war with in one way or another for centuries. She happened to meet the King of Almyra himself on the battlefield, and wouldn't you know it? They fell in love.
[ It's a simple retelling. Like a fairy tale. A beautiful love story, if only there were no consequences to their coupling. ]
Then they had me. Which was not, let me tell you, a popular move. Almyra and Fodlan are still enemies, and harbour terrible thoughts about each other. So when I... [ Fled? No, that sounds so dramatic. ] ...decided to go to Fodlan myself, it seemed wisest to keep my origins a secret.
[ He's understating it. Even underneath a truth spell, he can still wiggle around it here and there. To speak of the true gravity of the situation still seems strange and daunting, as though admitting to it means that he was truly affected by it. Which of course he is, he realizes, but he still doesn't believe he was affected by it to any great extent; rather than allowing it to colour his self-perception, he likes to believe that he has instead allowed it to push him to devote himself to a greater cause. ]
no subject
Not how much to say to her. That ship has sailed. He may as well tell her the whole story. But to speak with an outsider about it, someone completely unattached to not only Fodlan itself mired in centuries of tradition and religion, but to any world like his own. To Ange, all of this political intrigue must seem like a far off world. It's difficult, he finds, to describe the weight of living it.
Still, he's able to muster up something of a smile as she returns, accepting the tea with a bob of his head and a word of thanks. ]
Yeah. We can speak freely. [ He busies himself with taking a sip of tea as he looks around at the room. It's not that he doesn't trust Ange, but old habits die hard. Evidently satisfied, he looks at her with a hapless little shrug. ] Man, where do I even begin? Once upon a time?
[ He shakes his head with a tiny huff. ]
The basics, I suppose. Yes, I'm a prince. But not a prince of the same land I'm a Duke in. You see, my mother was born into a noble family in Fodlan, the continent that Marianne and I came in here from. And on the border of her land is the country of Almyra, a land that Fodlan's been at war with in one way or another for centuries. She happened to meet the King of Almyra himself on the battlefield, and wouldn't you know it? They fell in love.
[ It's a simple retelling. Like a fairy tale. A beautiful love story, if only there were no consequences to their coupling. ]
Then they had me. Which was not, let me tell you, a popular move. Almyra and Fodlan are still enemies, and harbour terrible thoughts about each other. So when I... [ Fled? No, that sounds so dramatic. ] ...decided to go to Fodlan myself, it seemed wisest to keep my origins a secret.
[ He's understating it. Even underneath a truth spell, he can still wiggle around it here and there. To speak of the true gravity of the situation still seems strange and daunting, as though admitting to it means that he was truly affected by it. Which of course he is, he realizes, but he still doesn't believe he was affected by it to any great extent; rather than allowing it to colour his self-perception, he likes to believe that he has instead allowed it to push him to devote himself to a greater cause. ]